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#fingers crossed it all goes well but the odds are not in my favour
k-dokja · 2 years
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The song I listened to the whole time I write is... A Kind of Sorrow, yes again.
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Samuel wraps his scarf around his neck. The cashmere material brushes softly on his jaw, engulfing him in thin protection from the cold. It won't do much when the snow is this heavy, but at least, no one can say he goes out unprepared.
He glances at his desk. A small, velvet box lies on top of a crumbled note, worn and uncared. The handwriting is familiar to him, even if he comes across them less often nowadays. A date and a location. A birthday and a church. He breathes out.
This is stupid, sentimental, and foolish.
He grabs his car key and leaves the house anyway. It is not his fashion to make promises he can't keep. The box and the note are slipped into the pocket of his cat.
Muted contemplation lingers for the entirety of his car ride. He tries to not think about it. Thinking leaves too much room for regret. Nobody would blame him if he chooses to turn around. He knows that better than anyone.
Except maybe, himself.
Samuel arrives at the old church after a little under fifteen minutes. The warmth of the car's artificial heat leaves him once he leaves it. Everything keeps pushing him to turn away and leave, but he presses on. The wooden door cracks when he pushes it open and steps inside.
Nothing about the place captures his attention. The interior is decrepit at best. Neglected without someone to care for it. Samuel closes to door behind him, but it does little to keep out the bite of the winter chill. He chooses an aisle to sit at, favouring none over the other. Anywhere he sits, the meagre light streaming in from the window will reach him anyway. There is no hiding.
This will be a waiting game, he knows.
He pulls out his phone from his pocket, ignoring how his fingers bump into a velvet box. The time displays on the screen over a picture of a familiar face and a face which should be familiar to him. He sighs, slipping his phone back inside.
He doesn't care at this point.
It has been foolish from the beginning up to this point, even if he quits now, nothing would've changed. He has done it, he has committed his mind to the thought. Leaving won't erase the experience.
He stares at the cross hanging on the wall at the other end of the room. No thought comes to him at the sight, except maybe for the remembrance that a church might've been a poor choice. He's an atheist. The approval of a God he doesn't believe in won't matter at the end of the day.
Yet, he comes here anyway. Because someone once told him that a wedding should be ceremonial.
"You came," 'said someone' also walks up from behind him and sits down on the spot he leaves vacant next to him. "I wasn't sure you would."
"That should've been my line," he says, "I wasn't the one who left."
Said someone also shrugs, "You always knew I would," the explanation comes in a blithe manner, "I never gave you any false expectation."
"Yeah, you never did," Samuel turns to look at the one who walked out of his life an odd year ago.
You are even more beautiful than the day he last saw you. Although your hair is shorter now, styled differently from your teenage years, he can see the traces of the old you.
And a stranger.
"How are you doing these days?" You ask.
He doesn't know if you really cared or if you asked only for formality, but he answers you anyway. "Everything has been well," he says, "although... I don't have everything I wanted yet."
"Greed is a cardinal sin, you know," you say, "you shouldn't sin under God's eyes."
Quietly, he chuckles, "Why would one care for His eyes in a place He has abandoned?" Besides, he wants to add, that you are no believer yourself, but it is redundant.
You smile. "You haven't changed at all."
Guess if you say so, then he didn't. "Can I say the same about you?"
At that question, you keep your silence. Your face is blank, but he can see the answer already in that quiet lapse of contemplation. "No." The reply comes easier than he thought. "You can't."
"Yeah. I can see that." He hates that he can. "I have my answer then."
"You always did, Samuel," you turn to watch the window. "Telling ourselves any otherwise is a lie."
The snow has blurred much of the scenery, but that is not what you care about. He knows you're only searching for a distraction. Strangely enough, he doesn't resent you for that.
"I know."
"You can't change the past, Samuel," you continue without caring for him, "there's only going forwards from here on."
"I know."
"You should keep your head up," those familiar words again, and you turn to face him, a genuine smile for the first time in a while, "that's the only way you can keep fighting."
"I know."
He knows you. He knows your random bouts of philosophies which make surprising senses once he thinks about it later on. He knows when you think for him and wants him to live better.
"I'm not coming back."
"I know."
He knows all of that.
Doesn't make the pain hurt any less.
"You should learn to live without me," you turn to face the cross, the mockery of a smile gracing your lips, "being codependent is pathetic."
"I know," he's mirroring your smile, he doesn't even know, "you're not telling me anything I don't know."
He's getting mad. Not at you. It is pointless and futile to get mad at you. He's getting mad at himself. For coming here, for thinking everything would be different if he did, for having false hope even when every ounce of his rationality tells him he shouldn't.
"Then why did you come here?"
His answer comes in a whisper. "I don't know." He stares down at his hands. All of this has been stupid, he knows. Yet, had being stupid ever stopped him?
"Be happy, Samuel," your reply comes in prayer, "that's all I ask."
He doesn't reply. Not for a long while. When he looks up again, you're no longer there next to him. The seat at his side is cold and vacant as if no one had sat there a moment ago. Samuel sighs, he reaches into his breast pocket again and pulls out the velvet box he has avoided touching earlier.
When he pops it open, two gold rings reveal themselves, dulled by the dark of the snowy day. He stares at the futility of their acquisition.
Then he shuts it closed.
Puts it back in his pocket.
And maybe, he will forget about it this time.
When he leaves the church, the snow is no longer plaguing the sky like before. Only a little, the sunlight is allowed to slip past the clouds and reach the ground. He feels the warmth of it on his skin. The tiny speck of sunlight does nothing to chase away this gnawing in his heart, but it is a reminder.
The sun will always return.
Even if you won't.
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elibeeline · 3 years
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Tomorrow is gonna take a lot of mental spoons, wish me luck :')
#i have to go and collect my new uniform AND cook dinner AND there might be a tommyinnit lore stream#the way the dinner and uniform things are timed are stressful#bc I have to finish food prep before my brother and dad come home bc they'll both complain about the food and my technique#but my mom's driving me to get the uniform before she meets with her friend and i don't remember if she said we were going at 11 or 1#both are inconvenient bc 11 is too early and 1 is too late bc I won't have time for food prep#why did i offer to cook something on the same day I was already doing something?#i might not recover from the embarrassment of cooking bad food by my first shift either 🙃🙃🙃#bad week probably gang#fingers crossed it all goes well but the odds are not in my favour#let it be sunny at least. i don't mind if there's cold wind just let it be sunny#i had choice-freeze over which bread to make a sandwich from earlier gang my brain isn't made for this bullshit#i laugh at those who dare say I'm not neurodivergent. this shit sucks ass#i hate the tommy lore being either tomorrow or friday because if it is tomorrow then I have to pay attention to things until like 11pm#and I really just want to turn my brain off once i finish the dinner#wait no#i gotta help my brother with his homework and his CV practice#bc for some reason he's a good student and does projects when he's given them rather than leaving them until the night before#i'll persuade him into doing it over the weekend or smth bc I will not deal with CVs after all the shit i gotta do tomorrow#how dare this corporate capitalist society and human body refrain me from simply being moss#let me just photosynthesis in the woods to survive please#as long as the tommy lore is friday instead and the sun is out and dinner doesn't turn out horrible then i'll be okay#if not I will probably cry or snap at someone#if it comes down to it i'd rather snap at someone but i hope it's just to some stranger rather than my family#bc I don't want to argue with them bc I'll be in the wrong but I don't want to admit it 🙃#ughhhhhhhhh please just let me be moss#or a simple fish in a nice woodland stream where all I gotta worry about is not bumping into a rock
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lovestrucked-again · 4 years
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Something You Should Know
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Summary: Your boyfriend asks you to help teach one of his colleague’s a lesson and you agree reluctantly. He forget’s to mention one thing though, his colleague’s pretty hot. 
Genre: smuT Pairing: boyfriend!Jaehyun x female Y/N x Johnny x (ft Yuta) Word count: 4.8k
Warning: SMUT, cheating? if you read to the end it’s like pSyCH. handjob, oral sex (Jaehyun/Yuta/Y/N), teasing, ass sex? mindblank forgot the term, double penetration, sex, nipple teasing, humiliation, dirty talk.
a/n: Hi, how has your day been? :) _____
“What was that about?” You ask, your eyes still on the TV as Jaehyun falls back against the couch after a long call.
“Just Johnny,” He sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair.
“How’s he doing?”
“Not bad, he just wanted to come round sometime soon to catch up with us.”
“That sounds nice.” You hum, agreeing with the idea.
The TV show continues, the tiny forms of pixel racing across the screen to produce one of your favourite movies you’d chosen to re-watch. It’s a lot harder to concentrate with Jaehyun beside you. His fingers restlessly tapping against your leg as his eyes are on trained on you instead.
Finally, you cave in to his stare, “What?”
He grins, reaching for the remote to pause the scene before talking, “Babe I have a favour to ask.”
“What is it?”
“Johnny’s been acting like a real jerk recently, thinking he can fuck anyone he wants including one of the managers at work.”
“So?”
“I was thinking,” he pauses, sitting cross legged on the couch and turning his body to face you, “Maybe it’d be fun to wind him up a little through the evening, like if you could openly flirt with him and leave him hanging then send him off.”
The idea runs through your mind. “What? Why me?”
“Because you’re hot.”
You can’t help but laugh, “To you maybe.”
"Are you kidding? Several of my mates say how lucky I am."
"Oh yeah, like who?" You question, suddenly very intrigued.
"I'm not telling you that," Jaehyun frowns in reply.
You laugh at his pouting form, his dimples furrowing further into his cheeks as he keeps his gaze level with yours. You relax a little into the couch, thinking about his suggestion. “Are you sure about it?”
“Yeah why not?” He crosses his arms, leaning back against the armrest, "It's only a bit of fun, I just want to put him in his place, you don't actually have to sleep with him."
Just for fun. Not actually doing anything physical.
“Yeah okay, I’ll help.”
*** When the night finally comes around, you struggle choosing out an outfit, but eventually decide on purposefully picking a rather shortish skirt with a low V line shirt, allowing your push up bra to show a nice cleavage.
While you’re choosing your accessories Jaehyun finishes up in the shower, your back towards him as he stares into your reflection through the bathroom mirror. "Fuck, you look gorgeous,” Jaehyun comments, leaning against the ensuite doorway, "I want to bend you over and take you now."
You clip on the pearl earring on your ear and turn around to face him. The visible bulge underneath his towel. "I can see that.” You laugh, giving him a side smirk as you stand up, pulling your skirt up a little.
You walk over to Jaehyun and pull his towel away so his standing naked. Your hand reaching to grab his cock and gliding your hand over it very slowly. Jaehyun lets out a low moan at the contact of your skin on his length. His voice getting louder as your hand works its way up and down his cock.
“Does that feel nice?” You purr.
“Ugh fuck Y/N,” he groans, “you look so fucking hot right now.”
“Isn’t that what how you want me for Johnny?” You tease
Seeing you in your short skirt, your low cut shirt and your breasts almost hanging out your bra, he second thinks the idea. Jaehyun trusted you to follow the plan but he was sure, certain, positive that there was no way Johnny would let you go tonight.
You drop onto your knees, still grasping tightly on his member, his cock now staring right in your face. You part your mouth open, and lightly lick the tip of his cock, tasting the familiar saltiness of his pre-cum.
Jaehyun remains still, completely lost in his ecstasy as he watches you suck on him, savouring every moment as you greedily slurp and suck his cock. His balls tighten as you play with them, your hand squeezing them gently as you continue to suck.
“Fuck that feels so good.”
The pressure builds inside his balls as your hand slips a little higher. His cum shooting straight into your mouth as you swallow it straight down. Jaehyun leans more against the wall to support himself as you suck on him, milking everything out and down your throat. You finally let him go as you feel his orgasm subside.
"Babe that was so good," he sighs, helping you up on your feet as you wipe away the droplets of cum sliding down your lip.
"That was a teaser, maybe if you’re a good boy tonight I’ll let you have some fun before bed.” You tell him, giving him a little wink as you go back to your dresser to fix your makeup.
"I can't fucking wait for that," Jaehyun groans staring at your backside.
“Go get dressed Jae.” You laugh, watching him daydream through the reflection.
***
You leave Jaehyun to get ready and make your way downstairs, preparing everything for their game night. The beer, spirits and snacks are all stocked up in your fridge just next to the dining room where they would be playing. At around 7:30, Jaehyun finally joins you, making sure everything’s set.
Doyoung’s the first to turn up, followed by Taeyong, Yuta and Taeil. You know all the guys so naturally, you give each of them a hug as they enter, each in turn letting them eye you up in surprise at your outfit; all of them giving you a wink, aware of the real purpose for tonight.
“How are you feeling?” Yuta asks, trailing behind as you lead him and the others to the setup game zone.
“Not too bad.”
The doorbell rings and you excuse yourself, letting Yuta join the others as you skip down the hall to answer it, ready to put the plan into action. Except what Jaehyun had failed to mention to you earlier, was what Johnny actually looked like. You had met his other colleagues, the group of them having worked together for many years. But Johnny, well, Johnny is something else.
You cling onto the door for support, feeling your knees weaken when you see him. Johnny was tall, well built, brown hair and had looks to die for. He smiles as you stare.
“You must be Y/N,”
"Uh yes," you stammer out.
"I'm Johnny," he says offering you his hand.
"Of course, come in," you reply shaking his hand, which feels a bit odd considering all the other's had got a peck on the cheek.
Johnny follows you down the hall and into the dining room. You take a quick detour and run into the kitchen to get him a beer. Jaehyun quickly appears by your side.
"Fuck, you could have told me he was so hot," you blurt out. Jaehyun gives a little smirk, amused at your flustered reaction to his colleague.
"Sorry, didn't think it mattered. Either way, he's a ladies’ man and he knows it, so we want you to put him in his place. Oh and he's already mentioned how lucky I am. Get to work and show him he can't have everything he wants.”
You take a deep breath, turning your nerves into a forced smile as you take on the role. As the night goes on, you can tell that Johnny behaves with an air of arrogance and you can hear him talking about his conquests at work and how he’s now planning his next move on one of the directors who was in her fifties.
"If I can get in her pants, I'll be right up the ladder," you hear him say.
You hide the laugh that's about to escape your lips, swallowing a gulp of the soft drink in your hand. Yep Jaehyun was right. This guy really does think a lot of himself, good looking or not. You continue to supply the boys with drinks and snacks, taking every opportunity to show a bit of yourself as you lean over the table, reaching unnecessarily far for no reason. At one point you turn to go and feel a smack on your backside. You let out a little yelp and turn around, unsurprisingly discovering its Johnny.
"Proper beauty you've got here Jaehyun, no wonder you look tired all the time," you hear him say, followed by a deep chuckle.
“I’m not an object asshole.” You mutter to yourself, storming away to cover your irritation from being seen.
You’re in the kitchen when you hear Johnny asking Jaehyun where the toilet is. He guides Johnny through the kitchen, passing you briefly to the downstairs bathroom which is rarely used. You have your back to Johnny as he comes in and you jump, feeling him creep up behind you.
"So, just how did Jaehyun manage to find a sexy woman like you?" he whispers into your ear as he gets a little too close, letting his chest brush against you.
Time to up my game. You carefully undo a button on your blouse to reveal more of your bra and cleavage and turn around; with some difficulty as Johnny’s right behind you. His height makes it incredibly hard to stare him straight in the eyes and while you attempt to keep his gaze on your face, it’s pretty obvious that he’s looking somewhere else.
"Do you think I could have done better then?" you ask with a pout.
"Jaehyun’s good, but you seem way out of his league," he replies
"Would I be good enough for you?" you ask fluttering your eyelids, feeling a bit of a fool as you do so.
Johnny manages to hide the shock from your question, believing your show, “You’d be more than good enough.”
He leans forward and you place your palms on his chest, pushing him back to keep the little distance between yourselves.
"Forget it, there's only one man that's going to have this," you tell him, following his gaze to your chest, "and it certainly isn't you."
Johnny takes a step back, throwing his hands in the air sarcastically pretending to be offended. "What's all this about you little prick tease? You've been giving me the come on all night" he chuckles, bringing a hand through your hair.
You swat away his hand before buttoning back up on your blouse.
"You really think my boyfriend was going to invite you into his house and have you fuck his girlfriend?" you snarl at him.
"Shit, I'm sorry, but I've not done anything, you were the one flirting with me," he genuinely did look sorry and you feel a pang of guilt.
"Look, the guys are fed up of you bragging about your conquests and treating women like dirt, they just wanted to teach you a lesson that was all."
"It'll take more than that," he says, turning back to his arrogant self, "well if you do fancy a bit of a change sometime let me know." Then he was off to the toilet before going back to the game of poker.
You were furious at his attitude, your anger directed as much to Jaehyun as to Johnny, for getting yourself into this in the first place. Johnny was a good looking guy, but yes, definitely full of himself. Was it all just an act though, he had seemed hurt when you had a go at him. You decide you had enough of the little game and it was time for you to retire upstairs and return to the comfort of your bed. Jaehyun appears just as you’re about to leave the kitchen.
"Everything all right baby?" he asks.
"No, it is not all right, I'm going to bed. You can continue your game and get your own drinks." You tell him, arms folded, throwing the hand towel on the kitchen bench as you walk off.
Jaehyun looks puzzled, but he doesn't question it.
An hour or so later, Jaehyun appears in your shared bedroom. You’re already changed into a nightie, but left your little thong on; too lazy to switch it. You weren’t happy with Jaehyun for making you wind Johnny up, but at the same time it had got you aroused, so if he apologised it wouldn't all be wasted. However, when you see him stumble through the door, you realise even if he did apologise he was in no fit state for anything else. Clearly they had moved on to the whisky.
"Good game." you say flatly.
"Yeah, I think so." He slurs, “Look I'm sorry about earlier, you should have said it would make you uncomfortable." Jaehyun flops down onto the bed, bouncing the mattress and your bpdy, and you know for a fact, he would be staying there till morning.
He mumbles out a barely audible sentence, his face pressed into the pillow, "A few of the guys are staying over. Taeyong’s in the spare room and Johnny is downstairs, I think he's watching the football or something."
A minute later and Jaehyun’s knocked out, completely cold. You switch off the bedroom lights, pulling the bedsheets up to cover the two of you; tucking yourself in. But whatever Johnny’s watching, it begins to bother you, the TV unnecessarily very loud.
“What a pain.” You mutter, throwing on a dressing gown over your figure to check downstairs. You grab your phone on the bedside table, flicking the torch light on as you make your way out the room. As the screen light becomes brighter you notice it isnt football that's playing, but rather a late night TV chat channel with a couple of girls with rather large breasts on the show, talking about nothing in particular. You walk over to the TV not even bothering to give Johnny a glance before turning it off. When you turn around to face the sofa, your jaw almost drops; Johnny lays there fast asleep, pants half way down his legs and the most enormous semi erect cock in his hand. What the fuck?
Not only had he comes to his friend’s place and try something with his girl but the fact that he was now crashed out on your sofa watching porn on the TV and in the middle of a semi wank. Suddenly, a realisation hit you; now was your chance. You unlock your phone, clicking into the camera app to take a couple photos of Johnny lying asleep, cock in hand. This will wipe the arrogant grin off his face.
That was your original plan. But you end up standing there staring at his cock for a little longer, it’s far bigger than what you had seen and you were a little shocked to admit it. You manage to get so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t realise Johnny had woken up.
"Impressed?" he asks, his voice a little raspy with a knowing grin.
Your eyes flicker between his eyes, to his dick, to the wall behind him, unsure where your focus should be as you choke out your reply, "What? Oh... Oh shit..."
He laughs. "Hey don't worry, everyone whose seen it has the same reaction," he says pointing his cock at you.
"I'm going back to bed," you stutter, turning to go.
"Hey wait," Johnny calls after you in a loud whisper. You don't know what compulsion it is, but you stop and turn to face him; who’s now standing. You peek a glance down, noticing his cock has hardened a little but still isn’t fully erect. "Now, as you've been taking photos of it, perhaps you'd like to experience it in the flesh."
"I didn't ta..." You let the words drop as Johnny grins at you.
"Keep the pictures, I'm sure they were really for your own use anyway," he says with a smile. “Come on, I bet you've never experienced one this size have you? Jaehyun won't ever know, he's probably knocked out from the whisky."
You know it’s complete madness but you falter, you can’t keep your eyes off his member and the temptation to touch it, to let it fill you, was growing with every passing second.  You were sure that in length it would definitely beat your boyfriends and thickness was almost the same size. You can’t even imagine how it can fit inside of you, but you have a feeling you’re about to find out. Johnny gently takes a hold of you and sits you down beside him on the couch.  
"I really shouldn't be do..."
