#if i become a ghost or something it might be nice to stay with my loved ones as some kind of keepsake | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oikarma · 20 days ago

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sometimes the fall kills you 𝜗𝜚 ln4, mv1

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summary: (19k) it begins the winter of ‘28. you know this is how ghost stories start. a season, an apostrophe, two end digits, and the death of something.

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

notes: this ended up so much longer than i expected, so this is part one only ☹️ freaking tumblr would not let me post my 1000+ blocks. max is literally not in this, sorry for the clickbait, but reading this is important to understanding the next part where he comes in.

lando is a manipulative and unstable person in this fic. his and yn’s relationship might seem romantic or alluring, to have someone so attached to you, but it’s not healthy at all. from what i’ve seen lando is a sweet person and speaks out about mental health, this fic does not claim to represent him in any way. his behavior here is a figment of my imagination.

anyway, this is the first fic i wrote in google docs, i bled, sweat, and teared my way through it, please be nice. i’m sorry in advance. hope you enjoy!

18+... fingering, blowjob, half-choking, unprotected sex, suggestions of oral (smut is in a specific section, i've marked it in bold, please scroll past if you're a minor)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Most days, you feel like the shittest boot-licking piece of trash ever thrown away. It stems from your phone, what all the preaching psychoanalysts tell schoolchildren. Don’t compare yourself. Humans weren’t meant to see their own faces. Fuck that. Mirrors are an age-old invention. Every goddamn thing on this planet is a comparison. You know what they won’t admit: the problem is you, in every lifetime.

So. There’s you, and there’s Lando Norris, Formula 1 world champion, certified ladies’ man since his early twenties and maybe the owner of the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen, right down to his perfect nose. There is no overlap in your venn diagrams, save for the fact that you carved out a piece of him and fit yourself there, like you were born to. You didn’t mean it. But, like you already said, you were born to.

It begins the winter of ‘28. You know this is how ghost stories start. A season, an apostrophe, two end digits, and the death of something. The death of what, exactly?

You’re getting ahead of yourself. 29 is hardly old—it doesn’t show on Norris’s face, not yet. It is too early to say “middle-aged,” contrary to popular belief. It is also too early to become a sugar daddy. Then again, standards don’t apply to him. He’s 29 and rolling in cash. It would not be a stretch to say he’s in his prime.

This is not how you find him in the winter of ‘28. The man slumped over a table at a dingy bar in Bristol is nothing like the Lando Norris the world knows. You don’t even recognize him when he’s a bit more sober, only noting that bleary-eyed and slurring somehow suits him. He’s well into the two-digit rounds when your shift begins. Your co-worker shrugs helplessly, tells you to keep an eye on this one (poor thing, drunk out of his mind), and drops the keys into your dumbfounded hands. Consolation has never been your strong suit. You’re allergic to pity, incapable of giving it or swallowing it quietly. The only move you make to help him is to water down each passing drink, more and more, before the ratio is unmissable. By that point, you’re not sure if he can tell the difference between piss and what he’s ordered. Maybe he can, but he’s not drinking anymore.

Now he’s slumped forward, forehead pressed to the sticky wood. His fingers are loose around a glass he’s forgotten how to lift.

“Hey,” you call, leaning over with the rag in hand. “We’re closing soon.”

Nothing.

You sigh and toss the rag on the counter. When you get closer, the smell hits you. Maybe you weren’t close enough, before, in your attempts to stay out of his single-minded drinking. You catch expensive cologne, drowned under sweat and whiskey. Up close, he’s younger than you thought. Late thirties? You might know that face.

“Hey, man.” You tap his wrist, careful not to provoke any sudden movements. Fuck, you’re tired and you don’t want an angry, stubborn man to start a bar fight now. “Time to go.”

His head lifts slowly. It’s too heavy for his neck. This is the first time you see those ridiculous eyelashes, the sharp jaw softened by stubble, the mouth parted. He’s halfway between a laugh and a cry. You’ll get very familiar with those features, in the months to come.

“Where’d she go?” he slurs, blinking up at you like you have the answer. “Where the fuck did she go?”

You freeze for a second. No, this is bad. A sleepy man is okay, as long as he’s not causing trouble. A crazy, inebriated man is a little more than you can take right now. “Who?”

He lets out this bitter little laugh. “My mum,” he mutters, keeling back over and miraculously not splitting his skull in half. “Dead. Just gone. S’fucked, yeah?”

You exhale. The bar is empty. It’s just you and a guy with a dead mom fraying on your counter.

“Okay.” You walk around, crouch slightly, resting a light hand on his shoulder. “Come on. You can’t stay here.”

He flinches under your touch but doesn’t pull away. Just mumbles, “did you know…did you know she kept every helmet I ever…” His words dissolve into a dry laugh. They then evaporate into silence. You manage to get his arm around your frame, hoisting him up with more effort than you thought you would need. He leans into you, a sandbag with no intention of helping, murmuring nonsense as you steer him toward the door.

“C’mon, champ,” you mutter under your breath, only half-mocking. You’re not cruel.

Outside, the cold air hits his face. It must be enough to jolt his senses a little. He sways, blinking hard at the streetlights like they’ve just been invented.

“Where—” he starts, before bursting into more giggles. “Where am I supposed to go?”

You exhale. This man, half-draped over you, a stranger whose grief is soaking through your clothes, a spilled drink of something you shouldn’t know about. You don’t know yet that his name is Lando Norris. You don’t know yet that—no, you’re getting ahead of yourself again. At this moment, your priority is not having a dead man and a murder investigation in your name.

At this moment, all you know is you need to get him into a cab before he collapses on your doorstep.

“Home,” you say, and hope to God he remembers where that is.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Two nights later, he walks in, a reassurance that, yes, he did remember where home was.

He’s so different that you almost don’t recognize him, if not for the same cologne, honey and saffron that wafts into the air. It oozes confidence and allure, just the way the man that wears it does. He does now, at least, with a crisp white shirt (loose, but precise enough to show that it’s been tailored) and a watch that probably costs more than all your student debt combined.

You watch him from behind the counter, heart sinking into your shoes. Of course. Because God forbid one night of decency go unpunished.

He slides onto a stool (right in front of you, of course) and leans in with this easy, practiced charm that makes you want to punch something. It’s so fake, so unlike everything you know about him. He has no right being able to compose himself. You hate rich douchebags who act like they have no problems; this man’s signature is halfway onto that list.

“Evening,” he says. “Miss me?”

You snort before you can help it. The audacity. It’s a wonder he remembers your face, considering he’d forgotten what lamps looked like. You think he’s pathetic. Pity, as you’ve already said, isn’t in your dictionary. He’s a poser who pretends he’s not sad.

“Wow,” you deadpan, draping the rag over your shoulder. “Back to slum it with the peasants so soon? We’re honored.”

He smiles with all his face, from his mouth to his eyes, from his laugh lines to his immaculately set teeth. There are no canine fangs in this man’s mouth, but his grin still comes off sharp and pleased. He was hoping you’d bite.

“You’re quick. I like that.”

You arch a brow. “What do you want, fancy boy? Another blackout? You know, I usually charge extra for babysitting drunks, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

He smiles again, this time with a laugh. You hate the way you notice the way his fingers through his hair, the effortless grace of it.

“Came to settle my tab.” He reaches into his pocket—wallet? You don’t see clearly—and places a black card on the counter. To him, it’s nothing. “And maybe buy the bartender a drink for her trouble.”

You glance at the card, then back at him. You know how to look helpless, how to mold yourself to what a customer wants. You also know how to look unimpressed, in an attempt to ward off this preening pretty boy. “I think you’re overestimating how much I care about your conscience.”

Not once does his smile falter. “Oh, I’m not here to clear my conscience.” His eyes flick over you. Not in that greasy, leering way you’re used to. It’s as if he’s cataloging you for future use, pulling you apart in his head. “I just don’t like owing people.”

You push the card back toward him. Your fingers tap the bar once. “Then consider us square. You lived, I didn’t get vomit on my shoes. We both win.”

You see his eyes widen, just for a moment—you’ve surprised him—and then the grin snaps back into place, looser now. This is a game he’s decided he wants to play.

He leans back on the stool, thumb brushing his bottom lip. He’s savoring something. You don’t know what. “Alright,” he says to himself. “Square, then.”

You nod once, already turning away.

“See you around, bartender.”

You don’t look back. You won’t look back. You’re walking away, carried by your feet and better judgement. There’s a hook under your skin. You know, with a sinking in your chest, that he’ll be back. You don’t even know his name, but you know that much. Not because he owes you, not because he should.

Now, you’re interesting. And men like him never let interesting go.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re halfway through a paper when your laptop freezes. You stare at the spinning cursor. It’s the montage people talk of when they’re about to die. It is, in its own right, a death sentence.

“No, no, no,” you whisper, fingers hammering at the keys. Please, please, let it save you. The library around you is packed. Someone two tables over is crying, not-so-quietly, into their sleeve.

You drag your hands through your hair, tug hard at the roots, blink down the burn in your eyes. Coffee-stained hoodie, cracked phone screen, empty energy drink cans rattling in your bag—who’s going to give in first, your body or your mind?

Understandably, you’re a little too occupied to care about who’s around you. They’re all tired and equally as demotivated, so you think. Your chest gives a sick lurch to inform you otherwise.

Leaning against the archway across the room is the devil, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. He wears a dark jacket and a faint smirk.

No, you think wildly, almost laughing. What the fuck? This is not happening.

But it is. Your drunken spoils, in the flesh. He pushes off the wall and strolls toward you. You still don’t know his name.

“Didn’t peg you for the overachieving type,” he says when he reaches your table, voice pitched low enough it curls right under your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, slamming your laptop shut. It’s already broken, might as well end its misery now. “Are you following me now?”

He raises both hands. “Relax. I’m giving a talk here.” He tips his head toward the auditorium doors down the hall. “Motivation, hard work, all that crap they pay me for. But you,” he adds, eyes flicking over the mess of your table, “you’re making us all look bad.”

Your chest is tight, your breathing ragged. You’re not sure if it’s rage or shame or exhaustion laced in your bones. Probably all three. “Look,” you snap, shoving papers into your bag, “why don’t you stick daddy’s money up your ass and find your way home. Go harass someone who gives a shit. Maybe someone with money, so they’ll be more sympathetic than me.”

When you lurch to your feet, he’s suddenly right in front of you. You see the lashes again, long and tantalizing, about to pull you to your death. You’re going to suffocate on his cologne.

“Burning out, sweetheart,” he murmurs. There’s no mockery in his voice now. “You should pace yourself.”

You shove past him hard enough your shoulder clips his arm. Asshole. You hope he trips down the stairs and chips his veneers. You know exactly why he’s here—it’s not the first time you’ve seen a man cracked open and raw on that barstool, trying to drown themselves in grief and whiskey. Men like him don’t let anyone keep hold of that kind of power. So yeah, you’re overworked, underpaid, and too close to your deadlines.

He’s going to be pulling on that string for a while. He’s going to enjoy dragging out your inevitable unraveling.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The next day at work, it’s quiet. You’re restocking glasses behind the bar. Your eyes are gritty from no sleep, brain still fried. Right now, you’re trying to figure out how the hell you’re going to make this month’s rent. Bartending is great when people give good tips. Today it’s hell.

Your manager taps your shoulder, frowning. “Hey, someone left this for you.” You turn and take what’s in his hands, an envelope with your first name on it. It’s handwritten, a surprising gesture of humility compared to the numbers on the check inside.

You stare at it for a long, long time. Long enough that your hands start to go numb. It’s made out to you. Enough to clear everything. Rent, loans, student debt…fuck, it’s enough to buy you a new car, too.

There’s no note or explanation. Although you’ve never seen his handwriting before—from Lando Norris, the check says, and this is how you finally get his name—you know somewhere across the city, Lando Norris is grinning like a Cheshire cat.

You find him outside a hotel, and obviously, it’s the most expensive one in town. You did a little research on him when you got his name. He’s from here. So he has a house, probably, and he’s at a hotel anyway because the cash burning his pocket is oh-too-much to bear. He’s stepping out of a sleek black car, sunglasses pushed into his hair, scrolling lazily through his phone. The world doesn’t touch him. He practically tosses his keys at you.

“What the fuck, man?” you burst out, voice sharp enough to turn a few heads.

Lando looks up. “Afternoon to you, too. I thought you were the valet.”

You stop in front of him and jab the envelope toward his chest. “You’re not a mafia boss, you know that, right? You can’t just—you can’t just throw money at people like they’re strays and then disappear.”

His brows lift slightly. “Didn’t realize helping was a crime.”

“Helping?” You bite back a laugh. “I know what you’re doing.” Your fingers tighten on the paper, knuckles white. “You want me to owe you. You want me tied to you. You think if you pull hard enough, I’ll snap, and—and what? You’ll own me?”

You see his eyes darken at the suggestion.

“Sweetheart,” he says. He’s talking to a scared cat, pushing off the car, closing the distance between you in one easy step, “you already owe me. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

He grins again, now with all his teeth, and says it so casually it makes your head spin: “I want you to be my sugar baby.”

“You’re insane,” you choke out, heat flooding your face. “You’re insane. They need to put you in a psych ward. You can’t say that to people you barely know—”

Lando tips his head slightly. He’s a cat watching the mouse try to run. “Why not? I always say what I want. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

“Jesus Christ. You can’t just buy people. You can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he cuts in smoothly, like he always does. He seems advertent to letting you finish your sentences. “Help you? Save you some time? Give you a way out before you collapse in that library corner you’ve been camping in for weeks?”

You glare at him, but your chest is tight and you can’t force the words out.

“You’d be surprised,” he murmurs, smile slipping softer now, almost gentle. “What people are willing to let me buy.”

For one furious, helpless second, you want to slap him. Or start crying. Or do something, something that’ll make him feel out of control. What you do is step back, trying to muster venom, voice cracking on the words: “Go to hell, Norris.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.” He winks and hands the actual valet, who’s snuck up behind you two, a nice wad of money. “You’ll come around.”

The check burns in your fist, even as he vanishes between the golden hotel doors.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You crash through your apartment door at midnight, still tasting the metallic buzz of panic on your tongue. It might also be blood. You have a nasty habit of opening cuts on your lips.

The envelope goes on the counter, torn halfway open, the check peeking out, mocking you, taunting you. You slap a hand over your face and groan into your palm. What the actual hell is happening?

Your phone buzzes.

mara(malade) holy fuck

mara(malade) u alive? shift was hell

You practically sag with relief. Mara, your coworker—ex-roommate (now she’s got a bit more money of her own), bartender, chaos magnet, saint. You fire back a desperate come over please bring wine before you can overthink it. Twenty minutes later, she’s on your couch, a bottle of grocery store rosé cradled like it’s a baby.

“So,” she says, fumbling around for a bottle-opener, “what’s the emergency? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or committed tax fraud.”

You shove the check at her. She squints at it, reads the amount, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, girl. Who’d you rob?”

“Lando Norris,” you blurt, and immediately regret it.

“You wish.” You don’t laugh, a sign something’s wrong and this is not a joke. She looks up, finger pointing accusingly. “Fuck me. Lando Norris as in Formula 1 driver, millionaire, owns-half-of-Monte-Carlo Lando Norris?”

You throw your hands up. “I don’t know about all the rest, but yes, Lando Norris!”

Mara lets out a snort of disbelief. “Okay, back up. Why is Lando Norris writing you a check that could wipe my student loans and buy me a new liver? Did you save his life or something?”

“I—” You collapse onto the couch, pressing your knuckles to your mouth. “He was drunk at the bar. Like, blackout. I stopped him from, I don’t know, choking on his own tongue? And now he thinks I’m some charity case or—”

Mara raises both brows, an impressed little smirk tugging at her mouth. “Babe, respectfully…why you?”

Your head jerks up. “Excuse me?”

“I love you. Don’t get me wrong,” Mara says, hands raised, “but he’s…him. And you’re.” She gestures vaguely. “You’re, like, you. You’re brilliant and broke and working three jobs and I know you, and no offense, but you have no chill. What do you have on him? Are you blackmailing him? Did you see him cry in the bathroom?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, useless.

“Oh my God,” Mara cackles. “You did.”

You groan, dragging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your face. “This is a nightmare.”

“Nightmare? This is the plot of every bad Netflix movie I’ve ever binged.” Mara unleashes the rosé with a nice pop. Hardly one for decorum, she takes a sip right out of the bottle. “So. Are you gonna cash it?”

You think of Lando’s smile—smug, that’s the best way to describe it—and the way he looked at you. To him, you were a puzzle he adored having his hands on. You think of the way your stomach twisted when he leaned in close. He already knew how you’d break.

“I don’t know.”

Mara’s grin fades. “Careful, babe. Guys like that, they don’t just give. They take.”

You know. God, you know.

You spend the next hour pacing the apartment, a lunatic. Mara refreshes your instagram every other minute. She says it’s bad for you, but in your state, maybe she should be doing it instead. The current report: “Nothing. No messages, no tags, no random follows.”

You check the bar’s security footage on your phone and it’s just his blurry back slipping into a car.

You Google him (why did you Google him, why, it was normal the first time and now it’s dangerously close to stalking) and end up falling into a YouTube spiral. Lando’s podium interviews, Lando’s champagne-soaked parties, Lando’s Monaco apartment tour, and Lando’s something with his trainer that makes your stomach do an ugly little flip. Somewhere between the videos, Mara falls asleep on the couch, too tired to be your better judgement. But his number? His email? A way in? You have nothing. Now you’re the desperate one. You should stop, really.

“God, you coward. You can just drop a check on someone’s life and walk away? What are you, Batman? What am I supposed to do with this, frame it?”

You curl forward, forehead pressed to your knees. You laugh under your breath in that shaky, half-hysterical way that’s closer to a cry. You’re not even sure what’s eating you alive more—the fact that he did this, or the fact that some awful part of you wants him to show up again, wants him to walk back through the bar doors like it was just some normal Tuesday, like this hasn’t cracked open something huge and stupid and terrifying inside you.

He doesn’t, in that infuriating way of his, and you can’t find him.

When you fall asleep on the couch at four in the morning, the check is still there on the table, its stupid smooth paper whispering you’re already in too deep, sweetheart, every time you roll over.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lando doesn’t plan on showing up again, that’s the thing.

He tells himself it’s done. Box checked, debt cleared, one good deed in a life otherwise soaked in champagne and carbon fiber and a mile-long string of bad decisions. Hey, he’s a marginally less shitty asshole. He’s sitting on the balcony of his hotel suite when it starts gnawing at him.

You didn’t cash the check.

He knows because his assistant flagged it. That’s the kind of man he is now—detached, insulated, always three degrees removed from the mess he makes. He sends the money, someone else watches. He screws up, someone else cleans it. But you didn’t play the part.

He hasn’t gotten a thank-you (you told him to go to hell, actually) letter. He hasn’t gotten any gratitude, not even for the money (you told him to stick it up his ass). You didn’t even try to contact him. He leans back in the chair, tipping his head toward the sky. He lets out a slow exhale. There’s a bitter curl of something in his chest, and it has nothing to do with grief or guilt. It’s irritation.

He can’t stand that you saw him wrecked, sprawled across that bar, drunk out of his mind, cracked open and human. He can’t stand that you walked away. Now you’re out there, a loose thread in his neatly stitched life, and it’s driving him fucking insane. So yeah, he’s going to give it a few more days and then he’s going to go back. He hasn’t any intentions of apologizing or explaining. This is for him only. Lando Norris has never been the type to walk away without solving the goddamn puzzle.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

His patience pays itself over in gold.

You cashed the check. Of course you did.

He knows the exact day, in fact. His assistant texts him with a one-line update (“it cleared this morning”) while he’s halfway through an espresso and a team meeting he hasn’t listened to in twenty minutes. For a moment, Lando just sits there, thumb running along the rim of his cup, that devilish smile peeking out. You finally cracked.

Now he gives it three days before he shows up. He does it quietly, just him at the edge of the bar.

Your head jerks up when you see him, eyes wide. Lando feels it like a hit of adrenaline, clean down his spine.

“You.”

“Me,” he agrees. “Been a while, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.” You’re rattled. “I didn’t—I only cashed it because—”

“Relax. No strings, remember?”

Your jaw works, teeth catching on the inside of your cheek. “Why are you here?”

His smile tilts with his head, so lopsided it might seem innocent. “To see you.”

“You don’t even know me, asshole.”

“But I know enough,” Lando says, lowering his voice. He knows your name, he knows your situation—well, he cleared all that—, and he knows you’re nervous. You’re breathing too fast. He leans on the bar, eyes half-lidded. He loves watching you scramble for ground. “You’re working two jobs. You’re barely sleeping. You think you can handle everything by yourself, and you hate that you can’t. “You’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the day you cashed that check.”

He hears you gulp. He waits a bit longer, two heartbeats, maybe.

And then, with a wicked little grin, he says, “So. How about dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Lando says again. You’re sharing a secret. “You eat, don’t you?”

You flounder. When you get riled up, it wakes something inside him. Maybe that’s why he’s been coming back, not just because he needs to do charity, but because you entice him.

“I’m not your little project,” you snap. “You wanted me to take the money, I took the money, will you please just leave me alone instead of trying to…” You don’t want to finish the sentence. You can’t even find your arsenal of vulgarity.

“Seduce you?” Lando supplies lightly. “Mmm. We’ll see, won’t we?”

Before you can throw another insult, before you can spit him out, he’s sliding a card across the counter, tapping it once with his finger. You’ve seen this film before. You know what you should do next: push him aside, push all of this down so you don’t think about it. You’ve done it before, can’t you do it again?

“Tonight. Seven. Wear something dangerous.”

Like the shitbag he is, he just walks away.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He came back and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. In your defense, it’s only been a few hours. Your shift ends and you half-stumble home. You shut the door to your apartment, sag against it, and press your fists to your eyes, hoping you can squeeze Lando Norris out of your skull.

You’re not a project. You’re not his charity case. You’re not going to whore it out for more money. Greed is dangerous. You’re satisfied. Do this one thing and let it go.

Your bank account is whole for the first time in a year. The past-due notices are gone. The constant panic is still there, but now it’s now less mechanical notices and more an unspeakable Brit.

Mara’s on your couch when you finally topple over. She’s digging into a bag of chips.

“You’re a mess,” she announces. “Also, is it true Lando Norris tipped you a down payment on a house?”

“Not a house. Not—” you’re muffled by the pillow that your face sinks into.

“Babe,” she says through a mouthful of salt and vinegar, “do you have any idea how hot, rich, and deeply emotionally unavailable that man is? He must really hate what you saw.”

“I don’t know!” you groan. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know—”

You don’t tell Mara about the card he left. You don’t tell her that it’s still in your jeans pocket. You don’t take it out. If you do, you’re worried it’ll manifest into a contract with the devil, one you are a little too eager to sign.

You shouldn’t have worried so much, in retrospect. Now you’re face-to-face with Lando, your fear of the card is replaced by a constant need to fidget with the napkin. It’s brutally wrinkled. You’ve been twisting it in your fists since the appetizers.

Lando, of course, looks completely at ease. The glass turns slowly in his hand. You’re half-convinced he’s heard your every thought and is simply waiting for you to confess them.

“I can’t believe I came,” you mutter.

“You say that like I put a gun to your head.”

You scowl. No one’s looking at you, but you still feel eyes crawling over your skin. Maybe it’s just him. “You left me a check.”

“Mm. So I did.”

“Enough to clear my loans. Rent. Half my fucking soul.”

He leans in across the table, his halfway unbuttoned shirt dipping down in a way that strains you to keep your eyes up. “You’re welcome.”

You bristle. “You think this is charming? Is this how you get girls? Buy their dignity and then flash them a smile like they should be grateful?”

Lando’s brow arches. It’s not in surprise, because he was waiting for that, too. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.”

“Fine.” His mouth twitches. “Darling, if I wanted to get laid, I wouldn’t have picked the most hostile bartender in Bristol. You think you’re the first woman who’s ever told me to fuck off?”

It stings. “So why me?”

“You’re interesting.”

“Right. Like a bug.”

“No. Like a puzzle. One I want to take apart with my teeth.”

What the fuck? For a second, all you can hear is the soft click of silverware, someone laughing across the room. Did he just say he wanted to take me apart with his teeth? You were stupid for coming here. You’re going to beat yourself up about it later.

“I’m not a puzzle,” you snap. “I’m a person. A tired one. Who works too many hours and hasn’t taken a proper day off in months. You don’t get to walk in and play white knight just because you’re bored.”

“Who says I’m bored? Maybe I just liked the way you looked at me that night.”

You go still. “That night,” you say carefully, “you were a wreck. You were just another wreck. I had no idea who you were.”

He smiles, almost genuinely this time. “Exactly.”

You pick at the edge of your plate, push around your roasted carrots. They’ve offended you.

“I don’t want to owe you,” you say finally.

“Like I said before, you already do.”

He doesn’t smile. “You cashed the check. You came to dinner. And you’re still here. With me. Which means a part of you wants to know what happens next.”

You’re going to choke on all of this. “What do you want from me?”

All his smiles are wicked. This one is particularly knowing. “Honesty? Time. Your attention. Eventually, your mouth. But I’m patient.”

Egotistical, much? Demanding, much? You’re compiling a list of unflattering words to describe him in your head. It makes the issue feel a bit more manageable. He stretches out like a man completely at home, and says, “you think I’m dangerous. You’re not running. Either you’re stupid or you’re curious.”

You don’t have an answer. At least, not one you can say out loud. You finish your drink in one long, burning swallow and stare at the man across the table who just might end your entire life and make you beg for it.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Now, the flowers. You come home from work, fingers raw with cold. Your shoes are damp with spilled beer—another asshole; this one couldn’t even tip well—only to trip over a box sitting outside your apartment door. You stare at it for a full minute before crouching down. It’s ridiculous, a bouquet four times the size of your head and more colorful than any plants you’ve seen in your life. You think they might all be roses, but you don’t know your flowers very well.

The card is small, white, blank except for a few words:

For the tired girl.—L

You know that handwriting. You’ve seen it on the envelope that decided your fate. You don’t take them inside. You leave them in the stairwell, daring the universe to care.

The next night, he’s waiting. Not at your door, no, that would be obvious. He’s at the bar, same corner stool.

“Figured you’d show up.” Your voice is flat.

“Did you?”

You slam a glass into the rack a little too hard. “Didn’t figure you were the type to stalk.”

“I’m not.” Lando’s long legs kick under the bar. His designer coat is thrown over the adjacent stool. To him, it’s nothing. Probably sent for free, for exposure. “You left the flowers outside.”

“And?”

“And I don’t like wasting effort.”

At least he’s honest. “So what? You’re here to monitor your investment?”