"Shh," Johnny whispers
He leans over and kisses you very softly on the lips. You don't back off, instead slightly open your lips and let Johnny take the lead. You were so turned on, although you weren’t sure if it was the arrogance of the handsome man doing it or just his huge dick standing to attention between his legs. You kiss for a couple of minutes, animal passion slowly taking over as you respond to him.
He lifts up your gown, revealing your erect nipples sticking up, the cold air rushing past. He smiles at you while you keep your eyes low, feeling the heat rise to your cheek. He removes your gown easily and throws it aside.
"Mind if I touch them?" he asks enjoying the sight of your nipples.
You shake your head slightly. Of course I don’t mind. You have no idea what had suddenly come over you but you were desperate for this man to take you. Johnny plants more soft kisses on your lip's and begins to caress your firm tits with his palm. You let out a moan of approval. He gently goes to work on each of your nipples, tweaking them between his fingers. You lean back, revealing all your nakedness except for the pink thong, which is now sporting a very damp patch.
"Fuck, you have the most gorgeous body. Can I kiss it all over?"
"Please," you whisper, "I would like that."
Starting at your neck Johnny works his way down your body, spending plenty of time sucking and nibbling at your breasts and nipples. You lay back as he moves down past your belly and towards the top of your thong. Johnny looks up at you and you nod.
His hands roam up to your hip, easily taking hold of the soft material and slips it down your legs leaving you fully naked. He looks in admiration at your pussy, and slightly parts your legs, going to work with his tongue. You bring your hands towards your breasts, fondling your tits in ecstasy as Johnny circles your hardened clit and laps at the juices that are dribbling from your entrance.
"Tastes good," Johnny murmurs as he continues to lick your cunt.
You groan again and take hold of Johnny’s head pushing him into you and arching your back so you can get as much of his tongue as possible. You’re so close to coming, but you fight it off desperately; you wanted his cock to push you over.
"Fuck me," you plead, letting go of his head.
Johnny doesn’t need asking twice. He brings a cushion under your head and spreads your legs as wide as possible. You’re still unsure whether that monster can fit inside your pussy, but you’re sure as hell wet enough and willing to give it a go. Johnny pushes his big purple helmet, smothered in pre cum, against your opening teasing you by slightly slipping it in and then pulling it back out.
"Fuck me, pleeeaaase," you beg.
"Sure thing," Johnny replies and in one go pushes the whole length of his cock straight into you without a warning.
"Agggh," You cry out.
It hurts momentarily, but within seconds the feeling of his cock completely filling you up is more than you have ever experienced before in your life. Johnny sets to work at a slower rhythm as your pussy, if it’s possible, gets even wetter. You can just about see his cock covered in your love juice each time he pulls it out before thrusting back in and making you gasp every time. You can’t believe you’re even doing this, the guy was a dick, but hell did he know how to take a woman to heaven and back.
The two of you continue fucking this way for a couple of minutes, wrapped up in each other's sweating bodies, moaning and panting before you tell him you want to get on top. He slips his cock fully out of you and it springs up. You grab hold of it and wank it, barely able to get your hand fully enclosed on it. It feels like gripping the thick end of a baseball bat.
"Impressed aren't you?" He asks breathlessly.
"Mmmmm," You purr in reply.
You let go of his cock and ask him to lie on the rug on the living room floor. Johnny gets on the floor and, with some difficulty, you squat down over his cock. Your pussy is already feeling severely damaged from the initial fucking he had given you, but in a very very good way. You take hold of his shaft and guide it into your pussy. You still can’t believe that it’s possible to fit the whole thing in, but you’d done it once and so without hesitation, you slide down his pole again until you can feel your own juices seeping out onto his pubic hair.
"Oh that is so fucking good," you groan.
"Ride it you little whore.” Johnny grabs hold of your breasts as they droop above him.
"Pull my nipples," you urge. Johnny does so and you gasp once more in ecstasy.
"Oh my god this is so fucking good,"
You lean forward and nestle your head into Johnny’s neck as he thrusts his hips in the air knocking against yours, his cock driving into your pussy.
As it turns out you’re going to feel Jaehyun’s cock a lot sooner than you thought. You lift your head up to arch yourself back and really work on Johnny’s cock but you freeze on the spot.
"Oh fuck..." you mutter.
Jaehyun’s standing in front of you, just in his boxer shorts, with his cock sticking out of them while he moves his hand up his length.
"Shit, I..." You go to get off Johnny, but he holds onto you and you notice Jaehyun wink at him. "Wait a fucking minute," You gasp, "was this a setup?"
"Afraid so," Jaehyun replies, "Johnny saw your picture in my wallet one time and said how gorgeous you were. I told him if he could beat me in a game of poker he could have you if you'd let him. I knew you'd get turned on flirting all night."
You struggle to process the words, Johnny not slowing down as he pounds into you, your body being bounced up and down as you stare at Jaehyun. Clearly Jaehyun had not been as drunk as you thought. You hadn't exactly been turned on, but now you definitely were. You gasp as you feel the cock buried inside you begin to twitch and Johnny brings his fingers between your squished bodies, squeezing gently at your clit.
“Ugh..” the moan escapes your lips, although it’s meant to be silent. Both the boys hear it, and it powers Johnny more as he stretches himself back into you.
“You look so fucking hot,” Jaehyun murmurs moving closer to your brushed up bodies, “Bend over and keep fucking him, there’s no reason why I should be sitting on the sidelines.”
Johnny manages to work at a faster pace, sliding his cock in and out of your pussy, fucking it thoroughly and wildly. Jaehyun moves out of your sight and behind you, most likely just watching your body being bounced up and down.
But suddenly, you feel something wet trickle down your ass and before you know it, there’s a finger probing at the entrance. He pushes a finger straight up, letting you cry out again. You’d had his cock in your ass before, but the fullness inside your pussy already was going to prevent anything else from entering you without causing a lot of pain.                                                                  
“Ahhh fuck, go slow,” you beg
Jaehyun holds his cock inside you, letting you warm up to his length as Johnny continues to move in and out of your pussy. Slowly, he eases his cock into you as Johnny holds your waist, holding you still to allow them in. They both work to build a rhythm, feeling their cocks rub against each other through the thin lining of your walls; the friction getting them both even harder. The initial pain which had been present before Jaehyun had first forced himself inside you had faded and now, you were in heaven.
With the grunts and moans coming from the three of you, it was only a matter of time before Yuta fumbles down the stairs, initially half asleep. When he finally makes out the figures on the floor in the living room, he strips himself free, instantly feeling much more alive. “Can I join?”
You had forgotten he was still in the house but seeing him at the entrance of the doorway, his cock standing erect, you nod. What the fuck is one more cock in the equation going to do?
It’s a rather awkward position but Yuta manages to squat down and force his cock into your mouth, letting you suck roughly around him. It’s a difficult task to concentrate on the length in your mouth as your body continues to be pounded from both holes. You grasp onto Yuta’s cock with your hands, attempting to guide it to your mouth, but each time you manage to grab it, your body jerks and his pre-cum slobbers against your lips, painting around the edges.
Although Yuta is the last to join, he’s the first to explode. His first spurt of cum landing into your mouth with a struggle. He gets up quickly, wanking his cock as fast as he can, showering the rest over your face and hair with his creamy cum. He squeezes the tip, forcing every last drop of cum from his cock before he finally flops against the couch, watching the remaining scene unfold.
You manage to hold on for a few more minutes before you finally feel the need to find your release. The feeling of two cocks rubbing against each other inside you becoming too much.
“I’m cominnng,” you scream, feeling the gush of juice fill your insides and burst around Johnny’s cock.
The two boys hold still, pushing themselves up to your hilt as you feel the overwhelming rush of your orgasm hit you. It seems to go on forever as you cry in ecstasy. Your body shakes with sheer pleasure as you come down from your sexual high and that image seems to do it for the boys.
Jaehyun pushes himself into your ass as far as he can, grabbing onto your hips as his cum shoots deep into your passage. He continues to fuck you as he empties himself, making sure every last drop is left inside before he finally slips out.
Your focus goes back to the man beneath you, hands gripping at the sides of his chest as you claw at him, letting him guide you to reach your second high; Jaehyun’s presence being pushed back in your mind. Your body shudders and trembles as you’re left to hold your weight up before eventually, you give in, losing feeling in your arms as you fall onto Johnny’s chest and your pussy spasms with his twitching cock.
“Let me fill you up,” he groans, thrusting deeper inside to shoot a stream after stream flow of cum into your worn out pussy.
“Don’t stop until you’ve fucking ruined her,” Jaehyun calls out from behind; clearly getting into this.
With a few more hard thrusts, Johnny falls back against the floor in exhaustion; your body following with his. The room is filled with your heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself as you lay still, scared to take his cock out. When you finally feel him soften, you carefully ease yourself off it, leaving a trail of Johnny’s cum dripping from your pussy.
***
The night remains in your memory as an exhausting event. You’re not sure how you wake up in bed but the faint recollection of Johnny’s voice echoes inside your head as you remember Jaehyun’s warmth surrounding you; helping you off Johnny.
“Good game, let me know if you want a rematch.” Johnny chuckles, directing his words to your boyfriend.
Jaehyun laughs with him, the vibration of his chest causing your body to rock in his hold as you attempt to fight off the droopiness of your eyelids. With the very little energy you have left, you being thinking of next time. Your boyfriend never lost at poker, so you were certain, he must have deliberately lost the game and he would definitely, do it again.
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honeymoonjin · 4 years
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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:
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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, mentions of explicit sexual content, mentions of blood. the results of the fan favourite vote poll are at the end of this chapter.
banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you sfhs babies i love you 3000
ELIMINATION
On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, Y/n’s elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the Fan Favourite vote, which has already happened.
Vote closed. Thank you for participating!
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DAY FOURTEEN
There’s something exciting and indulgent about sitting apart from Taehyung and Jimin, yet sharing secret glances and muffled smiles.
You’d had to leave Taehyung’s room at different times, you and Jimin sneaking back to your respective rooms to change out of his clothes so it didn’t look odd.
As the eight of you gather in the lounge, sleepily curled up with mugs of coffee or lying back against the couch for a few more moments of peace, the familiar faces of the others send a pang of guilt through you. Like you were lying to them. Omission is a type of lie, you suppose, but you try and smother the feeling. You’re allowed to be selfish.
Especially when it made Taehyung and Jimin look so happy.
Taehyung, who was almost always cheerful much like the puppy you saw last night, now looks like he can’t even contain it, his toes wiggling and eyes gleaming. Jimin, who on the other hand tended to be a little stiff and wary during these meetings, seemed more at ease than he’s ever been in front of everyone.
Could the others really blame you for wanting to see them happy?
You bite down hard on your tongue as Sejin arrives, the final piece in the puzzle. Maybe they could. You count your lucky blessings you don’t have to pick a favourite as well as someone to eliminate. Staying objective and making a decision tomorrow would be hard enough.
“Are we all ready?” Sejin checks, consulting with his watch to ensure it was in fact nine on the dot.
Catching everyone off guard, it’s Jungkook that speaks up, sitting beside you with crossed legs. “Ready, PD!”
The rest of you go still for a moment of surprised silence. When was the last time Jungkook had sounded that chipper? You’d found it strange when, being only the third one downstairs after you and Jin, Jungkook had neglected the last empty couch in favour of sitting beside you. Still half asleep, he’d exchanged pleasantries and basically face-planted into a cup of hot chocolate, inhaling the steam like his life depended on it.
Now, though, he seems more alert than most of you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he waited for the meeting to start.
As you glance around, everyone seems equally shocked and relieved, except Jin, who just smiles quietly. You send the eldest a questioning gaze, but he just shrugs.
“Alright, today we just need to cover the prompts, Y/n’s Bangasm Bomb, and then we’ll finish off with the audience vote for fan favourite. Sound good?”
At the mention of fan favourite, Jungkook straightens up, knee jiggling. Your heart goes out to him. Not only had he had a rough time lately, but he put so much effort in to his prompt, and you can’t help but hope he gets it. He could use some cheering up, though he seemed cheerful again all on his own. “I’ll cross my fingers for you, Doctor Jeon,” you promise with a soft smile.
He glances back at you, eyes glittering. “You will?”
“Of course.” Out of the corner of your vision, you feel two sets of eyes on you. “You did well.”
He wrings his hands, gaze dropping. “I wasn’t even top three last week.”
You shrug lightly. “Then you’ll be most improved.”
When he grins, teeth poking out cutely, your shoulders drop in relief. “If I win, I’ll take you somewhere really fun, I promise!”
“Alright,” Sejin cuts in, breaking off your conversation, “our theme was dynamics and roleplay. Just like with last week, we’ll go through each of the guys and get Y/n to guess. Should be pretty easy. And we’ll see if anyone will be taking over the bunkrooms. Namjoon and Hoseok, you’ll be returning to your rooms tonight unless you failed your prompt again.”
Namjoon and Hoseok, squished up on either side of Taehyung, lean over him to high-five after the older one cheers.
“I’ll miss it,” Hoseok confesses, “but I missed my own bed even more. Namjoon; you’re welcome for a sleepover anytime.”
“A sleepover sounds fun,” Taehyung answers quietly, but Hoseok trills and cups his cheeks, inviting him too.
Across the other side, to the left of Jin and Yoongi, Jimin stiffens and instinctively sends you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part, but of course you can’t say anything in front of everyone.
Instead, you give a minute shrug and lean back. Taehyung had already spent the past two weeks being relatively free with his affections, and it seems unfair to get upset by it now. Especially when you were still having sex with other people.
Like a bucket of cold water down your back, the decision you made last night comes into clarity. You couldn’t go out on dates. You couldn’t really kiss or hold hands in front of the others lest they find out. And you couldn’t even be faithful to them. What exactly made declaring your feelings and choosing to be together any different from how you were before?
Before you get too deep into your thoughts, you notice the room has gone silent, everyone staring at you. “Hm? Sorry?”
Sejin’s pointing to Jin expectantly. “Could you state your guess for what Seokjin’s prompt was, Y/n?”
Jin’s face is weirdly unreadable, eyes not really focusing on yours. You struggle to process enough to recall the answer. “Um, poolboy.”
Jin remains silent, making Sejin cough awkwardly. “Yes, poolboy and client was his prompt. Congratulations, Seokjin, you didn’t explicitly tell Y/n your prompt and successfully completed it.”
On the other side of the room, Taehyung’s eyes fly wide, before his shoulders slump, blushing as Hoseok quietly teases him.
“Yoongi?”
You clear your throat, feeling weirdly strung-out, like your attention is in a million places at once. Get through the meeting, then you can chat with Min and Tae. Just stay focussed. “Yoongi was, like, an animal?”
“Predator and prey,” Yoongi explains smoothly, finally starting to look a little less zombie-like. “And I made sure we were in view of the cameras outside. The ones by the gazebo.”
Sejin nods, choosing to sit on the coffee table instead of just standing in front of you all. “Right. Congratulations, Yoongi, you also successfully completed your prompt within the rules. Jimin’s one?”
You’re pretty sure every person in this room could guess his without a second thought. “Stripper.”
Jimin blows you a teasing kiss with a wink, and you try not to look too endeared, heart leaping at the soft look that hides behind his flirty act. “I hope you all enjoyed the show.”
Beside you, Jungkook goes oddly stiff, face falling. But before you can ask him about it, he’s taking a deep breath and putting on a smile again, albeit a smaller one. You frown as Sejin congratulates Jimin before turning to your couch and indicating it’s Jungkook’s turn.
“Doctor and patient,” you hear yourself answer easily, but you find yourself still worried about him, remembering what he said about Jimin yesterday. Maybe he wasn’t as cheery as he was making himself seem today.
A similar look of worry flickers across Jimin’s face at Jungkook’s odd response, and you decide that once the meeting is done, you’ll ask Jungkook about it. Maybe get him to talk to you privately, or everyone so you’re all on the same page. Anything so that you can resolve the strange upset Jungkook seems to have.
“...his prompt. Now, Namjoon?”
“Husband and wife,” you offer up reflexively, grateful of the warm albeit shy smile Namjoon sends you in response.
“Now, Namjoon and Y/n, I’m aware you spent a significant amount of time together in the rec room. Of course, you can retain your privacy, but I do need to ask if Namjoon explicitly told Y/n his prompt in there.”
Looking like a teacher’s pet being told off, Namjoon’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t!”
Sejin lets out a quick laugh, holding a calming hand up. “That’s fine, that’s all I needed. Congratulations, Namjoon, you’re out of the bunkrooms.”
Taehyung looks nervous when Sejin’s stare rests on him. His eyes keep darting around to the other men like he’s waiting for their reactions. When Sejin asks you to guess the prompt, you hesitate. Something about how uncomfortable he looks gives you pause. “She doesn’t have to guess,” Taehyung offers up, “and you don’t have to say it. I already know I lost.”
Sejin gives him a look of sympathy. “The editing team did catch you telling Y/n directly which means you’ll have to stay in the bunks for next week, but unfortunately the nature of these meetings does require each prompt to be revealed to the group.”
You can see the puppy behind Taehyung’s eyes as he rounds them, pouting up at Sejin. “Really?”
“We don’t have to give details,” Sejin offers up shortly. “And none of these prompts will ever be things anyone has on their hard limits list, so please don’t think anyone hear will be in any position to judge it.”
This seems to ease Taehyung’s worry significantly. “Pet and owner,” Taehyung offers up shortly. “And I lost because I told Y/n. Time for Hoseok.”
Even as your heart aches to jump up and go to him, Jimin also shifting in his seat restlessly, you see Hoseok quietly wrap a hand around Taehyung’s elbow and Namjoon rest his head tentatively on Tae’s shoulder. You settle back, forcing yourself to remember you and Jimin aren’t the only ones that care for Taehyung.
Sejin clears his throat and gestures to Hoseok. “Lucky last, I suppose. What’s your guess, Y/n?”
You think back to Monday night. Hoseok teasing you throughout the day and then tying you up at night in the prettiest ropes, feeling entirely under his control. You’d called him Master. “Master and sss….sub?”
Hoseok smiles sweetly, his voice honeyed. “Almost. You and Jungkook were my pretty little slaves, princess.”
In perfect synchronisation, the others turn their heads around to you and Jungkook, sharing a couch. “I remember now,” you state weakly as Jungkook shifts on his spot.
Sejin looks distinctly uncomfortable with the sudden turn, wincing at Hoseok. “Well, congratulations because you also successfully completed your prompt. Anyways, that’s that done, time for the Bangasm Bomb. As you all probably recall,” Sejin explains, sliding off his glasses and wiping the lenses with his shirt as he goes, “the requirement was that Y/n had to stay in a different bed every night otherwise she’d be in the bunkroom. Luckily, she managed to do so, so Taehyung is the only one required to stay there.”
Taehyung shrinks, bottom lip sticking out in disappointment and Jimin watches him, stricken. Against your better judgement, you call out to Sejin. “But are we able to voluntarily go there?”
Sejin shrugs. “Sure, you already did so once this week. No rules against it.”
Jimin brightens up, but before he can say anything, Hoseok’s cheering, jostling Tae’s side. “Guess the sleepover will be back in the bunkroom, Tae!” Across the side of the room, Jimin visibly holds back his irritation.
“Can we do the audience favourite now?” Jungkook pipes up in a hopeful voice.
“Oh, of course.” Sejin fumbles to slide his glasses back on, lenses still smudged at the bottom, and clears his throat dramatically. “Alright, so I’ll just say the top three again. Third place this week was Namjoon.”
Namjoon’s eyes widen comically as he croaks out a, “Really?”
“Ah, I’m so proud,” Hoseok croons, reaching across Taehyung to pat Namjoon’s knee enthusiastically. “Young grasshopper learnt well.”
Namjoon still seems in disbelief, letting out a stilted laugh. “Wow, I- Goodness, that’s so nice of them!”
Beside you, Jungkook’s practically vibrating with nervous energy. He wasn’t even in the top three last time, and you can tell he’s feeling the pressure. Yoongi seems unbothered, even as his eyes keenly focus on Sejin; Jin waits patiently, not looking like he’s expecting anything. Jimin’s more focused on Taehyung than the announcement, his eyes locked onto the boy that’s sandwiched between Namjoon and Hoseok as they celebrate. Hoseok looks relatively uncaring about the favourite, lips still spread in a heart-shaped grin at Namjoon’s victory like it’s his own.
“Second place,” Sejin continues, “was Jungkook.”
You hear and feel his reaction rather than see it. Hear the exhale as he sinks, a mix of relief and disappointment making his frame go lax on the couch. Leaning over, you send him a warm smile. “Good job, Kook, you did really well.”
“Who’s number one?” he asks instead, leaning forward with his legs tucked up under him.
Sejin gives a small smile. “The highest number of votes this week went to Yoongi.”
“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook questions quietly, but it’s drowned out by Hoseok’s excited woop and chirpy laughter as Yoongi’s mouth drops open, doing a double take at the news.
“Are you serious?” Yoongi exclaims, a disbelieving grin spreading across his face as Jin rubs his shoulders and Jimin congratulates him lowly. “Holy shit, who would’ve guessed?” His eyes find you suddenly, brightening with realisation. “I get to take you out tonight,” he declares.
A shock of thrill runs through you at all the possibilities of some private time with the enigmatic doctor, but you can’t help but glance over, wary of Tae and Jimin’s reactions. Though Jimin just looks a little stiff, Taehyung’s eyes are on you, sullen. Rather than jealous, it seems more like he’s disappointed he couldn’t be the one to take you out. It’s a relief he isn’t mad, but it only increases the unsettled feeling in your heart. You, Taehyung and Jimin sorely needed to talk.
“Well, then,” Sejin interrupts, breaking you out of your daze, “that’s your Sunday meeting, I’ll see you all back here tomorrow for elimination.”
Like clockwork, the seven guys turn their heads to look at you, even as Sejin bids you farewell and leaves out the front door.
“Do you know who you’re voting out?” Jin asks with a complete lack of tact, an easy smile hiding the concern in his eyes.
You cough awkwardly. “I have no clue,” you answer honestly. “I’m just… trying not to think about it until I really have to, you know? I still don’t want to vote out any of you.”
“That reminds me,” Jin speaks up, though he states it awkwardly, almost sounding rehearsed, “I think we all need to have a group talk. Set some things straight.”
Jungkook recoils like the comment was directed at him, letting out a light huff. “Can’t this wait?”
Yoongi grimaces. “With all due respect, Jungkookie, I think it would be best to just have a chat now and sort this out. If the therapist thinks we need to talk, he’s probably right.”
“It’s not like it’s urgent,” the youngest rebutts, “let’s just do it some other time.”
Jin sucks in a breath. “We’re all sitting here now, Jungkook, and clearing the air. Unless you want to go back to feeling uncomfortable.”
Jungkook’s eyes cast towards the ceiling like he can’t believe he’s stuck here. “Oh my god! I already spoke to you, just pass it on!”
“You know I can’t do that, Jungkook,” Jin says calmly, even as his eyes flare in ire. “We want you to be happy, and I’m sure you’re not the only one that has been struggling, and if we-”
“If you want me to be happy, fucking let me leave, Jesus,” Jungkook swears, and you flinch when he suddenly stands, rushing away quickly. “I’ll come back when I’m done.”
“Done?” Jin asks, looking completely lost. “Goodness, that kid gets angry at everything these days.”
“A talk does sound really helpful, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon offers up. “If you want, we can hang around and wait for Jungkook.”
Jin lets out a light sigh, smiling gratefully. “I figure it’ll be good for us. Hopefully. I just worry about everyone, you know? Just because this is a reality show doesn’t mean we need to be always fighting and throwing drinks in people’s faces and stuff. We need to communicate like adults.”
Yoongi frowns. “You don’t need to take all that burden on yourself, hyung. I’m sure they didn’t teach you to handle this kind of situation in your training.”
Jin goes to reply, but the moment his mouth opens, words are cut off by a dual ding, two phones going off.
You glance over to where Taehyung and Namjoon both instinctively check their phones, faces falling almost simultaneously.
“Oh,” Taehyung says shortly, face falling. “I should’ve remembered.”
“What is it?” Jin asks with knitted brows.
“It’s his stream,” Namjoon explains guiltily, “he normally begins it earlier than this, so he was probably trying to leave so he could start.”
“Why didn’t he just-?” Jin exhales roughly, Yoongi’s hand falling to his shoulder to anchor him. “Whatever. He’s angry now, I guess, let’s just wait for him to finish and once he goes offline someone can text him and ask him to come down. Is everyone fine with that?”
Although no one protests, the air is significantly stiff with tension; Yoongi makes another round of coffees, Taehyung opens the stream and watches it with the volume turned muted, biting at his fingernail. It feels like such a departure from the same time last week, and being tuned in just feels even more invasive than last time.
“The people in the comments aren’t happy about him being late,” Taehyung notes nervously. “He looks upset.”
“I don’t think you should be watching,” Namjoon admits, shifting in his seat as he tries to avoid looking at the screen. “Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”
“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Taehyung insists hollowly, eyes locked onto it. “He’s trying to touch himself but he’s not getting ha-”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Yoongi spits harshly, returning with four cups of coffee balanced precariously in his grip. “Watch it if you want, but respect that we’re choosing not to.”
Taehyung frowns, but doesn’t protest, returning silently to the screen. Alone on your couch, you take a cup of coffee from Yoongi’s outstretched hands and cradle the cup, feeling the warmth seep into your bones, your heart still as cold as if it were frozen in ice.
True to Yoongi’s command, Taehyung stays silent as he watches, and the entire room sits in uncomfortable quiet until, what can only be fifteen or twenty minutes later, Taehyung lets out a defeated sigh and locks his phone, setting it on the arm of the couch.
The implication is clear, and Jin sets his jaw, looking determined albeit regretful. “Okay, can someone text Jungkook? Let’s get this over with. Just remember it’s for the best.”
Though it seems like even Jin himself is unsure of that, everyone waiting in dread as Taehyung sends him a text, and he comes down the stairs a few minutes later, cheeks flexed with irritation.
You fight the urge to reach out to him when he collapses onto the couch beside you, hair messy but clean and in the same casual clothes as earlier. He seems restless and volatile, and you can’t help but wish the lot of you weren’t having this talk now, or wish you could just jump forward in time to when everyone was happy and alright again.
“Go on, then,” Jungkook starts, snapping the silence. His arms are crossed tightly and eyes piercing as they glare at Jin. “Start the group therapy.”
Though he’s been silent for a while now, Jimin lets out a tired groan. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, he’s trying to help you! Seeing you be upset makes us feel terrible.”
Jungkook stiffens, and you can just about feel the heat radiating off his body as he fires up. “Oh, I’m sorry, next time I’ll just be miserable in private!”
Jin looks stricken, rubbing at his temple. “Jungkook, you said you were going to try and seek out the things that made you happy.”
“And you said you weren’t going to reveal what I said to you in confidence,” Jungkook replies shortly, but before Jin can protest, he’s continuing, voice strained. “But- I do want to try and make things better. I’m sorry; I’m really stressed out and it’s frustrating not being able to leave this place. I thought if I got fan favourite I’d at least get a break.”
The rest of you fall silent for a moment. Your eyes sting, so you blink to ease the ache. “We understand. We want you to be happy. Can we all agree to try our best to just stay chill and talk this through?”
As the others nod, Jungkook scoots back like he’s trying to bury himself into the corner of the couch. “But talk what through? Do you not realise how shitty it feels having all of you sitting me down for an intervention right now? I don’t know whether to be offended or humiliated.”
Taehyung’s face crumples violently, like he’s about to cry. Hoseok, unusually solemn, clears his throat lightly as he pats Tae’s back. “JK, it’s not all of us gathering to dunk on you. I for one know that there are things I’d like to get off my chest. Things that bother me and stuff. I think if we all just front up to what we’re struggling with then we can work through these issues together. But it’s gotta be all of us. If we want to be happy here.”
Jin sends Hoseok a grateful look, sitting back in his seat when Jungkook begins nodding. “I can do that,” Jungkook agrees in a small voice. “Just… someone else can start.”
The concept of owning up about your feelings is clearly as paralysing to the others as it is to you. Everyone falls silent, looking around at each other’s faces and waiting for someone else to speak up. A thread of worry niggles in the back of your brain that Taehyung or Jimin would confess your closeness, bursting the bubble that was already so fragile.
In the end, it’s Yoongi that chooses to go first, heaving a great sigh to brace himself. “If I’m perfectly honest,” Yoongi admits, “I’m a little concerned that we’re going to be cornered into conflict no matter how much we avoid it. As nice as the producers are-” he pauses to glare at one of the cameras filming the interaction with an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, “this is a reality show and reality shows are founded on drama. And look how much effort it took to get us to sit down and actually talk to each other? It would’ve been easier in some respects to just get angry and hateful and fight every other day, and I don’t think everyone is as aware of that as hyung and I are.”
Jungkook swallows. “I do worry about that, too,” he reveals. “I mean, not in the same way, but… If we wanted to, we could just all hate each other and only interact when we had to and then never speak again when we all leave. Which is weird because for now, we can’t go anywhere. We’re all gonna be really close and then we’ll just go our separate ways. And I don’t know what to do about it… If that makes sense.”
“But you did that exact same thing to us,” Jimin protests. “If you’re scared of us all acting like strangers then why push us away?”
Jungkook frowns stiffly. “That’s what you did at the start!”
“And it sucked,” Jimin retorts immediately. “It felt awful seeing everyone socialise and feeling like I had to stay out of it to protect myself. That’s why I’m not acting like a dick anymore.”
“Well, that’s up for debate,” Hoseok quips with a scoff.
Jimin sends him a withering glare, but Jungkook pays no mind to Hoseok’s remark, eyes still on the blue-haired man. “Everyone else was ignoring me anyway!” His voice is brittle, powered only by his frustration, and it feels like a pot ready to boil over. “Yoongi and Jin always do their own thing in the kitchen and never like me helping out, Namjoon and Hoseok have their whole teacher-student thing going on, and the only people my age are so up each other’s asses that they don’t even look at me half the time! Y/n has six other guys to sleep with so it’s not like I can even hang out with her that much. Everyone’s paired up and left me out of it but you all act like you haven’t. And then it’s all, ‘oh, why is Jungkook all grouchy?’ like I’m just making your lives difficult or something.”
Jimin winces. “We never tried to-”
“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t try to, you did! You and Tae fucking drool over each other all day long and even when I try and- and- talk to either of you, it’s clear that you’re just thinking about the other person.” Jungkook stands suddenly, whirling around to face Taehyung. “I thought that day in the confessional shed, Tae, when you said it wasn’t just Y/n… I thought you were talking about me. I thought we were having a moment, you know, and then it turns out it was just Jimin. It’s always Jimin.”
“Come on, that’s not fair,” Jimin cuts in, “he can’t help his feelings.”
Taehyung sends Jimin a confused look hastily before turning back to Jungkook. “Kookie, I’m really sorry. I don’t want to exclude you anymore. I’ll do better.”
“You shouldn’t have to apologise, Tae,” Jin pipes up tiredly, and a strangled cry comes from Jungkook’s throat, the boy almost hysterical.
“Why do you want so badly for no one to be on my side, Seokjin?”
“God, it isn’t about that-”
Jungkook seems borderline hysterical, bottom lip trembling violently as he points at the eldest. “Well, what is it about? You act so fucking high and mighty, Jin, yet you’re in the same fucking situation as me.”
Your eyes widen as Jungkook turns to you, knees almost bumping yours with how close he’s standing. Behind him, Jin makes a low noise of warning. “Don’t, Jungkook…”
Jungkook’s eyes are wild, two points of red on his cheeks. “Jin has feelings for you but he won’t say anything because he thinks you just see it as sex. And he has the fucking audacity to try and give me advice on my feelings for-”
“Jeon Jungkook!” Jin bellows, standing too. Beside him, Yoongi tugs at his wrist, but the eldest shakes it off. “You have no right to-”
You’ve had enough of sitting silently, wincing at Jin’s volume, the therapist so far from the pillar of emotional stability he usually was. “Just let him get it out, Jin, he’s frustrated.”
Jungkook scoffs even as Jin shakes his head in disapproval. “Are you serious?” Jungkook asks you incredulously. “I tell you Jin has feelings for you and you’re still trying to suck up to me?”
You reel back, brows knitted. “I’m defending you, Jungkook.”
“I don’t want you to fucking defend me, Y/n, I’ve had enough of you leading everyone on and then not returning anything. You have all the power here and you just toy with us and act all innocent.”
“What are you talking about?” you cry, throat aching with the effort it takes to keep your voice steady.
Jungkook’s eyes gleam, unshed tears reflecting the light. “Jin-hyung tries to be romantic and you tell him it’s just a scene to you, instead of just doing Namjoon’s prompt you take his virginity like it’s a 90s romcom, making it “special” for him. You want every one of us to fall for you so that you can get fawned over by seven hot guys, but you aren’t willing to take any of the responsibility that comes with it. You act like things are so hard for you having to choose, but you’re breaking our fucking hearts doing it!”
You open your mouth to retort, but a crashing wave of guilt overtakes you, and your cheeks are wet before you even realise you’re crying. Intentional or not, you rue all the times you complained about elimination, knowing that the guys must have been feeling so much worse. “I’m so sorry, Kook,” you make out, covering your nose and mouth with a hand to try and contain yourself.
From the other side of the room, it’s Namjoon that speaks up next, voice flat and reserved. It’s a stark contrast to the fire in Jungkook’s voice, but he looks no less affected by everything. “That’s not fair at all,” he says shortly, “Y/n isn’t in charge of our feelings any more than we are, and you don’t have any right to judge her for what I chose. I was the one who wanted my first time to be special, Kook.”
Namjoon’s low volume seems to influence Jungkook, taking his noise level down a notch. The words just hurt more. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here then, Namjoon. This isn’t where you come to have your cherry popped by a nice, young lady you can bring home to your parents.”
“Oh, my god,” Hoseok exclaims with a groan, “are we seriously just complaining about everyone now? Is that what this is? Good going, Jin, really fucking helpful.”
A whirl of dread rushes through you as the anger continues to flit around the room in an ugly cloud, everyone having a bone to pick with each other. Jin makes a noise of outrage, hissing back at Hoseok when he speaks. “I don’t see you coming up with any suggestions. Do any of you have any fucking idea how hard it is to have everyone expecting you to magically solve their problems and shoulder their burdens and not a single one of them gives a shit about you?”
“That isn’t true,” you protest, immediately regretting drawing attention back to yourself.
Jin scoffs. “You haven’t said a fucking thing since finding out I have feelings for you. Wait, no; you haven’t said a fucking thing since I got upset with you on Tuesday. Did you really never think to ask even once how I was doing?”
Your excuse feels flat even before you say it. “I was waiting for you to-”
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” he sings sarcastically. “Everybody waits for me to solve things and then complains when it’s not helpful enough,” Jin spits, glaring at Hoseok with the last few words.
A shuddering sob cuts into the silence that follow his words, and in unison you all turn to Taehyung, who has his face buried in Hoseok’s shoulder, Namjoon rubbing his back as his shoulders heave.
Jimin sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, body twitching as he fights the urge to rush over, and instead raises his voice to address the room. “Alright; show’s over. This isn’t solving anything.”
“Why should you decide?” Jungkook cuts in immediately. “I’m miserable and you don’t care, Jin’s miserable and you don’t care, but the second it’s Taehyung…!”
Jimin rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Why are you so bothered by it?”
Jungkook lets out a cry of frustration that sounds closer to a sob. “Because you’re taking him away from me! I can’t compete with you! Everybody’s obsessed with you, everybody wants your approval and you just drink it up, you narcissistic, selfish piece of shit!”
Around the room, everyone sucks in a wary breath, but Jimin’s already standing, features sharpened in anger. “Why are you acting like it’s my fault he has feelings for me? Maybe he doesn’t like you because you’re a whiny fucking brat who takes everything personally.”
“That isn’t true,” Taehyung hiccups out, “Jungkookie’s nice, Min. And you’re not selfish.”
Though the tension in the room just keeps rising and rising, you can see, behind Jimin’s standing figure, Yoongi sitting stiffly on the couch. He keeps glaring at the cameras expectantly, with one hand clutching his phone and the other latched onto Jin’s wrist, keeping him from interfering further. The two exchange words quietly, shaking their heads in disapproval.
On the more emotional side of the room, Hoseok holds Taehyung closely, soothing him as Namjoon looks up hesitantly at the others. “I really think we should stop, guys…”
“Let’s all take a chill pill,” Hoseok quips as Taehyung’s tears stain his shirt.
Jimin lets out a noise of disgust. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Hoseok.”
“Is no one gonna stop this?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, glancing up at the cameras.
“What did I say?” Yoongi retorts rhetorically. “They aren’t going to interfere. They know this drama gives their show more views.”
“Good for Jimin,” Jungkook states petulantly, “the more views he gets, the better he feels.”
“Coming from you,” Jimin says over the sound of Yoongi clicking his tongue in exasperation. “Maybe the reason you hate me so much is because you and I are the exact same, Jungkook, I just do it better.”
“Again with your superiority complex,” Jungkook huffs. “How long until everyone here gets sick of you, Jimin? How long until the novelty wears off and you’re left alone on your high horse again, huh?”
Jimin flinches like he’s been hit, but takes an accusing step closer to Jungkook. Around them, everyone shrinks back in their seats, Hoseok shielding Taehyung’s ears and Yoongi and Jin with a phone sandwiched between their cheeks as they make a call. Namjoon’s begun to cry, too, but he hides his running nose with a sleeve, eyes wide and shining as they watch Jimin and Jungkook square off.
The two of them are a few steps apart, now, not even the coffee table dividing them. Jimin, although physically smaller than Jungkook, appears to tower over the other as his face darkens. “At least I’m good at my job, Jungkook. Why did you come down so soon? Blow your load too quickly like an amateur?” When it doesn’t gain any more reaction than Jungkook’s face twitching in annoyance, Jimin grins wickedly. “Or could baby not even get it up, huh? Take your dick away, you’re not much of anything, are you?”
Jungkook lunges before Jimin is even done speaking.
The thud of impact and grunt of rage from the youngest echoes through the room sickly as Jimin reels back, clutching at his nose. Already you can see the intense scarlet pooling between his fingers, dripping down as his eyes tear up with anger and pain.
The urge to jump in, do something, almost overwhelms you, but you feel yourself paralysed, shocked and barely able to process anything like it’s a bad nightmare.
On one side of Jungkook and Jimin, Taehyung wails, struggling in Hoseok and Namjoon’s hold as the two of them keep him from interfering. On the other side, Yoongi stands up in alarm, keeping his voice calm as he splays his palms. “Woah, woah, that’s enough now-”
Jimin pulls his hands away, spitting out the blood in his mouth even as more streams to fill out. “You little fucker,” he hisses. “If you broke my nose, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh. “Take your face away, you’re not much of anything, right?” he mocks.
Sensing things turning for the worst, Yoongi widens his eyes and jumps forward, but his hands just catch on empty air. Jimin’s already launched himself forward, taking Jungkook off-guard as he shoves him with balled fists, using the full weight of his body to send the other tripping backwards.
Jungkook curses when he lands harshly on the coffee table, empty and half-full cups of coffee flung off, some smashing directly under him. He rolls off, instinctively curling his body away from Jimin.
Passing Taehyung over to Namjoon, Hoseok leaps up to tug Jimin back as the man continues to step closer to Jungkook’s prone body. The moment he gets a hand on Jimin, however, he’s met with an elbow to the cheek, stumbling back from the impact.
For a moment, everyone goes silent. Jimin stares wide-eyed at the red mark quickly blooming on Hoseok’s cheekbone, the dom looking shocked as he rubs at it.
That second of inaction is all it takes for Jin and Yoongi to descend on Jimin at the same time, an arm firmly grasped by each man as they drag him backwards. Jimin doesn’t even fight it, though, a strange clarity and sorrow in his eyes, even brighter than the red that’s beginning to drip down to his shirt.
When Sejin bursts in and rushes over to Jungkook, it’s too late to really solve anything. The combative atmosphere has dissolved into the sick, defeated aftermath of Jimin and Jungkook’s physical alteration.
Still, he directs Jin and Yoongi to take Jimin upstairs to ‘cool off’, crouching beside Jungkook and making sure he’s okay before he tugs the boy gently up. As he leads the youngest in the opposite direction, towards the front door, Jungkook twists in his grip, trying to look back towards the group.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he wails, “please don’t hate me, I’m so so sorry!” Jungkook babbles on almost incoherently, feet stumbling as Sejin tries to shush him, pulling him out the door.
The moment the door clicks shut, it’s like the emotions of the past hour or so hit everyone at once. Namjoon has joined Taehyung in crying, Hoseok trying to rub their backs at once with a pained face, his cheek beginning to swell slightly.
With your shoulders and chest heaving violently as you sob - the silent tears finally finding their voice - you blink away your blurry vision and heave yourself off the couch. The three of them accept you with open, albeit shaky arms, and without any care about exposing your relationship, you wind your arms around Taehyung’s waist and bury your face in the crook of his neck.
“Do you think they’re okay?” Namjoon asks in a small voice, fiddling with the damp sleeve of his shirt.
As if to answer his question, you hear hurried stomps, followed by Jimin bursting briefly into your line of sight, rushing down the stairs and out the front door without even a second glance.