“I’m here,” Lando murmurs, “because you’re the first person in months who hasn’t wanted something from me. Well, until you cashed the check.”

“Fuck you.”

He says, “careful. You might make me fall in love.”

You whirl on him. “Why me? You could have anyone. Any rich little hanger-on, any girl looking for a payday. Why this?”

“Sweetheart, we’ve already had this conversation. What are you drinking after your shift?”

You shake your head. “Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is bad news. You are bad news.”

“And yet here we are.”

Lando Norris loves giving things, like they might buy your interest. First the card, then the check, then the card again—fuck, you shouldn’t have used it—and now a piece of folded paper. What now, marriage papers?

No. On it is a string of numbers. His number.

He tugs on his coat. The smile he flashes you a smile so uncaring it makes your knees weak.

“Call me. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll see you soon.”

You don’t touch the note for the rest of the night. When you lock up hours later, it’s gone. You know exactly where it is: folded in the bottom of your bag.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you you’re fucking insane

Delivered. Read.

Lando and you kept the number

You bite down on a curse, drop your head back against the fridge. Why the fuck did you text him? You’re crazy and deserving of whatever comes next, that’s what you are.

you what do you want

Lando a lot of things

Lando you’re at the top of the list

You huff under your breath, disgust growing under your ribs. You should end this here. You should block him, delete the number, set your phone on fire for good measure. But it won’t do anything, you decide. If he truly means to mess with you, it will do absolutely no good. He’ll show up at your job. He’ll do something about the very generous amount of money he gave you, even if he said “no strings attached.” You owe him, that’s the ugly truth.

you go bother someone else

Lando a few things, sweetheart

Lando you texted me first you’re so much fun when you’re madand besides. no one else keeps me entertained like you.

you i’m not your fidget toy

Lando not yet

You actually breathe when you hear he’s gone. Thank god for that millionare job he’s got, driving in circles. It’ll keep him out of your hair for a good amount of time, according to the information you’ve got online. Racing is a very demanding schedule, and now winter’s drawing to an end, he can’t afford to waste his time on you.

You work the bar in peace. You go home in peace. You wake up, no trace of him in the corner booth or at your barstool or leaning against your car with that maddening smirk. You’ve only seen Lando Norris a few times, yet every time you do, your heartbeat goes up like you’re about to die.

Of course, good things never last. His texts start coming a few days after he’s left your life.

Lando do you miss me yet

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

you i didn’t even notice you were gone

Lando liar

You toss the phone facedown on the couch. The next morning, there’s a knock on your door. When you open it, there’s a courier with a fucking bouquet. It’s the second one, somehow larger, more obnoxious. There’s no card this time.

You snap a photo and send it to him.

you seriously?

Lando what kind of asshole would i be if i left you alone completely

The next night, it’s a box, no flowers this time, just expensive chocolate you would never buy yourself. You don’t even like sweets. You text him anyway.

you stop

Lando make me

You grind your teeth. You tell yourself not to engage, but you can’t resist sending a:

you you know, i really wish i could

You don’t mean it with any connotation. You just wish he’d shut up and fall off a cliff or something. Then all your debt would be miraculously cleared.

By day four, you’re jumpy, checking your phone when you swore you wouldn’t. Waiting for a message that makes you want to scream.

Like clockwork:

Lando you thinking about me? be honest

You flop down on your bed and exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for a week. You’re not supposed to want this. You hate him, you really do, and you know that’s true to a certain degree. When he comes by, your fists clench and you try to look anywhere by him. His name brings irritation, gets under your skin, and then it turns into something else. You heard someone say once that hate and love aren’t very different things. Bullshit. Hate and want, more so. That feeling, that despisement, is intoxicating.

Lando i’ll be back soon, sweetheart

You scream into your hands.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Mara nudges you. You don’t need to look up. He’s back.

This time, you have a response prepared. You smile coquettishly, the way you do when you need good tips. You aren’t privy to swaying your hips a little, maybe angling yourself so the curves of your waist are more enunciated. “Did you cry on the plane or after you landed?”

Oh, he’s glaring. You love that. It makes it easy to maintain your perfect picture of innocence, so eager to be happy. “Oh, sorry. Did you not want anyone mentioning Monaco?”

“Funny.”

You reach for another glass. “Did Oscar at least send you a thank-you basket for letting him win?”

Lando’s jaw flexes, a tiny tic. “You keeping up with the races now, sweetheart? Or just the standings?”

You grin. “Just the losses. Yours, specifically.”

Every inch of him is coiled tight. His shirt is rumpled and the sleeves shoved up. You notice how his throat his exposed, like he dressed in a rush, like he couldn’t stand being away from this city another second. Away from you. You’re flattering yourself. Maybe Monaco really did suck and he was so, so, sad he had to live in a million-dollar penthouse that he came back to this city.

“You know,” he says, “I could’ve stayed in Monaco. Big party tomorrow. But no. I flew home.” His eyes flick over your face, unapologetic. “Guess why.”

Dry as sandpaper, you say, “miss your favorite bartender?”

“You make a mean whiskey sour.”

“I also make a mean ‘get out of my bar, you gosh-darned cunt.’”

He chuckles under his breath, but the sound isn’t fully natural. Lando’s holding something back “You’re good, you know that? Gosh-darned cunt, really?”

“At what?”

You see his knee bounce. “At getting under my skin. You rile me up like you’re trying to start something.”

“Maybe I am,” you say.

“Careful.”

“Is this the part where you try to scare me?”

“No.” His composure is back. He knows something—at the very least, he thinks he knows something. “This is the part where I wonder how long you’re going to pretend you don’t want me.”

Heat licks up your spine. You hate him. You hate how good he is at this. What would it be like, you wonder for a moment, to be rich and good looking and cocky as a man with a two-inch dick.

“You’re right, Lando. I want you so bad I’m shaking,” you say, voice husky. You let your eyelids lower, as if you’re staring at him in a post-orgasmic haze.

His expression changes.

Then you smile a toothy grin. “For a restraining order.” The snort that bursts out of him might be a little impressed.

“You’re insufferable,” Lando mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“And you’re still here,” you shoot back.

He slouches back on the barstool.

“Fuck, you drive me insane.”

You turn so he can’t see you biting your lip to keep from smiling.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The texts are still a thing, something to keep your wits sharp while Lando’s out of town. Getting to bicker and not having to see his face? The gods made this arrangement just for you. To be fair, you haven’t asked for anything aside from what he gives you of his own free will. He never says the words “sugar baby” anymore, but there’s an unspoken agreement that he pays. You can afford some of it, sure, but investments are better. You still have the rest of your life to spend money.

Your phone lights up on the counter. For one second, you consider ignoring it, you really do.

Then you swipe, anyway.

“Hello,” you say, with that voice you only use with him, like you’re about to fall asleep from how dull he is.

“Thought you’d never pick up.”

It’s great he can’t see your face. Your stomach dips, traitorous, and you are absolutely not bored by him.

“What do you want?” you mutter, pressing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you scrub harder at the countertop.

“Relax,” Lando says. “I’m not asking for your soul.”

“I think I already signed it away,” you quip.

There’s a pause. You can hear the faint sound of city traffic behind him, the rustle of fabric as he moves. You can picture it too clearly: his fingers at his collar, half-distracted, grinning to himself because to him, this is all a game.

“I need a favor,” he allows.

Your laugh is mean. “Oh, do you.”

“Don’t get excited, sweetheart. It’s not that kind of favor.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

You often send him chuckling, as he does now. “You’re really something.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going anywhere near your little circus. Whatever it is, I’m sure you have a dozen girls on speed dial who’d jump at the chance.”

“Sure,” Lando says smoothly. “But they’re not you.” Too cheesy. You won’t give it to him. Still, that lands somewhere you don’t want to admit. You pace behind the bar.

“Look, I’m not some accessory. I thought we already agreed on this. Fuck it. Dinner, okay. If you want to text me, I guess you can have that, asshole. If you have to show up at work, okay, but anything aside from that…”

“Calm down.” His voice dips, completely unriled which only makes you angrier. “It’s just an event. Monaco. Black tie. Tomorrow night.”

You stop pacing. “Tomorrow? Monaco, like, France? Which son of a bitch crashed into your car and gave you a concussion?”

“Mm,” he says. You can hear him smile. “It’s a shame you’re going to say no. Especially since I already had the dress sent over.”

“You what?”

“Check the door.”

You lunge for it, yank it open, and there’s a hotel courier on the stoop of your bar. The garment bag in their hand, something out of a fever dream. You whip back around, phone still pressed to your ear. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you’re still on the line, sweetheart. I had my assistant email the plane tickets.”

“My god. This doesn’t mean anything,” you manage.

“Of course not. See you tomorrow.”

You wave away the courier weakly (they say no need for tip, it’s been covered) and toss the garment bag onto the barstool like it’s radioactive. Mara looks up from her ramen, mouth full, eyebrows shooting into her hairline. “Is that a dress? Please tell me that’s not a dress. Shit, that bag looks expensive.”

“It’s a dress. Kill me.”

Mara sets her wrinkled noodle cup down. “Okay, back up. Shit. You’re going to have to explain. You had a couture gown delivered to your workplace?”

“I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. I, fuck, I don’t even know what I said. He just called. I guess he knew I was still at work and sent it here instead.”

“Oh, he called.” Mara clearly wasn’t listening. It was valid, because you would’ve been very invested in your noodles too. “And you picked up. Shocking.”

“I was caught off guard, okay?”

Mara leans back, arms crossed. She’s settling in for a show. “Mm-hm. Off guard, even though you have his contact. And what exactly did our emotionally unstable sugar daddy.”

“He’s not my—whatever, he wants me to go with him. To this stupid black-tie thing. In Monaco—Mara, I’ve never been outside the country, and he wants me to meet more pissy millionaire with egos just like his? Goddamnit, I’m a blasted idiot. I should’ve hung up.”

“And now you’re here,” Mara finishes, “having a full-on meltdown over a man you keep calling a pissy millionaire, but whose name you’ve Googled so much your phone probably thinks you’re a fan account.”

You shoot her a betrayed look.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “Just, are you sure you’re not into him? I don’t know, if you really hated it, you’d be gone.”

You throw a dirty, soaking towel at her. She catches it easily and puts it down. “Fine, fine. But listen, babe. You don’t have to go. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, even if you think he’s hot.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mara says, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “But you are going to text me photos once you get dressed. If you’re going to dance with the devil, baby, you might as well look smoking doing it.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

At some point, after pacing the suite, after staring too long at the ocean view, after wondering what the hell you were even doing in Monaco, the dress ended up on your skin. Now you’re cursing again, fingers fumbling at the clasp behind your neck. It’s a bit worrying how well the dress fits you. You’d be more worried if you had a spare thought. Currently, you’re occupied with trying to get this fucking clasp doe.

There’s a knock at the door. You wonder who it could be, because the hotel people usually announce themselves. One culprit.

“Lando, if you come in here—”

The door swings open. How the fuck does he have a key?

“Relax,” he drawls, stepping inside like it’s his suite, his eyes sweeping over you in one slow, sinfully amused pass. Well, he did order the room. Maybe he had a spare he didn’t bother letting you know about. “I knocked.”

You scowl. “Get out.”

But your hands are still twisted up at the clasp and he sees it.

“Need help, sweetheart?”

You spin halfway, trying to yank the zipper yourself, but it only slips lower, baring more skin, making you hiss under your breath. “No. Go away.”

He’s already crossing the room. There it is, that cologne, honey and saffron, so inebriating you almost close your eyes to savor the smell. It makes your pulse spike. You know that body heat amplifies the notes. Lando Norris is warm and right next to you.

“Stay still,” he says. His fingers brush yours, gentle yet firm, easing you out of the way. His knuckles graze your nape and your breath hitches before you can bite it back.

“I hate you,” you mutter, as his fingers work the clasp. You wonder if he’s done this many times before. The answer is probably yes.

“Mm,” Lando hums, mouth too close to your ear. “You keep saying that.”

He lingers, too long, his thumb ghosting over your bare skin. Your chest tightens; your hands flex at your sides.

“You think this is charming? Bursting into my room when I’m trying to change?” you snap, half-turning toward him. “Is this how you—”

He cuts you off, his eyes flicking down. “You’re beautiful when you’re pissed off.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe.

“Not yet.” Lando smirks. His voice is gasoline, about to set your insides—everything, really—on fire. You shove at his chest. He doesn’t move, but the contact jolts both of you. One hand is still on your back, holding you like he’s about to dance.

“You’re such an asshole,” you whisper.

“Guilty.” He lets go then. “I’ll wait downstairs. Ten minutes. Though I think you look ready.”

“And if I don’t come?”

Lando’s already at the door. “Oh, you’ll come.” His voice is absolutely certain.

You tell yourself you’re only going down because you need to tell him to his face you’re not doing this. That’s it. That’s the only reason. When you step into the elevator, your palms sweaty, you already know you’re lying to yourself.

The car is waiting outside (probably his, judging from the custom initials ‘LN’) with, you note, tinted windows. Lando’s hair is raked back.

“Took you long enough,” he says, opening the door with a theatrical little flourish.

“Fucking wanker,” you say. There’s no malice behind it.

The door closes with a soft, expensive thunk. You press yourself against the far side of the seat. You can still feel the heat of him even across the car, the subtle glance he steals when you cross your legs, the way his hand ‘accidentally’ finds your thigh instead of the gear shift.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” You want to wipe that smirk of this face. “Like I can’t decide if I want to ruin you or worship you?”

There’s a thought you have often when it comes to Lando Norris. What the fuck? You, who cusses every other sentence, have more decorum than this man. And he’s saying all this with a straight face. It might be sincere, if you didn’t know him any better. You dig your nails into your palm. “You’re such a fucking nightmare.”

Lando looks away from the road. He’s way too confident to be driving safely. “Maybe. But you’re still in my car, wearing my dress, going to my party. You can tell yourself whatever you need to, sweetheart, but you already chose.”

You stare out the window, jaw tight, watching the glittering coastline smear past in a blur of gold, watch it turn into a cathedral of money and ego. Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, women in dresses you’d need a mortgage to afford. Well, now you have a willing bankroller, maybe you don’t.

Lando doesn’t so much escort you as claim you. His hand remains at the small of your back, hot breath brushing your ear as he murmurs names you don’t recognize, introductions you don’t want. You slip away from him the moment he’s distracted by some sponsor, ducking toward the balcony again for air. As it turns out, you’re not alone.

“Big crowd, huh?”

You turn, startled, and find a brunette against the railing, glass of water in hand. His tie’s loose, hair slightly mussed like someone’s been messing with it all night. His smile is easy, genuine, the kind that makes your shoulders drop without meaning to. You let out a breath. Lando gets you all tense.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It’s a lot.”

Alex chuckles. “First one?”

“Does it show?”

“Only a little.” He grins. “But you’re doing fine. Better than I did my first one. I tripped over a server. Champagne everywhere.”

Your laugh is genuine, this time. That makes the first nice person you’ve met all evening.

“I’m Alex, by the way.” He offers his hand and you shake it, thankful for the small, normal gesture in a night that’s felt anything but.

You introduce yourself and he brightens. “Oh, you’re with Lando tonight?” he asks lightly, with only curiosity. “How’d you two meet?”

You freeze for half a second—how do you even explain that? That he crashed into your life like a hurricane, arrogant and infuriating, with a check big enough to clear your debts and a smirk that’s been haunting your sleep ever since?

“Long story,” you hedge, a little helpless. “Sort of accidental.”

Alex chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sounds about right.” He nudges your shoulder gently. “He’s not all bad, you know. A menace, sure, but not all bad.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re too nice.”

“Well, someone has to balance him out. You okay, though?”

Hell no, you want to say. Your mouths are already forming the words, before you smell that goddamn cologne. It’s like the electrical smell that precedes a storm, a warning. You turn and there’s Lando.

His eyes flick to Alex, then to you. “Making friends without me, sweetheart?”

Alex winks. “Just keeping her company, mate.”

Lando’s mouth falls into a frown, before he catches himself. “Right.” His gaze cuts to you. “Come dance,” he says, and it’s not a request.

You glance at Alex, completely helpless. He just squeezes your arm gently. “Go on. He’s useless without you.”

He leads you into the throng of people, fingers pressing into the silk at your hip. “Why’ve you been hiding?”

You twist, glaring up at him. “I wasn’t hiding. You dumped me for the wolves.”

“I was making the rounds.”

“And now what, you want a medal?” you snap. God, your heart is about to give out, as his thumb strokes a slow, deliberate line against your side. He spins you into him, just like that, the room tipping for half a second. His chest brushes yours. You feel the hard line of his arm at your back.

“Tell me,” Lando says, “how many of them have come over tonight? Kimi, Charles, George…they’re all wondering what you’re doing with me.”

“Makes sense,” you mutter, “so am I.”

“You’re not a model. You’re not anyone’s plus-one. You’re not chasing some influencer deal.” He lists them, all while keeping his eyes on you. “And you’re the only one in this room who actually wants me to fuck off all of the time.”

“Where’s this going, Norris?”

The edge of his thumb grazes your jaw. “Don’t lie to me. You think I don’t see you looking? You think I don’t know why you stayed?”

You snap, “I stayed because you booked me a goddamn plane ticket. And you keep showing up. And you don’t let people walk away.”

He leans in until there’s barely any air between you. You can’t breathe without inhaling every bit of him. “Neither do you. Couldn’t leave me without getting the last word, could you?”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I know. You like to tell me that a lot.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Inside the suite, it’s all hush and gold. You sigh, dig your thumbs under the straps of your heels, and nearly groan when they drop to the floor. God, why did you tolerate them? Your feet are crying with relief.

He clears his throat.

Lando.

He has one hand braced above his head, elbow to the doorframe, watching you with a kind of feigned indifference. You can tell it’s fake because his searching eyes are anything but lazy. There’s a flush high on his cheekbones, from champagne or the night air or maybe just arrogance. His curls are mussed in that artful, infuriating way that makes you want to bury your hands in them and tug until he curses, letting out a guttural sound in spite of himself.

Fucking hell. It’s obscene, really, how beautiful he is. How sculpted his mouth is, the flash of gold at his throat, though gold isn’t the right word when you look at his tan skin. You should not be noticing any of this. You should not be noticing how his shoulders fill out that jacket or how his chest looks under the thin black shirt or how his lips parted, just slightly, when you caught his gaze.

“Why are you still here?”

He pouts. “Missed you.”

“You barely even know me.”

He pushes off the door, saunters in. “That’s the thing. Don’t know you, but I do know you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a trophy.”

You shake your head. “‘Course not. Trophy’s a little too nice to describe you.”

“You’ve been pulling away.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No I haven’t.”

“Come on, you can do better than that.”

“You can’t just fly me to Monaco, drop me in a five-star hotel, and expect me to—”

“To what?” His voice drops. “Want me?”

Your throat clicks when you swallow.

“Don’t.” You sit on the edge of the bed. “You don’t get it, do you? You walk into a room and it bends around you, like you’re a fucking messiah. I’m just trying to keep my head on straight.”

And then he’s in front of you, crouching, one hand on your knee. Lando’s always had beautiful eyelashes. You’ve known since you first saw them that they would be the end of you. Now, they frame his eyes, those mesmerizing pools of light. They never stay one color. They might actually be clear, only reflecting what you want to see in them. He looks at you like you’re the moon, the stars, the sun.

His fingers are warm. Solid. For a moment you wonder what it would be like if you stopped fighting this, if you leaned in, if you let him win.

“I don’t want you to keep your head on straight. Not with me.”

“Maybe I should’ve been nicer to you.”

The adoration lingers in his eyes, but there’s a glint. “Oh, I like you mean.”

God help you, you want to kiss him. You want to shove him back on the bed, crawl into his lap, see if his mouth tastes like champagne or heat or both. You want to know if his hands shake when they touch skin or if he’s always this sure of himself.

All you can do is whisper, “Are you staying?”

His fingers curl a little tighter around your knee.

“Unless you tell me to go.”

You’ve never seen him so compliant to your wants. It does something to you. You’ve been demanding to him, always swearing, always telling him to go fuck himself. Still, he’s patient in a way that makes you ache, beautiful in a way that makes you furious.

You might owe him a moment. Just one, you swear to yourself. Just this once.

You pull him by the collar. He’s shocked, lips forming a perfect circle before they crash into yours with the urgency of someone who has waited far too long. Honey and saffron. Honey and saffron. You’ve associated it with him so long you’re certain someone wearing the same cologne is enough to make your knees buckle in public. His mouth is soft and prying, bringing out a soundless intake of breath from you. His mouth melds to yours.

Lando’s lips part, his tongue teasing against yours. You pull back, just enough to catch your breath, but he follows, his lips trailing down your jaw, then your neck. It’s like he can’t get enough.

You grip his shoulders, trying to steady yourself. It’s useless. Everything about him is a magnet, pulling you back in. You see him in his euphoric haze, his lowered eyelids. He makes a noise like a whine when you leave, as if he physically cannot bear being separated from you, and you think you might actually drown in want.

“Lando,” you whisper. God, your senses. Your head feels light, dizzy with the taste of him.

“Mm, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Just once, you told yourself. Just once.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re still half-wrapped in the robe you swore you’d only wear for five minutes after your shower, hair damp, skin bare and a little too aware of itself. But it’s so comfy, like being wrapped in a cloud, and you really can’t bear to take it off.

The door flies open once more, only seconds after you hear the buzz of an accepted keycard. Lando Norris is hardly a gentleman. He doesn’t even knock!

What he is, however, is a vision of casual, expensive sin—white tee hugging his shoulders, curls damp like he’s only just come from his own shower—okay, those are places your thoughts absolutely should not be going. He smiles. He knows exactly how pretty he looks standing in your suite.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you too.”

You glance at the clock. “It’s noon.”

Lando gives a loose, one-shouldered shrug. “You looked like you might sleep all day. Figured I’d save you from the crushing boredom.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wait. Why did you even book the hotel for longer? The event is over.”

For a second, you swear he’s surprised you noticed. “I wanted to show you around. Monaco’s wasted on you if all you’re seeing is room service menus and the inside of a suite.”

You fold your arms tighter, suspicion prickling up your spine. “Are you serious? You could have just texted.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to see your face when I said it.”

Your pulse jumps. Stupid, traitorous heart. You still need to talk to him about that whole kiss last night. Is now a good time?

He pushes off the doorframe. “You coming or not?”

Once more, the everlasting train of no, I really shouldn’t, what the fuck? You should remind him you’re not some prize to be paraded around, not some girl in his endless rotation of models and influencers. You’ve done that many times now. But it doesn’t matter. The real problem is, he knows you’re not, and it’s why you’re still standing here.

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing your bag. There’s probably some sunscreen (expired, years old, from the last time you saw the light of the sun) and a water bottle in there. “But if you start acting like you own the place, I’m leaving you on the yacht or whatever ridiculous thing you have planned.”

“I’ll do my best. Deal.”

As you brush past him to the closet, you feel his fingers ghost lightly over your back. It’s nothing overt, just enough to set your skin humming, a sensation that’s only amplified when he pulls away.

“By the way, you look good in that robe.”

You nearly trip on the marble floor. Fuck. And he’s gone, before you can have him answer any of your other questions.

The café he drives you to is perched on the edge of the cliffs, all whitewashed stone and trailing flowers. Below, the sea stretches blue and endless. It’s so stupidly picturesque you almost laugh when you get out of the car.

He notices. “Yeah, yeah,” Lando says with a crooked grin. “I’m disgustingly good at this.”

“You? No, you probably have an assistant on speed dial for this kind of thing.”

He presses a hand dramatically over his heart. “Sweetheart, you wound me. You think I need help to be this charming?”

Inside, you settle at a little table by the window. He orders for you without asking (of course he does) and the worst part is, he gets it right. When the waiter leaves, his eyes flicker to yours.

“So. About that kiss.”

You busy yourself unwrapping the sugar packet. Hey, you were going to ask about it. He keeps beating you to the punch. Fucker. God, you want to punch him. “It wasn’t a thing.”

“Oh, wasn’t it? Didn’t feel like nothing to me. Actually, didn’t sound like nothing to me either.”

You flush, scowl at your coffee. There’s a foam design on it, swirling hearts, little stars, and you have an itching suspicion that’s not the way they make all the coffees. “I was, well, I don’t fucking know, man. I was tired, it was late, you were being—”

“Devastatingly handsome? I recall being on my knees for you, too, if that helps.”

“A pain in the ass.”

Lando’s grin widens. He sets his foot against yours under the table, light and shameless. “You know, you can just admit you like me. We’re past pretending, sweetheart. You’ve already travelled the globe just to be with me.”

You kick at his ankle half-heartedly, to which he recoils, then returns. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, you have no idea what’s in my dreams.” His voice drops. You have to look away because, honestly, you don’t trust yourself enough to keep making rational decisions.

“You’re such a fucking menace.”

Lando’s foot nudges yours again under the table, a teasing little tap that makes you jolt. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.”

“You’re lucky this is good coffee, or I’d have thrown it in your face by now.”

He grins, all teeth and trouble. “You like me like this.”

“Fuck off.” You kick his ankle harder, but it’s not much of a deterrent. His leg just shifts, stretching out under the table, and now the toe of his shoe is tracing up your calf. “Christ, Lando.” You squirm in your seat, swatting at his knee under the table. That’ll stop him. No, it doesn’t. It only enhances that shit-eating grin.

“What?” he says innocently. “Just stretching my legs.”

“Stretch them in your own damn space,” you hiss. There’s no bite in it, not really, not when your skin feels hot where his foot brushes yours, not when he’s watching you like that.

“Tell me you didn’t think about it last night.”

You scowl. “Bullshit.”

“Mm.” His foot hooks lightly around your ankle. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You groan and drop your head into your hands. “For fuck’s sake, you are relentless.”

“You’re cute when you swear at me.”

You flip him off without lifting your head.

“Adorable,” he says, chuckling.

After you have another cup of coffee (it really is that good, you wish you could bring it back to Bristol), he finally gets you to leave. “So, tell me. You’re wearing all this, and we’re on a beach in Monaco. Aren’t you hot in that?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, though you can already feel the heat creeping up your neck.

“I mean, that dress. You’re practically suffocating in it. You should’ve gone for something lighter. You know, something a little more practical for the heat.”

His gaze traces over every inch of you. “It’s a fucking dress, not a snowsuit, Norris,” you say, feeling that faint heat rise between your legs from his words alone.

Lando steps closer to you, matching your pace, his shoulder brushing against yours. You want to push him away, to keep some distance. “I don’t know, sweetheart. You’ve got all these layers on. Don’t you want to take them off?”

The way he says it, so casually, so confident…you freeze.

Lando sees you hesitate. “What, you can’t handle the heat? I could help you cool down, you know.”

“No, we are not shagging in a public space.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, and his hand brushes yours. “Who said anything about shagging? You’re not fooling me. I can see it in the way you’re walking.”

“Don’t,” you warn him.

“What? Don’t what? Don’t call you out for being so hot and bothered? You’re practically begging me to notice.”

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes your lips, not when his words are like a drug running straight through you. You step away from him slightly. Like all the other attempts you’ve made to clear yourself of his presence, it’s futile. He’s there, his voice in your mind, the ghost of his touch on your skin. He’s still right there. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You trail behind Lando as he unlocks the door to his apartment. You already bumped into two other drivers, one you don’t know, the other who looked like he belonged in a museum. Some French name, you forget. His girlfriend was also exceedingly pretty.

You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe sleek bachelor minimalism or cold, show-off money. But it’s surprisingly cozy. There are a few race helmets. The scent hits you next, nice laundry detergent layered with leather, engine oil, and beneath it all, unmistakably him. Sweet like honey.

Lando drops his keys into a bowl, sauntering off toward the kitchen. “Want something to drink?” he calls over his shoulder.

Your eyes wander. There’s the massive racing simulator near the window. It’s absurdly expensive, obviously. Framed photos of him on podiums, some with friends you half recognize (Max, you think his name is, Lando’s best mate.) Some are just his grinning face in a champagne shower. Photos, photos, trophies…a small handbag, perched on the back of the couch.

Next to it, delicate sunglasses, definitely not his. They’re too small to cover his face. And a hair clip, one of those pearly ones, girly and pink, resting on the coffee table like it belongs here.

You frown, fingers brushing the edge of the bag without thinking. “Uh…Lando?”

“Yeah?”

You pick up the clip, turning it over in your fingers. “Whose stuff is this?”

For the first time, there’s a pause. He stills in his movements. Then, “Oh, uh, Magui’s.”

You blink. You repeat, “Magwee?”

He pokes his head out of the kitchen, a bottle of water in one hand. “She’s a friend.” Lando’s tone is light, breezy. “Mostly PR.”

“Mostly?” you repeat.

“Why? You jealous, sweetheart?”

You scoff, dropping the clip back onto the table. “No.”

“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.”

The handbag. The sunglasses. That hair clip. Now it’s flipped onto the other side, you see gems spelling out ‘Magui.’ Magui. Who the hell is Magui? More accurately, what the hell is Magui? Who even names their kid Magui? Is it short for something? Marguerite? Magnolia? Some cool European thing?

You watch Lando move casually back into the kitchen, one hand braced on the counter as he opens the water. You cross your arms, aiming for indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like we’re a thing anyway.”

His brow twitches. You almost miss it, because then he’s sauntering toward you. “Not a thing, huh?” he murmurs.

“Exactly.”

“Hmm. Funny.”

“What’s funny?” You glare at him.

“That you care so much for someone who’s not a thing.”

You answer, too quickly to seem casual, “I don’t care.”

“Sure, sweetheart. That’s why you’re glaring at a hair clip like it killed your cat.”

You open your mouth, splutter, “I don’t even have a cat—”

Lando plucks the clip from the table and twirls it between his fingers. “She’s just a friend,” he says, “we have fun at events. She knows the game.”

The game. Right. You know exactly what game. And yet, the thought of him with someone else—all golden skin and quiet smiles and easy laughs, God, you can imagine her already—punches straight through your stomach.

“Good for you.”

“You know, she always said I should bring someone to the next Grand Prix.”

“So?”

“So…” He flashes a slow grin. “Guess I already have someone, don’t I?”

“Lando, I have a job. A real one. With hours and a boss and everything.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need a job. You have me.”

Your heart trips, stumbles, tries to right itself. “No, not really.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He stretches, shirt riding up to reveal a cut slice of abs, just to be a menace. “When’s the last time you took a real break? You deserve one.”

“When is it even?”

“Miami. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Hell no. I already followed you to Monaco. I got to go back, I have assignments due. Absolutely not.”

“Please,” he drawls, sinking onto the couch and one knee brushing yours. “You’d look so good on my arm. You can do your work when we get back to the hotel, baby. It’s not all day.”

You try not to feel your insides go liquid. “I hate eagles.”

“What?”

“Miami. Eagles. I don’t know.”

His eyes crinkle as he laughs. “You would’ve loved Logan.”

You pull a cushion onto your lap, hugging it to your chest. “Is there another one? Somewhere…less Miami?”

“There’s always another one. But you might have to stay longer.”

“Whatever. Okay. This one.”

His whole face lights up. “Yay,” he says, and it’s so cute your heartbeat picks up. He brushes his fingers over your wrist like he can’t help himself. You hope he doesn’t realize.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Baby.”

You ignore him.

“Baby.”

You click aggressively on your document. It’s crazy that planes have WiFi. Thank god Lando’s rich, you can’t imagine how much it must cost to get this good of a connection.

“Sweetheart.”

You sigh, yanking one headphone out. “What, Lando?”

He’s sprawled across the leather seat across from you. He has one socked foot propped on the table and his hoodie looks very comfy. You’ve been working for two hours. Come nap with me.”

“Some of us have to pass our classes.”

“Some of us are world champions.”

You roll your eyes. “Go flex that on someone else.”

He does, apparently. Miami hits you like a slap in the face, like it’s annoyed you’re taking up so much of its mistress’s time, the mistress being Lando. You can tell he loves this place. You do not. You’re not going to miss the heat, the flashing cameras, the chaos outside the airport. Lando’s security team pushes through the crowd as reporters yell his name.

“Who’s this? Lando, is this your girlfriend?”

“Miss, what’s your name? Are you coming to the paddock, too?”

You’re stunned into silence. Lando’s arm finds itself around your waist, pulling you into his side. “Alright, that’s enough, guys,” he says coolly. He wears a practiced smile as he steers you through the crowd. He’s probably done this thousands of times. You barely remember how you get to the car.

“Breathe,” Lando coos, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

You shoot him a flat look. “You owe me so much coffee for this.”

So, you’ve never watched Formula One—aside from that one time Mara sent you a video of someone passing Lando—but this looks a lot more stressful than that clip. Speaking of Mara, you pick up your phone and dash a quick message:

you bloody hell i hate this place

She doesn’t see it. She’s still sleeping, which is much nicer than your current situation. Cameras flash in your face. Women with glossy hair and model-long legs float past in designer dresses and tiny heels that shouldn’t work on gravel but somehow do. You grip the pass hanging from your lanyard so tight your fingers ache.

Lando’s hand is still on your lower back, an anchor you can’t leave. To be honest, you don’t want to. He’s the least irritating thing at the moment.

“Smile, sweetheart. You’re with the coolest guy here.”

“That is so debatable. We walked past Florence Pugh five minutes ago.”

“I said guy.” He grins, one-handedly signing a cap handed to him, posing for a photo, laughing with a sponsor. Lando looks perfectly at ease here. The attention craves him.

You just want to disappear.

“Hey!” a voice cuts through the noise. You turn and nearly crash into Alex Albon, beaming, casual in his shirt. “Hey, hey. Haven’t seen you in a bit.” There’s a gorgeous woman next to him, who he gestures at and says, “This is Lily.”

“Hi Lily, hi Alex.”

You hear someone say “Babe!” and it’s sure as hell not Lily, because her mouth hasn’t even opened yet. Your head snaps up. A girl with sun-streaked hair and model cheekbones walks up and kisses Lando’s cheek.

“I’m Magui,” she purrs, eyes flicking over you dismissively. She’s already decided you aren’t a threat.

“Oh. Hi,” you say, because what else is there? You hear yourself, how flat and awkward you sound, and you want to punch a wall.

Lando glances at you, a little smirk tugging at his mouth. “You know Magui. Magui, careful, this one tends to cuss.”

This one. Not your name. Not even a soft tease. Just…this one. Magui laughs like she’s heard this joke before and tucks herself closer to him. You’re going to lose your mind.

When the clock ticks closer to the start of the race, you’re left largely to your own devices. There’s no Lando to latch onto now.You try not to look for Magui—you try—but your eyes keep flicking toward where she disappeared into the swarm of PR people. The lights go out.

It’s chaos into Turn 1. Lando’s there, starting in fourth (or something, maybe you heard wrong) carving his way through like a man possessed. P3 by lap 10, P2 by lap 25, and you can hear his engineer crackling through the headset:

“Let’s bring this home.”

Lap 40. P1.

P1.

You know, it would be a lot more interesting if you understood this a little more. P1 is at the front, you know. Everyone’s glued to the screens, to the track. You’re just worried he’s going to crash. Fuck, these cars are loud. And fast, but you already knew that. By the last ten laps, the whole McLaren garage is on its feet, the mechanics shouting, banging on the pit wall.

When the checkered flag waves, it’s like the world explodes. The crowd is screaming. The McLaren crew goes ballistic and you’re just frozen, stunned, chest so tight it hurts.

P1. Miami winner.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The champagne is still stuck to him after the podium spray. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his throat’s raw from shouting over the team radio (“fuck yeah, well done, team!” Or, more accurately ‘f***yeah, well done team!) because the FIA censors everything. You know, he almost slipped in a few more expletives, thanks to your bad influence), and there’s only one thing that could make his day better. Lando’s eyes dart through the crowd. Everyone wants a piece of him. Everyone but you.

Where the hell are you?

A hand wraps around his arm. “Lando! Oh my god, you were insane out there!” Her arms are around his neck, perfume sugary-sweet. She presses a kiss to his cheek, laughing for the cameras, pulling him in like she belongs in this moment. He stiffens.

“Magui,” he says quietly, trying to peel her off. He’s still looking for you and she’s blocking half of his line of sight. “Not now.”

She just giggles and loops her arm tighter. She’s basking in the spotlight, it’s too late to get her to snap out of it. Lando’s patience snaps like a wire.

“Magui,” he barks. It’s sharp enough that she flinches. “Did you say something to her?”

Her eyes go wide, faux-innocent. “What? Who?”

“You know who. Where the fuck is she? Did you say something to her? Did you screw this up?”

Magui’s lips part in a little gasp, that wounded look she pulls out when it’s convenient. Hell, the cameras are going to love this. “Lando, I didn’t—”

He swears under his breath, before yanking her limbs off him. He twists on his heel to scan the crowd again. The garage. Check. The gates. Check. The pit lane. Check. All the people chanting his name, all the cameras flashing. Normally, he loves it. Right now, none of it matters. None of it means a damn thing if you’re not here.

I just won Miami. Why the fuck aren’t you here?

He kicks at the ground.

“Maybe she left,” Magui suggests from behind him. Her voice irritates him, a little stab between his ribs.

His fingers twitch. Is he panicking, right now? His breath shallows, oppressed by the noise. His mind is a whirl. Did you see something? Did Magui corner you? Did you think you weren’t wanted here? That you didn’t matter? He can’t breathe, it’s like your presence is the only thing keeping the rock off his chest, and now you’re gone its plunging, weighing him down and—

You. His whole body kicks into motion before his brain can catch up.

There you are.

He hears someone yell his name, probably for an interview, maybe for a photo, and he ignores it, almost knocking over a cameraman.

He only wants you.

You looked pretty overwhelmed, shoved forward by the crowd but still somehow trying to disappear.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and then you’re in his arms. Lando buries his face in your hair, the scent of you cutting through all the smoke. His fingers tremble a little where they clutch at you. He was going insane looking for you. “I couldn’t fucking find you. Jesus, you.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face. His large hands cradle your jaw.

“I just won Miami,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “And the only thing I could think was where the hell is she—” Lando surges forward, hungry, desperate. All these people and he just wants you to anchor him.

You flinch back, hands on his chest.

“Lando,” you whisper, lips just brushing his. “no. Not here. I don’t want…”

He readjusts, placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Okay. Okay. Not here.”

“Mate!” You’re not seriously leaving, are you?” He hears Max holler. You back off instinctively.

“I don’t know,” he says, glancing back at his best friend, then at you. “My girl—”

Max whistles low, “Didn’t know we were calling her that yet.”

Lando flips him off half-heartedly, before pulling him into a quick hug. “Shut up.”

He side steps toward you, but you beat him to it, pushing off the wall, sliding in beside him, and you’re trying so hard to be relaxed but he can read it all over your face: the tight shoulders, the too-wide eyes, the quiet little “ugh” under your breath when another cluster of reporters swarms over. “Hey, hey.” Lando ducks his head to you. “You good?”

You sigh. “Fucking hell, man. Sure. Let’s go. I’m a bartender, I’ll make drinks for your cocky ass or something.” You wave a hand. Your eyes flick to the cameras and your mouth pulls tight again.

“That’s why I keep you around, sweetheart.” Before Lando can say more, the media hits.

“Lando! One quick word!”

“Lando, what changed after quali?”

“Who’s the mystery girl, Lando?”

“Will you be celebrating together tonight?”

“Is this your girlfriend? Are you confirming?”

You freeze. You’re plastered to his side. Lando leans into the mic with a smirk, his arm around you. “You’ll have to wait for the documentary, mate.” He’s still grinning when he steers you out of the crush. Obviously, a win brings a hell lot of adrenaline; but this, this right here, with your fingers knotting nervously into the hem of his sleeve?

This is what’s making him dizzy.

Lando’s enamored with how you lean on him, how your trust in him is something sacred. It’s something earned, something he has carved slowly with every word and every action. From pity to hatred to tolerance to…well, you kissed him, didn’t you? There’s a sweetness in the way you depend on him now, even if you can’t do it without cursing him and his mother, too.

He doesn’t want you to slip away, to ever feel like you could. It’s simple, really. Lando just wants to keep you close and needing him. Because you don’t, not all the time, not like all the others. He’s earned this.

To hell if he’s going to let it go.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

There’s plenty for him to focus on at the club, with bodies packed tight. There’s bass rattling his chest and too many drinks being passed around. Lando’s friends are out there, hollering, getting wasted, but he can’t look at anything but you.

You in that dress, that little black thing that glimmers every time you move. It rides scandalously high on your thighs, straps slipping just barely off your shoulders like they’re exhausted from the fight to stay up. Your skin practically glows under the club lights. You’re flushed from dancing, laughing, drinking. God, the way you laugh with your head tipped back. Lando swears it’s rewiring his brain. He’s never seen you so carefree before. Usually, you’re all sweet behind the bar, testy when its necessary, but that’s all to make the customers happy. You’re happy right now and its out of duty to no one.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando mutters, eyes glued to you. He doesn’t even hear Max at first.

“Mate.” Max elbows him. “You coming or just gonna stand here having a religious experience?”

“Fuck off,” he says jokingly. His eyes never leave you.

He’s not even drunk, not really. He’s had one, maybe two drinks, something shoved into his hand after the podium. And there was another raised in a messy toast when Max pulled him into a corner, but Lando feels wrecked.

Every inch of his skin is hot. He can’t stop touching you, can’t stop following you with his eyes. It’s like his body has locked onto yours, marking his territory. As usual, a palm on the small of your back. His fingers like to graze your wrist when you reach for a drink, almost like a nice bracelet. The way you fit under his arm, the way you lean into his space without even thinking about it, it’s all setting him on fire.

His mind is a mess:

You smell like vanilla and summer.

You feel like absolute sin pressed up against him.

He wants to ruin you. Desperately wants to pull you into a dark corner and shove you against the wall, mouth hot and desperate on your throat, hips pressed so tight you’ll feel him in your bones. He wants to peel you out of that dress, watch it pool at your feet while you look at him. Wants to sink his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, leave marks no one else can touch, can claim. He wants to leave them there for the whole world to see.

But more than that, more terrifying, is this ache in his chest. It’s not just lust, unfortunately. Lust is easy to deal with. If he just wanted to get in your pants, it would’ve ended that second time you met, when he was sober and at the bar. He wouldn’t have bothered to keep hounding you.

It’s the way you look at him like he’s just Lando, not the man on every billboard. It’s the way you call him out on his bullshit, the way you refuse to laugh at his terrible jokes, the way you chew on your straw when you’re tipsy and overthinking. It’s the way you make him feel seventeen again, half-drunk on adrenaline and dizzy with wanting. The way he turns clumsy and nervous and utterly gone for someone who could shatter him with a word.

And when you come back from the bathroom, eyes lost until they land on him, when you light up like the fucking sun just because he’s looking at you…Lando feels his knees damn near buckle.

“There you are,” you tease, somewhat out of breath from dancing, “thought you were supposed to be the life of the party. Disappointing.”

“Yeah? You gonna dance with me, sweetheart, or just torture me from across the room all night?”

Your mouth comes dangerously close to his ear. “You look thirsty.” You press your drink into his hand. “Try not to choke.”

“You’re fucking killing me.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I really do.”

“You know what I keep thinking about?” His fingers trail up your spine, making you shiver. “How fast I could get you out of this dress. How good you’d sound falling apart for me. How bad I want you right now.”

He feels your body react to the words. “Lando,” you warn, “behave.”

“Not a chance, baby.”

Max whistles as he passes, wiggling his eyebrows. “You two gonna come to the afters, or are you skipping straight to dessert?”

“I’m a bartender, Max, I am the afters,” you laugh, shaking your head. Then, lower, so Max doesn’t hear, “c’mon. I owe you a dance.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

You step into the elevator, your heels clicking against the polished floor. Lando follows, eyes hungry, already deprived of what he’s been begging for the entire car ride. You know you’re going to regret holding him off. Well, it’s going to be enjoyable on your part.

“Did you plan this, or are you just cruel by nature?”

You turned your head away, as not to distract him from the road. Who’s flustered now?”

His fingers slid a little bit higher. “You want me dead? Well, you’ll get your wish if you keep acting like this.”

The car jolted forward. Lando’s hand tightened instinctively on your thigh. God, his hands were too close to your core. You meant to shift away. If he knew how wet you are, it’d be the end of your ego and dignity.

“Lando.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rasped, “I know, I know.” But his hand was still there, his thumb tracing idle, maddening circles against your skin.

The elevator dings, and the doors open to reveal the plush hallway. It doesn’t matter that you’re not inside the suite yet. Lando’s decided it’s close enough to get started, plump lips on yours. He tastes like the last drink you mixed for him and you feel a flush of pride at that. He’s what you make him, isn’t he?

Your arrogance doesn’t last very long, because he smirks against your mouth when he draws out a lewd moan. Fucking hell. Lando’s hands roam your body, shoving you against the walls as the two of you stumble to the door. Hopefully, you’re not causing too much of a commotion for the neighbors.

“Lando—” you choke out. He has a special reaction to his name, a brief moment of lucidity, and the door is finally open. He spins you around, pushing you against the door in order to close it.

His fingers find the hem of your dress, hiking it up to reveal your bare thighs.

“Lando!” you hiss again, “what are you doing?”

There are no more questions out of you, though, because you’re rendered to brief whimpers as his fingers brush against your entrance. He’s shoved your panties aside in the haste to get to you. Almost as an afterthought, he loops two fingers around each side and pulls them down your legs. You step out of them and allow him to resume.

He’s back at your folds, fingers sliding up and down the wetness, almost in preparation. Having collected enough lubricant, he dips inside, curling up to hit that sweet spot. It’s astounding, really, how easily he did so. As if he knows you already, inside and out. You sigh, your head falling back against the door, gaze falling away from him. In, out, in, out. You hear nothing but your own ragged breaths and the sound of his fingers pumping against your slick.

He doesn’t like that. Lando's other hand wraps around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. He angles his hand so he grasps you under the jaw. You can only keep your head up now. “Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers picking up pace.

Your hips buck against his hand, body begging for more.

"Such…a fucking asshole," you pant.

Lando chuckles, his thumb finding your clit and drawing his name, over and over, like that’s enough to bring you to exaltation.

Then he stops, the cruel thing he is. Lando pulls out his hand, leaving you empty, legs bare to the air around you. His fingers are dripping, and he makes sure you watch him as he takes a taste. “Mm. Sweet. Well, come on, sweetheart. Can’t have our first time be against a bloody door.”

God, you’re trembling. You have to hold your thighs together, desperate for friction, desperate for something to be where he once was. He’s ridiculously calm about all of this. You’re the one panting for more, he’s the one in control.

Lando watches as you stand before him, your body flushed with arousal. You know he can see your nipples, hardening under the dress’s sheer fabric. You didn’t wear a bra tonight. Bold choice. He’s noticing now, by the growing bulge in his pants.

"Clothes off," he commands. “I want to see you."

You hesitate for a moment, then your fingers fumble for the dress and yank down the flimsy material in one go. Lando's gaze never leaves you. He sits on the edge of the bed expectantly.

"Come here.”

You obey. You look at him, swollen lips, dark eyes, and wonder if he’s about to kiss you again.

“On your knees.”

Oh.

The words sink in. Want tightens, low in your belly. You drop, hands brushing the floor for balance, a shiver curling up your back as the cool air hits your skin.

How long has it even been since you’ve given a blowjob? You can barely remember, and that sharp flicker of panic slices through your arousal. What if it’s not good enough? What if this isn’t enough to hold him here?

No. You can’t have that. Now that you’ve finally let yourself give in, you’re going to make the most of it. Make him happy. Make him stay. God knows what you’d do without him, now you’ve gotten used to him. It’d be like trying to give up an addiction once you’re already useless without it.

You lift your eyes, fingers brushing lightly over his waistband. The way he looks at you—half-wild, like you’ve undone something inside him—makes the nerves fade a little. You work his belt loose, the sound of leather sliding through metal too much to bear. It only makes you think about what that belt would sound like against your skin. Stop daydreaming. He’s right there.

Above you, Lando’s breath hitches. When you glance up through your lashes, his hand is flexing at his side as a way of holding himself.

“Fuck…” he grunts, “baby, get on with it. Please.” His eyes are pinned to you, disbelieving. Like your mouth on his cock is something he’s wanted too long, and can’t quite believe he’s finally getting. You ease him free, feeling the weight of him in your hand. Bigger than what you’ve had before, definitely. You’d say six and a half, seven? Seven and a half? It’s hard to compare when your mind is so foggy.

“Look at you.” His thumb brushes your cheek, lingering at the corner of your mouth and prying open. “So fucking pretty like this.”

The praise hits you hard. Wetness pools again. Fuck. Such a tease. You let him guide your pretty mouth to his hardened erection, and lick at it, just a bit. You his breath punch out a muttered curse, his hips jerking just slightly.

“Jesus—”

You move slowly at first, widening your mouth and taking in him, bit by bit. You find your rhythm, your tongue tracing delicate patterns, learning every twitch of his body. Every choked-off sound that spills from his throat is a sign that you’re doing good, a beautiful sound you’re going to be replaying the next time you’re alone in your room. His fingers thread into your hair, tight enough to sting. For a second you wonder if he’s going to pull you back, but he just holds you there.

You try something new. You lick a slow line along the underside, feeling him twitch in your hand. His thighs tense on either side of you, the muscles jumping as he swears again.

“Fuck, baby,” Lando groans, his hair teased with sweat that trickles down his neck. He’s golden, even now, a god in your palm. All yours to toy with. You have no doubt that if you asked for anything right now, he’d give it. His chest heaves, a flushed pink creeping down his body. He’s not even undressed yet and you can only dream about what’s under that shirt.

When you take him deeper, hitting the back of your throat, his whole body jolts. You hear a choked sound breaking out of him. The sound reverberates through his whole body, and in turn, through yours.

“Look at you,” he pants. You’re drooling a little from his sheer girth and he wipes it away. “So good for me, fuck! So good, baby.” You bob your head up and down, ignoring the urge to gag, trying to take his whole length. That does it.

“Shit—shit—baby—” His fingers yank hard on your head, wanting even more of you, wanting to fill you all the way, so nothing can ever come between you two. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m—wait—”

He comes in your mouth, hot and salty. You have to move your head back so you don’t choke on all of him. You’re sure some of it makes it out of your mouth, drips onto your chin. He doesn’t mind. Lando drags you up roughly.

You’re dizzy, drunk on him. On the taste of him in your mouth, on the way his hands grip your hips like he’ll die if you move even an inch away, on the broken sounds that slip out of him like he’s never been this unmade.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice shaking, mouth grazing your jaw, your cheek, your temple like he’s blessing you with every kiss. “No one’s ever—”

And you realize it’s not even about sex, not anymore. This arrangement? Fuck, all the little details are lost in every moment you spend with him. He murmurs mine, mine, mine between half-kisses like a prayer.

“God.” Lando says, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. Really, it’s mixed with his, the culmination of whatever the hell this is. “You’ve fucking ruined me.”

You’re ruined right alongside him, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs weak, lips parted. This hasn’t even started yet. No desperate, gasping stretch of bodies fitting together. You’ve only gotten the slightest taste of him, he only the slightest of you. There’s so much you don’t know yet, so much to discover.

“Come here. You’re mine, yeah? Say you’re mine.”

Your hands clutch at his shirt. “Yours.”

The sound he makes at that nearly undoes you both.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Now it’s hours later. You’ve lost track of time. His shirt’s somewhere near the minibar, your dress is long discarded. The sheets are twisted, dirty, pulled halfway off the bed. Lando’s asleep. His arm is locked tight around your waist. Unconsciously, his head is still in the crook of your neck. You can feel him, his breath hot against your skin, and judging by how ragged he sounds, someone’s having fun in his dreams.

His fingers keep sliding over your skin, as if the act calms him.

“Baby, baby,” you whisper. You can’t do this either. Might as well get him up, let him have the real thing. “Baby.” You turn around and the loss of contact is enough to wake him. His eyes flutter open, dazed, beautifully clear.

He croaks your name, the one thing he’s certain of. His lips graze yours, then your shoulder.

You’re drunk on him. The warmth of his skin, the way his hands know exactly where to go, the softness under all that cocky charm. You haven’t left the room in days. Neither has he. You reach back, threading your fingers through his messy curls, and Lando groans, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck.

There’s a knock at the door. You both freeze, blinking at each other. You’ve forgotten anyone else exists.

“I’ll—I’ll get it,” he says, voice hoarse. Lando scrambles into sweatpants, hair sticking up wildly. You admire the view, the way his chest peeks out under the hastily buttoned shirt. He opens the door just enough to grab the tray, mumbling something to the waiter you can’t hear, and then he’s kicking the door shut again. He’s grinning like an idiot.

“Saved the day,” he says, collapsing onto the bed beside you. “Hero.”

The food goes mostly ignored. Fries are stolen between kisses; champagne is knocked over onto the carpet, bubbling and forgotten. He feeds you a piece of a burger with his fingers, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, asking for permission. You allow him, swallow the food, and yet his thumb lingers. His eyes are wide and pleading.