Even the split-second view of him you got sparks worry in your chest. He’d clearly made a minimal attempt to wipe away most of the blood, but there were still dried smears below his nostrils and down his neck, and the shirt he’s wearing looks like something out of a horror movie, likely the material he used to clean himself up.
Jin and Yoongi follow down, but not fast enough, the blue-haired man long gone by then. The two of them seem hollowed, clearly taking this on as their own burden, as their fault - especially Jin, who’s knitting his brows harshly to stop his own tears.
Taehyung’s straightening up immediately, wrapped up in the middle of the three of you on the couch as he calls out to the older men. “What did he say? Is he okay? It’s not broken, is it? His nose?”
“Tae, easy,” Jin soothes, voice thick with emotion. “Yoongi took a look at it, it’s not broken, just tender. Jungkook sure does know how to swing a punch, though. Jimin was lucky.”
“Lucky,” the masseuse repeats weakly. “I don’t know if anything about this was lucky, hyung.”
“Can we even come back from this?” Namjoon asks slowly. “If we couldn’t talk like adults without fighting, then surely we’re doomed to just-”
“Nobody is doomed,” Jin assures. “If I’m perfectly honest, it seems like Jungkook was so wound up that there was nowhere for him to go except this. He probably just needed to totally vent and get it all out. I should’ve seen it coming, I’m so sorry.”
Yoongi grimaces, a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault, hyung. We’re all complicit and we can all learn from this, but let’s not play the blame game. I just hope Jimin and Jungkook don’t entirely despise each other after this. I actually thought the kid liked- Anyway. Best thing we can do now is give them some time.”
You suck in a deep breath. That whole time, you’d just sat there, too shocked or too cowardly to move, you don’t even know which one. And although it’s too late, at least there’s one thing you can do to help, rather than just waiting passively. You gently detangle yourself from Taehyung, Hoseok and Namjoon and get up off the couch.
When Yoongi - the most composed of the bunch - sees you kneel on the carpet, beginning to pick up chips and fragments of the shattered cup, he lets out a noise of concern. “Y/n, you shouldn’t-”
In your haste to help, and your shakiness from crying, it’s no surprise that your fingers are clumsy, grabbing onto a shard too harshly.
You see the blood welling before you feel it, a hot line of pain that opens up across the base of your palm and spills onto the carpet. Dumbly, you just watch it collect in the fibres. You’re sure when the showrunners rented this house, they hadn’t anticipated blood to be the fluid they’d need to be cleaning up. But in just one day, so much had been shed needlessly.
You’d probably sit there forever, numb to your own injury were it not for Yoongi rushing forward, his fingers gently prying away the sharp shard of ceramic, holding your hand so tenderly as he inspects it.
“You’re coming to my bedroom, now. Can you stand?”
Yoongi’s voice feels far away, inconsequential. You hum just to feel your throat vibrate. Letting out a sigh laden with worry, Yoongi lifts you off the floor slowly, waiting to see if you can get your feet back under you.
It seems you can stand, though it takes all of your focus. The others are talking behind you, voices fretting, but they reach your ears like you’re underwater.
It’s less than a second of eternity before you’re blinking away the cotton fog, slowly coming back to your senses.
The first thing you feel is a freezing solid surface against your legs and back. As it seeps into your bones, it wakes you up, and you fight to focus your vision, watching the colours swim sickly.
“...hear me?” The shapes and shades begin to settle like silt on a lakebed, revealing Yoongi’s round face as it crumples in contained concern. “Y/n, can you hear me?”
“I h-hear you, yes,” you slur out, coughing away the remaining thickness in your throat.
“Good, okay, stay with me,” he instructs, crouched in front of you. “What day is it?”
The more you tune back in to your surroundings, you become aware of a second person behind Yoongi. Hoseok’s long legs sprawl gracefully in front of you as he sits on the toilet seat lid, but his head is dipped back onto the tile. He looks totally devoid of any of the positive energy you’re used to seeing on him.
“Everything’s ruined,” you mumble lowly.
Yoongi sucks in a breath and tilts your face back to him, his fingers cold like ice. “I need you to not worry about that for now and stay alert. What day of the week is it?”
“Sunday,” you give after a beat.
“Good, and what’s my name?”
You frown, shifting in his grasp. “I’m not concussed, you know.”
Yoongi huffs, his hands falling from your jaw. “I’m trying to keep you distracted, you brat. What’s my name?”
“Min Yoongi. Doctor Min Yoongi I gue- Wait, why do I need to be- ow!” You automatically try to jerk your hand close to you when a searing, stinging pain explodes your nerves, but an iron grip around your wrist keeps you steady.
Glancing down, you see Yoongi deftly wrapping a bandage around the base of your palm, winding it around your thumb. Below, the burning ache of antiseptic makes you wince. “It hurts,” you whine.
“Unlike poor Hoseok, you did this to yourself,” Yoongi replies shortly.
You pout. “Do you bully all your patients?”
“Only the ones I like.” Clearing his throat with a tinge of pink in his cheeks, Yoongi finishes bandaging your wound. “You’ll live.”
Despite yourself and the events of the past few hours, your lip twitches. “Reassuring.”
Before the doctor can respond, Hoseok lifts his head and blinks down at the two of you balefully. “He hit me,” he breathes in a sullen voice.
“Jimin?” Yoongi begins to pack up his little first aid kit, slumping back against the vanity you’re propped up on. “You got in the way.”
“He didn’t just push me away, he elbowed me right in the face,” Hoseok explains meaningfully. The thought seems to bother him more than you’d expect. “I didn’t think he actually hated me like that.”
“Isn’t that your whole shtick?” you ask tiredly. All of your annoyance, frustration, anger and even your guilt seems to have been sucked away by the chill of the tile, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and detached. “Two sparring doms trying to outdo each other?”
The truth is, Jimin didn’t like to speak or hear about Hoseok, and you hadn’t actually spent that much time with the professional dom to hear his side. Hoseok shrugs with a sigh. “I know he doesn’t like me. And I think he’s an arrogant prick, but I’d never hit him. I thought it was just a bit of fun to play up the rivalry, you know? I guess not to him.”
Yoongi looks grim. “I don’t think it’s wise for us to make any judgements about each other based on any of the events of the past six hours. We all got caught up in it, and I’m sure we’ll be able to forgive and move on.”
Hoseok nibbles at a thumbnail, unassured. “Do you think they’ll send them home for aggression?”
“Who knows?” Yoongi answers honestly. “But hey; you’ll get to be the winner of your rivalry and outlast Jimin. That’s something, isn’t it? You always wanted to.”
A shiver runs up your spine at the despairing look on Hoseok’s face. “Not like this,” are the only three words he makes out before a sob bubbles up his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, but the dam has burst.
“Hobi,” you coo, shuffling forward on your knees to avoid putting pressure on your injured hand. He lets out a shuddering breath when you take his hand and link in your fingers, providing some physical comfort. “Let’s go downstairs, maybe make some dinner, and wait for Jimin and Jungkook to come back in. We’ll say our sorries and go to bed on a warmer note, yeah?”
Hoseok pauses, bites his lip to cease his tears, and nods shakily. “Yeah, let’s do that. Even if he hates me, I… I want to apologise if I’ve contributed in taking things too far.”
You hum, standing up. Though you wobble for a bit, you feel far more stable than before, and you use your links hands to tug Hoseok to his feet too. “And I want to apologise for not being fairer with you all. But we can’t do anything until Jungkook and Jimin are ready to come back.”
Yoongi pushes himself off the floor with a grunt. “And Hoseok, I’m getting you an icepack for that cheek of yours.”
Though Hoseok protests, five minutes passing sees you in the kitchen, Hoseok slumped at the breakfast bar with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a paper towel pressed to his face. You busy yourself with putting some rice on to cook and Yoongi and Jin work in their usual companionable silence, preparing a basic beef broth.
Both uninjured and not much help in the kitchen, Taehyung and Namjoon occupy their hands and minds with cleaning, following YouTube tutorials on how to get coffee and blood out of the carpet. They haven’t made all that much progress by the time dinner is served, but nobody comments on the dark patches, huddling on two couches in the lounge instead of the dining table. Though no one admits it, you need the extra physical comfort.
As you eat, you find yourself glancing back and forth between the two full bowls waiting on the kitchen countertop, and the front door. “Should someone go out and check on them?” you ask eventually, snapping the silence.
“I texted Sejin asking if they needed any medical attention,” Yoongi offers. “He just said no.”
“Minnie took his phone,” Taehyung said in a low voice. He’s barely touched his food, staring blankly into space. “But he only sent one text saying he was okay and he won’t reply to any of my other ones.”
“We wait,” Jin decides resolutely. “We’ll just sit here and wait for them to come back, and then hopefully we can all agree to put this past us. It was awful, yes, but I think it needed to happen. And hopefully nobody feels like they have anything weighing on their conscience anymore.”
Nobody protests and so, you wait.
The leftovers - god, when was the last time you’d had leftovers in this house? - are wrapped up and put in the fridge, the pots cleaned. As the sky dims, you turn the lights on inside. Nobody dares leave long enough to have a shower, but Taehyung darts upstairs to grab some blankets so that you can tuck up in two groups - Taehyung stays by your side with Hoseok, and the two eldest sandwich Namjoon.
Time passes stiffly, but it does pass. When the sun goes down, there are still only six of you in the house. Everyone’s so emotionally exhausted from the fight, and strung out from the anxiety of listening out for the door, that when it suddenly opens you all jump, Hoseok even cursing as he gets a fright.
The sudden spike of hope in your chest tanks violently when it’s Sejin that rounds the corner, a grim look on his face.
Taehyung frowns, his frame trembling as it leans into you. “Where are they?”
Sejin gestures back the way he came. “They’re in the production van.” Taehyung stands up immediately, but Sejin steps in front of him, hands splayed. “They just want to have some space, Taehyung,” he explains.
“There’s more space in here than there is in the van,” Taehyung protests weakly, even as he settles back down between you and Hoseok. “When are they gonna come back inside? It’s getting late.”
Sejin’s eyes flit around the six of you as he shifts, uncomfortable. “I’ve told them they’re welcome to stay the night there and use my bed. I came in to tell you that I’m going to go home now. Please don’t go out and disturb them. I’ve talked to them, but now they need some time to chat to each other and think about what they’d like to do.” The older man adjusts his glasses and gives you a pained smile. “Try and get some rest.”
A cold bolt of fear runs down your spine. “What they’d like to do?”
Taehyung swallows hard, hands beginning to tremble. “They aren’t going to leave the show, are they?”
Sejin’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Please try and get some rest,” he repeats, rather than answering. Taehyung shivers, and you feel the pressure of his forehead on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist.
The producer turns to leave, making Yoongi frown. “Hey!” he calls sharply. Sejin turns around to face him. “I was meant to be taking Y/n out as my reward for fan favourite.”
You bite your lip anxiously. Truth be told, the thought had slipped your mind, and you don’t fancy leaving the others now, certainly not Taehyung who was clinging to you like a frightened puppy.
Sejin curses under his breath, rubbing his temple. “I’ll call an Uber.”
Yoongi steps back a little like the response surprises him. “No, I- This isn’t really the time, is it? I want to ask if we can do it tomorrow night instead, or something? I’m staying here with my friends tonight. We’re staying together.”
“That’s fine,” Sejin allows, a weak smile gracing his tired features before he gasps. “Oh! That reminds me…” He turns so that he’s addressing the group. “I don’t think anyone is in the emotional headspace for eliminations, so… I’m pushing the Monday meeting to Tuesday. Nine in the morning like usual. Just rest up tomorrow.”
“Good to hear you care now,” Yoongi mutters bitterly.
Sejin winces. “I think we’ve had enough conflict today, Yoongi-”
“Something you could have solved,” the doctor accuses harshly, “if you’d answered my texts or my calls and come down when we were asking you for help. I won’t forget that.”
“It’s done. There’s nothing more for me to do beyond apologising.”
“Which you haven’t done,” Yoongi fires back immediately.
“I’m sorry.” The producer gives a stiff wave of farewell to the group. “My girlfriend is waiting outside. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”
When Sejin leaves the villa, the group heave out a unanimous sigh of exhaustion. It’s been a long day, but the thought of splitting apart, of being alone with your thoughts, is more than you can bear.
“Could we…” You swallow down the croakiness in your throat as everyone turns to look at you. “Could we maybe all stay down here tonight? Together?”
Namjoon’s eyes soften. “I’d like that. I could grab some blankets?”
Taehyung looks up. “I’ll get pillows.”
One by one, four of you run upstairs, Yoongi and Hoseok wanting to get into some more comfortable clothes for sleeping. Before you do the same, you turn to Jin.
He’s starting to push the coffee table towards the television, leaving more room in the middle of the couches. Stubbornly keeping himself busy.
“Jin,” you call out hesitantly, making him glance up in the midst of straightening the table against the wall. “I want to apologise. For relying on you for everything and not taking responsibility of the situation.”
His eyes soften, a pained smile. “You don’t have to.”
“I do and I am,” you counter, “I’m sorry. And for what it’s worth… Me calling it a scene, I… It wasn’t a grand statement. It was just a slip of the tongue. You mean more to me than just this game, than just sex, and I feel terrible that you’ve gone the whole week thinking that was the case.”
Behind you, you can hear footsteps descending the stairs. Jin glances up, then back at you quickly with a shake of his head. “To be honest, I’ve gotten over it. I’m fine; you don’t have to worry about me. I think it’s better just to keep it about sex.” He makes a vague gesture, indicating the day’s events. “Less messy.”
You blink, not expecting that. Had he gotten over being upset? Or gotten over his feelings for you? “Oh.” But Hoseok and Taehyung are stumbling down the steps, hesitating in the doorway, and you know you can’t dig deeper. For now, you’ll have to just be happy he doesn’t seem to be still bothered by it. “No worries. I’ll- I should go get into some pyjamas.”
That night, none of you really sleep the night. You lie tucked between Yoongi’s reassuring mass on one side, and Taehyung’s comforting warmth on the other, and try to steal whatever moments of respite you can. But a restless night shared with five guys who mean far more to you than they should is far preferable to a night spent alone, and you count your blessings for it. Although you’re all a little broken, you have each other’s support to stop from shattering completely, and hopefully you can stay together long enough to heal.
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ELIMINATION
On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, Y/n’s elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the Fan Favourite vote, which has already happened.
Vote closed. Thank you for participating.
Below is the screenshot taken after 48 hours of the fan favourite vote being open.
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omgkatsudonplease · 3 years
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[ficlet, bagginshield] we could form an attachment (bridgerton au)
The gardens at Long Cleeve Hall are stifling with the aroma of wisteria. Bilbo Baggins, who had hoped to escape there for some air, finds it frankly just as hard to breathe there as he had inside the Hall itself.
“Bilbo?” Lobelia Bracegirdle’s voice rings out from not too far away, causing Bilbo to leap to attention again. “Bilbo Baggins, get out here this instant! The Springle-ring is starting and you signed my dance card!”
Oh merciful Giver spare me, Bilbo thinks mutinously, rushing away from the sound of her voice deeper into the gardens. He had only agreed to stand up with her to be polite, but if this is how she’s going to handle him needing some air, he might as well leave her hanging all night. Miss Bracegirdle’s forceful personality might make her seem charming (if not intimidating) to other Hobbit-lads on the marriage market, but her inability to take no for an answer and her overt interest in becoming mistress of Bag End has completely drained him of any hypothetical interest he may have had in her.
He spots a decent-sized hedge and dives behind it just as Miss Bracegirdle enters the gardens, her white gown making her look like the shroud of some terrible Barrow-wight as she cranes her head around for him. Bilbo hardly dares to breathe, listening only to the merry refrain of the Springle-ring in the distance matching with the sound of his own heartbeat.
“Where is that blasted Mr Baggins?” grumbles Miss Bracegirdle as she heads deeper into the gardens, just past his hiding space. He exhales as soon as she vanishes from sight, before turning and almost colliding with another dark figure lurking in the hedge.
Bilbo’s first instinct is to scream, but then that would call Miss Bracegirdle back to him. The figure turns to look at him, and a mixture of shock and resignation floods through Bilbo all at once.
It’s King Thorin.
Bilbo remembers their first meeting at the season-opening Party Field Dance. He had been doing evasive manouevres from Miss Bracegirdle at that time, too, and had bumped quite literally into King Thorin. The Dwarf-king had refused to indulge him in his paltry attempts to make conversation, though he did recognise Gandalf, Bilbo’s chaperone for this year’s social season.
It seems that Gandalf had agreed to accompany Bilbo to this year’s social events for no real reason other than a general desire to disturb the peace, because no sooner after finding that King Thorin was in the Shire on a goodwill tour before the hunting season starts in the Ered Luin, Gandalf had decided to arrange a dinner party for all of them. So this is now his third encounter with King Thorin, and it seems that each time, the Dwarf-king gets a little more handsome and a lot more rude.
“What are you doing out here, Mr Baggins?” demands King Thorin.
“Could ask the same of you, Your Majesty,” hisses Bilbo, putting a finger to his lips. “And hush, there’s someone looking for me.”
“Miss Bracegirdle, right?” wonders King Thorin drily, raising an eyebrow.
Bilbo grits his teeth at the condescension rolling off the Dwarf-king in waves, and turns back to the leaves to keep his eye out for Miss Bracegirdle’s return. “What business is it of yours?” he mutters.
“Oh, you could do better,” scoffs King Thorin.
“I would rather not do anybody here,” replies Bilbo.
That gets King Thorin’s eyebrow raising in curiosity. “If you have no wish to marry anybody here, then why are you at these events at all?”
“Because it’s the respectable thing to do,” says Bilbo. “I know you come from some far-off hill —”
“The Lonely Mountain, actually —” offers King Thorin.
“Whatever.” Bilbo waves a hand at that. “You’re not from these parts, so you couldn’t possibly understand the importance of respectability.”
King Thorin raises an eyebrow, and Bilbo suddenly realises exactly what he’d said. His cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“I mean — respectability with Hobbits is much different than with Dwarves — I’m sure you’re perfectly respectable with your folks, otherwise you wouldn’t be King!”
“I still fail to see how that equates making yourself do something you do not wish to do,” replies King Thorin.
Bilbo swallows. It had been his mother’s dying wish that he fall in love and get married someday. And that was part of the reason why he’d kept going to these events, year after year, in the vain hope that perhaps this year things will be different. Perhaps this year someone special will sweep him off his feet.
In turn, all he’s gotten out of it is a reputation for pickiness, speculation on whether or not there’s something wrong with him for not settling for some pretty Hobbit-lass who can’t see him past his family name, and anxiety at the possibility of having to attend these events until he’s old and shrivelled. But he’s not going to explain all of that to some Dwarf-king only in the Shire to rake some buds before he goes to be Dwarf-kingly at the Ered Luin.
“You know, I haven’t seen you on the dance floor at all tonight,” he says, changing the subject. “Surely a King would know how to dance.”
“Yes, of course,” replies King Thorin, his tone mildly irritated.
Bilbo hums. “Surely even a King of Dwarves knows that in the Shire, the lads must not leave any lasses who wish to dance sitting by the side,” he adds.
“Your point being?” wonders King Thorin.
Bilbo crosses his arms. “Why attend these events at all if you will not do the polite thing and dance? Is it because you also don’t want to be here?”
Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but the very tips of King Thorin’s ears seem to flush pink. “I am here in the Shire as part of my goodwill tour before going hunting in the Blue Mountains,” he points out, his voice thick with something Bilbo can’t quite place. “Am I not allowed to amuse myself and experience Hobbit culture prior to my departure?”
“You have a odd definition of amusement, then, since you spend these balls glowering to the side,” replies Bilbo.
“You would be glowering, too, if all of the mamas of the Shire keep flocking to you in hopes of introducing you to all of their marriageable children,” retorts King Thorin. “I am here to observe, not find a spouse.”
Bilbo snorts. “And I am here to find my true love, but as a gentlehobbit in possession of a good fortune, I find myself surrounded more by dissemblers and treasure-hunters,” he remarks drolly. “Hence, six-going-on-seven years of unattachment.”
“Ah, yes, the Shire’s elusive hare.” King Thorin’s brows knit. “Is it true this is your seventh season? I only read of it in the Stormcrow pamphlets.”
Bilbo hums. “Stormcrow talks of you, too. Says you are colder than the Fell Winter. Not very good for foreign relations, I imagine.”
“That is entirely unfair,” mutters King Thorin. “I should not be painted wintry just because I have yet to dance.”
“Is it better or worse than being described as a hare to be hunted?” retorts Bilbo.
King Thorin grows thoughtful at that. After a moment, he puts his hands together, and fixes Bilbo with the full brunt of his steely blue gaze.