God, you’d do anything for him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, and the look on his face nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. Hours after his last orgasm, his pupils are once again blown wide, lips parted slightly. Slowly, you part your lips and let his thumb slip inside, just a little, your tongue barely grazing the pad.

The sound Lando makes is low in his throat, instant. His free hand fists the sheets, knuckles going white.

“Fuck,” he rasps, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again. “Sweetheart…”

You pull his thumb deeper, hollow your cheeks a little, tongue brushing lazy circles over the tip. Your teeth grazing just enough to make him flinch and tighten his grip on the bed. You know exactly what it’s doing to him.

“So pretty for me, all for me.” he says. When you finally release his thumb with a soft, wet pop, his control snaps. His hands are on you in an instant, dragging you into his lap, kissing you open-mouthed, messy.

You can feel him, hard and aching beneath you. Lando’s not the only eager one here. You roll your hips, trying to find the right feeling. You rise up just enough to tug his sweats down, both of you breathless with laughter and gasps, trembling with how bad you need this, need each other. He’s perfect, red and angry, glistening with pre-cum.

Of course, this is no longer the first time. Your bodies know each other, have found the map to ecstasy. You sink onto him in one smooth plunge, swallowing him whole. Lando curses low and sharp, head falling back against the pillows.

You move slowly at first, a teasing roll of your hips. You spell his name, starting with the ‘L,’ a long roll downwards, then jerking to the side. It has him nearly sobbing beneath you, but you can’t stay slow for long. He bucks up into you, chasing every drag and slide. You hear his skin on yours, a slapping noise that reverberates around the room, his voice underneath you, pleading, praising, cursing. You bounce in his lap, legs on both sides of him.

And when it’s over, when you’re both boneless and shaking in the sheets, Lando’s hand slides lazily up your spine, caging you close. He starts, “oh, sweetheart, you’re—” but the words fall away.

You’re both still catching your breath when his phone, forgotten on the nightstand, starts to buzz insistently.

Lando groans, trying to ignore it, but it keeps buzzing.

Finally, he gives up and blindly grabs for it.

“Hello?” He winces. “Oh. Hi, yeah. Yeah, I know.”

You watch him, propped on one elbow, smiling as you stroke a hand down his chest. You draw little hearts on his abdomen, watching him breathe sharply with every ticklish sensation. He shoots you a helpless look as your hand wanders lower.

He says again into the phone, “I know I can’t stay in Miami forever…yeah, okay, okay, I promise.” Lando throws the phone to the side. “I can’t, technically, but I can bring you around, yeah?”

“Don’t talk about work,” you feign a yawn. “It’s boring me.”

“Oh yeah? Does this bore you?” he drawls, before shifting further away from you, towards the end of the bed. You raise your eyebrows, unsure of where this is going, before he pulls one of your legs across him, sitting you firmly on his face. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

His tongue laps at you and you squeal.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re hunched over your laptop on the hotel balcony, knees tucked to your chest. The blue glow of the screen painting your face. Hot air sticks to your skin, plastering your hair across your forehead. Your inbox is overflowing, your Google doc blinking a half-finished sentence back at you, and every five minutes your school portal pings another notification. One of your professors has flagged your last assignment as ‘significantly late.’ You close the tab fast. That might make it less real.

Inside, the room is still dark. Although it’s nearly noon, blackout curtains are drawn shut. Lando’s sprawled across the bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He looks peaceful, like he doesn’t have a single deadline to his name. He probably doesn’t.

“Come back to bed,” he calls, not looking up.

You shake your head. “I need to finish this. I’m behind.”

Then: “Behind on what? You’re on vacation, sweetheart. You’re with me.”

“I still have work,” you say, and a little bit of temper makes its way through to your voice. “Just because you hauled me off to another country doesn’t mean my life disappeared.”

You hear the sheets rustle. Then he’s there, barefoot and warm behind you, crouching down so his chin rests on your shoulder. He kisses just below your jaw, softly, and the resulting absence only deepens your craving.

Lando murmurs, “you’re always working. Even when you’re with me.”

You stiffen. “That’s because I have a degree I need to get. I can’t afford to screw this up, Lando.”

His arms slip down, under your arms, around your waist, and he nudges the laptop closed with one finger.

“Hey,” he says, “no one’s asking you to screw anything up. But you’ve been so stressed. You haven’t smiled properly in days.” His lips brush your collarbone. “Don’t you want to just breathe for a second?”

You hesitate. You want to say no, because breathing for a second is not going to help you get anything done. You want to say this is important. But Lando has a voice of silk, wrapping around your ribs, and the laptop is already closed. He shifts so he’s in front of you, and now his hands are warm on your thighs, slowly maneuvering upwards, upwards.

“I can help you. Just take a break. Come lay down with me. We’ll get someone to handle whatever you’re behind on. I’ll make some calls. Easy.”

“You can’t just make calls to fix my classes.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lando says. It’s a joke, but not really. “Baby, you don’t need to kill yourself over a few grades. You have me now.”

“I like working,” you say. It sounds weak.

He kisses you again, on your cheek. Both your hands are in his. “You like overthinking.”

“Come on. Ten minutes. No school. No stress. Just me.”

Ten minutes of heaven. Ten minutes turn into twenty, thirty, and you’re in Lando’s bed for at least an hour before you check the clock, maybe longer. He’s in the shower. Your phone buzzes on the pillow beside you.

mara(malade) babe you can’t be dying on me

mara(malade) hellloooo?

mara(malade) ANSWER MY FT

You answer, flipping the camera up too fast, revealing the luxurious headboard and the messy room behind you. There’s evidence of room service on the nightstand, a folded tablecloth under unused cutlery. Mara clocks it immediately.

“No. Are you in his hotel room again?”

You push your hair out of your face. “Yeah, just for a bit.”

“Don’t shit me.”

“I’m writing,” you lie, moving the laptop slightly to show the open doc, never mind that it’s been untouched for hours. “I’m almost done.”

“Dan told me you missed discussion again. Twice.” Dan is Mara’s boyfriend, a few years younger, and he’s in your class. What a snitch. You didn’t think he’d be watching your every action.

“I’ve been traveling. It’s not a big deal. I’ll catch up—”

Mara frowns. A little crease forms between her brows. “Babe, you said that last week. I’m just worried.”

You shift, tugging the blanket up higher even though it’s not cold. “I’m fine. I’m going home after this one. Just this race.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m not going to drop everything for some guy, okay?”

You hate how Mara looks at you. She doesn’t believe you. Her eyes are tired, emphasized by the smudged eyeliner she likes to wear, like she’s already mourning something you haven’t lost yet.

Behind you, the bathroom door clicks open. Lando walks out, a towel slung low on his hips. Steam curls out around him. He sees you on the phone and mouths who is it?

You wave him off and turn back to Mara. “I’ve got to go. We’re leaving for the track soon.”

Mara’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, she looks more resigned. “Okay. Text me tonight, okay?”

“I will.”

You hang up before she can say anything else. Lando’s standing at the end of the bed now, rubbing his hair dry with another towel, bare chest still damp.

“Everything good?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Just Mara being dramatic.”

“Come here,” he says. “Come here.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Mara’s voice had been calm on the phone, but her words weren’t. “Just come back for a little. A week. You’re slipping, and I don’t mean your mental state—God, I don’t even want to touch on that. Babe, please. You’re scared to check your grades, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer that part. You just sighed and said, “Okay. Yeah. Maybe a few days.”

When you told Lando, he didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you for a while, not moving, and you were a little scared why you couldn’t read him. Then he nodded, real slowly. “Right. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s just a week.”

“Sure.”

You tried to kiss him before you left and he let you. His hands stayed in his pockets, though, and he turned away before you got into the car.

You feel it as soon as you land. A few hours pass with no text from him. No morning check-in, no “you up?” not even a dumb joke. You text him first. He replies and it’s short.

lan have fun with your school thing

You stare at your phone, heat prickling the back of your neck. Is he mad? He said it was okay. You try again later, sending a photo of the library, something neutral. This time, he doesn’t reply.

You lie awake that night wondering if you should’ve just stayed. If this means he’s over it. Over you.

You check your phone again. Still nothing. And you’re cold in your own bed, wondering when your own life started to feel less like yours and more like something you borrowed from him.

From your manager:

“Hope your break was fun. Let me know how many extra days you’ll be taking. If you’ll be back.”

You sit frozen in your desk chair, rereading the line over and over. You hadn’t even realized how many days you were gone. You think of Miami and Emilia Romagna as a blur of cameras, hotel sheets, and Lando’s breath against your skin. You think of how quiet it is now. How he hasn’t even texted today.

From your professor:

“Please come by office hours ASAP. I’m concerned about your last two assignments.”

You close the laptop. Everything feels loud. Your room looks like someone else’s now, dust on untouched things, half-opened drawers. You haven’t unpacked. You haven’t even told your friends much—ha! Aren’t you a regular comedian, what friends are you talking about? Mara? And maybe that one other co-worker who kept getting the same shifts as you, Lils? Mara, Mara, who has been so good to you. Mara keeps sending messages, checking in. You brush her off, saying it’s okay. You’re not sure if you believe that.

Lando hasn’t called. It’s worse without him here, without the promise that he can make it go away with a little wave of his finger. No. Fuck him. If he can’t even call, he can go with Magui and make her problems go away. You can do this. You haven’t needed him up until now—why does it have to change?

You show up to Professor Wilk’s office five minutes early. You tap your fingers against your folder, trying to remember what it feels like to be someone who’s on top of her work. Her door creaks open before you knock. “Come in,” she says. Her voice reveals nothing, but you know she’s already seen your grades. You sit down stiffly across from her desk.

“I’ll get right to it. You’ve been slipping.”

You open your mouth. No excuse comes. Nothing that doesn’t sound ridiculous, at least. Sorry, I was off on vacation with my sugar daddy. Sorry, he said he would solve it and I believed him. At least until I realized the problem was big enough and maybe I should take care of it myself instead of crawling back into his bed. Sorry.

“I know the beginning of the term was strong,” she continues, looking at your file. “You wrote one of the best first essays I’ve read this year. And now you’re missing half your citations. You left a whole section blank.”

You swallow. All she’s saying is true. “I’ve been dealing with some things.”

Professor Wilk nods. “We all do. I’m not here to punish you. But I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

You hesitate. You think of telling her that you flew across the world with a man who called you sweetheart before he called you anything else, who you knew first as a wreck that couldn’t get himself out of a pub. That you forgot what day it was because he kissed you like it was the end of the world, like there was nothing else he had to do. That your job is probably gone and your friends are worried and you haven’t had a proper thought to yourself in weeks. That it’s all been Lando this and Lando that and Lando please come back.

You tell her, “I’ve been distracted.”

“I can see that. I’m going to offer you a rewrite. A clean slate for your last essay. But I want to see you in my office every week until finals. Deal?”

You nod. “Deal.” Already, you’re wondering how you’re going to manage this. Lando’s not going to fly you back every week, is he? There must be limits to even his abilities.

She watches you for a moment longer. Gently, she says, “Don’t lose yourself for someone else. You’re too smart for that.”

You wonder if she knows. Not exactly who, maybe, unless she’s seen the tabloids. After all, Lando Norris isn’t exactly nobody in Bristol. But the way you look right now, tired, expensive sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to you, the faint shadow of a bruise under your collar…maybe she doesn’t have to know everything to know enough.

You leave the office quietly.

lan everything okay

You pause and stare at the singular message. There are no question marks, even though he’s asking things. And this is the first time he’s texted. Maybe three days since he responded. What does he want now?

you she offered me a rewrite

lan great

you but i have to meet w her every week

The read receipt pops up almost immediately. No reply, though, and you know what this means. He only confirms it.

lan so you’re staying longer?

you only a few more days i want to get things under control

lan ok then, sweetheartdon’t let them stress you out yk you don’t have to prove anything to them

you i know

lan come back when you’re ready

lan or just come back now

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: part 1! i have beef with tumblr, why did it make me split my beautiful story into two parts.

#formula one #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #mv1 #ln4 #lando norris #max verstappen #fanfic #oikarma ᯓᡣ𐭩

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phantom-dc · 4 months ago

Text

Vivisection Deception

“Yes, dad. I will vacuum the living room. Yes, I will also do my homework. No, I won’t forget the Ecto-filter. Love you too, say hi to mom and Jazz for me, bye!”

Danny hung up the phone. Sitting back into the booth at the Nasty burger, he got back to his burger. Tucker took a big bite, before talking with his mouth still full:

“So, your parents and sister are all out of town for the whole weekend? They had no problem leaving you alone unsupervised?”

Sam looked at Tucker with disgust, warning him to empty his mouth first. Danny nodded, agreeing with Sam:

“Yeah! Jazz wanted to explore different universities for when she graduates, even though that’s still a few years away. Still, mom and dad agreed to drive her if they could combine it with a visit to a convention for the Occult. Pretty sure they’ll be the only “scientists” there again, but that’s not my problem. Mom decided that she I could stay home alone. A sign of trust, Jazz called it. Something about "improving through positive reinforcement", I guess.”

Sam finishes her salad, and looks jealous. Danny invites both her and Tucker over for a weekend of gaming and fast food, but both decline, to his surprise. Sam groans, frustrated:

“I would love a weekend with no parents! Mine are forcing me to this, rich people yacht party. Mom keeps saying I might find a nice boy there, so I know it will be a weekend full of mom trying to play matchmaker with snotty rich boys. YUCH!”

Tucker apologizes as well. His parents are taking him to visit his grandma this weekend. He hasn’t seen her in a while, so he can’t cancel it, either. Danny looks a bit sullen about that, but smiles through it:

“Guess I’ll have the weekend to myself then! Maybe I can actually get this book report for Mr. Lancer done… Or I can even play a bit of Doomed!”

Friday evening, Phantom is flying back home. He has just seen Sam & Tucker off at the airport, and was looking forward to a weekend of peace and quiet:

“Man, sometimes I just forget how rich Sam is! I didn’t know her family has a private jet-“

Suddenly his Ghost Sense goes off. Getting into a battle stance, Phantom looks around. He is just in time to dodge a pair of claws heading straight for him! Turning around and shooting an ectoblast, Phantom tries to figure out who the ghost is. When the ghost taunts him at becoming slower every day, Phantom recognizes his voice:

“Bertrand! I am SO not in the mood for you!”

Bertrand laughs, and says that he was hoping for that. He attacks Phantom again before flying off, taunting Phantom to chase him. After a few hours Phantom lost his trail, and heads home. De-transforming before going inside Fentonworks, Danny is annoyed he’ll have to deal with Bertrand, but at least Spectra wasn’t with him. She’s the real threat.

When Danny steps inside, he finds the house is a mess! There are cannisters with Ectoplasm throughout the house, and the temperature is set to near freezing. Confused and suspicious, Danny goes to the lab. There he finds the cause of the mess:

“Mom?? What are you doing home? Aren’t you supposed to be with Dad & Jazz on her University trip?”

Maddie turns to Danny and quickly puts a strange gasmask on him. She is wearing one as well, along with her safety goggles:

“Hello sweetie! Quick, put this mask on! The samples we managed to collect give of Ectoplasmic fumes, so you’ll have to keep wearing it in the house, ok?”

Danny follows her advice, and puts it on. He again asks her what she is doing home, when Jack enters the lab as well, also wearing a gasmask and his safety goggles. Danny thinks the fumes must be pretty dangerous if his dad is wearing the goggles. He usually forgets to put them on. Jack gives Danny a big hug that would cause many regular humans severe backpain:

“Son, you’re home! We were worried sick when your mother and I got home early and you weren't here. Jazz thought we were “hurting her chances” to get into the school of her dreams, so she sent us home.”

Danny rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what kind of antics his parents could get up to when left unsupervised. He asks Maddie what is up with all the cannisters in the living room. Maddie apologizes, while turning the heat down even further:

“We managed to find a way to extract even purer Ectoplasm from the Ghost Zone! We took so many samples we can’t even fit them in the lab, this will be great for our research! Oh, but I am sorry, sweetie. The samples need to stay very cold, so we can’t turn up the heat. If you need, I can get you more blankets?”

Danny sighs frustrated, not looking forward to a weekend of cold. He declines Maddie’s offer, instead opting to go to bed. It is very late after all. Which is when Jack blocks the way upstairs:

“Don’t think you can distract us that easily! Or did you honestly think we didn’t notice?”

Danny is confused, but before he can answer Maddie interrupts him:

“That’s right, it IS late! In fact, it’s 2 hours past your curfew! Now why do you keep doing this, Danny? We’re not asking much of you, only that you come home at a reasonable time! Just because we weren’t supposed to be home yet, doesn’t mean you can stay out until who knows when! You are grounded, young man! You’re not allowed out this weekend, and hand over your phone!”

Danny tries to protest, but it’s in vain. Handing over his phone, he heads to bed, dejected. As he lies in bed, freezing, he wonders if things would be easier if he could just tell them what he was doing. Judging from that time with Freakshow and the Reality Gauntlet they would accept him, right? If they knew he was Phantom he could just tell them he was hunting Ghosts…

Saturday turns out to be the worst. Danny is woken up forcefully by his dad, who tells him he isn’t allowed to sleep in as long as he is grounded. Sleepily, Danny goes downstairs, a blanket around him and that stupid gasmask on his face. He asks Maddie how he is supposed to eat breakfast with that thing on. Maddie seems to think for a bit, and says that he is right. She will allow him to go out to get himself something to eat.

Danny quickly races upstairs, a bit confused about that break of curfew but not wanting to lose the chance to get out off the house. After getting dressed Jack tells him to get home back after immediately, or else he’ll be worse then grounded! That was a few hours ago. Cursing his bad luck, Danny races home:

“Please, please, PLEASE be too busy in the lab to notice I’m late! Of course the Ghosts also decide to ruin my weekend! First Ember doing an impromptu concert at the Nasty Burger, which means I can’t get breakfast. Then Johnny & Kitty are fighting it out at the food court in the mall, so I can’t get lunch either! If mom & dad send me home without dinner…”

De-transforming and entering Fentonworks, Danny looks around. The living room is still a mess of cannisters and the place is freezing, but he doesn’t see his parents. That means he might be able to bluff he was home for a while and they didn’t notice. If he can just get his chores done before they come upstairs…

“DANNY! COME DOWN TO THE LAB, NOW!”

Hearing that, Danny groans. This weekend is going from bad to worse! Putting on a gasmask, he heads to the lab. There he finds Jack & Maddie preparing a table with a big drill attached to it. Danny lies that he going to do his chores quickly while they are still busy, and empties the Fenton Thermos into the Ghost Zone without them noticing. When he turns around, he is not prepared for what happens.

The next moment he is trapped in a ghost-proof net, shot from a Fenton Net-bazooka. Confused, Danny asks what is happening, but receives no answer. Instead, Jack electrifies the net, causing Danny to instinctively transform into Phantom to protect himself, before passing out from the pain.

When he comes too, he is in hell. His parents saw him transform outside on new camera’s that Danny didn’t know off, and denounced him, both as a human being and as a son. They see his act of releasing the Ghosts back into the Zone as a sign that he too is evil. Danny is cuffed to an examination table and his powers are restrained. He is truly trapped as Maddie makes the first incision. Hours pass and Danny wonders how he can still be alive and conscious. He wishes he wasn’t. He didn’t know what was worse, the pain or the constant venom coming from his parents mouths, calling him all sort of horrible things. They must truly hate him. Danny, now terrified of every move his parents make, can only think of one thing:

Escape.

He must get out of here or they’ll kill him for good! He needs to get as far away from here as possible! For once, it seemed his Fenton Luck decided to show mercy. When they reached his Core, Jack had grabbed a remote. Shouting with a sick glee that he had the drill ready for this, he pushed a big red button. Maddie looked up, shouting that was the wrong remote, but it was already done.

With a loud noise, the cuffs popped open and Danny was free! Not thinking for a second, he shot into the roof, out of Fentonworks and towards the horizon. He need to get out of there! He’s never looking back!

Inside the lab, Jack & Maddie look at the spot Phantom fled through the ceiling. Suddenly Maddie begins to laugh:

“HAHAHAHA!!! It worked! That was absolutely delicious! He’ll be miserable for the rest of his life!”

Taking off the gasmask and goggles, ‘Maddie’ reveals herself to be Spectra in disguise! Next to her, ‘Jack’ morphs back into Bertrand.

“A brilliant plan, truly! Not only are we rid of that little Freak, but the misery of his little friends will be a great dessert!”

Spectra takes out Danny’s phone, seeing several missed calls from the real Jack & Maddie. Throwing it on the Ectoplasm and blood covered table, she decides to go celebrate. Heading into the Ghost Zone to get Ember and Kitty to repay the favor, neither Spectra not Bertrand notice the Portals Ectofilter beeping dangerously, since they had inadvertently prevented Danny from replacing it.

Outside, the Fenton RV rolls up. Jack, Maddie and Jazz are worried sick since Danny isn’t answering his phone. Jack is about to open the car door when the Portal explodes, taking Fentonworks with it. Months later the Fentons still blame themselves for leaving their son home alone. Police reports will later say that the only casualty is Danny Fenton.

Several states away, homeless boy Danny Nightingale attracts the attention of several heroes and villains alike…

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc

319 notes · View notes

yoonieper · 11 months ago

Text

For the Birds— Part 1 | JJK

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

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri)

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff

♡ Rated: A for Analyze

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

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

♡ Word Count: 19.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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A year and a half later…

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

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

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

Being analyzed.

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

Therapy was strange like that.

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

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

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

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

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

This was really happening.

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

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

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

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

“You’re nervous?” Dr. Min smiled.

Jungkook nodded, knowing it was impossible to hide it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things had to get better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to do something.

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

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

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

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

Dr. Min noted on his pad again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People around him wished them a “happy anniversary” and pictures of him and Yuri were sprawled around the restaurant they had rented out for the occasion. It was all a lie, every picture where they stared lovingly into each other’s eyes, every wish for so many years to come felt bittersweet. He honestly wondered how anyone could have believed them, they seemed so fake in his opinion.

Jungkook had spent the whole day feeling awful and mourning the relationship he could have had. The gathering could have been a real celebration of their three years together, if he just was a little better— not just better, if he wasn’t him, how happy her life might be right now.

It was the main reason Jungkook worked up the courage to meet a therapist. Something had to change. He hoped seeing a professional might be the answer.

Dr. Min nodded slowly as he continued to write his notes. Jungkook wondered what he could possibly be writing. He hoped it was the answers to fix him so he could finally make Yuri happy, but he feared he would only hear the same judgmental remarks he’s grown used to these days.

“You mentioned you had a plan after your graduation… what did that look like for you?” Dr. Min asked suddenly as he looked back up at him.

Jungkook was a little stunned at the question at first, but then he tried to rack his brain to remember the plan he’d made what seemed like forever ago at this point. “I had planned to take a break from school before knowing I would get married. It would have been just a year, maybe two at the most in order to establish myself at Golden Tech a little more. I was going to get my master’s sometime after that, and when I got that out the way, I could finally focus on my job and get as much experience as possible before I needed to step up as CEO. However, I got married and I haven’t gotten the chance to go back like I wanted.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m already busy with work, trying to manage a job, school, and settling into my new relationship was something I knew would be impossible. I wanted Yuri and I to be in a good place before going back but… it’s taking longer than I expected.” Jungkook tried not to think about it too much, he’s already got two degrees which, to some, might be enough. Having a master's would simply be a nice addition at this point, but it was something he always planned and wanted to have— something he still hoped to get one day.

As much as their relationship has been like a rollercoaster, he still had a glimmer of hope that they could fix things and he could go back to school.

“Plus, well, I have more than just myself to take care of now. Maybe it was for the best that I work full time, I gain more experience at work than in any classroom.” Jungkook was trying to be optimistic, but just thinking that by now he would have graduated and completed his educational journey, made the sadness come back all too easily.

But he had a wife, a family he needed to take care of.

Most people always assumed Jungkook was just this spoiled rich kid who lived off of his parents’ money, and was simply waiting for his dad to retire to finally take over the company. Jungkook never wanted that to be the case and made sure he worked just as hard, sometimes even harder, to prove he was capable.

Truth be told, he stopped living off his parents’ money the minute he graduated high school. It was a choice inspired by his brother's bold decision to just pick up and leave the country. He felt there was a lot to learn about the world, something he knew he would never experience if he had remained sheltered and continued to solely rely on his parents. That experience was especially important if he was going to run a company someday.

He lived like most of his peers who moved away from home. He lived in this cute, tiny apartment, went to work nearly every day, and struggled hard at night to catch up on his schoolwork. He was relatively normal besides the fact he drove a Mercedes to get to class— a graduation present from his father that he just couldn’t let sit somewhere. Besides that, he was on his own.

It wasn’t something his parents encouraged. They constantly wanted to give him money any chance they could. Jungkook just wanted to test being on his own and build the life experience most of his peers had.

Throughout college he lived off of any money he made from his part time jobs, gigs, and desk job at Golden Tech.

The only reason he was able to move straight into the fancy place they lived in now, was the fact that the apartment was a wedding gift from both his and Yuri’s parents. The whole reason they can live so well now is because of how hard he’s worked over the years! Would any of this be possible if he hadn’t worked full-time?

He had bills to pay and a wife to make happy, there was no way he could have managed to do that and school at the same time.

Yes, Yuri was his priority.

Dr. Min observed the way Jungkook seemingly faded out of the conversation, his eyes were wide as he stared out of the window.

Hmm.

He made sure to circle this topic on his notes for when Yuri came.

“Jungkook, you mentioned earlier about intimacy between you and Yuri— I meant to ask, how's your sex life?” The very blunt question had Jungkook’s eyes nearly bulging out of his head and quickly returning back to the doctor. His cheeks grew more pink the more he processed Dr. Min’s words.

“You don’t need to give details, I’m just trying to get a feel as to where the issues might be lying in the relationship. The fact you’re in an arranged marriage, makes this question even more important. Have you both made it to that stage in your relationship? If so, how soon? Are you satisfied?” Dr. Min reiterated.

“Ummm…” Jungkook felt his face grow hot. How was he going to explain it was one of the biggest issues in their relationship?

“Our honeymoon… we, you know.” Jungkook hoped Dr. Min would get the picture, and was relieved when he nodded.

“It was a bit too soon— me and Yuri hardly knew each other. We only went on three dates before we got engaged and then we were married. Our parents knew each other so I’d seen her a couple of times in the past, but our honeymoon was really one of our first chances at getting to know each other. It was nice… really, really nice.” Dr. Min noticed Jungkook’s soft smile at the mention of the trip.

“I feel maybe it was better to get to know each other a little more before we took that step, but you know…” No, he probably didn’t. Jungkook was such a sad human being for giving in so easily the minute she sat on his lap in the hot tub they found themselves in that day. He knew that now.

“I understand— two young people alone on a trip together— there’s nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Min tried to reassure him, noticing the way Jungkook got quiet.

“But things have been weird ever since we got back. I thought we just needed to adjust a little bit to our new life, but I feel I was doing a better job back then than I’m doing now.” Jungkook tried to laugh, but he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he remember what he did back then to make her want to be that close?

Why was he so horrible at being a husband?

“Jungkook, you never answered if you were satisfied.” Dr. Min tried to dig down, sensing this topic was sensitive.

“I try to be…” Jungkook said aimlessly, playing with the corner of the blanket that had somehow made its way onto his lap.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I try to give her what she wants but…” He could never forget her comments:

“Why would I ever want you when you don’t stop thinking with your dick for just 5 seconds?!” Jungkook had only tried to pull her close to cuddle. She saw right through his guise.

“Look at the fucking mess you made! You’re disgusting!” Yuri screamed as she pointed to spots on the bed where his cum had seeped through his pants. He’d gotten a little too excited while eating her out and made a mess. Yuri had always hated messes.

“Maybe I’d let you fuck me if you lasted more than two seconds.” Even that was generous, that day he barely made it inside before he was spilling into the condom. He could argue and say they never have sex and he was sensitive, but he couldn’t imagine how frustrating that would be.

“Why are you crying again? You’re fucking pathetic…” Yuri rolled her eyes after she told him he’d never be good enough for her. There had been a little light in the room, just Yuri’s lamp on her nightstand, when he took off his shirt. Apparently, the view had been that unsightly, she got so upset when he tried to get back on top of her. They never fuck with the lights on anymore, she says it’s easier this way.

Jimin says he cares way too much about what Yuri says, but he wanted to look good for her.

Just this morning Jungkook had spent his time in the shower, staring into the glass at his reflection. He hadn’t gotten the chance to go to the gym all week, work taking up all his time, but his week away from the gym had already started to show consequences. That muscle definition he cherished so much was already starting to soften, Yuri doesn’t like it when he’s like that.

He lives for her praise— those moments when she smiles, when she laughs, when she pleads for him to make her cum. Those moments are few and far between.

While the criticism hurt, she had every right to be upset. It was clear he lacked in so many aspects at being a good husband, let alone a good partner in general.

Yuri would always tell him how happy In Kyung Sam made her when they dated— her last ex from college, the person she mainly compared him to. Jungkook had stalked him on Instagram and it was clear he was far from what Yuri wanted.

He just needed to do better.

“I don’t think I’m good enough.” Jungkook didn’t realize he started crying until he saw the drops start to hit the pillow on his lap. He tried to work hard, tried to be a good husband, but he hated to admit how tired he was these days. The dark circles around his eyes showed his effort, and Jimin told him how much thinner he’d gotten— most noticeably, in his face.

Jungkook skipped way too many meals these days. He tried his best to follow those protein diets recommended by bodybuilders, but work always got in the way and he would forget to eat more often than not. It wasn’t on purpose, but lately, he was starting to look just as sad and tired on the outside as he felt on the inside.

Hopefully therapy would help.

Dr. Min watched the breakdown ensue, it’s happened with other clients before; eventually, they get to a touchy subject and they become emotional. However, something about watching the tears so easily spill from his eyes, was a little unsettling. Jungkook wasn’t loud, he didn’t make a scene, but his eyes grew redder by the second, his face more pained, and his cheeks more soaked with tears. His gaze however remained on the pillow and blanket that he had become fixated on.

“Jungkook, please don’t say that. I don’t know what Yuri’s done to make you feel this way, but never say you’re not good enough.” Dr. Min took off his glasses and set them on the table, before handing him the box of tissues that sat on the little table in between them.

“I want her to love me, to want me so bad that it hurts her as much as it hurts me—“ It was then that his voice started to quiver. “I feel like I try so hard but nothing works, I’m so tired…” He was beyond tired at this point. Sometimes he felt like giving up entirely.

Jungkook had even started feeling less confident at work. He couldn't even satisfy one woman. How would he ever be able to make the employees at Golden Tech happy, let alone the consumers, business partners, the media— how could he ever live up to his father’s legacy?

It scared him the amount of times he considered telling his father to hand the position to someone that might be more suitable. What would his father think of him? It almost felt inevitable at this point at how much of a disappointment he was these days.

His thoughts were spiraling; recently, they always do.

“It’s ok to be tired, but you’ve already made a great step in coming here.” Dr. Min tried to be the shoulder Jungkook could lean on, but he was too focused on all the red flags waving around in his head.

Jungkook didn’t give too much detail about Yuri, but Dr. Min had been a therapist long enough to know that this might go beyond just simple marital issues. He wanted to press for more details, but suddenly Jungkook’s phone started buzzing in his jacket pocket. It was almost startling to see how fast the young man wiped away his tears, before he reached into his pocket and answered his phone.

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice was a little hoarse, but his tone shifted to sound a lot more professional than the soft one he used with him. Yoongi quickly figured this must be a work call.

“Wha— I’m a little busy—“ Jungkook tried to interject, but silence passed as he listened to the person on the other end.

“Oh? Oh… I see— I’ll come straight in then.” That sadness in his voice returned all too quickly, but Dr. Min could tell he was trying to mask it.

The call ended soon after, and Jungkook looked at the clock to see that they still had 10 minutes left of their session.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need to cut our session short. I thought I was done for the day but…” Jungkook tried to smile, but he couldn’t. For some reason, he wanted to stay and talk more. This must be a good sign.

“I understand.” Yoongi said as he stood up with Jungkook.

“I look forward to seeing you again and meeting your wife tomorrow.” Usually during these sessions, Dr. Min tried his best to remain unbiased regarding couples’ problems, especially during these initial one-on-one intake interviews, but he was already starting to get a worrisome picture in his head of this woman. Their meeting tomorrow will be the real teller.

Jungkook smiled lightly before heading for the door. Dr. Min wanted to stop him, for some reason, he feared letting him go in his state, but all he could do was hope to see him again.

•────•──────────•────•

The next day, Jungkook found himself stuck in a meeting with some of the executives from the production team. It wasn’t that important, it was just an update about what they had been up to lately at the factories. Jungkook had tried his best to pay attention, but he was really tired today.

After he went home from the work emergency, he was finally able to let the emotions he’d been trying to keep at bay flow without the prying eyes of society. He didn’t know exactly why he was crying. Something about opening that door was so hard to do, and it just resurfaced all those thoughts that kept spinning around in his head over the years. He didn’t know what to do with himself; it was all too much and he had no one to talk to.

Yuri came home eventually, she walked in and was greeted with the sight of him sitting at their dining table, dinner only half eaten, and his face stained with tears. He wished she had come over and hugged him— that’s all he wanted, he was sure it would have made everything better, but Jungkook watched the disappointment etch more into her features the longer she stared at him. Yuri just rolled her eyes with a scoff and went to heat up her cold dinner.

Jungkook didn’t blame her for being upset, he really does cry too much these days.

As much as he told himself that, something about this just finally made him explode; the fragile dam that had kept his emotions somewhat under control crumbled to pieces all in an instant. He couldn’t stop his sobs as he quickly ran to the bathroom for a little more privacy. It didn’t take long for Yuri to come over banging on the door, complaining about the noise.

He probably was too loud, Yuri hates it so much when he’s loud. But he was far too emotional earlier and her pleas for him to be quiet just made things worse.

He ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor last night after he eventually passed out. He woke up with sore, red, puffy eyes, and his arm hurt like crazy from sleeping on it. It was his fault, Yuri made sure he knew how dumb that was before she left.

Jungkook had tried coffee earlier, he even had Secretary Yu cancel his plans for the next two hours as he tried to take a nap in his office. That didn’t really work; he was too worried about someone walking in and thinking he was lazy.

The only thing that kept his eyes from fluttering closed was you standing outside the meeting room. You were by the printer, likely working on those reports he asked you to do.

He should’ve been focused on the presentation, but his gaze was too busy raking up your legs that were so nicely accented by your red-bottom stilettos and short pencil skirt. The sight was a feasting ground for his imagination to run wild, and he was far more interested in picturing coming up behind you and fucking you right there against the printer. He would finally push up that short skirt that would drive him crazy as he shamelessly took you right then and there.

As much as he enjoyed the thought, Jungkook felt disgusting; he had a wife, and it went against everything he believed in to think about someone other than the woman he’s married to in a situation like that. He could try to make up an excuse and say it was all the sexual frustration he’d been experiencing these days, but how could that justify it? It couldn’t, he was awful.

But Jungkook wanted to feel something, and Yuri wasn’t giving him anything anymore. They hardly had sex these days and she found too much pleasure in teasing him, getting him to a point where he’s pleading, before something always gets in the way of anything actually happening. His mind for some reason had found refuge in imagining you in sexual situations to cope. It was one of the reasons he ultimately ended up making an appointment with Dr. Min, recently you had drifted into his mind while he was eating out his wife. How dare he?

He could continue to give excuses, nothing justifies what he’s been doing, but before he got married, he would have described someone like you as his “ideal type.” If things were different, if he wasn’t married, he would have probably had the biggest crush on you.

Neither of you had talked much since you started working at Golden Tech, but he’d taken more time than he wanted to admit watching you from afar.

Oddly enough, you were the epitome of everything his young mind had pictured dating. It wasn't like he walked around with a list in his head, but he found you checking boxes he didn’t even know he had. It was the weirdest feeling, but the longer you were at the office, the more he felt that if things were different, he would’ve liked taking a shot.

From the moment you spilled coffee on him, he knew you were gorgeous, so much so, that for some reason you always occupied his mind. It was in a way that had his eyes following you each time you crossed paths in the hallways, in a way that made him think about you even after you walked by, and in a way that made him a mess anytime you’d meet his gaze.

He was always thrown into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions whenever he’d see you. Lust, admiration, anger? He didn’t know anymore, but most of the time it was all three at once.

Workwise it was mainly admiration. You were smart, that much was clear from your first meeting, but since then you’ve continued impressing him. You were never afraid to speak your mind in the middle of heated debates between executives, and it was always your insight he found the most compelling. The amount of times alone since the TV incident they have utilized your input for important situations… It wasn’t a big shock when he found out how quickly you got promoted, you honestly did more than your superiors. You were hardworking, no matter what he threw at you, you would always manage to get it done better than expected. He would always hear the best from Director Son about your team being one of the best performing out of the finance department.

The list could go on really, but hearing about you, or even seeing you in the hall, always made him feel all strange inside. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he hated it.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed intrigued by your charm; you made everyone around you smile with such ease. Anytime he would happen to see you in the office, your coworkers would be laughing and smiling about something you’d said. He’d tried to join in on the fun and talk to you occasionally— after meetings, in the hall when you were alone, in the office when he would pass by and see you still working late, but it never seemed to go well.

“Director Jeon! Did you need something from me?!” You had panicked that one time he startled you while you were standing by the water cooler. The minute you met his eyes, his mind went blank. Somehow his attempt at small talk had turned into checking to see if you were on track to meet the deadline for something he’d asked you to do.

Even Jimin had only the best things to say about you.

“I really don’t understand why you have a problem with her.” Jimin side-eyed him one night when they were working late. Jimin had brought you up and mentioned a fun brief conversation you had, and somehow the topic had shifted to his hyung questioning why he was always so weird when it came to you. The only thing Jungkook could respond with was giving you more work.

He didn’t have a problem with you. He really didn’t, but as much as he found himself enamored by your work, he also found it hard to stop the anger from rising anytime you’d even cross his mind. And unfortunately, that was often.

Jungkook really didn’t know you that well, but he’d seen you enough that you’d affect him in ways that he could never tell another soul about.

One time he walked by the meeting room when you were leading a meeting along with Director Son. You never noticed him standing there, but just seeing you in your element made him quickly need to run back to his office after he felt his pants start to tighten.

It was often your dark red lips that he pictured when his hand would hurriedly fist his cock. Jungkook hardly masturbated anymore, Yuri hated the mess, and he always felt sex-crazed if he ever attempted these days. However, the last time he did it was your lipstick he pictured, it was the view he had earlier that day when you bent over beside him and he could see down your shirt, it was those stupid short skirts you would wear all the time, it was you who he pictured fucking instead of his wife as he desperately rocked into the pillow that he’d been clinging onto.

Jungkook never did that again. Yuri had gotten so mad when he told her he had essentially ruined his pillow in a moment of weakness. Part of him wished he had told her it was another woman that he got off to, he would have loved to see how jealous she might have gotten. At least then he would have known if she truly cared for him at all.

You would get him so flustered without even trying. Maybe if you knew, you would hate him as much as Yuri did. Maybe it was best this way. The thought of another person screaming how pathetic he was, was enough to send him over the edge. It was probably only thanks to the business deal that he found himself getting married. No one would have said yes otherwise.

Jungkook’s attention remained on you, but you never noticed his gaze. His mind was going crazy at the thought of feeling you; the sounds of the buttons on the printer being smashed into filling the hallway as he desperately pushed into you from behind. You felt so good around his needy cock while he tried his best not to spill into you too soon.

It would be too good, and—

His fantasy was interrupted when Taehyung, a member of your financial team, suddenly walked up beside you. Jungkook watched as he seemingly came over to help you in your struggle with the printer. He just rolled his eyes and tried to go back to paying attention to the presentation like he was supposed to.

He had to remember to get that printer fixed.

It’s not like Jungkook had a problem with Taehyung, but he’s heard the rumors about you two and how everyone who worked on this floor thought you were together. There was no reason to be upset; he could feel his wedding ring on his finger, but he couldn’t stop disliking seeing the two of you anywhere near each other.

What if it was true?

He wondered what made you choose Taehyung. What did he do to win you over? What did Jungkook lack that made him so unwanted? Jungkook's gaze drifted down at the ring on his finger. In another world where he wasn’t married, he couldn’t help but think you wouldn’t have liked him anyway. No one would.

“Director Jeon?” The executive called out, finally noticing that Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to the lavishly planned out presentation.

“I-I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Jungkook hurriedly tried to shake himself out of his daze.

The meeting went on for far too long in his opinion. The production team always liked to be detailed in their presentations ever since going on two years ago when they messed up the launch of the new line of TVs. Normally he would have appreciated it, but he had trouble keeping his eyes open the entire time.

The minute it was over, Jungkook rushed back to his office, hoping to finally get a few minutes of sleep. He had an hour before his next meeting so he could squeeze a thirty minute nap in before he needed to do some last minute work.

Just as he sat on his chair, ready to lay his head down, suddenly his phone started to buzz in his jacket pocket. Jungkook groaned, the exhaustion easily made him annoyed; he just wanted to sleep. He was ready to slam that dnd button for a little peace and quiet, when he realized it had been a text from Dr. Min.

Dr. Min [4:23]: Yuri didn’t show up for her interview today.

Dr. Min [4:23]: I waited an extra thirty minutes and even tried calling.

Dr. Min [4:25]: We can still do our first official session tomorrow, just make sure she’s there :)

Jungkook stared at his phone in disbelief.

After he finally managed to come out of the bathroom this morning, the first thing he did was remind Yuri about her interview with Dr. Min. They argued a bit, Yuri always going back to the fact Jungkook slept on the floor again, but he still kept reminding her throughout their discussion, and even until she left, about her appointment with the doctor.

Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder if she actually forgot, or if she purposefully didn’t show up. Yuri, just like his parents when he brought up the idea of going to couple’s therapy, detested it, but Jungkook was insistent until she finally relented and agreed.

She knew this meant everything to him.

Jungkook didn’t know how to react. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to just break something. Instead, he texted Dr. Min a quick ‘ok’ before laying his head down to finally sleep.

He was just so tired.

•────•──────────•────•

The next day it took way too much effort trying to bring Yuri over to Dr. Min’s office. She went on and on that she had plans with friends, and Jungkook almost had to physically drag her into the car to go with him.

The whole fiasco made him incredibly flustered. She complained the entire time about how much this was going to be a waste. The whole way Jungkook was either on the verge of opening the car door and jumping out, or shriveling into a ball to just cry because why didn’t she want this as bad as he did?

Did she not want to fix their marriage? Had she already given up?

It was thoughts like these that clouded his mind on the way to Dr. Min’s office. Yuri was in his ear the whole time sighing about how she could be “sipping sparkling wine with her friends at Han Cook’s right now instead of going to this fucking scam,” her words exactly. It was irritating, Jungkook even noticed Dae-Jung roll his eyes a couple of times because she just wouldn’t stop.

At some point, even he didn’t want to be there.

They were already 5 minutes late by the time they were walking through the door. Dr. Min was standing in the waiting room talking with his secretary when he and Yuri arrived hand in hand, but not out of affection, Jungkook was just scared she might try to run away.

“Ahhhh, there’s my couple.” Dr. Min smiled at the sight.

“I’m so sorry we’re late…” Jungkook sighed, trying to repress any ill feelings he had toward his wife. Now was not the time; they were there now, that’s all that mattered.

Dr. Min quickly guided the both of them into his office, repeating the same process as when Jungkook went in for the first time. Before he knew it, they had the blanket draped over their laps, and Dr. Min was sitting in his cozy chair in front of them with his yellow notepad in hand.

“Alright, for our first session I think it might be best that our main goal should be to try to open the doors before we really begin to explore what’s inside. We should try to lay out any immediate issues you think you might be having in your relationship. It could be anything— the little things, like someone not always forgetting to push their chair in, to bigger things, like that fight you both had that has stayed with you. But first, since I never got to meet with you Yuri, I just want to talk to you briefly.” Dr. Min smiled at Yuri and he noticed the way she rolled her eyes.

“I understand therapy might be a little intimidating at first, but just think of me as a friend you’re ranting about your relationship troubles to. I’m someone outside of your relationship, I’m not here to tell you who’s right or wrong, but simply to advise and guide you in ways that might lead you both to being a happier and healthier couple.” Yoongi hoped that would do something, but Yuri continued to sit there with her arms crossed, looking completely uninterested.

Hmmm.

“Yuri, I want to first know if you have any concerns about our sessions.”

She sighed with almost palpable annoyance. “No.” Yuri mumbled, looking out the window.

Alright.

This wasn’t his first session with someone like this. Over the years, he’s learned that the best way to handle it, was to try your best to get your foot in the door. It’s all a matter of getting them talking.

“Alright Yuri, how about you tell me how you first found out about the arrangement? What were your feelings when you heard the news?” Dr. Min laid out a relatively simple question, hoping this would be enough to get her even just a little engaged.

“I mean…” Yuri looked over at Jungkook before turning back to the doctor. “We found out together, our parents sat us down and told us we were getting married. I felt indifferent to it, no one really wants to get married when they’re twenty-two but it was for a business deal, what could I do about it?”

“It’s your life, you weren’t upset?”

Yuri shook her head.

“I felt like I was doing my part for the family. My brother’s inheriting the company, and my sister works there as well. It was just me that went on a different path, so the least I could do was help secure a deal that would really benefit the company.”

Interesting.

“Alright then, let’s change the question a little. What were your feelings when you heard that you were to marry Jungkook?” The question was direct and it was asked with the hope of understanding her feelings toward her husband.

Considering the concerning way Jungkook described their relationship, it was a good way to segue the conversation into uncovering her true feelings. Dr. Min noticed the way Jungkook’s eyes widened before he turned to face Yuri, anticipating her answer.

Yoongi wished he had the opportunity to meet with her on his own. Normally, this would never be a question he would be asking with the spouse present, at least without knowing the answer first, but it was important information that would help him better plan their future sessions.

It was clear the question also took Yuri off guard.

“It was Jungkook, we had seen each other a few times before and our parents made us go on a couple of dates. I would be more surprised if it wouldn’t have been Jungkook.”

“You didn’t answer my question. How did you feel that it was specifically Jungkook?”

Yuri’s face changed. He could sense she was slightly irritated again.

“What do you want me to say, I couldn’t wait to get married to him? Is that what would make you happy?” Her words were for Dr. Min, but she eventually turned to face Jungkook.

“I’m not expecting anything. I just wanted your honest thoughts about what you felt like at that moment; the fact you were getting married forcefully, and that it was Jungkook at the end of that aisle. How would you have felt if it was someone else?”

“No different. I was only doing it for the company, it just happened to be Jungkook that I married. I mean, it probably would have been his older brother if he hadn't left.” Yuri was looking at it very logically, but she didn’t seem to care when she finished ranting about Jungkook turning away to wipe away his tears.

“How about now, do you feel the same way? You wouldn’t have cared whether it was Jungkook or his brother you married?” Dr. Min pressed.

“Well… I know Jungkook more. I’ve only met his brother a couple of times, and from those few instances, I think Jungkook and I work a little better.” This should have been the moment that gave Jungkook some hope, but all he was hearing was ‘convenience.’

It just so happened that his brother left for California and he offered to take his position. There was no “I’m so happy it worked out that way,” for all he knew, Yuri could have said the same thing if Junghyeon was here instead of him. Then again, his hyung probably wouldn’t even be here in therapy. His brother was always great with people and had ten times more experience in relationships than he did. Maybe Yuri would have been happier if she had married him instead.

What was wrong with him?

“What makes you say that Yuri?” Dr. Min could sense Jungkook was spiraling, he just hoped this question would bring some sort of reassurance.

“Me and Jungkook just… we just…” For the first time, she stumbled.

“What Yuri?” Jungkook suddenly interjected. “We what?”

“I think we work.” It was the same robotic answer from earlier. Jungkook sat there stunned wondering why she wasn’t telling him?

Something in him snapped.

“Yuri, why aren’t you telling him? He’s a professional; he’s here to tell me what I’m doing wrong. Tell him how being married to me makes you miserable. I'm trying to fix things, at least make you more comfortable. Tell him, please tell him!” Jungkook cried, he was desperate to finally understand what he had done to make her hate him so much.

Why couldn’t she understand? He just wanted to make her happy.

Yuri just leaned back on the couch and rolled her eyes, again.

“I can’t believe you’re crying about this.” She mumbled.

Jungkook hurriedly wiped his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t do anything right.” He tried to laugh it off.

If the red flags weren’t waving before they were about to fly off at this point. It was so strange. Yoongi felt like this appointment was close to derailing, so he tried his best to steer them back on topic.

“Yuri, are there any issues you have with Jungkook you want to address in our sessions? It could be anything, I’m sure you heard Jungkook is very willing to listen and hear any qualms you may have with him or your relationship.” Yoongi found himself worried about what she was going to say.

Yuri thought for a bit before settling on a simple answer. “He’s too clingy.”

“In what ways?” Dr. Min hoped to coax more out of her.

“I don’t know… he’s more into being close, I’m just not like that.” It was still vague and didn’t quite make sense.

“I get that not everyone is the affectionate type, I’m the same way actually, but there are still ways to show you care besides physical touch. People have different love languages— considering you both were arranged at such a young age, you might still be trying to explore what works best for you. I might be able to recommend to you both some exercises you might be able to try in order to explore those sides of yourselves.” Jungkook was holding onto every word the doctor was saying. Maybe this might be it.

Dr. Min made a note to return to those exercises at the end of the session.

“Yuri, I would like to talk about something that Jungkook discussed with me in our interview. I don’t want to speak for him, so Jungkook, feel free to jump in at any moment, but one of the things he mentioned was his desire for you to touch him more. I think in regards to affection—“

“Is he talking about our sex life?!” Yuri exclaimed suddenly, turning to face him.

Yoongi’s eyes widened at her outburst. “It was mentioned, but that’s not—“

“I can’t believe you…” Yuri scoffed, turning away from him.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook didn’t even try to fight her.

“I think it’s healthy to discuss it. You’re meant to be a couple and I hope you both know that communication is one of the building blocks into facilitating a good relationship. Things like sex, which is a boundary you both have crossed, in order to make sure everyone is satisfied, should be actively discussed with each other.” Dr. Min pointed out. This appointment was going left, he had simply wanted this to be a point about compromise, but the topic shifted so quickly.

“I get it might be a little awkward with me being here, but if it’s something you feel like you need to work on in your relationship, this is the place to discuss it.” Yoongi watched Yuri scoff at his words.

“That hadn’t been my point though— I only brought up intimacy to demonstrate how relationships take compromise to work. Jungkook had mentioned how physical touch seems to be something he really values in a relationship— this could include holding hands, cuddling, kissing, small things like that. Yuri you don’t share those same values, which is completely fine. Relationships require both parties taking and giving in order to make work. In this case, Yuri, you could try and be a little more affectionate with Jungkook because you know that means a lot to him. And Jungkook, it is important that you give Yuri her space when she needs it. This balance is important in working toward a healthy relationship.” He finally seemed to hold their attention as he went on.

“Communication is key. Knowing how to effectively tell your partner whenever you feel the balance might be off, is important to maintaining the relationship. This helps your partner feel seen, heard, and allows you both not to be in the dark about how each other is feeling. Jungkook, why don’t you tell Yuri some of the things we talked about in your session?” Dr. Min ushered, hoping Jungkook’s own words would be good when articulating these points, but he could sense Jungkook’s hesitancy on how he shakily looked between him and Yuri.

Jungkook sat up slightly. “All I want is for you to want me Yuri… maybe we shouldn’t have had sex so soon before getting to know each other but…” Jungkook felt horrible for even mentioning this, “I feel like I do so much— I try my best to make you happy, but I don’t feel like you’re putting in any effort, or even want to put in any effort into our relationship. I know we were arranged and things aren’t going to just magically work out, but I thought we both agreed on our honeymoon that we were going to try our best to make the most out of the situation.” Jungkook's voice started to shake as the tears had already begun to fall.

“I know I’m making a mess of things, but I just want you to tell me what I do wrong. I want you to know I’m committed to you, to our relationship, and the reason I brought us here is all for our future, I want an ‘us.’ I just want to know you’re trying… I’ll take anything… don’t leave so early in the morning and stay in bed to cuddle, kiss me when you leave, hug me, kiss me when you come back, take me out on dates, invite me out with your friends, and—“ He was a mess, saying anything and everything that was coming into mind.

“Yuri, I want you all the time, you have no fucking idea. I promise I want this, I want you, but I’m frustrated. I wish I wasn’t, but I am because my wife is gorgeous and gives me every reason to want her every single day, but— fuck, but you always lead me on and… I know it’s hard to want me, I know it’s so hard…” Really, why would she ever want him?

“I know whenever we do have sex I’m not the best at it, I could be better, I want to be better, but—but…. but…” Somehow the tears poured out even harder when he realized he had nothing. Why would Yuri ever want him, why would anyone ever want him?

Absolutely nothing about him was worth putting in the effort that he wished for so badly.

“Jung—“ Dr. Min was about to interject but Yuri was quicker.