“How would you like to solve our joint Lord Stormcrow problem together?”
~~
For the gathered attendees of the dance at Long Cleeve Hall, the most exciting part of the night had not been when Hanncome Hobson and Marigold Morstan announced their betrothal, nor was it when Falstaff Proudfoot fell into the punch bowl.
No, the most exciting part of the night was when Gandalf set off an entire array of golden fireworks and sparklers, dazzling across the night sky before falling back down on their wondering faces in flocks of golden petals. And it was in the midst of all of this when Bilbo Baggins and King Thorin II of Erebor arrived back at the hall, hand-in-hand.
“Don’t panic,” says King Thorin out of the corner of his mouth. Bilbo takes a deep breath, willing his nerves not to show as they make their way through the gathered crowd, heading for the dance floor.
“We could form an attachment.”
The couples on the floor are now dancing the Weller-spin, a lively yet rather shockingly intimate dance involving pairs circling one another with their arms tightly wound around one another. Bilbo’s heart stutters at the sight, but King Thorin presses them onwards, into a miraculously empty spot on the dance floor.
“Look into my eyes,” he suggests. Bilbo complies, gasping in spite of himself when he feels the Dwarf-king’s hand at his back. He scrambles to return the favour, clasping their other hands together above their heads. “If this is to work, we must appear madly in love.”
“I am trying to avoid diplomatic disaster in the Shire, and you are trying to find your true love. With this arrangement, the rest of the Shire — particularly Lord Stormcrow — will believe that I am not so cold as my initial impression might seem, while you will have turned from being the quarry into the hunter.”
They begin to move together to the music, spinning along with the other couples. King Thorin’s hand is steady against Bilbo’s back as they dance, the heat rolling off of him running through Bilbo’s body to settle in his stomach. The Dwarf-king’s gaze is softer now, something less like cold steel and more like a summer sky.
“In other words, I will no longer be wintry, nor will you be a hare.”
King Thorin spins him out of his arms, before reeling him back in. Bilbo goes willingly, only half of his breathlessness feigned for show. They take each other’s hands in a promenade, turning together before moving back into one another’s arms again.
“Your Majesty,” begins Bilbo, but King Thorin cuts him off with a chuckle.
“We are courting,” he reminds him. “Call me Thorin.”
“Very well, Thorin.” Bilbo smiles. “Do you know the other parts of Hobbit courtship?”
Thorin’s brows briefly furrow. “You will have to educate me, Mr Baggins,” he replies.
Bilbo chuckles at that. “Bilbo,” he says. “Since we are courting, like you mentioned.”
“Bilbo,” agrees Thorin, and the sound of his own name being said by that low voice makes shivers run down Bilbo’s spine. “Tell me more about Hobbit courtship.”
In spite of himself, Bilbo’s stomach flutters.
“This is madness,” Bilbo breathes, looking up at King Thorin, still utterly lost and nervous and perplexed.
“Yet there is method to it,” answers King Thorin. “Provided, of course, that we can amiably part ways at the end of the season, or when someone finds they are so truly in love with you that they would dare to go toe-to-toe with a King for your hand. For as long as I do not love you, and you do not love me, then what have we to lose?”
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jflemings · 3 years
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baby, we bleed red and gold  | f.w
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warnings: Possible grammer mistakes 
summary: The twins get a whiff of a plan that Draco and his buddies are hatching for the upcoming game and decide to get you involved in their plan to intimidate them. the tables turn and you get in the way of the serpents. Fred follows through with a promise. 
authors note: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts unfinished for a couple of weeks now so I’d thought I’d smash it out. Once again another Gryffindor!reader that plays quidditch, I can’t help myself. Next fic will be multi house, promise. 
Angelia had been absolutely kicking your asses in practice leading up to the match against Slytherin and to say you guys were prepared was a severe understatment. The atmosphere was unmatched when the lions and serpents went head to head; the age old rivalry sat thick in the air as the butterflies settled in the pit of your stomach and your hands clamped around your broom. 
Up and ready to go with Ange first in line leading the pack, the seven of you got ready to kick off. It had been raining all week and the smell of the pitch took over your senses as you took heavy breathes in through your nose in order to calm the zoo in your stomach. 
A flaming head of red hair came down to ear level with you on your right side.
“nervous, l/n? don’t be. Freddie and I have got your back, these serpents won’t lay a finger on your pretty little head” George’s tone was assuring but the smirk set on his lips told a different story. You had an overwhelming feeling that the twins were up to no good on this particular Friday night.  
“Georgie’s right. No one is gonna get to our precious little y/n as long as we’re around” 
you had to look up to make eye contact with the older twin, a grin gracing his pretty face and a simple wink thrown your way sent your heart into a frenzy. The hound in your rib cage couldn’t be ignored and neither could the whitening of your knuckles from holing the broom in your hands far too tight. 
George stands up straight to be eye level with his other half
“Heard Malfoy barking orders to his sorry excuse of a team” Fred’s eyebrow quirks and silently beckons his twin to continue.  
“Take out the twins he says” 
Fred snickers and knocks his twin with his right elbow “like that’s the easiest thing in the world” 
“I say we do something about it” 
There it is. that’s the plan, take down the opposing team one by one, in whatever way they can. 
Your head lifts and your ears perk as an idea comes flying through your head. The brothers are being rowdy and it somehow only grows your confidence and the bright idea cooking up.
“alright. I want in” the mischievous tone drips off your voice and the smirk gracing your lips can't be hidden when two hands mold to either shoulder and the pair are once again at your ear level and absolutely baffled at your statement. Sure, you got in with the twin’s pranks from time to time but you swore off foul play and mischief on the pitch; You were not about to risk the house cup for a laugh. When they don’t speak you continue.
“If the two of you keep Crabbe and Goyle distracted and off my back i’ll knock Pucey and Warrington around a bit to give dear old harry here enough time to catch the snitch” Your eyes were no longer fixated on the back of Angelia’s robes but instead giving side looks to the boys.
Angelia bounces on her feet and notates her neck back and forth before becoming completely still, almost like she’s trying to list the pros and cons of letting the three of you potentially sabotage your finale game. 
She takes a deep breath out. 
“If you three mess this up for us, you’re all benched for the first quarter of next season and if anyone asks I had zero involvement in this plan of yours” 
You share a sly grin with the twins and George stands up straight while twisting his broom in his hands while Fred lingers by your side, you can practically see the gears turning in his head.
His mouth comes closer to your ear “If Pucey and Warrington are giving you too much of a hard time, let me know and I’ll give ‘em a fright, yeah?” His honey brown eyes scan your face with a sincere look while searching for a reassuring answer. You know that even if you had told Fred that you can take care of yourself if it even looked like the boys were giving you a rough time he’d have them off their brooms faster than you would ever realise.
All you can do is nod before Angie let’s the team know it’s kick off time. You all fly to your positions and you give Fred and George a side glance and nod, getting two smirks in return.
Madam Hooch kicks off the game and it’s on. The quaffle is in your hands and Warrington is tailing you while trying to dodge the twins, with little success. Angelina comes into your view and quicker than your body can process, you’re passing the quaffle on and scoring. Lee’s voice comes over the microphone.
“Brilliant set up and goal from l/n and Johnson! Gryffindor takes the lead by 10 points” 
Angie looks over her shoulder and gives you a thumbs up before flying off ready to score again. That’s how the game goes for another fifteen minutes, you and angie scoring three times before Harry and Draco get the snitch in their sights. they’re flying down near the house stands and you easily spot Hermione, Ron and Ginny’s voices within the crowd of students. 
The sheer excitement and pride you’re feeling puts you in a momentary state of bliss before a beater’s bat is flying your way. You narrowly miss it and spot Marcus Flint sporting a sickening smirk.
“Maybe if your bite matched your bark, your team would actually have a good chance at winning tonight, y/n” Pucey laughed before following flint toward the hoops. 
This interaction meant little to nothing to you because everyone on that pitch and in the stands, including Pucey, knew damn well that you could take any one of the quidditch players at hogwarts one on one. But just because you weren’t bothered by the comment didn’t mean that someone else felt the same.
******
Fred knew how to keep his cool during games. After playing with his brothers since he could walk, he quickly figured out that you can’t always take your anger out on people flying on magic broomsticks a good 150 metres in the air. 
So when he watched Pucey make a snide remark about you he didn’t know how to handle the overflow of anger crossing through him other than to take a page out of George’s book and attempt (and almost succeed) to knock the slytherin boy off of his broom completely. 
The bludger sent flying towards one of the opposing chasers was anything but accidental and it was all George needed to know that it was time to show Malfoy and his team what taking down beaters actually looked like. 
Your thoughts were racing when George caught up by your side diverging bludgers away from you
“I told you your pretty little head wasn’t getting touched this game” The younger twin smirked while diverging a bludger. George followed you to the hoops and cheered you now when you scored, once again putting Gryffindor back in the lead. 
The game went on and on for another hour and a half; both teams going back and forth with no sign of mercy. 
Alicia and Katie were on a roll. Their technique was unmatched when it came to scoring double goals, you were lingering behind incase they needed you as a distraction or for a pass off but when Katie yet again scores for your team it is immediately known that the odds are once again in your favour. 
***** 
With the quaffle once again in your clutches and the hoops in your direct eyeline nothing was set to get in your way. Pucey was trailing behind you with taunts and smart ass comments trying to throw you off your game.
“C’mon y/n, you think that’s what it’s gonna take ta get rid of me?” You could barley hear him over the wind in your ears until he was right up beside you with Warrington now joining him on your left. You were cornered.
“now now boys, wouldn’t want to get in my way would you? it’s not gonna end well If you keep riding my tail like this” The ever prominent smirk on your face was matched with Lee’s voice playing over the microphone letting the crowd know of the current score.
The two boys stopped mid air after you flew away from them catching up with the twins.
“Malfoy’s idea to shake up the twins a bit. Let’s see if we an give them a scare and get one of their star chasers out of the way” Warrington’s eyes scanned the pitch and found his teammates equally malicious ones.
Adrian hesitated before getting Goyle’s attention. The younger beater flew over to his older teammates whilst simultaneously trying to focus on the important game at hand.
Adrian spoke harshly and hastily “Draco needs more time to catch the snitch. It’s time to do what we talked about.” Goyle understood immediately and got into position.
Unknowing of the plan the opposing team had been coming up with against yourself and your teammates you continued on as you would.  Making plays, avoiding bludgers and scoring. Fred and George were doing their best against Goyle and Crabbe but it was becoming obvious that Fred was becoming angry and his plays and hits were getting sloppy. His usual cool, confident demeanour had disappeared and it seemed the Goyle was successfully riling up the older twin. 
Your attention was now split between the game and the boy you fancied. Angelina could see this and ordered you and Alicia swap on the pitch, finally sending you off for a much needed break. Alicia had made it onto the pitch fine and was now in a solid position to help Angie and Katie in what would hopefully be the final play.
The wind had begun to pick up since the start of the game, blowing your robes and hair all over the place. You were too slow to notice the bludger flying at a great speed toward you with a weasley twin hot on it’s trail. 
A head of flaming red hair came into your view and a string of cursed seemed to follow. Fred was now positioned completely in front of you, his bat held high after a hit. 
“Can’t catch the snitch so you get your pathetic excuse of a team to do dirty work? Thats low, Malfoy.” Fred’s voice was booming and the anger basically seethed out of him, turning his face the same colour of his hair.
“Ya know, Malfoy if you didn’t spend so much time playing dirty and actually trained your team maybe you’d have a chance of beating Gryffindor” George cupped his mouth to make his voice echo all over the stands.
Your stomach bubbled with anger when Fred turned around to face you. 
“Angelina would have my head on a platter if she knew I encouraged you to get back out there. Have a rest, let the girls take over. Georgie and I have a bone to pick with Malfoy and his minions and we wouldn’t want you getting in the way of that.” His tone was comforting as he lightly took your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before flying off while swinging his bat. 
You watched bludgers intensely follow the Slytherin players from the players stands, the feeling of Fred’s hand still settling into your skin. He kept his word the remainder of the game. All the players, especially Warrington and Malfoy, got a fright once Fred left you in the stands and if it wasn’t for harry finally catching the snitch you’re certain he and his twin would’ve put the whole team in the hospital wing for at least a week. 
***** 
The game had finally ended after almost four hours of play. You were tired but proud of your team and their talent. Fred and George flew down to where you were now standing on the stands and gave you a big, sweaty, exhausted hug.
“You guys were amazing tonight! Slytherin didn’t see what hit them” you lazily joked, a lopsided smile now present on your face. George patted your head affectionately 
“Yeah well if it wasn’t for Freddie over here you probably would be in the hospital wing right about now.” George elbowed his brother and gave you both the biggest smile he could muster before mounting his broom to fly to his dorm. “I’m off to have a shower and hit the hay, being the best beater in Hogwarts has it’s toll on a man’s body ya know” a light yawn came from the boy’s mouth before he flew into the stars, the only thing you could see where his robes fluttering behind him. 
Fred’s right arm makes it’s way around your shoulders and you lean into his side while wrapping your arm around his waist 
“I don’t think you will ever fully understand just how much you mean to me, Freddie” you spoke softly 
“y/n you mean everything and more to me.” His tired gaze found it’s way to you “I told you i’d give those nutters a fright, didn’t I? was only returning the favour, really. Couldn’t let them misplace a hair on your head now could I?” He spoke a-matter-a-factly and your other arm wrapped around his middle, with him placing a delicate kiss to the top of your head 
“we bleed red and gold, baby. I’m always gonna have your back, on and off the pitch; I’m in it for the long haul” your head tiredly cuddled into his chest 
“In it for the long haul, ay? good ‘cause I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
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teyvattherapist · 3 years
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Twin Swords - Act i - Vita Altaris
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“There’s Xiao!” Paimon pointed out and the two of you made your way to the Yaksha currently standing beside the balcony railing of the Wangshu Inn. “Maybe he’ll know how to destroy that statue!” Her words made sense, maybe he would know. The path up to the inn was quick and Xiao didn’t immediately disappear upon hearing you two approach.
~You and Paimon explain what happened in the domain~
Xiao seems momentarily lost in thought as he processes the situation. Paimon opens her mouth to speak when he cuts her off. “In Mondstadt, there’s a man. He’s a captain with the Knights of Favonius. He wields Cryo, hard to miss him. He’d be more suited to help than I.” Xiao directs as he crosses his arms over his chest. Paimon nods and turns to you, a captain that wields cryo and has questionable connections who could that be-
“Let’s go see Captain Kaeya!”
~You and Paimon head to Mondstadt and seek out the captain in the courtyard of the KoF~
“Well hello there, traveler.” Kaeya smiles, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes you. While you relay the summons from Xiao, Kaeya cuts you off before you get a chance to explain the statue and what happened. “You’re not looking for me, I’m afraid.” Kaeya waved his hand halfheartedly. “You’re looking for somebody in Springvale, I’m not sure if he’s home though. Check near the waterfall nonetheless.”
>“How many cryo captains are there?!”
>”Cryo seems popular with the knights.”
Kaeya laughs, arm around his stomach as he giggles in a way that you always questioned whether or not it was real. “Quite a few I’m afraid. You’ll want to go soon, it’s getting dark.” Kaeya straightened out, a small smirk on his face as he notes the time of day.
“Come on, traveler!” Paimon insisted, floating around you.
~Find the house in Springvale~
Finding the house that sat away from the rest wasn’t difficult, however taking a peek inside the window and seeing an oddly dressed man with Albedo of all people, was surprising enough to warrant a falter in your step. Paimon gasped, hiding on the side of the window as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.
“I heard from my contact that the Abyss Order is planning to create a sort of mechanised God.” The man’s voice was low, you had to press your ear against the door to hear him speak. Albedo hummed, the relatively stoic alchemist seemed distraught by the news.
“Using a God to overthrow the Divine, isn’t that against what the Abyss stands for?” Albedo questioned, waving his hand to the side as he looked up at the strange man, the man in question merely shrugged. “Not to mention, combining technology of Khaenri’ah with such power..”
“Yes, dangerous indeed. I must admit I find this all troublesome. The location of the statue hasn’t yet been revealed to me, however. My contact is-”
You furrow your brow when the speaking ceases, were they just speaking quieter? “What are you doing eavesdropping on us?” A voice behind you and Paimon startled you both, your companion shrieking as she turned around to stare at the man that was previously inside the house.
(How did he get out here? There shouldn’t be a back door..?)
The door opened and Albedo looked down at you, teal eyes blinking. “Honorary Knight, Paimon. Don’t worry about them, they aren’t here to cause problems.” Albedo lifted his head to look at the man who hummed, arms crossing over his chest as he walked by you, Albedo moving so he could enter what was supposedly his home. “Come inside.”
Inside the house you’re able to explore the open floor plan of the kitchen and living room. A jar placed on its lonesome on one of the counters in the kitchen held a black flower, glowing blue lines pulsating through it. It was interesting indeed, unlike anything you had ever seen so far in your exploration of Teyvat. (An immortalised flower given as a favour from a godless traveler.)
“This is Medical Captain Ohm Ambros. He’s with the Knights of Favonius, our main medical practitioner.” Albedo introduced them, the man in question raising a hand to give a short wave, a lingering smile on his face. Now that you could see him better you noted the odd marks on his face, two navy blue crescents under each eye. Not to mention the various scars that littered his facial features.
Paimon introduced you and herself and you went to check out the bookshelf, a smaller one compared to the rest given it was shoved into an alcove in the wall. Only two books catch your eyes, the first volume of a series dubbed the Altars of Reality; a Tale of Favours. And another book, a black and heavy tome that seems to have red script. (A tome on a forsaken art, it’s written in a language you don’t understand.)
The only other thing of note in the living room was a red feathered quill held up in a quill stand on the mantelpiece, so you moved to investigate it while Albedo and Ohm quietly chatted with Paimon. The feather was certainly red, but upon closer inspection it shimmered a strange gold, the same way the medical captain’s coat seemed to shimmer in certain lighting. (The feather of an endless reincarnation given as a favour from the dawn knight.)
“Ohm just returned from a medical expedition in Fontaine, let’s try and make this quick.” Albedo speaking for the captain was odd enough. (Paimon doesn’t think Mister Albedo is being entirely truthful..) Something just felt off about their relationship to one another, of course they worked together. But what else was there? It didn’t help the lilac eyes boring into you unnerved you greatly.
~You and Paimon explain what happened in the domain~
“So Xiao sent us to find a cryo captain and we went to Kaeya but Kaeya sent us here, to you! Apparently you can help us destroy the statue!” You nod along to Paimon’s explanation. Albedo put his thumb under his chin, pointer finger on his lip as he listened intently to what Paimon had been explaining. Ohm finally stopped looking at you, he seemed relatively lost in thought.
“Well, if Adeptus Xiao sent for me, I must oblige. We leave at once.”
“May I come? I’d like to research this statue..” Albedo interjected and Ohm nodded his head. Paimon gleefully agrees, it has been a while since you did any work with the alchemist after all. Plus a familiar person joining you on a journey with the questionable captain would be more comfortable than going alone.
~Head to Liyue and find the domain~
“Back to what you were saying, Ohm, what happened to your contact?”
“I received a letter when I got back to Mondstadt, he’s missing. Though I have a hunch I know where he is now..” Ohm seems to sigh as the four of you walk. “Nevertheless, I’m not worried about him. I’m more worried about the Abyss Order. One nation has already fallen due to a single person’s inability to reel themselves in. We don’t need any more damages.”
(Could he be speaking about Khaenri’ah? How much does he know?)
“Yes, well, destroying the statue should thwart their plans. Where is this domain?” Albedo questions, looking at you and Paimon. You’re nearly there.
Upon entering the domain however.. You find everything to be different. The statue is missing and there are multiple abyss mages. Before you have time to react both you and Albedo are thrown to the side, hitting the wall. Your vision remains just enough to watch Ohm disappear from the spot he was standing in, thus dodging the mitachurl’s attack.. Everything goes black.
“May the Gods be with me!”
You find your entire team revived, sitting at half HP despite the ambush attack. So.. This was the power of the Medical Captain. The captain in question flips his sword in his hand, eyeing the multiple cackling Abyss Mages. Now’s the time to fight.
~Ohm Ambros Trial~
“Well that was a strange turn of events.” Albedo comments once the mages and mitachurl were destroyed. “Where is this statue, traveler?” The blond alchemist questions, turning towards you. It was here previously, then again all of this had been different.. But now..
Ohm bends down, gloved fingers brushing some soil on the ground, he picks some up, rubbing it between his fingers. “I have a contact in Liyue Harbour that I want to investigate this soil. Albedo, let’s split a sample.” Ohm called out and Albedo nodded, bending as well so they could split some of the mysterious soil.