“I can not fucking believe this, is this seriously how you talk about me when I’m not here?!” She was yelling, this shocked Dr. Min, but Jungkook almost seemed to completely shut down, staring at Yuri blankly with these wide, round, sad eyes.

“You’re actually pathetic, I can’t believe I married such a fucking loser… And you want to know why I never want you? It’s because you act like this! You’re always fucking complaining about something, you cry about everything, you’re not normal for one fucking minute. You’re talking about our private business in front of this stranger and painting me like I’m just this bad fucking person!”

Yuri suddenly stood up, the blanket dropping to the floor.

“Why don’t you tell him there’s absolutely nothing in that head of yours and the only thing that seems to do any sort of thinking is your dick, and you whine every time I say no.” All Dr. Min could look at was Jungkook as Yuri practically screamed in his face. Jungkook just looked like a deer trapped in headlights at how scared he seemed, and Dr. Min noticed the way his hands were shaking and grabbing onto the pillow on his lap a little too tightly.

Oh no.

“Yuri please—“ Dr. Min tried to interject once again but was immediately shut down.

“Jungkook, you want to hear why I don’t want you?! You never let me do what I want, it’s always us, never me. You make me feel claustrophobic, you cry at the littles things, you fuck like a robot, and you finish in two seconds. Why would I ever want to be at home? Why would I ever want to be with you?!”

“Yuri!” Yoongi once again tried to stop her, a little more firmly this time, sensing disaster was near.

“The fact that you wasted my time bringing me here because your dumb ass can’t figure out why I don’t want to deal with you— I honestly have no words, because why did I have to marry such a pathetic fucking excuse of a man?!” Yuri lashed, and with that, she rolled her eyes one last time before she grabbed her purse and stormed out of his office.

Dr. Min was stunned. In all his years of practice, nothing like that had ever happened during any of his sessions, but his own shock was dwarfed by how concerned he was for Jungkook. The minute Yuri slammed the door behind her, his trembling seemed to only get worse, and his choked cries were replaced with gasps for air.

What Yoongi had feared became all too real when he saw Jungkook desperately reaching to tug at his tie, and he suddenly looked like he just came back from running a marathon.

Dr. Min immediately flipped from professional mode into caretaker, jumping up from his chair to sit beside Jungkook on the couch.

“Don’t worry, I’m here.” Yoongi tried to reassure him, pulling him into a tight embrace and gently rubbing his back.

“Everything she said— she-she’s fucking right.” He was hardly able to get out the words.

“No, she’s not Jungkook, don’t listen to her.”

“My wife— she’s my wife— how can I not listen?!” He choked into his shoulder.

Yoongi sensed this was only going to get worse.

“Jungkook, listen to me ok? I’m going to need you to take deep breaths for me, alright? In and out, in and out, in and out—“ Yoongi pulled back to demonstrate steady breathing, making sure Jungkook looked at him.

Eventually, he attempted to join the doctor. Jungkook was definitely shaky, but it was better than nothing.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you some water real quick, but in the meantime please repeat over and over out loud— it’s okay to not be okay. Okay?” Dr. Min advised, but he could immediately tell Jungkook was not listening.

“She’s right— why-why did I—“

“Jungkook, say it with me.” Dr. Min made sure Jungkook was actually looking into his eyes before continuing.

“It’s okay to not be okay— say it with me. It’s okay to not be okay.” Yoongi kept repeating, waiting for Jungkook to join him, still trembling in his grasp.

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

“It’s okay—“

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

“It’s okay to not be okay.” Jungkook was eventually able to force it out.

“Keep repeating and continue taking deep breaths; I’m going to get you water.” Yoongi said and Jungkook shakily nodded, reassuring that he had heard him.

Yoongi was finally able to get up and he quickly made his way out of his office to where his secretary sat. Luckily for him, right behind her desk was a mini fridge where they kept refreshments.

“Dr. Min, what’s going on? I heard screaming, someone stormed out of here—“ She asked, her concern already on her features.

“I’ll explain later, can you hand me a bottle of water?— My client is having a panic attack.” Yoongi rushed out. His secretary looked shocked but quickly rolled her chair over to the fridge behind her.

“Oh my gosh, is everything ok?” She asked as she took the bottle out and handed it to him.

“We’re trying to get there. Thank you so much.” Yoongi said before hurrying back into his office.

He found Jungkook still just as distraught as when he left, but he was still repeating the phrase and trying his best to take deep breaths in between.

“Good job.” Yoongi smiled, trying to reassure him.

“Here, this will help.” He handed him the water bottle, but Jungkook’s hands were shaking so much, he couldn’t open it. Yoongi was quick to step in and screw off the cap for him, gently guiding the bottle to Jungkook’s mouth so he could drink, fearing he might spill it if he tried doing it on his own.

Yoongi put his arm around Jungkook as they both faced the window. By now, the sun had almost set completely. The city lights were bright, you could see a few stars decorating the sky, but a sliver of orange accented the horizon, the last bit of sunlight of the day fading.

Jungkook kept taking deep breaths and trying his best to repeat the phrase that Yoongi told him to, but occasionally those thoughts that probably garnered the attack would return with full force and suddenly he was shaking again and he struggled to catch his breath.

Jungkook wondered if the doctor thought he was as pathetic as he felt, but he never said a word as he cried his eyes out and tried to pull himself together. All his brain could focus on was the look on Yuri’s face as she told him how she felt. How dare he say all that? He should have known better. Why didn’t he know that? What was wrong with him?

After many more tears, Jungkook was finally able to calm down. His suit jacket was draped over the armrest of the couch, and the tips of his hair that sat right at his cheeks were soaked— which he needed a haircut. He kept forgetting to do that, it was getting too long now.

“Jungkook, how long has this been happening?” Dr. Min eventually asked.

Jungkook was sitting with his head in his hands, his face burning at an alarming degree. He felt so embarrassed for causing such a scene. He was too much in his own thoughts to realize the doctor had asked him a question. Dr. Min gently pulled his shoulder back to make sure he was listening.

“Jungkook, did you hear me? How long has this been happening?” Yoongi asked again.

Jungkook sighed, his face was still wet from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling.

“Not too long… I’ve only felt like this a couple of times before, it’s never been this bad though— which I’m very sorry for. I’m so sorry about making such a scene—“

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault, and this is really serious.” Yoongi sighed, wishing Jungkook would stop blaming himself for everything. “Does anyone close to you know you’ve been having panic attacks?” He asked next.

Jungkook slowly shook his head.

The only other person who might know would be Yuri, but he’s always been able to run and hide in the bathroom before it got too bad. It was still new that this was happening at all. For some reason, these days when Yuri gets like that, he gets easily overwhelmed that suddenly the room he was in felt like it was closing in on him.

In the past, he would have told Jimin, but he didn’t want his hyung to see him like this. He didn’t want him to know how pathetic he had been lately.

“You should probably tell somebody. Did having me here help at all?” Dr. Min asked.

“It really did, thank you so much.” It was truly more sympathy than he deserved. None of his attacks had been as bad as todays, but the doctor being by his side, and so attentive, made this one the shortest episode he’s had.

The silence settled in the room for a moment.

“Maybe I’m expecting too much out of this arrangement, and I’m making her miserable by trying to have us act like an actual couple.” Jungkook suddenly said, letting those thoughts take over again. “We agreed to try on our honeymoon, but— I think I did something that made her think otherwise. I’m so bad at this, Yuri wasn’t like this before we got married. She was so sweet— I just…”

“Jungkook, you shouldn’t keep blaming yourself for this. A marriage, any relationship really, takes both partners putting in the effort to make it work. I imagine being in an arranged marriage would make things harder, but both partners still need to try. Even though I don’t know the exact details, to me, it seems like you should know you’re at least putting in the work. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you’re going above and beyond.” Yoongi smiled.

“There is nothing wrong with expecting something in return. Sure, I haven’t talked to Yuri enough to know if what you’re doing is exactly what she wants; but the fact that it doesn’t seem like she’s gone through that trial and error phase with you, is an issue. You’re trying to be a couple, you’re bound to have bad days, but there should be more good ones than not. I don’t know everything about your relationship, but I can’t lie and say I’m not worried about you.” Dr. Min was being honest.

“I can’t leave though— we aren’t dating, we’re married, and not only that, so many people are relying on me to make this work! Golden Tech benefited so much from our marriage, Redno did too, and all the employees— I can’t give up. We signed a contract.” Jungkook looked panicked at the thought of what failing would mean.

“I get that, but it seems like this marriage is starting to affect your—“

“I just need to make her happy, I have to make her happy somehow. Why is it so fucking hard?! Why can’t I just do that?!” Jungkook stared down at the ground, his hands hurriedly running through his hair and tightly gripping onto his dark locks.

“Jungkook—“

“I feel like I’m letting everyone down these days— fuck, why can’t I get it together? How am I ever going to run a company like this?!” The agony he was experiencing pained his voice, and the anguish that painted his features was more than unsettling. They were sentiments that Jungkook tried to keep hidden, but everything was just spilling out at this point.

“Jungkook, that’s not—“

But instead of letting the doctor finish, he just groaned loudly, his frustration with the situation becoming overwhelming. Jungkook tried his best to hastily wipe away his tears and shake away the despair. “I should probably leave.” He suddenly interrupted, standing up way too quickly and nearly falling because his head hurt so much.

“Wait—“ Yoongi tried to stop him.

“It’s getting late anyway.” Jungkook stretched, noticing now the nightlife was already in full swing.

Yoongi wanted to tell him to stay. He felt Jungkook was close to uncovering some concerning details, but he couldn’t keep him there. But he was just really, really worried about him.

Instead, he just sighed and got up to finally turn on a light. He had kept them off, knowing Jungkook complained a couple of times that his head was hurting. Besides, the lights outside were more than enough to keep things from being pitch black.

“Jungkook, do you have anyone you could stay with tonight?” Dr. Min asked.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be alone, and maybe a night apart from Yuri would do you some good.” This was the opposite of the advice he’d normally give, but he feared any time with Yuri would push Jungkook over an edge he sensed was nearing.

Jungkook slowly nodded.

“I’m so sorry. I overstayed and went way past our session. I hope I wasn’t in the way of any other appointments, I can pay for the extra time.” Jungkook offered but Yoongi shook his head.

“You were my last appointment for the day, and there is no need. You left early for your intake interview anyway, so let’s just say we made up the time today.” Yoongi smiled. Jungkook was about to protest otherwise, but Yoongi quickly shushed him.

“Before you go though, I wanted to give you this.” Yoongi walked over to his desk and grabbed a smaller notepad out of a drawer, before hurriedly scribbling something on it.

It only took a second before Dr. Min was walking back, after ripping a page off to give to Jungkook.

“What’s this?”

“I’m a couple’s therapist, but I have a friend who might be better to talk to about yourself and what you might be dealing with. If necessary he also knows someone who can prescribe some medication to help make your days a little more manageable.” At his words, Jungkook looked at the note a little more closely.

K͟i͟m͟ ͟N͟a͟m͟j͟o͟o͟n͟

T͟h͟e͟r͟a͟p͟i͟s͟t͟ ͟(͟S͟p͟e͟c͟i͟a͟l͟i͟z͟e͟d͟ ͟i͟n͟ ͟M͟e͟n͟t͟a͟l͟ ͟H͟e͟a͟l͟t͟h͟)͟

A͟l͟o͟n͟g͟ ͟w͟i͟t͟h͟ ͟a͟ ͟p͟h͟o͟n͟e͟ ͟n͟u͟m͟b͟e͟r͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟a͟d͟d͟r͟e͟s͟s͟ ͟o͟f͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟c͟l͟i͟n͟i͟c͟.͟

“I think it would be a good idea to talk to him. I’m a little worried about you, I can’t lie.” Yoongi chuckled lightly, but he really was concerned. It would be wrong to say the red flags in his relationship were obvious when he only got such a brief look into it, but he also feared Jungkook’s mental health was in a dangerous place.

Jungkook nodded once again, staring down at the note and stuffing it into his pocket. He turned toward the door, trying not to show how even that simple movement made his head feel like it could split open.

“I hope to see you again,” Yoongi said, hoping he’d come back at some point, yet there was a part of him that didn’t. Maybe Jungkook would take some time to think about what his relationship was doing to him, maybe he might realize he was better off without Yuri, or maybe all hope wasn’t lost and this session would be enough to spark some change in their relationship.

“Me too…” There was something so sad about Jungkook’s tone. Yoongi wanted to question him,

but Jungkook grabbed his coat and was out the door before he could even get

another word out.

•────•──────────•────•

The minute he closed the door behind him, Jungkook was nearly blinded by the bright fluorescent lights of the waiting room. They only seemed to make his headache worse.

Jungkook walked as he tried to put his suit jacket and coat on. It was still cold despite being a few weeks into spring.

“Everything okay?” His attention snapped to the secretary who was still sitting at her desk.

When he turned to her, he noticed her shocked expression. It was only then that he considered how much of a mess he likely was. His eyes were probably red and swollen, his face puffy, and he knew his hair was a mess from pulling at it.

Jungkook bowed slightly. “I’m fine, I’m sorry for keeping you here late.” He truly felt bad.

“Don’t worry about it, go get some rest. Have a good night!” Her cheery voice couldn’t stop the small smile appearing on his face. For a second he believed it actually might be.

Jungkook said his goodbyes before stumbling down the hall, trying his best to put on his jackets. His driver was already waiting for him downstairs. Dae-Jung had texted and said Yuri had left with her friends a while ago. He wasn’t surprised; he’d only been holding her back by bringing her with him.

“Where should I take you, sir?” Dae-Jung asked as they both settled in the car.

On his way down, Jungkook considered taking the doctor’s advice and staying with Jimin. He would no doubt let him stay if he asked, but he felt no greater need than to be alone right now.

“You can drop me off at the apartment, I’ll only need a few minutes to pick up a few things. I made reservations at a hotel, so you’ll take me there next.” Jungkook sighed, staring outside at the rain that suddenly started pouring the minute he made it downstairs.

Dae-Jung nodded before pulling off and beginning the journey back to the apartment.

Just a little ways down the street they passed by a street bar where they had a sign outside that read in bold letters: “Today’s Special: Dakgangjeong” (Sweet Crispy Korean Fried Chicken). It was only then that Jungkook realized he hadn’t eaten all day.

Maybe that’s why his head was hurting so much. He had been so busy earlier trying to get all his work done so he could meet Yuri at the apartment for their appointment, that he forgot to eat lunch once again.

The second he remembered, it was like a wave suddenly hit him, making him realize how hungry he was. Jungkook was tempted to tell Dae-Jung to pull over— dakgangjeong with soju sounded amazing right now, but ultimately decided against it as they rolled by.

It was raining, cold, and it was starting to get late. Besides, as much as he wanted to be alone, drinking by himself would bring him down to a whole new level of sadness that he wasn’t in the mood at all to explore. He already felt shitty enough, and being in an environment like that right now would only make him feel worse.

Instead, he promised to bring ramen with him and make it at the hotel later.

The ride back was long. Traffic was awful like it usually was, but Jungkook was so tired and his headache continued to worsen. Every little bump or sharp turn would have him rubbing his temples in hopes that it would somehow help; it didn’t.

His pain only made him recount the awful day he had and, as much as he tried to stop it, the tears started falling again. The minute his eyes started welling up only made the pain in his head worse, and the thought of Dae-Jung noticing him crying made him quickly try to fan them away.

Jungkook had already received a concerning look the minute he came downstairs and Dae-Jung was standing there ready with the umbrella. He had given Jungkook the same strange look as the secretary did upstairs. He looked like shit and he knew it. What made it worse though was the fact that he sees Dae-Jung often, and he hated the thought of people close to him knowing how pathetic he was these days.

The ride back home took almost an hour because of the traffic. By the time he was going up the elevator, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Jungkook sluggishly made his way down the hall, staring at the note Dr. Min had given him before he left. He was considering if he should really call the number sometime tomorrow when he had time, but then he came to the door and mindlessly punched in the code. Jungkook was so out of it, he had closed the door behind him without thinking too much, too busy contemplating if he should bring that wine his dad gave him after his business trip to France.

He was just ready to get this packing over with, but he was shocked when he turned around to see Yuri staring at him. She was sitting on one of the kitchen barstools, wearing a tank top and a pair of those boy shorts that normally would drive him crazy.

It wasn’t like he was mad at her, if anything, she had every right to be mad at him. He just expected she would be out with her friends still (he wished she was). He had simply planned to text her that he was staying at a hotel— he didn’t expect her to care, she was hardly at the apartment anyway. He was thinking maybe she would have celebrated, maybe even thrown a little party like that one time he left for the US for a week.

No, he didn’t expect at all to see her here. If things couldn’t get any stranger, she suddenly got up from the stool and slowly walked over until she was standing only a few inches away. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was leaving for a few days (at least), and that he was there to pack and he’d quickly be out of her hair. But he just stood there, his eyes bouncing between her eyes that were looking directly into his, and the view down her tank top.

“Uhh—“ He started, a little dazed.

“What took you so long?” Yuri asked, the tone in her voice was low and made goosebumps quickly appear on his skin.

He didn’t even really register her question. He wondered if he should tell her what happened after she left, or at least about all the traffic they ran into on their way over, but what would that do?

“I thought you were out with your friends.” He simply settled.

“I was but—“ Yuri took a step closer, making Jungkook step back, and his back hit the door behind him. “I decided to come home early.” Her voice was sultry as she got closer, her chest eventually pressing into his. He couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.

“W-why…?” He stumbled.

“Because…” Yuri’s fingers slowly trailed up his arm. “You said I don’t touch you, so I was thinking…” her hand rested against his neck to pull herself up so she was right by his ear. “Why don’t I let you fuck me today?” She said it so softly that he nearly moaned.

As much as the very thought of having sex with Yuri excited him, what she said during the session today was still playing repeatedly in his head. The thought of disappointing her again was almost too much to bear. He knew he would, it’s been four months since they last had sex.

It happened when Yuri had come back drunk from a New Years party; he had been sleeping in bed when he woke up to her tugging at his pants. It was 3am, he had to wake up for work in a few hours, but the minute she whispered “I want your cock,” he was suddenly very awake. This had happened a few weeks after the whole pillow drama, and he was desperate to get you off his mind and focus on his wife. He could have said he was tired, still trying to shake the sleepiness away, but the minute he got inside an actual person— not his hand, not his pillow— things did not end well. It probably only lasted a few minutes, at best, before he finished.

He could never forget the look of disappointment on her face, though he pleaded to give him a few minutes so they could try again. He had never felt so small. Yuri said something similar to what she had said in therapy today, before grabbing her clothes and storming to the shower.

The memory brought a frown to his face, which Yuri immediately noticed making her pull away.

“Are we doing this or not?” She questioned, sensing his hesitancy.

This really wasn’t something he should be doing. Dae-Jung was waiting for him downstairs ready to take him to a hotel. His head hurt. He was tired. He had no reason to be mad at her, but he didn’t want to see her. She made the anxiety he’d been fighting all day come back all too quickly.

This was wrong, but he didn’t care.

When was he going to get a chance like this again? In another four months? No, he had to do this.

Before he allowed himself to think about it anymore, Jungkook hurriedly stuffed the note from Dr. Min back into his pocket, he grabbed her wrists to pull her close, and he gingerly met her lips.

He was soft as his hands came up to gently cup her cheek. The action made his heart flutter, he wished they kissed like this more often. This was nice. Jungkook would have been happy if they stopped here, really, it was all he needed at that moment, but he felt Yuri pull at his jacket.

“C'mon, aren’t you going to fuck me now?” Yuri tried to make it sound sexy, but Jungkook could tell she was a little annoyed he wasn’t doing anything yet.

Right. That’s all this was.

He let his hands slide down and settle on her waist— he took a moment to admire her before moving back.

When will he get another chance?

“Turn around…” He could tell Yuri was a little shocked at the command, but she smirked nonetheless before turning like he asked.

“Want your hands on the table, arch your back for me.” Jungkook’s voice was low. He tried his best to be in the moment as he watched Yuri strut her way over to their dining table. Even in the darkness of their apartment the view was amazing. Normally he would be drooling right now, but he still found it hard to actually want this.

He’ll make this quick— in, out, and then he’ll quickly pack. Simple.

Jungkook let his coat fall to the floor before walking over to Yuri, and he swiftly had his hands on her waist. He hurriedly tried to lose himself in the moment, chasing his hips into hers and kissing her neck. The action got an immediate reaction out of Yuri, and he took this chance to let his hand slide down into her tiny shorts, his fingers ran through her slit, and he wasn’t surprised to find her soaked already.

Yuri liked preparing herself in advance. Jungkook had told her many times that he wouldn’t mind helping, but she would always say she didn’t want him to get too turned on beforehand, fearing he’d finish before they actually got to fuck. Jungkook always tried to believe she knew best, but it was at times like these that he missed the most being buried between her legs, tasting her, and hearing her soft sighs of pleasure.

It also made him sad to think that’s how little she thought of him.

Jungkook tried not to think about it as his fingers settled on her clit, quickly stroking the bud, hoping her soft moans would be enough to bring him back from his spiraling thoughts.

Usually by now he’d be hard, desperately trying to get his pants down so he could finally feel her after so long. He wanted that now, but he couldn’t stop his mind from being elsewhere.

“J-Jungkook, are you—“ It was at that moment when she seemed to notice the divergence from the routine.

“You’re not hard yet?” She sounded so surprised, despite him only being in the apartment for probably not even five minutes.

“Ummm…” It was an insane expectation, but he still found himself panicking.

“Let’s go to bed, maybe less clothes might help…” He sounded so unsure, but he hoped that’s all it would take.

Yuri gave him a questionable look before she hurriedly grabbed his arm and led them to their bedroom.

The minute they were inside, Yuri tried to keep up her playful, flirty demeanor as she let go of him in the doorway and began a slight strip tease as she walked towards the bed. Her tank top hit the floor before she snaked her shorts down her legs.

If this was last week he probably would have exploded at the sight, but all he could think about was how disappointed he was about to make her, and how much his head still hurts.

No.

Don’t you see what’s right in front of you? You won’t get another chance like this for months.

Jungkook flipped off the lights.

“Ummm…” Yuri was confused. “Jungkook, why the fuck did you turn off the lights?”

“Don’t—“

“Don’t you want to look at me?” She sounded as if she was about to get angry.

“You said you find it easier this way. You don’t remember?” How could she forget they normally keep the lights off for these things? It was her who told him that this was the only way she’d ever fuck him.

“Jungkook, don’t be ridiculous, turn the lights back on and get over here.” She sighed.

Seems like she didn’t remember.

Jungkook hesitantly did as she asked, he turned the lights back on and let his suit jacket fall to the floor. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the thoughts in his head that only seemed to grow louder as he finally climbed on top of her.

He tried his best to focus on Yuri, on the fact that she was here and wanted to do this with him. Right, she wants this, and he does as well. It’s been months, regardless of her harsh words in therapy, maybe there was a chance that she had actually listened.

This thought fueled him into pulling her close and kissing her passionately, he was soft just like earlier, but with a more hurried, desperate need. He wanted her and he was trying to convince his own body he wanted this as well.

“Jungkook, hurry, take off your pants,” Yuri whined, tugging at his belt.

Right, clothes need to come off.

Jungkook looked down and realized he was still fully clothed.

Right… right…

He quickly hopped off the bed, his belt hit the floor first. With burning cheeks, he undid the button and pulled the zipper down before finally his pants joined the rest of the clothes scattered everywhere.

He was about to get back on the bed, but Yuri stopped him with her hand.

“Your shirt too…” She looked down at the button-up he was still wearing.

Jungkook suddenly felt the anxiety he’d been trying his best to manage spike at the mention of taking his shirt off. He still hadn’t made time to go back to the gym this week, and of course, of all times Yuri wanted to have the lights on, it had to be the moment he didn’t look as good as he usually did.

Would she notice?

Yuri picked up on his hesitancy. “Hello? What’s wrong with you today?”

“I-I’m sorry.” He stammered.

He was going to disappoint her.

With his heart nearly beating out of his chest, he slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, letting the fabric drop to the floor.

Her eyes scanned over him and his feeble attempt at covering himself up. In that moment, all the thoughts he’d been trying to suppress came back with a vengeance. He remembered her words in therapy, the disappointment he brought, how he could never make her happy.

“Are you coming?” She asked, the irritation evident in her tone.

Jungkook slowly made his way onto the bed, trying to push those thoughts away. But as he kissed her, as he tried to ignore how shitty he felt, it just wasn’t working, and it was then that he knew she could tell something was wrong.

“You’re still not hard…?” She was angry now.

He wasn’t, but he wanted to be, he wanted her. He just needed something to take away the thoughts swirling around in his head.

“Maybe your hand might help…” He felt awful for even suggesting it. He shouldn’t be greedy considering what she was offering, but for a second he thought about what Dr. Min had said earlier: Both people need to try, and Jungkook was clearly struggling.

It was obvious his words shocked her, and Jungkook used this opportunity to lightly grab her hand. Despite how much he was shaking, he slowly guided it down his body in hopes that she’d reach into his boxers and fix the situation. He knew it would have worked. In that moment, he would have easily forgotten all his troubling thoughts, all his worries, how hungry he was, his awful day, his headache, and how much he just wanted to sleep. He would have forgotten everything the minute she would have wrapped her hand around his cock. He would have been able to fuck her like he wanted.

But no, the second it became obvious what he was doing, Yuri yanked her hand back.

“What the actual fuck?” She was rightfully pissed.

He gave up at that point, he knew it wasn’t happening. Jungkook buried his head in her shoulder, hoping to hide the shame that was burning him away inside. Not only was he unable to give himself what he wanted, but he also let his wife down.

“Yuri I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do this.” Jungkook sobbed. Yes, he was crying again.

“What?”

“So much shit happened today— I’m so tired, I haven’t eaten all day, I can’t stop thinking, and, I just—” Was this really an acceptable excuse? He even had a hard time convincing himself. Still, he held onto her tightly. He wanted her here.

“Maybe we could try again later, please don’t leave me.” He finally pulled back to look into her eyes.

“We could stay in bed and cuddle, or I could make us dinner— we could even watch this movie I heard was really good.” Jungkook noticed her displeased expression become more irate the longer he rambled.

“Or maybe there’s something you want to watch— we could do anything you want… just… just don’t leave me alone.” All he wanted was his wife in his arms for one night. It felt so good to see her, to have her here with him, and as much as he wanted to be on his own when he walked in, he didn’t trust himself to be alone.

He wanted Yuri, he wanted to feel she wanted him as well.

Jungkook stared down at her, pleading with his eyes she’d say yes to something, anything, and it would have made up for how shitty today’s been.