~Find Ohm’s contact in Liyue Harbour~
You blink up at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Who just exactly was Ohm’s contact? Speaking of contacts.. He seems to have so many strange contacts. “Ah, Ohm? It’s been a long time. What brings you to Liyue?” A familiar voice has you turning around, watching as Zhongli closes the distance between you three.
“Mister Zhongli! I’m here on business, I’m afraid.” Ohm held out the bag of dirt and Zhongli took the item without fuss. “I need you to tell me which nation this soil is from, I noted traces of a peculiar stone, I’m hoping you could pinpoint the location for me.”
“Of course, give me a moment.” Zhongli stands off to the side as he investigates the soil. Ohm leaned against one of the pillars while he waited, arms crossing over his chest as he watched the funeral consultant work.
(He seems to know more about everything going on in general.. I should talk to him.)
“Captain Ambros!”
“Please, Captain Ohm if you must defer to me as my rank, I prefer just Ohm though. What can I help you with?”
>”What do you know about the Abyss Order?”
>”What do you know about Khaenri’ah?”
>”What do you know about the Archons?”
Ohm laughs, his eyes squeezing shut as he did so. When he reopened his eyes, you noticed the dull shade of lilac at this distance. There was no shine. “I know everything that I should, traveler.” He answers despite your question. And you are left with a familiar scratch at the back of your head, where did you hear that specific sentence again?
“Favoured one,” Zhongli calls out and Ohm pushes himself from the pillar. “The soil is as you guessed.” You furrow your brow as you wait for clarification, watching as Paimon questions just what that means. But it seems Zhongli isn’t keen on giving answers.
“Thank you Mister Zhongli! Well, Traveler. Your journey with the statue ends here. Unless it turns up in Teyvat again, it is currently inaccessible. I’ll leave the rest of your journey to you. Should you ever need medical assistance, I’m generally at my lab, feel free to stop by my home as well though!” Ohm pulls something from his pouch and he holds it out to you.
+1 Ohm’s Medicinal Cream 4*, restores 40% of Max HP and an additional 1500 to the selected character.
You take the red gel, pocketing the item. With your goodbyes said and done you walk off, but before you got too far you gestured Paimon closer, hiding behind some rocks, where you could still hear but you couldn’t see the mysterious captain and the ex-archon.
“Will you be staying in Liyue long, Moon?”
“After you stupidly gave up your gnosis without thinking? No. You can fell your own demons, Rex Lapis.” Your eyes went wide upon hearing the exchange, favoured one? Moon? It was like one of the stories you read, it sounded vaguely familiar. Beyond that though, this proved that Ohm knows who Zhongli really is.. Not many people can say the same.
“I’ve done my duty.”
“No, your duty was to find a replacement, the same way the previous archons have done. What you did was dodge your responsibilities, place them on the back of Aether/Lumine who will not be here one day. That is far from fair.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“I usually am. When was the last time I was wrong?”
“Many years now, Moon. Tell me, before you go at least, how are your expeditions to Snezhnaya going?”
Ohm scoffed, the sound of footsteps and his voice was now further away. “The Sun remains missing in action. Need I remind you, Prime of the Adepti, I am contracted to Mondstadt, not Liyue. I’ll see you around.” His footsteps faded and you listened to Zhongli sigh before he entered the funeral parlour.
“So let me get this straight..” Paimon started, turning to you with wide eyes. “The medical captain of Mondstadt is on good enough terms with Adeptus Xiao for him to send us to him, he knows that Zhongli is Rex Lapis,” you nod, “he knows Albedo well enough to discuss private matters in his home, he has a book on some ancient art that not even Paimon can decipher..” She trailed off putting a hand to her head as you continued to encourage her wrap up.
“He knew of the statue before it was mentioned to anybody else, he knows something about the Abyss Order’s plans, or at least his supposed contact does, he lies about the expeditions he goes on, and he knows something about the fall of Khaenri’ah?! How are we supposed to trust this guy?!” Paimon whined as she shook her head.
>Kaeya seems to trust him.
>Albedo seems to trust him.
>Zhongli seems to trust him.
“Maybe so, but that calls into question how much we can trust them? Who do you think his contact is?” She questioned out loud and you brought your hand to your face as you thought it over, eyebrows furrowing once more.
(I know everything that I should.. My true name...)
>It’s Dainsleif!
~Quest Complete~
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otonymous · 4 years
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Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)
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Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins.  How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?
Warnings:
NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink
Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character
Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)
Author’s Notes:
First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful​ for commissioning this Victor piece from me.  You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣  I really hope you enjoy the read!  (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)
This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives.  It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written.  That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊
Nb. This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1: Hello Diana
“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”  
Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler.  Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips.  And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.
Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.
He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.
“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that.  Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling.  Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”
Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room.  However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind.  She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.
You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company.  Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request.  Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.
“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor?  Not very gentlemanly of you.  How do you put up with him?”  Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room.  “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot.  They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”  
“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry.  You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."  
Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression.  And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.  
No, there’s no way.  It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you.  The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet.  You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart.  The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction.  You smile to ease his concerns.  He furrows his brows.
“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date.  He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”
A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away.  “Soryu.  How is your cousin doing, by the way?”
Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink.  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.  I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind.  In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I.  Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”
You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood.  It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.  
“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed.  My father sent for me shortly afterwards.  I haven't seen them since.”
Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames.  And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts.  You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.
The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.
He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.  
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night.  But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”
It was Diana’s turn to scoff.  “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor?  Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London.  It’s a win-win situation.  Meant to be.”
Meant to be.
There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement.  It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.
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Chapter 2: SOS
“You’re awfully quiet.  Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"
Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.
Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks.  Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:  
You were in love with Victor Li.
Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor.  All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:
His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.
And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.
Oh god, how did it ever come to this?!  Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him?  But that wasn’t even the worst of it.  If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.
You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels.  You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.
“Are you close to Diana Shum?”
Was NOT what had you meant to ask.  Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s.  And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so.  Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.
“Ahem.”  Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat.  Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.
“I-I’m so sorry.  It’s none of my business.  You don’t have to answer-"
“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking.  She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation.  Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”
He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his.  Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face.  And when Victor says,
“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”
…It hurts to breathe.
Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze.  “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company.  So I can better thank her later.”
You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse.  Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents.  And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.
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Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]
She wore that dress today.  The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:
Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional.  Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way.  My favourite shade of red.
“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir.  “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong.  Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”
“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.
It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart.  Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.
Dr. Luke Foster.
Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:
Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.
Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore.  The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.
They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.
Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman.  Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.
And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.
“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!”  He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.
He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places.  I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.
“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.
“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim!  Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!”  Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.
“Will the lot of ya shaddup!?  I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.
Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face.  And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.  
Did the dummy find this funny?
“Tch, ignore them, Victor.  Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table.  The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business.  I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.
Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke.  The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone.  I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.
And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.
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Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]
“Victor, you won’t believe my luck!  Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”
The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute.  And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool.  “Really.  And who might that be?”
“Dr. Foster!”
HONK!
I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away.  My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.
At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.
“Oh my god, Victor, what was that?  Are you okay?”  The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage.  “This is a bad time, isn’t it?  I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”
“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road.  And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?"  The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out.  I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.
“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”
She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features.  He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu.  Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster.  On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst.  Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones.  What if she returned the sentiment?
In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City.  While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did.  I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.
“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure.  It’s too accurate to just be guesswork!  Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones.  It’s incredible.  I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him.  If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”
The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.
“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show!  But…he did make a rather strange request."
For a moment, I can barely breathe.  The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news.  God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence.  Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same.  “Which was?…”
She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.
“Just say it, dummy.”  I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.
“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show.  You should’ve seen him!  He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."  
MOTHERFUCK!
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Chapter 5: Role Model
“STUPID VICTOR LI!”
You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall.  Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.
And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”
Man on top.  What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.
“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”
Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you.  Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation.  Victor Li didn’t belong to you.  Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.
Victor and Diana.  Diana and Victor.  A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit.  And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.
Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side.  Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors.  And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.
He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.
It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.
Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay.  You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself.  And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.
“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor?  You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”  
Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed.  A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster.  Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight.  Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.
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Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]
“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li.  And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same.  But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places.  Now that’s something to drink to.”
Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink.  Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg.  I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.
“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me.  Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down.  “So, tell me about her.”
“Her?”  I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff.  She always did.
“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor.  A girl has her pride too, you know.”
“We are not getting back together, Diana.”
“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic.  All work and no play, all the time.  I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”
She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.  
“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer.  That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume.  I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart.  She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”
It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot.  I fight to keep the smile off my face.
“You’ve got the wrong idea.  She’s not my lover.”  
Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening.  In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.
Dr. Luke Foster.  
WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.
And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous.  Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.
But wait…collarbones?!
Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert.  The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.
I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair.  The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman.  And she—
Just looked my way.
Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch.  And why shouldn’t she be surprised?  I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.  
But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting.  Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor.  And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.
Or perhaps I’m projecting.
Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut.  She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds.  The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.
“Victor, are you all right?”
Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts.  She is looking at me curiously.  I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking.  “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”
“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes.  Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”
I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me.  “Of course.  My apologies, you’re absolutely right.  Please, continue.”
Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl.  With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.
And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.
Could it be…marriage documents?!
One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.
Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:
“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”
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Chapter 7: Choked Up
“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster?  You haven’t touched your meal.”
You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere.  He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.
A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more.  You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones.  But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:
“Try not to take it personal, Miss.  Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones.  It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones.  He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”
Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough.  Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you.  After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up.  No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”  
But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you.  Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.  
“Please, just call me Luke.  Vitamins and water are all I need to survive.  I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”
“I-I see.”  You smile, taking another bite of wagyu.  And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.
You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table.  What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo?  You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.
With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.
“You’re in love with him.”
COUGH, COUGH!
You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind.  After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red.  That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”
For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive.  Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.
“I…how did you...what makes you—”
“Please pass this message on to him for me.  If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”
Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you.  Quite the annoyance, really.”
And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words.  Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you.  You pass it across the table to him.
“Here.  Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”
The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.
That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse.  And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:
“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”
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Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]
“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”
I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation.  It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late.  By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch.  And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.
She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message.  And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.
Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.
I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text.  That is when I see her:
Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here.  An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.
She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still.  Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.
And I know there is no turning back.
“Victor, sorry I’m late!  What are you doing here in Tok—”  
“Why did you ignore me?”  My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again.  The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter.  And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.
“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me.  “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”
Intimate?
The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply.  “What can I get for you, Miss?”
“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”
“Whiskey.  On the rocks, please.”
She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does.  I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink.  The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.
“Hmm.  Bold.  Since when did you start drinking whiskey?  I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance.  Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her.  She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip.  I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with.  Dummy.
“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there.  But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”
“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”
“Excuse me?”  She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.  
I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us.  It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.
And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.
“Luke Foster.  The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory.  I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo?  Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business.  But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”
I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.
Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check.  Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go.  In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time.  At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.
I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink.  Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.
“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.  Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms.  We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind.  I can assure you this will never change.
“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on.  But…”
I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.
“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”
She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words.  Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”
And it is my turn to look away.  
“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date.  I can only presume that…”
The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush.  Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:
I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.
“Presume what?”  Her voice is low, shaking.
“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”
There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.
“I have…”
Oh god.
“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested.  That is all.  He’s never touched me, not even once.  I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”
Petty.  Sheepish.  I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words.  Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.
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Chapter 9: The Big Bang
You don’t quite know what made you do it.  
The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.
Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.
Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.
Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.
Cedar wood and pine.  
The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it.  Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips.  And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.
At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss.  You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart.  Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.
So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble.  Being with Victor Li feels right.  And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”
He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion.  The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter.  Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar.  And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…
...Victor kisses you.
                        *                                     *                                      *
“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”
The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck.  His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.
Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours.  Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.
So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.
And all he really did was kiss you.
Ding.
The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”
You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday.  And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.
And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.
The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet.  You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips.  Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.
He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest.  There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.
“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.”  Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.
And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices.  As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new.  I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”
Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.  
“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you.  I know because I was the same way.  I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”
The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.
“Forgive me…”
Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.
“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”
RRRIIIIPPPP!
You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle.  Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.
You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed.  The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.
Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.
Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:
Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.
And the sight makes your mouth water.
Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.
But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…
…with his face between your legs.
“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.
The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable.  You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.
“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him.  “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”
Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving.  Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit.  And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.
The tepid salt of his arousal.  The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock.  The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.
And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet.  See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds.  See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex.  Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock.  And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.
You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings.  A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.
It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.
It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.
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Chapter 10: Pillow Talk
Beep Beep Beep Beep.
You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.
Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”
Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked.  He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light.  You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”
Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm.  I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off.  We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”
You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face.  It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.
The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.
“How are you feeling?”  He asks.
“Okay.  Pretty good, actually.”  It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.
“Good.  I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”
He places something in your hands.  Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.
“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”
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You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚 
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jamaiskookie · 3 years
Text
How To Ask Your Crush Out: A Guide For Dummies [knj x reader]
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⚖ warnings: intense amount of crack and very very trashy writing 
⚖ word count: 3.3k (very smol boi today, just wanted to get this little drabble out)
⚖ genre: crackity fluff; my specialty :-)
⚖ A/N: been preparing for halloween so forgive me for the short fic, i’ve been pUMPING out content for you guys recently. 
masterlist asks 
⚖ synopsis: Prof. Kim Namjoon is pleased and delighted to present his new class: How To Ask Your Crush Out For Dummies; A comprehensive, follow-along six step guide for the introverted and shy. 
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A triumphant Kim Namjoon jumps into frame in front of the huge chalkboard in a huge lecture hall, holding a piece of white chalk in one hand and a pointer in the other, with a slightly maniacal grin stretched on his face. His black thick rimmed glasses are crooked and skewed, sitting on the bridge of his nose, completely lopsided. He’s been awake for- oh he doesn’t keep count. Possibly 28 hours by now. 
“Good afternoon, everyone!”  (It’s 6 in the morning, and nobody is in the audience.) He stretches out the long, metal chalkboard pointer, who he has named Bertha, and smacks it against the chalkboard. It echoes through the empty hall. He secretly loves the sound the long pointer makes. It’s so satisfying, and the fact that he got it on Amazon Prime for only like 2 dollars makes the sound so much better. 
“Welcome to today’s class!” He’s still talking to an empty room. It might be the desperation in him, or just his good ole’ friend sleep deprivation fueling his somewhat insane behaviour. “Today I am completely focused on solving the greatest mystery I have ever encountered in my lifetime. Arguably, this is the most scrutinised cold case ever seen in the world. Today we’ll be tackling: How To Ask Your Crush Out. Would anybody like to start off by introducing themselves, their crush, and how long you’ve been infatuated? Hm?” Crickets. 
“Ah, there’s nobody here!” Namjoon exclaims cheerfully, as if he only just realised. He swings back, turning to the chalkboard and continues teaching. “My name is Kim Namjoon, or Professor Kim to you,” Again, completely empty room. “And I have had a crush on Y/N L/N for almost two years now.” His smile falters when he realises it really has been two whole years. Clearing his throat, he smacks an A3 sized picture of a pretty girl onto the chalkboard. 
You are wearing a long cardigan sweater in the photo, candidly reading with headphones wrapped around your neck. Namjoon has written a barely visible small ‘Y/N, October 4th’ on the top corner of the picture. He’s always had a bit of a photography hobby, but his pictures always seem to turn out better when you are the subject. 
It’s a bit odd how you look so much better when you don’t know he’s taking a photo. All the selfies and old pictures from university he has of you are just as beautiful, but there’s something ethereal about you in your natural state. Sitting down and reading a book in a library. That photo is miles better than any of the stupidly extensive photo-ops you plan out for your Instagram pictures. He stares at the photo before turning back to the (imaginary) class. 
“Let me introduce the- as the kids say- lomél. I believe this is an abbreviation for Love Of My Life. L-O-M-L, if anybody wants to write the spelling down.” He swerves Bertha around to point at your picture. “This,” He says, seriously. “Is Y/N L/N, my… my friend since freshman year of university. I have never confessed my feelings to her, despite trying many, many times. Today, we’re going to trouble-shoot and hopefully solve this problem, while examining a shy person’s abilities to socialise and freely have a love life.”  Namjoon ignores the small voice in his head that mentions how a successful Philosophy professor who speaks in front of hundreds of students every day such as himself should be able to say ‘I like you’ to the girl he’s had a painfully obvious crush on for the past two years. 
“Step ONE:” Namjoon yells, writing a big ‘1’ on the chalkboard. “Do not start off a confession by mentioning a Confucius quote if your crush is not in the philosophy or ethics community! They will not understand no matter how obvious it is!” On the chalkboard, he draws an old man with droopy eyebrows and huge beard- Confucius. Then he draws a huge circle around it and crosses it out with a line using so much force he almost breaks the piece of chalk in his hand. 
“In fact, just don’t mention anything about philosophers! And don’t try to confess to them through a math problem, they will not understand!” Namjoon winces. He learned that one the hard way. (He asked you to isolate ‘1’ in ⅓ < 3, which is a seventh-grade level inequality. You had pushed him away and yelled at him for making you do math. The answer to the inequality equation would have been 1 < 3u.) ((1 < 3u = I <3 you. He thought it was pretty obvious.)) 
He draws a subtraction and addition sign and draws another circle, crossing through it. 
“Step TWO!” Namjoon shouts, cringing at the horrible scratchy noise the chalk makes against the board. “If you do get the chance to confess to them and manage to get through without substantially embarrassing yourself, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT laugh and agree if they ask if you are joking! They will! Laugh along with you! While you try! To hide your pain!” 
“I cannot emphasise this enough!” Namjoon is basically screaming by now. He hopes nobody from campus comes in to complain. The picture of you on the board with the symbols that he’s drawn along with the big ‘FLIRTING AND DATING 101’ written on the top of the board could lead to some severe misunderstandings. “Do not laugh if that ever happens again- I mean, if it ever happens to you! It’s more likely than you would think if you are in love with a dumbass! It will happen! Misinterpretations and concerns will happen! Learn from them!” Namjoon writes a huge ‘laughing to hide the pain = bad ❌’ onto the board. 
“Does anybody have any questions?” More crickets. 
“Okay then, moving on!” Namjoon writes a ‘3’ below the notes for step 2. “Step THREE: Confessing via call, facetime, or handwritten letter would be optimal for the average introvert. I suggest a handwritten letter would be best for this kind of confession. Still not ideal, but it gets the job done. Can someone tell me why a handwritten letter would be better than a call, facetime, or anything on the internet?” Without waiting for his non-existent introvert class to respond, he snaps his fingers, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s right! Facetiming or hearing your crush’s voice would be too nerve wracking and inevitably, you’ll mess up and say something like ‘Did you know that Barbie’s real name is Barbara Millicent Roberts’ instead of ‘I’ve liked you for two years’...  I do not speak from experience.” 
Awkwardly, he clears his throat again, averting his eyes from literally nobody. “Texting would not be good! Texting is considered insensitive and is not a good way to confess your feelings. If the idea of a face to face confession is too intimidating or not ideal in your introverted situation, the aforementioned options would be your best choices. I strongly advise you to stick to those three. In order of a likelihood for a successful confession, it goes: Letter, facetime, then call.” He writes ‘letter > facetime > call > speaking in real life (?)’ on the board.
“hoWEVER,” He says, pointing at the large ‘3’ he wrote with Bertha. “If you do end up choosing to write a handwritten letter- write this down, this is an important note- do NOT forget to sign your name! Your crush will end up throwing it away thinking it’s a random admirer or a prank. MAKE SURE TO WRITE THIS DOWN!” On the board, he writes down ‘My name → Kim Namjoon.’ He nods thoughtfully. “Yes,” He says. “It’s important to write your name.” He mutters it over and over, staring glazed at the words written on the board. 
Close to bursting into tears, he grabs a hold of his hair and cradles his head in his hands. “Why didn’t you write your fucking name, Namjoon?” He frustratingly mutters to himself. Sighing, he puts his hands on his waist, marvelling at what he’d written so far. The peaceful silence doesn’t last for very long. 
“STEP NUMBER FOUR!” It’s not like him to be so loud. It’s probably a good, balanced combination of his lack of sleep and being alone with his inner thoughts. He’s pretty sure he has an alternate personality who thinks he’s Freud. Freud occasionally throws in some pretty deep psychoanalysis prompts for him to consider when he can’t sleep. 
“If… And only if you build up the courage to ask her out in person-! Well, firstly, congratulations, we’re all very proud of you. Secondly, do it in public! You might be thinking, Professor Kim, why on earth would I want to do it in public? Getting rejected in public is so much more horrible!? Well, BELIEVE ME, UNBELIEVERS- Getting rejected in public is sO much better than getting rejected in private! Due to our tendency to not draw attention to ourselves and the way we like to shrink in public, it’s much more likely that we won’t break down in tears if we get rejected in public! Well, once you get back home, you might start breaking down, so maybe this is just a temporary solution, but it’s still better than sobbing in front of your crush when you devastatingly get rejected!” 