He wanted to eat dinner together, to show off his mediocre cooking skills, something they could have laughed about over the wine his father gave him. Then they would have moved to the couch; Jungkook would have turned on that one movie he knew she would enjoy (he’s stopped himself from watching it, in hopes she would join him one day).

In his fantasy, they would cuddle, but he would have been fine even if they were five feet apart. Jungkook would have just been happy she was with him. Eventually, his emotions and the sexual frustration from the past few months would have him leaning over and he would have taken her right there on the couch; the movie would continue playing in the background, but neither of them would have been paying attention, as they were too busy enjoying the sounds of each other’s pleasure more than anything playing on TV.

Exhaustion would have come almost immediately after he spilled inside her, but Yuri would smile and pull him close, letting him fall asleep right there on top of her. It would have been too cozy, the feeling of her warm body embracing him as she ran her hands down his back, making him fall asleep instantly.

Once the movie would have ended, Yuri would've lightly woken him up so they could wash up before bed. She would have guided him to the shower and teased him about the fact that his eyes kept fluttering closed, but the water was warm, and he was just so happy and at peace. He would have cried the minute her hands lightly massaged his scalp, but she wouldn’t have noticed. He would have happily gone to bed with his wife in his arms, and—

This moment would have made up for all the hardships in their marriage, it would have been enough to give him hope once again, it would have erased his growing desire for his coworker, it would have made him believe that Yuri wanted him even only a little. Even if that wasn’t exactly what happened, he would have been just as happy. He would have taken anything…

Yuri rolled her eyes underneath him. “Jungkook, get off of me.”

As much as he didn’t want to let her go, he listened.

“Yuri, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded for her forgiveness as he watched her go over to grab her clothes off the floor.

“I can’t believe I left my friends for this.” She angrily grumbled to herself.

“Yuri ple—”

“Jungkook stop it, ok?!” Yuri yelled and it instantly had him shutting up. “I can’t believe I keep giving chances to someone so pathetic.” The words had Jungkook frozen on the bed.

“How am I so unlucky? We’re only twenty-five, but my god, the guy I had to marry, his dick doesn't even work! I went out of my way to come home early for you, and this is what I’m welcomed with; pathetic excuses to make up for your incompetence. And then you have the audacity to try and make me touch you because you can’t get your shit together!” Yuri gave him that disgusted look he’d feared the minute he saw she was home.

Her words cut deep, like a sword to a piece of paper. It seemed so simple and easy to her, but Jungkook was left in pieces, shattered, destroyed. At this point, he was so broken, he believed he deserved every word she said.

“And you’re crying again!” She acted shocked, but it was only an act because he really does cry a lot these days. There was nothing shocking about that.

Yuri looked at him for a second. He probably looked like a mess. He knew his face was red, it certainly felt hot, and it was just covered with tears and snot.

Despite this, despite everything, he didn’t want Yuri to leave. He feared the dark thoughts were beginning to be the only thing he could think about. He needed her here at least. “Yuri— please, don’t— don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, I’m scared, I—”

Yuri sighed. “I’m going to shower, and I’m leaving with my friends right after.” Before she walked off, she made the dramatic point of taking off her wedding ring and stuffing it into the drawer of her vanity. It was then that she stormed into the bathroom and slammed and locked the door behind her.

The silence. The fucking silence of the apartment after the door closed was too much to bear. Silence was always the perfect breeding ground for the vilest thoughts to flood into his head and engulf him entirely.

It felt like they were trying to fit just one more person in an already overcrowded elevator, but he was already tightly pressed against the corner, and the elevator was buzzing from keeping the doors open for so long. But the people in front just kept pushing him further in, trying to squeeze and shove more people inside. Just one more person, one more person and he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Just one more thought and he feared it would be the end of him. His thoughts screamed, shrieked, wailed in his head, but even in the chaos, Jungkook could hear every fucking word.

This was all his fault.

For a moment, Jungkook wished he had listened to Dr. Min and gone to Jimin’s apartment instead. Things would have been better and at least his hyung would have stayed by his side. Now he was alone. So fucking alone.

Jungkook tried his best not to cry too loudly; he knew Yuri hated it when he was loud, so he pulled the covers over his body and put his pillow over his face to suppress his screams. He cried because he felt Yuri was right, he cried because he felt his marriage really was in shambles, he cried because he was going to end up worse than his parents, he cried because he knew he was the one causing it. But what was the loudest in the darkest chamber of his thoughts, was that he believed he wasn’t worth the love he craved for.

Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about how miserable Yuri seemed. Even if he thought he was trying hard, for someone to say those things, for his wife to look at him like that, it was for a reason. He knew it.

Everything. Everything had to be his fault.

•────•──────────•────•

Jungkook ended up not eating that day.

Yuri left right after, just like she’d said, and she was hardly at the apartment for a few days after that. Jungkook was left largely alone, he didn’t go to work the next day, nor the next, or the one day after that. He found it too hard to get out of bed.

He was gone for a week, ignoring most of the concerned calls he would continuously get from someone at the company.

It was that weekend when Yuri came home for a brief moment only to grab something she needed. She had almost missed it completely, but before she turned to head downstairs, where her friends were waiting for her in the car, Yuri looked out the window to see Jungkook sitting on their balcony.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a cause of concern, but it had been pouring outside all day. Jungkook eventually explained that he had been sitting out since the rain had started (which was around noon), but when Yuri came home it was nearly 8:30pm…

He got really sick after that, pneumonia.

Yuri yelled at him for being dumb, but it just made things worse. Jungkook at least hoped the diagnosis would be enough to get Yuri to stay, but of course, why would she stay with him when he was battling pneumonia?

He believed he deserved the suffering. It was karma for skipping work for a week, for wasting his day instead of being productive, for being glued to the wine fridge and drinking everything he’d been saving for a special occasion.

Jungkook was never the same after all of this.

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#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #for the birds #bts #jungkook #bts fluff #bts angst #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fan fiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst

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majoryeager104 · 30 days ago

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Just the two of us (and everybody else)

pro hero Touya (my shaylaaaa) x reader <3

Summary: Touya attempts to make an effort and take you out for a nice dinner…that is, till it becomes less like a romantic date and more like a hero block party

Warnings: endeavor mentioned 🤮🤮🤮

Wordcount - 1k

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You’d been looking forward to this date for days.

A real dinner. Somewhere nice. You even wore something a little extra because Touya-Pro Hero “Regulus,” absolute menace to villains and reluctant poster boy of redemption-had actually made a reservation. With his name. At a restaurant that didn’t serve takeout in brown bags.

You arrived first, nervous and excited, heart fluttering when he finally walked in, hair swept back, wearing a dark button-up and that crooked smirk he only gave you.

"Hey," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry I’m late. Got cornered by a reporter on the way out of the agency."

"It’s okay. You look-"

"Tired?"

"-Good," you said firmly, taking his hand. “And maybe a little tired.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well. Hero work doesn’t stop, even for charming, ruggedly handsome men with dinner plans.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled out your chair for you. This was rare. Quiet moments, time that was only yours. Plus, he he was trying- Touya, who once tried to ghost a press event by setting the stage curtains on fire, was trying for you.

So of course, everything went to hell the second your drinks arrived.

It started with a very familiar voice shouting from the bar.

“Yo! Is that Regulus?!”

You and Touya both froze.

“I knew that was your crispy ass!” shouted Hawks, practically launching himself across the restaurant. He was still half in uniform, shades perched in his hair, and clearly zero percent interested in boundaries.

"Keigo- no," Touya muttered under his breath.

But it was too late.

"Look at you!" Hawks clapped him on the back, then leaned down to you with a grin. "Sorry to crash, but Touya never takes someone on a real date. Had to see it to believe it."

"You're not supposed to see it," Touya muttered.

You tried to stifle your laughter, and Hawks, pleased with himself, slid into the booth next to you like he belonged there. "This is cute. I’m staying."

Touya gave you a deadpan look. “Can i set him on fire? Would that count as a war crime?”

You patted his arm. “Let’s just call it a happy accident.”

Five minutes later, Mirko showed up.

She claimed she was “just grabbing dinner” and spotted familiar faces. “Didn’t realize this was a double date,” she said with a grin as she shoved Hawks over to make room.

“It’s not,” Touya growled.

You, holding in laughter, whispered, “It is now.”

He scowled. “This was supposed to be our night.”

“Yeah, well,” Mirko said, swiping one of his fries, “you chose a restaurant with good lighting and zero privacy. That’s on you, hotshot.”

Then came Shoto.

Because of course he did.

Apparently, he and some fellow students had chosen the same place for their post-mission dinner, and when he saw Touya at a table with you, he walked straight over.

“Hi,” he said. “Didn’t know you two were dating.”

Touya’s eye twitched. “We’re trying to.”

Shoto blinked. “Oh. That’s nice. You seem... calm.”

“I was.”

You waved. “Hi, Shoto.”

He nodded politely at you, then glanced at the ever-growing crowd. “Are we... all joining?”

Touya leaned back in the booth, defeated. “Why not. Let’s make it a block party. Where’s Endeavor? Might as well round up the whole family.”

“Don’t joke,” you said. “He might actually show up.”

Mirko laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her drink.

Somehow, despite the chaos, you found yourself smiling through the whole thing. The food came, conversations overlapped, Hawks tried to wingman Touya in real time (Touya nearly threw a breadstick at him), and Mirko challenged you to arm wrestle over dessert.

Touya, slouched beside you, finally sighed. “This was supposed to be romantic.”

You leaned into his shoulder, grinning. “It is.”

He looked at you, skeptical. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.” You picked up a piece of his grilled chicken with your fork. “I think this is the most fun I’ve had in ages. And you’re still the best part of it.”

He huffed a soft laugh, cheeks just slightly pink. “You’re too good for me.”

You nudged him. “Obviously. But you’re making the effort. That counts.”

From across the table, Hawks raised a glass. “To Touya’s emotional growth and terrible dating luck!”

Mirko raised hers too. “And to crashing his dates forever!”

Even Shoto, utterly monotone, added: “To the unforeseen gathering.”

Touya groaned, but he clinked glasses with them anyway.

Later, when the others finally trickled out, full and loud and laughing, you and Touya sat side by side in the quiet aftermath. The booth was a mess. Your dessert was half-melted. And the date you planned was long gone.

But Touya looked at you- really looked- and gave you that rare, half-soft, half-tired smile he saved just for nights like this.

“Next time,” he said, voice low, “I’m booking a private room.”

“Next time,” you echoed, smiling back.

And you both knew: for all the chaos, for all the interruptions and ridiculousness-

There would be a next time.

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#pro hero au #touya x reader #dabi x reader #bnha #Mha #pro hero touya #Pro hero Touya x reader #bnha touya #mha touya #bnha dabi #mha dabi #touya todoroki #Spotify

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hauntedwitch04 · 8 months ago

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Video call

Sam Winchester x reader

Words: about 1.2k

Warnings: smut, brat Sammy

Author's note: Hi loves<3. So first day of this kinktober! So happy to share again my fics with you. Hope you enjoy it<3

kinktober 2024 - taglist

You haven't heard from the boys in two days, and you're starting to worry.

You get out of the shower, drying your hair with a towel when you hear the computer make a rhythmic, cheerful sound, and immediately with run to answer the video call.

You read your fiancé's name on the screen, and immediately a shiver of happiness runs down your spine, before a little voice in your head reminds you of what he and his older brother had gone through on the hunt they went on far from what you now call home. As soon as you answer, you see his handsome face reveal itself before you, with his usual infectious smile that he often only turns to you. His happy eyes immediately make you let out a sigh of relief, realizing that he is all right, though that doesn't stop you from taking a good look at him.

"Love, how are you?" he breaks the silence after a few seconds of you standing in silence watching each other. You smile and shake your head.

"I should be the one to ask how you're doing, you're the one who went on a suicide mission with Dean." He comments and Sam can't help but laugh at your words.

"Suicide mission seems exaggerated to me, we have done much worse things. This was a simple ghost, nothing out of the ordinary." He says as if he were talking about today's weather.

"To think that a few years ago ghosts were the strangest thing we encountered."

"Yeah, those were good times, other than demons, angels, God and Lucifer." Sam comments, shaking his head as he takes a good look at you.

"Did you just get out of the shower?" Your fiancé asks as he looks around for a second in the dingy motel room where he and Dean are staying. His brother has gone out for a drink at the bar, so Sam is sure that for some time he will certainly not be bothered by the elder Winchester.

"It's not nice to peek into the cleavage of a lady Sam Winchester, you know." You say as you purposely lean forward so that your breasts are even more visible, knowing that they are one of the few Sam's weak spots when it comes to you.

"Come on baby, all I've been doing for a week is thinking about you and all the unpronounceable things I would do to you if I had you here in my hands." He says whining.

"You are lucky then that just this morning I bought a little something for you. I've been waiting to show it to you when we meet again, but I might make an exception to the rule and show it to you." You say as you get up from the bed you were sitting on. "But you must promise me that you will close your eyes and wait."

"Scout's honor." Sam says bringing one hand to his chest, while with the other he slides the computer lower, thus managing to pull down the zipper of his jeans and over his boxers massaging the erection that was becoming more painful as the minutes passed.

After a few minutes you reappear in front of the screen in a sheer satin dress that reaches just below your ass, through which you can see everything. This perfectly wraps your breasts and also allows you to see the microscopic panties you are wearing. In his eyes you are always a godness, but in this moment, he swears he never believed this much in something supernatural, because for sure you are not human, an neither an angel or a siren, a new species, his and only his.

Sam lets out a sigh as he feels he might burst out at that same moment.

"God, help me." He whispers in an under voice.

"There is no one to help you Sammy boy, just you and me." You say sensuously, as you sit back on your heels, making your tits stick out even more prominently, pointing out your turgid nipples through the thin fabric to your boyfriend, who by now had pulled his dick out of his boxers and started gently massaging it, fearful that he might orgasm at any moment. On seeing this you cannot refrain from bringing your right hand down to your thin panties, the only barrier separating you from the most sensitive spot on your body. He begins to touch you gently as you see him close his eyes and rest his head against the wall behind him.

"Eyes on me Sammy." You incite him as you uncover your breasts with your left hand and begin to massage them, moaning with the pleasure this simple act brings you. But that is not enough and you know it. You will never cum as you do on his thick finger, on his sexy hands. You start to imagine that is his hand to touch you on you cunt, and in the exact moment you feel yourself closer than ever to the orgasm.

"We'll see if you're still this commanding when I get home honey." Sam says, moaning as his eyes fix on the movement of your hips, on your fingers as you chase a pleasure he knows you can't get to without him. He continues to look at you, chasing with you the same high you bith crave. The man then remains mesmerized by your tits that continue to move as if in a dance to the sound of your moans.

"Good, that's the way to move. I know you can't come except with my fingers anyway, don't you love?" He says in a sensual tone as you nod too caught up in the pleasure. "You are my little slut, you can't cum if I'm not the one that is making you cum." He continues. "Words, babe, I want words. I want to know what my voice is making you while you ride that preatty hands of yours thinking is mine."

You moan while your finger starts to go faster while you can't say a single word, your brain to lost to even comprend that anymoment Dean could come back. While you are loosing yourself, Sam start to stroke his cock even faster than before, reaching everytime somewhere closer to the pleasure he longs for. You hear his moans and you understand that he is cumming, so you start to touch you clit faster, feeling your pleasure near. In this moment, where you where on the peak, ready to fall in that sinful sensation, when he suddenly tells you to stop.

You open you eyes, closed for the pleasure you where feeling coming near your orgasm, and you see him looking like a god, while he still slowly stroke himself, glowing from his previous pleasure.

"You wanted to provoke me with the little thing you are wearing, now you don't get to cum sweetheart. You'll wait until I come home tomorrow, and I'll get to tear that dress on the floor. See you love, sleep well." He ends the calls like this, sending you a kiss while you are still there, unsatisfied and angry with him, but at the same time turned on for the things he will do tomorrow when you will be together again.

Taglist:

@alinabookworm @lynbubble @beanpods-blog @bartonsgirl @chaos1864 @anu-piyakya97 @alexyzm0on @elliexHerron @throwing-up-butterflies

#sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester imagine #supernatural x reader #kinktober 2024

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lyricwritesprose · 5 months ago

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Me versus a fanfic idea, trying to cohere

Having been watching some of "My Adventures With Superman" lately, and I have become kind of obsessed with a crack idea that came to me last night at fuck o'clock in the morning, that being: what if (in the MAWS continuity or any one in which the Kents are both alive) Jonathan and Martha got roped into briefly housing or fostering a teen after Clark was out on his own?

I mean. Like. Imagine you're this kid. You are staying with the most tragically uncool individuals on this planet, but they're honestly nice, they aren't bothered by all the stuff that got you labeled A Troubled Youth or the gender stuff you may have going on or any of that, they just seem fundamentally Able To Roll With It, and, okay, this is going to be fine. It's temporary anyway. Just keep out of trouble.

And they have an adult son who comes around sometimes? He's kind of nice too. Maybe twenty-one, twenty-two, he's built like a moose and you'd think he'd be imposing but he's kind of shy and awkward and somehow just fundamentally Not Like the people who beat you up before, so you're pretty chill with him. He knows all the good places on the farm to sit and think, or sit and draw. One time when he comes around he shows you the creek and you learn all about the frogs and the crawdads and the snakes. Tells you about the corn snake he rescued once. Stuff like that.

Only some things really don't add up.

Like, there's never a car in the driveway when he shows up. And it's not on weekends or anything like that, it's weird times.

And there's a note on the fridge that says, "If you drink all the milk please replace it THIS MEANS YOU," and before long you figure out it's gotta be meant for him, because he will take a gallon and finish it a glass at a time and who can even do that without throwing up? Wasn't there some kind of ghastly TikTok challenge about that?

And when you joked to his Dad and Mom that he seems to have a real superpower for figuring out whether there is going to be pie, you got such weird, almost nervous looks that you quickly dropped the subject.

And one time you swear he appeared out of absolutely nowhere to walk you back to the house because Mr. Peterson's bull broke the fence and is wandering this way. (He was the first one to realize this. How did he realize this? He's sort of guiltily evasive on the subject.)

And he reassures you one time that you don't actually need to fear the Kansas Mothman because he accidentally started that legend. How? He really doesn't want to talk about it.

What with one thing and another, you start wondering…

Maybe he's a ghost.

Maybe something awful happened and he can't move on. You don't want to suspect the Kents, they are honestly pretty top-notch for parental types (especially after some of the ones you've known) but other people in the town? You know personally how ghastly a small town can be to That Weird Kid. Maybe something really bad happened.

(Maybe it could happen to you too.)

So you've got to figure out what's going on so you can get justice for your friend. You start to investigate. Smallville does have rather more than its fair share of Weird Shit—like possibly a lot more—but you're not really getting anywhere. And it occurs to you that you don't really have the wherewithal to go and try to find—well, let's not put too fine a point on it, to find an unmarked grave—that could be anywhere.

Meanwhile the world has at this point in time started to see some Seriously Weird Shit, although at this point it's largely In Other Places because that's where everything in the world happens, there is absolutely Nothing Significant In Kansas and probably never will be, but it gives you an idea. Slightly insane and scary idea, but you've hit so many dead ends that it might be worth it.

You're going to try to contact Superman and see if he can use his rumored X-ray vision to figure out what happened to Clark.

…

Just to be clear, I have no idea what the ultimate punchline is for this piece of ridiculous meandering is, and it's the sort of thing that does require a pretty good punchline. So I don't know if it's ever actually going to get written. On the other hand, it is one of my favorite dishes, which is Canon Characters Helping Queer Kid, with a heavy helping of Following Logic-like Structures To Wrong Conclusions sauce.

So I thought I might post the idea, because I have this lovely optimistic belief that sometimes, I am in fact extremely funny, and tumblr is a place that often eggs me on.

#maws #my adventures with superman #superman

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megalony · 9 months ago

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This Is Fate- Part 6

I'm so happy to be posting the next part of my Dark! Evan Buckley series, thank you for all the amazing feedback.

I can't wait to know what you all think to the little twist.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay

@5hundreddaysofsummer @soryuwifeyxx @targaryenluvs @xobarbie

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Eddie is surprised when his little sister comes to LA, pregnant, and asks to stay with him. She needs a fresh start away from her ex, but things take a bad turn when she finds out her ex works with her brother. And he won't let her go so easily.

Enjoy.

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With his bag shrugged on his shoulder, Eddie trudged across the car park towards the main entrance of the station.

He could hear the same mantra he had been telling himself all night, going round and round in his head like a broken record.

Don't start a fight. Don't let him get to you. Play nice, for everyone's sake.

Those words circulated around Eddie's head like it was the only thing he could understand. He couldn't start a fight with Evan at work. He couldn't let anything Evan might say get a rise out of him or gain a reaction. Eddie had to be the bigger person and play it safe.

He didn't want the rest of the team finding out that Evan was the baby's father. If the team knew, they would try and push Eddie and Evan closer together and make them seem like brothers. Like before. Before this mess got in the way. And Eddie didn't want to be anywhere near Evan. If the team knew, it would be worse for (Y/n). They would try and see her around Evan or he would try and get closer to her, like the leech he was starting to become.

If no one knew, Eddie could handle this situation himself. He could either help Evan to be himself again, to be calm and considerate around (Y/n) rather than overbearing and controlling. Or he would have to do something like involving the police in order to keep his sister and niece safe.

Everything was going to be easier if the team were none the wiser to what was happening.

Eddie took a deep breath as he walked into the station, preparing himself for whatever mood Evan was going to be in. He had no idea whether his former friend was going to be cool and brisk or if he would try and cosy up to Eddie and act like they were still the best of friends.

He was a little taken back to find Evan was already here. Eddie was early, which meant that Evan was even earlier.

Evan was stood between the truck and the ambulance, a tender smile on his face and his arms folded over his chest as he stood with the team. But what caught Eddie's attention was the fact that Evan had his uniform on, but his bag was slung over his shoulder and remnants of grime and dirt were stuck to his face.

How long had be been here? Had he already started his shift? Why did he look like he had been here for hours?

Eddie didn't miss the way that Evan shivered when he caught sight of him. Was he finally starting to relent and give in? Was he finally realising that Eddie would go to the ends of the Earth to keep him away from his sister? If Evan was starting to get nervous around him then Eddie knew he was doing his job and that things might finally go in his and (Y/n)'s favour, for once.

He tried not to hurry his steps as he approached the rest of the team, but Eddie found himself frowning.

Evan stepped away from him. The taller man pulled his shoulders in and adverted his gaze down to the floor like he was ashamed or suddenly fearful over Eddie. He gripped his bag tighter on his shoulder and stood that little bit closer to Hen who had her hand on his arm and a comforting smile on her face.

"I'd better head home, I- I'll catch you all later." Evan rubbed the heel of his boot into the floor like he was digging a hole and he continued to avoid Eddie's confused gaze.

There was a light blush dusting his face when Evan looked over at Hen and smiled softly at her as she squeezed his arm.

"We're all happy for you, Buck." It was clear Hen's words were referring to whatever conversation they'd been having before Eddie turned up. Leaving Eddie stood in the dark, totally confused as to what was going on and the topic that they had been talking about which had clearly become stilted upon his arrival.

Evan nodded, patted her hand and walked away from her and Chimney as the three of them had been stood chatting for a while now before Eddie turned up. When he went to walk away, Eddie reached out and tried to grab his arm.

His touch wasn't cold or malicious like it had been before and he wasn't about to yank him back or start a fight here. He just wanted to know where Evan was going. He should have been on shift the same as Eddie today and although Eddie hadn't been best pleased about having to be civil, he preferred having Evan right where he could see him. As long as their shifts aligned, it meant Eddie would watch him at all times and then be with (Y/n) so there was no danger of Evan getting to her and doing anything he shouldn't.

But the moment Eddie softly held Evan's upper arm, the taller man shuddered and stepped back. He was quick to wrench his arm out of Eddie's grasp as if he had been scolded by him and he actually flinched.

A bewildered look passed over Eddie's face like an oncoming storm and he frowned in utter confusion.

"Buck, what th-"

"Have a good shift, guys." Evan dipped his head, visibly quaking as he stepped away from Eddie and proceeded to hurry out the station.

What was going on? What had Eddie missed?

Eddie twisted to look at his other teammates, but he was surprised to find Chimney had already walked away and was heading up towards the kitchen. He hadn't even said hello to Eddie, he hadn't said one word or even looked at him and he was walking away. And when he looked across at Hen, unease written plainly on his features, he frowned.

She walked past him with a stoic expression and her chin tilted up like she wasn't going to give him the time of day. What had he done to get the cold shoulder?

Their last shift had been fine, they had all been laughing so much Eddie almost pulled a muscle. That had been a good shift because Evan had to hang back at the station while the rest of them went out on the majority of the calls. Eddie didn't have to deal with him and they had all been having a laugh. It had been calming. So what had changed since then?

"Eddie, a word in my office please?"

The sight of Bobby made a momentary feeling of ease wash over Eddie, right until he looked at his Captain. Bobby looked uneasy. Clearly something had happened this morning and Eddie needed filling in on the situation.

He nodded, dumping his bag on the bench beside him before he followed Bobby down the long corridor towards his office. There was something in Bobby's voice that made Eddie feel like he was heading to the principal's office, about to get told off.

Why did he have a sudden feeling that this had something to do with Evan?

He shut the door behind him and moved to sit down opposite Bobby's desk. His eagle eyes watching his Captain sit down. Bobby looked perplexed. He was sat up straight in his chair and both hands were fiddling around with the papers on his desk like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Where's Buck gone, the shift's just started." Eddie looked down at his watch, just to make sure that he hadn't overslept or that his watch wasn't late. But he was early like he always was to shift, which meant Evan had to of been here for a while. He had changed his shift or swapped with someone.

"He's done an early shift, I've modified the rota because he wanted a few shift changes."

"Okay… why am I here, what's going on?"

Whatever this was, Eddie didn't like it. He could see in Bobby's expression that he was uncomfortable and he didn't want to be having whatever conversation this was about to become. Something had definitely happened while Eddie had been off for the last three days. He had missed something important, he could feel it.

He leaned his elbows on the armrests and clasped his hands together in front of him, trying not to sit too straight or slouch down in case it gave the wrong impression. Although he wasn't sure what kind of impression he should be giving when he had no idea what was going on.

Bobby danced his eyes around the desk, planting both palms down against the cold wood before he looked over at Eddie. "Buck came to talk to me yesterday, he's worried about you, Eddie."

"About me?" Well that wasn't right for a start. There was no reason Evan would be worried about him. They had been arguing, Evan was entirely in the wrong. The only thing he should be worried about was whether or not Eddie was going to stand in his way and stop him from seeing (Y/n) and his daughter.

But that was a personal matter, nothing to do with work or Bobby or the station.

"I'll be honest with you Eddie, he's shown me the texts, and I heard about the argument at (Y/n)'s scan last week. Buck's worried this might cause problems at work and frankly, so am I."

What the Hell was Buck up to?!

Why had he been talking to Bobby about this? Why had he shown Bobby their messages? If Bobby scrolled back far enough he would see all the crazy shit Evan had said when Eddie riled him up last week. He had said all sorts. He loved (Y/n), he wasn't letting her go. She wasn't taking his daughter who was his and his alone. No one would stop him from seeing them both or being with (Y/n).

The amount of things Evan had said were more worrying than Eddie telling him to calm down or stay away from (Y/n). Why weren't they talking about that instead of what Eddie had said in anger and truth? It seemed like Evan couldn't tell the truth if his life depended on it.

"Bobby, you don't understand-"

"I know he's in a relationship with (Y/n), he's been very open about that, and about how you're protective over her which is okay. But I can't have this causing problems with the pair of you at work. Buck asked for a pattern change and I've agreed and set it in place, but I don't want anymore problems occurring."

Eddie could feel his heart stuttering in his chest, forgetting what pace it was supposed to be working at, causing his body to shake and his chest to seize up. Each heartbeat thumped against his ribs and caused a horrid jolt to course through his veins.

He scratched his hands up and down his thighs and tilted his head down so he could focus on looking at the frays in the knees of his jeans and count every breath he took.

This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. Evan was twisting this to his advantage, he couldn't do this!

"What about him? Bobby this isn't just me fucking around, Buck's done some shit too."

"That may be, but you're the one sending threatening messages to him Eddie. You pushed him in front of witnesses at the hospital and you've been calling him non stop and telling him to stay away from (Y/n), which isn't your choice. He's very worried about you, and so am I because if this continues I'll have to give you a warning or go to senior management."

Oh no.

No, no no, he can't be doing this!

Evan had jumped the gun. He had gotten the head start on Eddie. He had set this up from the very beginning, he knew exactly what he was doing and how to cheat the system.

He was starting the lies that Eddie was the one with the anger problem, that Eddie was the one instigating the trouble. If Evan went down this path, if he told Bobby first and tried to get evidence to prove his point, then Eddie would be stuck.

He was stuck. Eddie couldn't go to Bobby in confidence and explain that Evan was (Y/n)'s stalker. He couldn't tell Bobby that Evan had frightened (Y/n), followed her, controlled her and was still trying to bend her to his will. Anything Eddie tried to say from this point onwards would look like he was going after Evan, that he was persecuting him for being with (Y/n).

The truth wouldn't matter because Evan had set the stage. He had told Bobby and he had clearly told the team something too in order to turn them against Eddie. They would think Eddie was being the protective big brother, that he was spiting Evan for being with his sister.

They weren't going to believe Eddie because Evan was playing the victim and anything he said was going to take precident over whatever accusations Eddie started.

If Eddie wanted to tell the truth, he was going to have to find all the texts, he was going to make to get (Y/n) to talk to Bobby or to the police as well so Evan wouldn't have any other lies to tell.

Evan had made himself the victim.

"Fine. I'd rather not work with him anyway." His hands slammed down on the arms of the chair and he moved to stand up, but he paused when Bobby stood up too.

He wasn't going to argue. He wasn't going to sit here and be told he was being threatening and evasive and picking on his former friend, when Evan was the one to blame. Evan had set this up like an insurance policy to keep himself safe and make sure he got his clutches onto (Y/n). Well Eddie wasn't going to play the game.

This was why Evan had run off like a skittish animal out of the station, he was playing the sympathy game. Pretending he was worried about being around Eddie, acting as if Eddie might tackle him so the team felt sorry for him.

"Eddie, this is serious."

"So reprimand me."

"I'm not doing this to persecute you, this is just a chat, no warnings or written warnings or anything like that. But I have to talk to you because if this is going to be a problem, if this behaviour happens at work you'll have to be on opposite shifts and I'll have to give you a warning."

"What is it you think I've done?" The way his upper lip curled made Bobby sigh. "I didn't punch him or start a fight, Bobby. He was out of line at the hospital so I pushed him away from (Y/n). That's it and that had nothing to do with work, if he can grow up then I can be professional."

It hadn't been a fight, Evan was twisting this to make himself the vulnerable, persecuted victim.

After (Y/n)'s scan, Evan had attached himself to her like a leech and he tried to tell her she could go home with him, again. Eddie wasn't having any of it and so he pushed Evan back. That was all he did, he didn't punch him or shout at him or cause a scene in the waiting room. He pushed him and walked out with (Y/n) before Evan could follow after them.

He should of hit him. At least that might have gotten the message through Evan's skull and made him realise he was playing with fire.

"You both need to sort this out between you because I won't have this affecting your work."

What would of happened if Eddie had come to Bobby first? What would Bobby have done if he learned the truth? Would he have talked to (Y/n), reassured her he would watch Evan and make sure he didn't spread anymore lies or try and get close to her? Would Bobby have taken their side?

Maybe Evan would have a note on his file by now that he was acting out and was becoming a danger. Maybe he would have been talked to by higher management. Maybe Athena would have gotten involved.

If the team could see this through (Y/n)'s eyes, if they could see why Eddie was trying to protect her, maybe they would agree. Maybe they would shun Evan instead of Eddie and do whatever they could to make him stop, to make him act properly and go about this in the right way.

Eddie would never know how the team would react, because the damage had already been done. By Evan. Again.

"Eddie, a piece of advice? Whatever the problem is here, you can't change the fact that Buck and (Y/n) are having a kid together. He's going to be in your life and you both have to find out how to work with this. Avoiding each other isn't going to work forever."

With a huff, Eddie walked out and slammed the door behind him, relishing in the way the wall shuddered at his force and his presence. He could feel his hands balling up into fists at his sides. All he was doing was trying to protect his family, and he was about to get reprimanded for it.

No, avoiding each other wasn't going to work forever. But Eddie wasn't going to let Evan have his own way and set the rules. He would keep his sister safe from Evan's clutches, in any way he could.

***

A headache began to form behind (Y/n)'s eyes when she blearily looked around the living room.

She had fallen asleep.

It was getting harder and harder for (Y/n) to manage some sleep nowadays, she spent most nights tossing and turning or just staring up at the ceiling, waiting in vain for her mind to get so tired it shut itself down.

She wasn't used to taking naps during the day, but she was relieved she had managed to doze off for a while. It would do her some good to get some sleep, and it would help the baby too. (Y/n) knew all the worry recently wasn't doing her any good, it was making her feel ill and making her sluggish at work. A bit of rest might make her feel better.

It took some effort to push up from the cushion she had been dozing on and sit upright on the sofa. She heaved her legs back down so her feet were touching the floor and ran her fingers through her hair, moving it so it didn't look as if she had just been dragged through a hedge.

It dawned on her why she had suddenly woken up from her nap she didn't remember taking. She could hear an engine revving outside.

Chris was home.

Pushing up from the sofa, she clicked her spine into place and moved her hand to cradle her stomach.

Evan had brought him home. Despite Eddie vowing not to let Evan near Chris or (Y/n), he had given in when he realised not seeing Evan was going to crush his son. Chris had asked when he could see Evan next and he was still anxious about not wanting (Y/n) to leave. If he suddenly stopped seeing the one other person he relied on, he would know something was wrong.

Eddie had set the rules in place. Evan could take him out to the cinema today and go for a drive, but Chris had to be home for tea time. Evan couldn't come in, he couldn't try any tricks or make (Y/n) uncomfortable or say anything that would unsettle Chris.

He knew Chris would be safe with Evan. The possessive side was only there for (Y/n) and it would only flare up around her or the baby, it wouldn't extend to Chris. Unless Evan was parted from him too. Keeping contact was best for the pair of them and Eddie was willing to let it continue because he knew Evan hadn't done anything to worry or upset Chris like he had done with (Y/n).

Moving her hand to the armchair, (Y/n) used it as leverage and pushed herself into the hall. She padded barefoot towards the front door but she took a step back when it swung open and Chris came trotting in, as usual.

Her lips curved into a smile as he kicked off his shoes and hung up his bag and she felt her heart bubbling up when he set his sights on her and grinned. But (Y/n) could feel her smile quivering, desperate to fall into a frown when she realised who else was in the doorway.

Chris had his hand tightly enveloped in Evan's and he pulled Evan inside as if he was a dog on a leash.

Evan kicked the door shut behind him and shrugged out of his shoes, the usual habit when he came over. He knew things would change, he had never felt like a guest in the Diaz household, but now he was going to be an unwelcomed visitor.

It was a good thing Evan knew Eddie wasn't home and that Chris wanted him here. The ten year old had practically dragged him in without asking, simply presuming Evan would come in for a while like he usually did, and Evan was more than willing to come in because he knew (Y/n) was home.

Without Eddie here to guard her, Evan could be as close to her as he liked without consequence.

"Hi baby," (Y/n) watched as Chris finally let go of Evan's hand so he could barrell over to (Y/n) and bind his arms around her waist. He glued himself to her front, trying to be mindful of her bump that was now in the way and he giggled when she leaned down to kiss his hair. Ruffling his curls in the process, which made him squeeze her tighter.

(Y/n) was rather relieved that Evan had stuck to the agreement. She knew Eddie had been worried that he might try and take liberties. That he would keep Chris out later than he was told or take him back to his place or just do something to push the boundaries that he shouldn't.

But Eddie had been firm, and he had been less than kind when he had a quiet word with Evan after work.

He didn't care what lies Evan told to the team, but he explained that Evan couldn't get away with anything. If he took liberties with Chris, then Eddie would make sure Evan wouldn't get close to his daughter once she was born.

The threat had been enough to rattle Evan's cage and make him agree to any terms placed in front of him.

"Did you two have fun?" (Y/n) ran her fingers through Chris's hair as he continued to hug her, sticking to her side like they were now permanently glued together.

She tried not to, but she couldn't help but dance her eyes over to Evan. He had taken his shoes off. He had shut the door behind him. He wasn't intending on leaving yet. He had been told to drop Chris off and go, whenever he did that he would usually sit in the jeep and wait until Chris got inside, then he would drive off. Clearly when Chris had asked him if he was coming in, Evan took the invitation without a second thought.

She could feel her heart jumping into her throat when Evan grinned at her. He looked so casual, stood there with his hip leaning against the side table and one hand on his hip.

And (Y/n) didn't miss the way that Evan's eyes dragged up and down her frame, lingering in many places, as long as he liked because they both knew no one else was home. No one was going to tell him to back off. If he got closer, (Y/n) wouldn't have the nerve to tell him to move because Chris was here and she couldn't upset him.

"Yeah, he loved the film." Evan's voice was silky smooth and he reached up to drag his hand across his freshly shaved jaw in that manner which hid his smirk behind his hand.

"You didn't tell me!"

"Tell you what, baby?" Tilting her head to one side, (Y/n) narrowed her eyes as a quizzical smile played on her lips.

What hadn't she told Chris? Had she forgotten to mention something, about the movie perhaps? It had to be something good because she could feel her nephew vibrating against her, practically bouncing up and down like he was about to explode.

"That you and uncle Buck are having a baby! That means he's really gonna be my uncle now, right?"

A cold shiver cast down (Y/n)'s spine as dread started to pool in her stomach where the baby was livening up.

He hadn't?

He had. One look at that devilish smirk on Evan's face told (Y/n) he had gone and done something she wished he hadn't. He had made things ten times worse, just to play the game to his advantage.

He had told Chris the baby was his.

Evan had cemented himself in the family and made sure nothing could happen without him knowing. By telling Chris, he was affirming himself and his place in (Y/n)'s life. If Chris knew, he wouldn't let this go. He would let Evan in all the time, he would call him his uncle, he would love that his two favourite people were seemingly in a relationship and having a baby.

If (Y/n) even thought about leaving again, Chris would undoubtedly let anything slip to Evan. He would be his eyes and ears when (Y/n) wasn't in his sights.

This was Evan's way of making sure he was in his daughter's life. They couldn't keep him away without horridly distressing Chris, and neither Eddie nor (Y/n) would want to do that unless strictly necessary. They would have to let Evvan be involved with his child, they would have to let him hang around and take Chris out and be close to (Y/n). They didn't have a choice anymore.

Chris would tell the team, he would tell his friends, he would tell anyone and everyone that Evan and (Y/n) were in a relationship. This worked everything entirely to Evan's advantage.

(Y/n) fought back a shiver when Evan walked over to them. She stiffened when his arm curved around her waist so his hand rested on her lower back, and she stayed completely motionless when he pressed a deep kiss to her temple.

"It sure does, buddy."

He had officially integrated himself and rooted (Y/n) here. She couldn't go anywhere or leave with the baby without causing a fight with Evan and making waves through their whole friendship group.

"L- let's start dinner." (Y/n) shakily squeezed Chris in another little hug before she detached herself from him.

She glanced up at Evan as she pulled out of his arms and the silent debate between them was won when Chris waved Evan to follow. Muttering a soft "You staying?" Which sounded more like a command than a question.

"How could I refuse?"

They both knew why he was staying. Eddie was on the late shift, he wouldn't be home until roughly eight o'clock tonight. There was three hours to play with. Three whole hours where Evan could be in his girl's company and wrap himself around her and kiss her and talk to her freely without having to look over his shoulder or hold himself back to please Eddie.

Without him here, Evan felt like he had had the shackles taken off his wrists and he was a free man. He had been released from his prison that had restrained him to the point of insanity. Not being able to hold his girl drove him mad. Not being able to reach out for her stomach and feel his baby wriggling had him on the verge of tears.

Not talking to her or holding her close or pinning her beneath him had him in a state of desperation Evan had never felt before. (Y/n) felt the pair of them following after her as she headed into the kitchen and washed her hands. She had prepared most of the food earlier, all she had to do was put everything on the stove and cook the mince.

She forced herself to smile and handed the pan of chopped vegetables over to Chris so he could put them on the stove.

"Does this… does this mean you'll move out? You'll live with uncle Buck now?" Chris divided his attention between them, looking from one to the other as (Y/n) stood near the sink and Evan stood behind him.

Evan placed one hand on the counter and the other on Chris's shoulder so he could lean down and kiss the top of his head. Chris was unknowingly doing all the work here for him. If (Y/n) said yes, she wouldn't be able to back out. If she said no, she would have to explain to Chris why, and make the situation more complicated.

"I- I suppose… I don't think that cot will fit in my room here, do you?" (Y/n) wasn't trapping herself in this conversation. She would make light of it. After all, Chris knew she had been looking at flats. She could always tell him that once she got her own flat, that she and Evan were going to co-parent together but didn't have to live together.

But she knew she couldn't stay here forever, no matter how badly she wanted to. She needed a place of her own, for her and the baby. She couldn't stay here with Chris and Eddie and she could hardly stay in that room and squash a cot in there with her.

Eddie had gone out with her to get a few things, considering (Y/n) had barely anything ready for the baby. She had put it off long enough, so now she had bought a crib and stroller and some clothes, just a few essentials.

"We'll have to get sorted soon, she'll be here before we know it."

Evan's words rung true and (Y/n) tried not to pull away or make any sudden movements when Evan shuffled to stand beside her. The affection in his voice had her eyes welling over with tears.

She did her best to stop her hands from shaking as she put the mince on the stove and started to stir the pan. Her eyes intently focused on the cooking while Chris watched intently, and she felt Evan's presence at her side more than ever.

Especially when she felt his hand drag across her stomach. She stayed still, letting Evan trail his fingertips along her bump, clearly waiting for a kick or some sign that their daughter was awake. (Y/n) didn't like to stop him because she knew Evan wasn't trying to play games, he was with his words, but not these kind of touches. He wanted to feel a kick, he wanted to feel her move and feel involved. (Y/n) didn't have the heart to stop him.

"So, you've got a few things ready for her, then?"

"Hm?" (Y/n) dragged her gaze away from Evan's hand that didn't leave her stomach and looked up at him, confusion glazing over in her eyes until she realised what he meant. "Oh, yeah, not much. Cot, carrier, pram, that's it I think. There's still heaps more to do."

Her attention shifted back to the cooking, but she could feel her mind drifting away and trying so hard to concentrate on Evan's movements.

The way he shifted to stand behind her like he was pinning her in between the cooker and himself. The way his chest pressed down against her back when he leaned over her shoulder. And how his left hand curved over her hip while his right hand continuted to feather across her stomach so softly she felt like she was imagining the touch.

"I'll take you next week, to get whatever else we need." His lips pressed against the side of her temple and he nudged his nose into her hairline, staying there for a few seconds. She could feel his even breaths fanning against her skin and she didn't mistake the way his arms tightened around her like he was caging her in.

She wanted to refuse. She wanted to say no, but how could she? This was his baby too. (Y/n) would feel cruel going out and getting everything without so much as consulting Evan on a few things. She wasn't doing this alone no matter how she had tried in the beginning. Doing this alone had mainly consisted of acting like she wasn't pregnant to begin with.

"Can I come with you? I can find her some Disney stuff." The excitement in Chris's voice was hard to resist and he planted his hands down on the counter as he began swaying from his heels to his toes.

"Sure buddy. She's definitely gonna be a Disney princess."

(Y/n) found herself nodding when Chris looked up at her. At least if Chris went with them, (Y/n) would feel moderately safe and at ease. Evan would never do anything inappropriate in front of Chris, and he would have to watch what he said because they all knew Chris retained information like an encyclopaedia.

If he tagged along with them, Evan couldn't be too touchy-feely with (Y/n) and if she asked him to take her home, he couldn't just disagree and take her to his place, something he had done before in the past.

And it would stop (Y/n) from overly panicking if someone went with her to buy the things she needed for the baby. Even if that did happen to be Evan. It wouldn't feel so daunting with the pair of them going with her.

"Okay, why don't you go set up a game to beat Buck before dinner, hm?" She dragged her fingers through Chris's curls and ticked her head in the direction of the doorway.

Chris didn't have to stay and help, he could go and play a game and (Y/n) knew he would want Evan to play a game or two with him. At least if they played before dinner, (Y/n) wouldn't have to argue with them both to get Evan out of the house. If they played after dinner, Evan might never leave. And he certainly couldn't be here when Eddie came home.

"I'll be there in a minute," Evan muttered softly, patting Chris's shoulder before he was hurrying out of the room to find a suitable game for them to play.

When he turned back in her direction, Evan tilted his head to one side and moved so his front was facing her. He loved the nervous smile he could see on (Y/n)'s face like she didn't know what to do with herself or how to look art him. He loved the way she shivered when she looked up at him and when he stepped closer, she had nowhere to move.

Her hips pressed back into the counter that her hands reached behind her to grab so she could keep herself steady. She didn't seem to know what to do when Evan moved to stand between her legs, pressing his abdomen into her bump and clamping his hands down on the counter either side of her.

"We need to think of a name, for her." Evan cast his eyes down before he looked back up at (Y/n), darting his tongue out to trace across his lips like a predator sizing up its meal.

(Y/n) tilted her head back, trying to breathe properly but she couldn't with how close Evan was to her. He was caging her in, pinning her into the counter and engulfing her like he always did, caging her in. Letting her know she was his. They were both his.

She heard Evan murmur "Something beautiful," but she could barely hear his voice over the pounding of her heart when his hands left the counter and moved to hold her hips instead.

His fingers dug into her hips and (Y/n) shivered when Evan tilted his temple down into hers. The look in his eyes was like a burning intensity. He hadn't been this close to her in a while. At the scan last week he had kissed her, but those touches had been fleeting. He couldn't display too much PDA and make the midwife uncomfortable, and the after Eddie caught him, he couldn't get within ten feet of (Y/n).

But now, he had no one to stop him and no one to try and act civil around. He was doing what he could when he could, and the way he held her made (Y/n) feel like he was a starved man being shown a feast.

"Bonnie." The name rolled off (Y/n)'s lips in a quiet whisper and her trembling hands began tapping the counter, unsure what to do with herself.

At least with Chris in the living room, there was no chance of Evan trying anything too seductive or carrying her to the bedroom like he had done a few months ago. He could only do so much with their nephew being in the next room and still within earshot of them.

She liked that name. It was cute, it was a name that meant beautiful and it was one (Y/n) could see herself calling the little girl who would soon be in her arms. And when she saw Evan's lips stretch into a smile, she knew he liked it too.

"Bonnie Buckley." He grinned like the devil but the undertone in his voice spoke a thousand volumes. She was having his last name. Evan knew what Eddie would say. He would want her to have (Y/n)'s last name, he wouldn't want Evan having any rights or claims to her, but that wasn't happening.

Evan would do what he had to in order to make sure his girl had his last name, and he was going on the birth certificate whether Eddie liked it or not. He didn't care what he had to do or what charms he had to put on (Y/n) to bend her to his will. This was non-negotiable.

(Y/n) found herself nodding along to the name, but she choked on her breath when Evan's lips found hers and his hands slipped beneath her shirt. His lips were bruising, but his touch wasn't as forceful or as desperate as last week. He didn't have to rush and he didn't have to be tender or hold himself back. No one was here to watch or stop him.

He wasted no time sliding his tongue past her lips and taking the last of the oxygen she had stored in her lungs, leaving (Y/n) gasping against his lips.

It didn't bother him when her hands dug into his arms and when she tried to push him back, Evan just locked his frame and leant into her. His hands squeezed her tight into his embrace and when (Y/n) finally broke their lips apart, she twisted her head to the side.

He didn't like that. He didn't like her looking away from him. Why couldn't she just admit she wanted him half as much as he wanted her? Why couldn't she give in to his advances? He was starving from being away from her. She had to feel the same.

He moved one hand to grip her chin and twist her head back to face him, causing her eyes to widen and her plump lips to part. That was all he needed to dive down for another kiss.

"T-the-" (Y/n) tried to speak against his lips, but Evan only kissed her deeper. He seemed to understand though, when (Y/n) let go of his arm to waft her hand near the stove. The vegetables were fine, but the mince was going to burn.

Evan took care of that. He unlatched his hand from her chin and expertly turned off the gas, dumping the pan on the side so it wouldn't burn and the food would cool. He would cook it later, it could wait. It wouldn't take long to cook, and Evan was busy.

Shivers tore down to (Y/n)'s does and she felt like her arms were turning numb and cold when Evan wormed both hands beneath her shirt. He roamed his fingertips across her bump a few times, tickling her skin and feeling the way the baby wriggled and came to life at his touch. It made his lips smile against hers and the excitement thrilled him and made him sink his teeth down into (Y/n)'s lip, making her jump against him.

(Y/n) tried again to nudge Evan backwards because he had her pinned into a corner. Her lip felt bruised from both his kissing and the way he sank his teeth down into her lip with fever.

She managed to push him back two feet, but her hands quickly grabbed his shoulders to steady herself when Evan leaned down into her and knocked her off balance.

His lips left hers and dove down to attach to the side of her neck and (Y/n) squeaked when Evan hastily wormed his hands beneath the waistband of her leggings to hold her bum. His fingers dug into her flesh and he pulled her that little bit closer until there was no space between them and every ridge and curve was pressed into him.

"Evan- Evan no." (Y/n) twisted from side to side, but it did nothing to deter the man in front of her that seemed like an animal unleashed.

She could feel him chuckling into her throat, grazing his teeth along her skin and biting hickeys into her neck every now and then as he roamed around every part of her skin he could find. He was exploring her like he was charting a map out of her.

"Why? Big brother isn't here to stop me. Don't you want me, baby?" That tone of voice had (Y/n)'s knees quivering. That was the voice he used when he wanted something.

That was the tone Evan used when he asked her if she was seeing someone from work. It was the voice he used to ask her who she was texting or where she had been after work. And it was the voice he used to butter her up when he told her she was being silly for not believing him over someone else.

Evan knew how to twist every tone into something sugary and how to get his words just right so (Y/n) either felt like she was going against him or like she couldn't respond at all. She didn't want to upset him or make him angry. She would rather give in and go along with what he said, like always, than start a fight when she didn't have anyone here- like Eddie- to stand in her corner and fight with her.

"Chris… he-"

"He isn't watching. Let me hold my girls."

(Y/n) tightened her hands on his shoulders, but she didn't move. She didn't say anything. She let Evan continue tracing his lips along her neck and squeezing her flesh tighter and tighter until he was surely going to bruise her and leave hand indents in her skin.

When he found his way back to her lips and took them like ownership, (Y/n) didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. He was holding her so tightly it almost hurt, but the yearning in his embrace was unmistakeable. He'd missed her. He wanted to hold her. He loved her and their baby, so much. Probably too much.

Evan smiled into the kiss and relented just a little, kissing her with more passion and a bit less fever than before. He was gentler when he glided his tongue across her lower lip and he let her take in a breath so she didn't go lightheaded. He loved the way all he had to do was lean forward and (Y/n) was tilting back in his arms, clinging to him tighter so she didn't fall. Just like he was holding her over the edge of a cliff and she was hanging onto him like he was her salvation.

He loved the way her stomach curved and moulded against his abdomen and let him feel the round of kicking their baby girl was giving out.

He loved how all he had to do was put on his voice and hold her and (Y/n) gave in.

"My girls," He murmured against her lips, feeling (Y/n) quiver and melt into his touch when he slithered one hand around the side of her thigh to the base of her stomach. The elastic of her leggings stayed tightly digging into his wrist, but all Evan could concentrate on was his fingers dancing across (Y/n)'s bump and the way it caused (Y/n) to shiver and twist in his arms.

And with Eddie still being at work for another two or three hours, it gave Evan plenty of time to work on (Y/n). She had already given in to Chris and told him she would be moving out. Evan was going to pull whatever tricks he had to so (Y/n) relented and moved in with him.

A gasp caught at the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she tried not to let her knees buckle when Evan cooed "I love you, both of you." Into her mouth.

She knew anything she did was going to be inevitable now. Evan was going to get his own way; he always did.

He would feign ignorance. He would tell her it was for the best that she moved in with him. He would be on his best behaviour, he would win her over and make her tell Eddie that this was the only option. They would co-parent their baby together, they had to do this together.

Evan would agree to anything. He would let Eddie come round every day and check on him. He would let Eddie set as many rules as he wanted if it got Evan's girls living with him, where they belonged. Eddie couldn't refuse, not when everyone thought he and (Y/n) were a couple and Eddie could keep a check on them both. Maddie would be round to help (Y/n) anyway, she was going to be a sister to (Y/n).

Evan needed his sister to be on (Y/n)'s side, to care for her and help her so (Y/n) could lean on Maddie instead of Eddie. Maddie was on Evan's side, and Eddie was becoming a problem.

Eddie would give in. He wouldn't have a choice.

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #pregnant! reader #evan buckley imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #eddie diaz #dark! buck #this is fate

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