Knitting his brows together, Namjoon corrects himself. “Not when you get devastatingly rejected, sorry. If. If. Yes, if. If you get devastatingly rejected. Come to think of it, in a purely logical way, you have a 50/50 chance of succeeding in your confession. ‘I like you, do you like me?’ That’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? A confession is exactly the same as flipping a coin! You have a 50% chance of getting heads, 50% chance of getting tails. Either way, you get on with your life despite getting heads or tails. So… the odds are kinda in your favour!” 
“Except when you flip a coin, you wouldn’t get nervous to the point where you accidentally push the coin into a mud filled pond where the coin’s favourite shirt got ruined so then the coin proceeded to ignore you for the next two weeks, making it the most miserable two weeks of your entire life… But that probably won’t happen again.” Namjoon mutters underneath his breath.  “Coins don’t wear shirts anyways.” Somehow, that seemed to comfort him. He writes down ‘coins can’t wear shirts’ on the chalkboard. 
“Step number FIVE!” Namjoon shakes his head, taking a sip of the espresso that’s been sitting on his desk for hours. “What was step number five agai- oh right. Step number five: look your best!” Namjoon catches sight of his reflection and winces. “Okay, maybe I don’t have a great example right now.” He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, almost puking when he feels the amount of grease and gunk buried in his scalp. He should probably shower. And get some sleep. His eye bags do not look very attractive right now. Maybe he should get a haircut too, it’s kinda getting wild up there. In his own defence, he’s been standing in this exact pair of sweatpants and glasses for the past couple hours, so he smells a tiny bit. Don’t girls like it when guys wear grey sweatpants? Frowning, Namjoon makes a mental note to do some research later on. 
“Shower, change, put in contacts, cologne, flowers…” Namjoon starts writing a to-do list onto his small notebook. “Would she like flowers, actually? Is it misogynistic of a guy to bring flowers or is it just a cute, nice gesture? Am I overthinking this?” His phone vibrates in the middle of his feminism breakdown, and he pats his back pockets before realising his phone was across the table. He grunts as he leans over to pick it up, and thoughtlessly, he accepts the call and brings it up to his ear. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Your voice is both a comfort and a shock to hear so early in the morning. He can already see you sighing aloud and scrunching up your nose cutely, a habit you picked up from him himself. He does it when he’s embarrassed, but you do it when you’re angry. It doesn’t really work because now whenever you get mad he just swoons and gushes over your cute nose and chubby cheeks. 
“aH- Um… What time is it?” Namjoon fumbles around, jumping up. 
“It’s like 7 in the morning? Hello, you promised to come workout with me today? Come open your door, I’ve been ringing your doorbell for forever, but I think it’s broken. I’ll call the repair guy for you later.” Namjoon lets out a nervous laugh, guiltily looking at his shoes even though he knows you can’t even see what he’s doing right now. 
“It’s already seven? Wow, time flies really fast. I’m- ” He yawns, bringing the phone away from his ear for a moment. “- really tired.” A beat passes by. How is it possible that he can hear you get angry at him from here?
“Namjoon.” Another awkward laugh rings through the lecture hall. 
“Ahahha. - Yes?” 
“Are you at work right now?” You ask, voice suddenly turning stone cold. 
“Um, well, that’s a debatable question. See, is it really, honestly my work if I love doing it? Sure, it makes me a living, but of course I don’t consider it to be my workplace, you know? Like, I get to come in and do what I love every single day, educating the next generation. It’s actually a really bad mindset because once you refer to your job as ‘work’ you don’t-”
“Namjoon.”
“Okay yes, I’m at work.” He relents, pushing his glasses up and sighing. 
“Joon, it’s seven! Like, seven in the morning! Have you been in there since you clocked in yesterday morning?” You ask worriedly. 
“Uhh, I think so?” To be honest, he’s been here for two nights already, crashing out on a beanbag and brushing his teeth in the staff bathroom when he needs to. 
“Namjoon!” He mumbles out an apology. “What the hell could you have been doing in there? You don’t even have that many classes this week!” Namjoon lets his eyes trail over to the chalkboard, then back down to his notebook. 
“Uh… it’s kinda complicated?”  
“Okay, okay, I’ll come home now, don’t worry!” He says, even before you can demand he take care of himself. Sometimes, you’re just a teensy bit overbearing. It’s a messed up miracle he managed to fall in love with you in the first place. 
“Be careful, okay? It’s flu season, too, so you really can’t be this reckless! You’re literally going to drive me into an early grave, for fuck’s sakes. You’re always fussing over how overworked I am, so how could you not take care of yourself? That’s so hippo- hypo- ugh, what’s the word?” 
“Hypocritical.” Namjoon says into the phone while packing up his things. 
“Hypocritical, yes. You better be here in ten minutes or less, Kim. Come home, take a shower and then sleep. I’m guessing you have done neither of those things since yesterday.” Namjoon doesn’t have the decency or humility to give you an honest answer, so he just stays silent. His eyes are still fixed on the chalkboard. Where was he at when your phone call interrupted? Ah, yes. Step number six: ‘I love you.’ Step number six was a piece of advice he had gotten from Min Yoongi, a music theory professor who taught just a couple minutes away from Namjoon’s office. He’s been dating Jung Hoseok, another mutual friend of Namjoon’s, for a few years now. 
“What do you mean?” Yoongi just blinked when Namjoon asked him, stared blankly at him, lips threatening to pull up into a smirk. 
“What do you mean, ‘What do you mean’?” Namjoon said, huffing. “How did you confess to Hobi?” 
“Bro,” Yoongi said, now freely laughing at Namjoon. “If you can’t confess to her, just wait until you get around to thinking about proposing. Never been more nervous in my life, swear to god.” Namjoon had never been a violent type. Up until he met Yoongi. 
“Just- tell me how you did it, would you?” Yoongi gave a rare, small smile and beckoned him closer. He leaned in, about to tell Namjoon a big secret. 
“Just say it.” He whispered into Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon rolled his eyes, pulled away and rested his head on the sofa. 
“That’s the most useless thing I’ve ever heard.” 
“No it’s not!” Yoongi also leaned back into his seat. “Just say it. ‘I love you.’ It’s nothing difficult. Just say it!” Namjoon scoffed and left, but Yoongi called something out while he was walking away. “Hey, you’re going to lose her if you don’t do anything.” Namjoon froze, but continued to walk. Yoongi watched, two seconds later, amused as Namjoon came rushing back in, sat himself down on the sofa and demanded Yoongi tell him everything he needed to know. 
Thus, his six steps were born. 
If Min Yoongi, a person who is possibly even more shy and even more introverted than Namjoon, (Which is a big feat) can ‘just say it’, he should be able to do it easily. Namjoon nods to himself, rolling his head back and cracking a neck bone. 
Taking a deep breath, he speaks into the phone. 
“Hey, I have something to tell you.” 
“It can wait,” You say. It’s so like you to ruin a love confession, Namjoon thinks, laughing. “Come home, go sleep for a couple hours, then we can talk. It’s not important, is it?” He stares at the chalkboard, letting out a satisfied exhale. 
“Nope.” He says. “Not that important. I’ll tell you later.” 
“Okay,” He hears you grunt from the other side of the phone, shuffling around. “Hey, I’m gonna hang up first, I’ll wait for you to get here. Where’s your spare key again?” 
“Underneath the compartment in the hanging plant. Yeah- the one above the front door.” He hears the familiar jingle of his keys and your adorable ‘a-ha!’ from the phone, and his smile stretches wider. 
“Ohh, okay, got it. Thanks! You don’t mind if I go in first, right?” 
“Nah.” 
“Okay, bye!” Before he says it back, you hang up, and he’s left with an annoying beeping sound that repeats in his ear. He misses you, Namjoon muses to himself. He hasn’t seen you for much too long. Happily, he skips to the back of the lecture hall. (which he then immediately regrets when he finds out his legs don’t work properly after staying in the exact same position for hours without end.) He doesn’t even mind that you’ll see him in this horrendous state if he gets to see you fuss over him again. Your soft side coming out is like spotting a rare bonsai tree on sale in a run-down store- extremely special and only happens once in a while. 
Okay, that analogy was really bad, he just really wanted to mention his bonsai trees.
He spares one last glance to the filled chalkboard. With good luck, nobody will walk in and see that mess all over the board. He’d probably get fired. 
“I love you.” He says to himself. Maybe Yoongi was right. It does sound pretty easy. Namjoon walks out of the lecture hall, switching off the lights and running off to see you. 
Kim Namjoon’s Six Steps Towards Confessing Your Love: Introvert Edition
Do not refer to anything academic or clever in your confession. 
Do not laugh when they ask if you are joking once you confess. 
Letter > facetime > call
Confess in public. 
Look your best!
Just say it. 
⚖  wanna talk to professor!joon? or add yourself to the taglist?
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thelastlynx · 3 years
Note
Hello !! This is for the fic writer asks. It's a bit much, but anyway...
2,3,4,5,7,11,15
Don't feel obligated to answer though !!
Also how goes the writing of Seven year witch ?
Hello, my dear! How are you doing? Thanks for the asks; I love the opportunity for incoherent ramblings 😝
2. What's the most overrated thing you've written?
Hm... Sh-Shopping Spree, probably? It's my second most popular fic, even though I'm not too happy about the writing (which, given it was only my second foray into creative writing ever, isn't too surprising). I have to say though, as a pretty unknown writer with not much reach, I'm not sure any of my works qualify for being called "overrated" 😅
3. Something you wish a commenter had called attention to, but got ignored.
Can't think of anything at the moment... I remember reading a very well written fic once-- but then the author used affect/effect wrong. I didn't want to say anything for fear they would take it wrong, but that's the type of mistake I hope my commenters will help me avoid! So if you, while reading my stuff, had a similar experience -- please tell me!
4. Something a commenter did point out that you wish they hadn't.
A commenter once accused me of racism in a Harry/Ginny/Blaise PWP. This was quite frustrating for two reasons: a) I'm an IPOC myself, and not that that makes you immune to racist actions or language, but it was just an added reason why b) I took great care not to repeat or invoke racist stereotypes or fetishise Blaise in any way.
I explained my reasoning to the commenter, and how the text -- at least in my mind -- did not reflect what they had accused me of. Unfortunately, they never got back to me. I still wonder sometimes if the issue has been, indeed, resolved, or if I could have improved, or if it was a non-issue to begin with.
5. Something you hate to see in smut.
I dislike reading a weak Hermione in Dramione smut, so all related kinks - A/O, Dd/Lg, etc. - usually make me x out if they catch me unawares. It's quite odd because there are other Hermione-centric pairings where I do enjoy those from time to time.
7. Something you hate to see in dialogue.
Some Draco/Hermione convo elements and physical descriptors suffer from being overused, I have a hard time seeing past the cliche at this point. Number one on the list: "He smirked."
11. What "don't ever do this" writing rule are you guilty of constantly breaking?
I'm honestly not a good enough writer to know which crimes against the writing gods I'm committing on a regular basis. Maybe @o0sarena0o would like to chip in?
15. We all project onto our characters. Where has your personality or life choices leaked onto the page the most?
Quite honestly the decision to leave the Romione ship in favour of Dramione is probably where my life experiences have affected my writing and shipping choices most profoundly.
As a woman in academia, you realise really quickly that "the funny guy" you loved at school but who "tolerates" rather than appreciates your brainy quirks is not boyfriend material. I've seen so many women break up with their childhood sweethearts once they started valuing their talents and stopped putting the guy's insecurities above their own happiness.
Aside from that, I've been with a guy whose conflicts and inner demons were very similar to Draco's. So a lot of my insights into (my version of) Draco come from being with and loving that person.
BONUS: The Seven Year Witch Status Update - How is it going?
It's going OK, thank you for your continued interest! 🥰 First draft is growing longer and longer (which I might have said already haha). But I'm finally at a point where I don't hate it anymore.
I find Draco and Hermione’s final exchange super hard to write; I'm anxious about it being either too cliched or too cheesy or too insincere. Anyway. I think I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Keep your fingers crossed for a soon-ish multi-chaptered finish!
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Congrats on 100 followers! How about 22? ~when-a-humble-bard
“If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say anything? Come here.”
“Why would you ever think something like that?”
Since you never specified if it’s angst or fluff, I decided to add it together!
This is more of a ‘reluctant frienship’ trope where Jaskier and Geralt are still trying to find their ground around each other.
Enjoy!
If someone told Geralt he would obtain a sudden and admittedly, not very unwelcome travel companion in the course of a day, he would have—well, not laugh but certainly grumbled and glowered until he wards him off.
But even after days of barely rumbled out answers and cold glares, the bard just… doesn’t leave.
It’s perplexing to the highest degree.
Geralt has never had someone stay around longer than a day—hardly three weeks—and even then, they’re usually very standoffish, wary of golden eyes and his white hair, afraid of the freak of nature.
Unlike them, this little bard decided to hop onto the bandwagon without a moment’s hesitation, barely blinking at Geralt’s more unnatural features.
It’s endearing… in an annoying way.
But it has become clear to Geralt that even though Jaskier doesn’t mind his presence, he isn’t quite sure if the bard actually likes him.
Which is fair. The first time they met, Geralt didn’t hesitate punching him when that godforsaken nickname tumbled out his lips, or grumbling out his annoyance.
Geralt didn’t exactly make himself the most likable person on the planet.
Which is—
fine.
Jaskier may be the first person who has tolerated being around him enough to actually learn more about the Witcher or Witchers in general—Jaskier is always keen and listening when Geralt would give half answers to his Witcher-related questions. But that doesn’t mean Jaskier has to like him.
It’s fine.
But sometimes he just wished the bard wouldn’t be so scared of him.
Not that Jaskier is fearful of Geralt (no, no, Geralt would have scented that sour tanginess off of Jaskier from the moment they met) but it’s clear that whenever Jaskier needs a lending hand or wants to ask a small favour, the bard doesn’t voice his complaints.
He noticed it when Jaskier stopped asking to ride on Roach, even when the bard’s feet are clearly beaten red and swollen by the end of the day; when Jaskier didn’t stop by a stream to collect water for himself even though Geralt knows he hasn’t drank anything for hours.
He notices it again tonight when Jaskier never once complains about the cold, despite the shivers wracking his frame. It is nearing the mid of autumn, with the trees lightening to soft oranges and browns, but it also means it gets colder in the nights.
Their fire isn’t very strong, considering it rained in the afternoon and most of the wood they found is wet. It normally wouldn’t bother Geralt, thanks to his mutations and enhanced metabolism, but Jaskier, on the other hand…
The bard wouldn’t even ask for fur, merely sitting silently on his designated damp log with his lute strapped over his chest. His usually graceful fingers are shivering as they pick the strings mindlessly.
Geralt keeps glancing over Jaskier, waiting for the moment when the bard would open his mouth and ask for anything—a blanket, a fur, (even though all of them have been soaked through by the rain) hell even Geralt’s warmth.
But nothing. Jaskier doesn’t even look in Geralt’s direction, more concentrated on his scrawled over notebook.
By the time Jaskier has suppressed his sixth full-body shiver, Geralt just sighs and breaks the silence. "Jaskier.”
Bright blue eyes snap to his. “What is it, Geralt?”
The Witcher glances down to Jaskier’s shaky hands, fingers pale in the firelight. 
“If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say anything?” Jaskier stares, something flickering in those eyes. He shrugs, looking back down at his lute—though Geralt has a feeling it has more to do with looking away from the Witcher.
“Come here,” he rumbles out, his slow heartbeat thumping hard against his rib-cage. Jaskier sighs and places his lute down, pushing away his notebook. He gets to feet and crosses over to Geralt’s space.
“Yes?” the bard asks, hands on his hips, looking down expectantly. He looks much taller like this. Geralt swallows hard and scoots to the side of his log, giving space. He grunts, nodding.
Jaskier only furrows his brows but before he asks, Geralt says, “Sit here.”
Those brows shoot to his hairline, surprise over his features. The bard opens his mouth, but Geralt once again beats him to it, “Sit before I take it back.”
“Bossy,” Jaskier mumbles as shoots him a look but turns around to grab his lute. He stands in front of Geralt once again, his instrument in his hands, and slowly settles down next to Geralt. The apprehension in his eyes goes away when he feels the warmth radiating off of the Witcher,
“Well, that was odd. But I’m not complaining. Thank you,” Jaskier says. Geralt can see the teasing grin in the corner of his eyes, and doesn’t say a word.
The effect is almost immediate. Geralt knows he runs hot like a furnace, his body emitting heat like a human fever, and it’s clear his idea worked when Jaskier slowly loses the tension in his body, melting into himself as he goes through a mindless chord progression.
Jaskier even leans into Geralt’s space, getting closer with every passing minute until the Witcher feels a shoulder press into him. Jaskier seems to freeze, unsure if he’s allowed, but Geralt stays silent, afraid to frighten the bard away. 
Then, painfully slowly, Geralt feels the lean muscle of Jaskier’s arm press flush against him, a soft contented sigh coming from the bard.
Geralt rolls his eyes and huffs, eventually getting tired of this slow dance of theirs. He slinks his arm around Jaskier, who squeaks, jumping out of his skin.
Immediately, Geralt pulls away, regret burning in his gut, but then Jaskier’s fumbles out, “No, wait. It’s—It’s fine.”
Geralt turns to meet his eyes and sees nothing but shy earnestness. Jaskier doesn’t smell of fear, and doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable at the turn of events; he looks more uncertain of how Geralt would react if he asked.
Unable to receive and see such emotion in those blues, Geralt merely follows his request, arm returning back to its position around Jaskier.
A few minutes pass as Geralt goes through his provisions, counting the number of alchemy ingredients in his pack with only one hand. He can feel the soft humming running through his arm, the vibration coming from Jaskier. It’s an odd version of calmness Geralt hasn’t experienced. It’s not quiet, but it’s not grating to his senses either. Their shared silence is more relaxing than Geralt would admit.
But even then, he can’t stop the nagging curiosity in him. “Why don’t you complain?”
Jaskier snorts. “I thought you hated how I kept complaining.”
Geralt pauses. “I did. But there’s a difference in complaining and asking for something.”
The strumming stops. Jaskier sighs quietly.
“I just… don’t want to piss you off all the time. I know you can’t stand being around me so I thought it’d be better if I just kept my mouth shut,” Jaskier says, voice quiet over the crackling of wood. Geralt stares at the bard, unblinking.
“Don’t do that.”
Jaskier briefly frowns, looking over. “Don’t do what?”
“Keep quiet.” Geralt glances away. “I don’t like it.” 
Geralt licks his lips, and adds, “And I can.”
“Caaaan what, exactly?”
“I can stand your presence,” Geralt admits, forcing himself to look away.
Jaskier blinks, and a grin slowly overtakes his face, “I knew you liked me!”
Geralt huffs, the tiniest twitch of his lips showing his amusement. “Don’t let it get to your big head.”
“Too late! I knew you liked me like I like you! Or at the very least, half.”
At that, Geralt frowns, staring at Jaskier, utterly confused. 
“You like me?”
Jaskier grins wider, “Of course, you big oaf, it’s pretty obvious.”
While Jaskier smiles wider, Geralt’s frown grows deeper, lost in thought. The brightness in the bard’s face dims, light concern now shining through instead. “You do know I like you, right?”
Geralt shakes his head, feeling like he missed something. “No. You’re just here for the stories, bard. That’s pretty obvious.”
Jaskier gapes, spluttering, “Okay, ouch, maybe I was with you just for the stories but not anymore. Not for a while now.”
Geralt’s confused glower worsens, something in his chest twisting—but not in a bad way. That just can’t be true, can it? The bard doesn’t leave just for the tales, he does not stay for Geralt. That just can’t be true.
The slight joking tone in Jaskier is wiped away immediately, brows furrowing further in concern. “Geralt. Why would you ever think of something like that? That I don’t like you?”
Geralt merely shrugs, his shoulder knocking Jaskier’s. “No one does.”
A pained expression flashes over the bard’s face and Geralt only gets more confused. He continues with, “Why would this be any different?”
“Well, uh,” Jaskier’s voice cracks, his voice impossibly soft, “how many of them followed you wherever you went? Didn’t care about the dangers of your ridiculous contracts? How many of them didn’t stop talking even though you reply with nothing but ‘hmm’s and ‘fuck’s?”
Jaskier’s tone lightens, a small grin tugging his lips, even despite the worry in his frown lines. Geralt rumbles. “Only you.”
“Right. And you think I would endure disgusting marshes and rotting corpses just for the stories? I don’t think so, Witcher.”
Jaskier’s eyes light up when he feels the slight twitch of Geralt’s fingers, digging into his side. Geralt only looks away, the bright expression on his face stopping his heart.
“Hey,” Jaskier says. Gentle calloused fingers nudge the side of his jaw, tilting to face Jaskier, and Geralt puts on his worst glare, but it dies away at the sight of Jaskier’s gentler gaze.
“I’m serious. I’m not only here for the stories. You should know I can get quite obsessed with projects but you’re not one anymore. You’re—You’re more than that. I like you,” Jaskier says firmly, each point accentuated by the slight pressing of the pads of his fingers against Geralt’s burning skin.
“Got that?” Jaskier asks, skies delving deep into molten gold.
Geralt grunts, his heart stuck in his throat, feeling like he’s trapped in bindings of chains, like he’s unable to leave until he accepts the bard’s version of the truth. Which is still difficult to believe. Geralt doesn’t have friends, trained to keep people away because of his dangerous work. It’s better to not get attached, no matter how small the bond is.
But this bard just breaks every rule in Geralt’s book, chipping away at his comfort zone until he’s bare and vulnerable. The only fact he can’t wrap his head around is that, well, he doesn’t hate it.
Jaskier keeps his inescapable gaze on him until Geralt reluctantly nods, at which the bard lets go of his face, seeming satisfied by what he finds in his golden eyes.
“Good,” Jaskier says simply, as if everything he just said didn’t turn Geralt’s world on it’s head, leaving him dizzy.
Geralt hums, deep in thought, and hides his grin when he hears the soft inhale after pulling Jaskier closer to him.
The next day, Geralt’s world seems to spin once again, but this time, it’s at the sight of Jaskier’s grateful grin when he sits atop of Roach. They don’t make a big deal out of it, but Geralt doesn’t have to ask before he has an armful of a shivering bard later that night.
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remedialpotions · 4 years
Text
we make the rules
ffn ao3
She can’t stop kissing him.
Right here, tucked into the sun-drenched, humid confines of his childhood bedroom, with her head on his pillow and her fingers twisted into the front of his paper-thin shirt, she thinks she actually might die if she has to stop. That she might defy science and logic and reason and simply cease to exist should their lips part for even the briefest second.
It’s dramatic, to be sure, but all of this feels dramatic. It feels like the sort of thing that only gets sung about in the sort of overwrought ballads that, less than a month ago, she would have rolled her eyes at. She never expected herself to be the sort who would feel her heart thumping in her chest when he kisses her, or her stomach flipping over simply when he smiles, but she can’t help it. This is the very thing she’s wanted for years, and now - miraculously, because the odds are that they should all be dead right now - she’s got it. And it’s even better than she expected.
They’ve gotten very good at it, very quickly. Fallen into the relationship like jumping out of an airplane with no parachute, just leaping headfirst into an unending thrill. There’s been no awkwardness, no fumbling, no confusion, and none of the miscommunication that used to plague them. Just, at long last, the two of them.
Ron’s hand slips up the outer edge of her thigh, drifting up, skipping over the hem of her shorts to curve over the slope of her hip. His mouth, blessedly, never leaves hers as his fingers edge their way under her shirt, just enough to graze the heated skin of her stomach. Even the slightest touch from him is like tossing a lit match onto kindling: he ignites something in her that she didn’t yet know existed. Shifting her hand up his chest, then his neck, she lets her fingers cradle the side of his face.
Her mind, as it so often does in these moments - these moments, amazingly, that have transformed from fantasies to dazzling reality - begins to wander. It pulls up scenarios that, until recently, only existed as hazy vignettes in the deepest corners of her imagination, and begins to paint them in color. Vivid, tantalizing color. The sort of sharp focus that makes her want to turn them into reality sooner rather than later. Perhaps even here, now, today, as Ron’s mouth leaves hers to travel down the side of her neck. At the slightest nudge of his hand on her waist, she tips onto her back and lets his weight engulf her.
It could happen today. Or later tonight, perhaps, when there’s more time and more privacy and the sun isn’t beating down on them through the dusty window panes. Tomorrow, even, or next week. Perhaps a month from now, or two months…
But when? And how? Suddenly she can see the end result, see it so clearly that it makes her stomach quiver, and yet she cannot see a clear path to getting there. The newness, for all the thrills it provides, is tinged now with the doubt and anxiety that always accompanies the unknown.
Normally, when faced with a situation like this, she educates herself. Devours literature until her brain is bursting with cold, hard, indisputable facts, but she’s not sure there’s a section in the library dedicated to this. (Well, she supposes that there is, technically, but it leans more on the side of tawdry paperback novels rather than anything particularly informative.) This isn’t like Transfiguration, where she can study the theory until she knows it off by heart. It’s not like Potions, where she can follow each step to the letter and end up with a favourable result. There is nothing that tells her what to do when she’s tumbling madly, irretrievably, head-over-heels in love with her best friend of seven years and needs to know the right way to properly act on it.
Ron pulls his lips from her neck, and his eyes align with hers. His cheeks are flushed, both from the late spring heat and their enthusiastic activities, and his lips are tilted in just the slightest hint of a smile. Hermione lifts her face up toward his, expecting more - craving it, even - but he doesn’t kiss her yet, instead tilting his head inquisitively.
“What?” he breathes, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“What do you mean, what?”
Hermione takes it upon herself to kiss him, but he breaks it off after only a few mind-numbing seconds.
“You’re thinking about something.”
She raises her brows defiantly. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“No.” His lips brush over hers, far too lightly to be satisfying. “So what're you thinking about?”
You. Us. “Nothing,” she says. “Nothing, just come back here.”
He obliges her, and several happy minutes pass in which her mind grows fuzzy from the increasing intensity of his lips on hers and the pressure of his long, lean torso against her own. But then his hand slides under her shirt again, warm against her skin, and that same little thought works its way from the back of her mind to the front, where she can’t ignore it.
“Ron,” she says, still kissing him, “Ron, what…”
Her words die on her lips as she realizes she has no idea how to phrase what’s on her mind.
Ron rolls off of her and props himself up on one elbow. “Ahh, here it is,” he grins, holding his other arm over his chest to shield himself from her playful, indignant swats.
“Well, fine,” says Hermione loftily, shifting onto her side so they’re lying facing each other. “I guess you don’t actually want me to tell you-“
“No, no.” Ron’s hand finds hers in the small gap between them. For a second, he watches as their fingers twist together in the air. “Come on, I want to know.”
“It’s really nothing.”
A disbelieving scowl crosses his face. “At this point, I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. I know when something’s up.”
Their fingers finally intertwine properly together. Hermione can sense his eyes on her even as her own are cast to the bright orange bedspread, but his gaze is warm and affectionate. She feels safe in it.
But she’s still not sure where to begin.
“It’s just…”
She looks up just in time to see his tongue graze his lower lip, and briefly she considers just dropping the whole thing and snogging him senseless.
But he… he loves her. It’s one of those cold, hard, indisputable facts that she’s so fond of. And because he loves her, she knows he wants to know if something’s troubling her, and this won’t go away. It’ll only continue to gnaw at her until it drives her mad.
So she finds her voice again. “How does this work?”
Ron’s expression morphs from one of concern to confusion. “How… how does what work?” He bites back a grin. “D’you mean snogging? ‘Cause I’d be happy to demonstrate some more-“
Hermione swats his chest again. “Can you be serious for once in your life?”
“Oh, believe me, I’m serious-“ But the grin slides off his face when he notices that she’s not joking back. “What’s going on?”
She fixes her eyes on the bedspread again.
“I’m just not sure how this is supposed to go,” she begins, hesitant, the words foreign and uncomfortable as they cross her lips. She’s felt uncertainty in her life, if maybe not this particular sort, but she isn’t used to voicing it. “You know… us. Physically, that is.”
“Physically,” he repeats, voice tentative as though he suspects they’re wading into uncharted territory. “Okay. Like-”
“Sex.”
All at once it seems to hit him: he blinks, then his eyes go wide in shock. “You want to have sex?”
“Well-” She puzzles right back at him. “Don’t you?”
“Y-yeah,” he stammers, “great - brilliant-” He drops her hand and sits up, almost frantic as he looks around his cluttered bedroom. “Let me just-”
“I don’t mean now,” she replies with more than a hint of exasperation. “But eventually, right? You’d like to?”
“Obviously,” he replies, though he does look a bit relieved. “And you… you do too?”
It feels a bit strange to confess this to him, as if they haven’t spent the entire month of May joined at the lips. It’s a side of herself that she’s only just begun to show to him, one that’s new and intoxicating and yet renders her more vulnerable than she’s ever been in her life. Then again, she supposes that just proves how much she needs to have this conversation.
“Yes,” she says quietly as she sits up so they can be face-to-face again. “Of course I do.”
“All right.” His hands find hers again, warm and reassuring, as he cracks a smile. “Then you just let me know when you want to-“
“That’s my point, though,” she goes on. “How do we even get there? How long are we supposed to be together before we actually - well - and are there other things we’re supposed to do first, to get ready, or practice? And when is all of that supposed to happen? And do we plan it out, pick a day and time so that we can be prepared and make sure we have privacy, because what if-”
“Hermione,” he interrupts, her name laced with an affectionate laugh, “slow down.”
But now that her mind is racing, it’s completely out of her control.
“Should we slow down?” she asks. “How long do you suppose couples are usually together before they start having sex? It must vary, right, based on experience levels, but-” Her teeth anxiously pinch her lower lip. “Maybe we could ask Harry and Ginny-”
“Let’s not,” interrupts Ron with a cringe. “I don’t want to know, not with them.”
“Fine, but you see my point, right? I just don’t know what we’re meant to be doing.”
She’s half-expecting to be told that she’s barking mad, but instead, he lifts their joined hands to his mouth and kisses her lightly across her knuckles. His fair eyelashes brush across his cheeks as his lips touch her skin, and when his eyes open again, she catches sight of just a few flecks of silver embedded in bright blue.
“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “I really don’t.”
“But - but you’ve had a proper girlfriend before-”
The tips of his ears go instantly scarlet as their linked hands drop to the mattress again. “And you know that we never - we never even got close-”
“Well, yes, I know that, but-”
“And you’ve had a boyfriend,” he points out, even as it clearly causes him great discomfort to do so.
“I wouldn’t call him that,” she replies quickly. “Really more of a penpal than anything.”
“Right. But still, all these questions you’re asking - I don’t know.” He sounds much more at ease with this than she feels. “I don’t know if we’re going too fast or too slow, or what we’re meant to do or when, or... I really don’t know.”
“So we’ve got to figure it out, then,” she declares. “Maybe we could work out a timetable for when we think we’ll feel comfortable-”
He laughs, then, and much to her surprise - he is full of surprises lately, and usually she can’t get enough - he tips forward and kisses her soundly on the lips.
“You and your timetables,” he says with a fond shake of his head. “If I’m honest, I think we should actually just do whatever we want.”
This suggestion hangs in the humid air between them as the words slowly settle into Hermione’s brain. It’s such a simple concept, yet she can’t wrap her head around it. Things like structure and order and direction make her feel safe, but this feels like heading into a great unknown where anything can happen.
“Think about it,” he adds as she continues to contemplate. “I mean, when’s the last time we got to just decide for ourselves what we wanted?” Before she can even consider answering, he goes on. “We’ve always had something getting in our way, or something deciding for us what we should do or what was important, and now… now all that’s over. We really can do whatever we want, and I reckon we should.”
“I suppose,” she says thoughtfully. “You’re right, we do have much more freedom than we used to.”
“Yeah, exactly,” says Ron with a reassuring squeeze to her hands. “I just think if we want to do something, then - then we should, y’know? If we don’t, then we don’t. Let’s not overthink it.”
“Overthinking is what I do,” she says, heat rising in her cheeks. “I plan out everything. I like knowing what’s going to happen, and what to expect, but this… it’s completely different from what I expected.”
“It is for me too,” says Ron with a sheepish smile. “But it’s in a good way… isn’t it?”
“Very good,” says Hermione. “And I think…”
She trails off, summoning whatever courage she possesses. Because it’s one type of vulnerability to discuss sex with him, and to bring up her (admittedly silly) plan to create a timetable for the development of their sexual relationship, but to lay bare her deepest fears is another thing entirely. It’s that same feeling of leaping off a cliff without knowing what awaits her at the bottom… if she’ll end up hurt, or exhilarated.
Ron pokes her on the knee. “What?”
Hermione draws in a breath. She wants to tell herself that she’s got nothing to worry about - that it’s just Ron she’s talking to - but there’s never been such a thing as ‘just Ron’ for her. He is the one who matters most.
But then… it’s Ron. And the way he’s looking at her right now, with such patience and care, makes it easy to push through the fear.
“I like doing things the way they’re meant to be done,” she tells him, and he gives a concessionary nod. “I like to know exactly what I need to do in order to make sure that everything goes perfectly.”
“I know you do, but nothing’s perfect-“
“But I need this to be perfect!” she exclaims, losing control over the words pouring out of her. “I have to go about this exactly the right way, because...“
“Because what?”
She meets Ron’s steady gaze with her own. “Because otherwise I might ruin it. I might ruin us.”
Now that it’s out there, she can’t take it back, but Ron is clearly more than ready to face it.
“I really don’t think so,” he says bracingly with a shake of his head.
“I’ve told you, I don’t know what I’m doing,” she laments. “I try to be as prepared as possible for everything I do and I wasn’t at all prepared for this, and I - I can’t stand the thought that we might do something wrong and mess this up somehow-“
“I know, I know, but it’s fine.” He inches closer to her on the bed. “It’s going to be fine, because everything you’re worried about - it’s not up to anyone else but us.”
God, she really does love him. It hits her at the tiniest moments, like when he’s washing dishes by hand at the sink and he uses the back of his wrist to push his fringe out of his eyes, or when he laughs just a little bit at his own jokes. And she loves him now, as he’s soothing her frazzled nerves the way he’s done since they were children, countering her need for control with another, much better option: trusting him.
“I don’t like making mistakes,” she says, even as the tightness around her heart begins to ease, “especially when things are important, and this is so important to me.“
“It is to me too, but… we get to decide what’s a mistake and what’s not. This isn’t like school, we’re not answering to anyone but each other and-“ He flushes crimson again. “I reckon we’re doing good so far, right?”
“We are.”
“Plus, at this point,” he says with considerable lightness in his voice, “it’d take a lot for you to get rid of me.”
She feels her face relax into a smile. Her mind is still processing, still letting go. It’s no easy feat for her to relinquish the security of processes and procedures, but this isn’t about achieving the perfect outcome. It isn’t another accomplishment to add to her list of successes. It’s more of an exploration, a discovery, and she hopes they’ll never truly be done.
His hands release hers and move to her hips, and as she rises onto her knees, his arms encircle her waist. Hugging him tightly around the neck, she breathes in the sweet, familiar scent of his shampoo and closes her eyes.
This is where she’s supposed to be. Right here, right now. The rest can come later, whenever they decide they want it.
His lips brush against her neck, once then twice, and then there’s a warm puff of air as he chuckles.
“You wanted to make a shagging timetable,” he says, voice trembling from the effort of not all-out cracking up. “A timetable. For shagging.”
She pulls back, affronted, to glare at him. “Oh, Ron-“
“No, no,” he laughs, “what would it have looked like, exactly? ‘Week one: hand stuff. Week two: oral-“ His face lights up. “Would we have had appointments?!”
“Stop it!”
She pushes his shoulder, and he falls back onto the bed, still grinning up at her in a way that makes her heart skip a beat. He uses her hand to tug her down on top of him, and they fall into kisses again.
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imaginesbymk · 4 years
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PINK + WHITE.
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—chapter nine ; with heat & wet skin.
summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta. 
pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby
tags in this chapter: swearing, implied nsfw, drinking, mentions + drug use
[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]
MASON was quick on his feet when he was given the slightly odd request Teresa had asked him to do last minute. It had nothing to do with the gallery or with separation of last minute business meetings to be scheduled in the margins of the diary. It was just that he had to safely track down a dangerous man. Luca Changretta was still in England, hot-headed with a plan.
Teresa loved fur shawls. Though she detested how the cheap ones she could afford wore out from time to time, from the "fur" falling out like leaves from a tree in autumn, or even its colour turning from new to depressed (and even she grew so envious over the women who wore the luxurious, expensive ones at parties). Tommy Shelby never bothered with buying her what she wanted, which she was fine with, but one man with the Italian genes spoiled her with one that she kept in her closet. A grey-ish white. Teresa often takes one look at it, before sliding it over to reach the silky see-through shawl when she is simply relaxing in her home. At parties she debated even thinking of taking it out, but then there was the other shawl that was made of black fur, and it closed together with a silver clip to keep her shoulders warm.
The fur shawl was just like the painting she avoids at her own work. Both were so beautiful and timeless, both sharing personal meaning. But tonight, it finally saw light from staying in the wardrobe closet for too long. Teresa held it out in front of her, then clutched it in her arms.
The bar was built together with grey walls, none sound-proof. On the other side you could hear the jazz band playing music for the party, or footsteps from the owner or a bartender heading out back for more stocking of gin. If you were on that side, you'd hear the giant doors spring open from the doorman that allowed Teresa to enter inside. The man at the counter watched as her dress fell all the way down to her heels, not too long so she wouldn't trip. Her hair was in its curls once more, and wrapped around like comfort was the fur.
She reached a booth and set her purse on the table. "White wine."
"Ma'am-" the server goes.
"A man will be joining me very soon." Teresa made a smile, as the unescorted woman if Luca were to not show up. Had she imagined if Luca burned the invitation letter she mailed to his hotel, or simply tossed it away, in future to be used as scratch paper, or even as a roll up (if Luca is one of the many people that did snow), she may have just wasted her time getting dolled up just to not be served at her booth.
"Last time I met up with a woman at a bar, she proposed a deal, and lied straight to my face."
She shot her head up.
Those eyes.
Looks like her night wasn't going to waste after all. "Are you talking about Polly?" She watches as Luca Changretta helps himself on the other side of the booth, the same server coming over to Teresa with her white wine.
Teresa waited while staring down at Luca's own glass being poured with four fingers of whiskey. Luca glanced at Teresa's outfit, not answering her question. "You're wearing the shawl I got you? I can't believe you still have it."
"What, like I got rid of it? Why would I give it to someone else who would treat it like a rag?"
"Hm." Luca took a sip. "So, why did you summon me here? Actually, I know the answer to that one. You're a businesswoman, as we both know. You invited me here to propose some kind of deal, eh? Like I got the time to spare one more fucking thing before I go do what I came to England to do?"
"I know about the vendetta, Luca." Teresa began. "And I know the deal you made with Polly, which was a lie, by the way. I know about that. What I also know is that you don't just plan on crushing the Peaky Blinders. You have more on your mind. You're so greedy that you would want to overthrow Alfie Solomons as well. If he were to betray Tommy with the deal you made with Mr. Solomons, you know you and your men would come after him as well and take over his business."
Luca nodded. "I had a feeling you knew. I had a feeling Tommy Shelby brought you back to Birmingham, no?"
"I know your patience is wearing thin, and you're done giving people more time. But then there's me."
"Right, forgive me," Luca places a hand on his chest. "Why not talk about the royalty in front of me as well? What could she possibly request for this time?"
"I wanna know why I was never sent a Black Hand."
Luca laughs, trailing his fingers around the rim of his glass. Whatever Teresa said or did, she definitely wasn't laughing. Nothing seemed funny to her on her end. She did, however, miss that laugh of his. It was more of a chuckle, but she loved it like it was honey in hot tea. "Let me tell you something. It's best to stay out of this, right? Since you resigned, messing with us is like throwing stones at the devil."
"I'll play in the snow with the devil to prove you wrong."
Luca scoffs harshly. "So you're one of those people that snorts white lines just to feel good?"
"That was just my own figure of speech, Luca. I don't do Tokyo," Teresa replied. She cringed at the habit Arthur and Michael carelessly picked up on. "It's everyone's thing now, but not mine."
"That makes two of us." He took another sip. "I'm doing you a favour here, Miss Griffith. Stay out of this and do your own thing."
"There's no need for you to call me that," she comments.
"Why the hell not? Formalities are a thing of the past now?"
"You're talking to me as if we just met. We had something together."
"Yeah, had."
Teresa gave a glare, grabbing her wine. Luca smirks. "All right. Whatever you say. Jesus, kid. You're so fuckin' difficult."
"Kid," she scoffs at his remark. "And Ada Thorne is on your list and she doesn't get her hands covered in blood. So why wasn't I included?"
"You feel left out?" Luca snickered.
"I just wanna know why. I know damn well you haven't forgotten about me. Even if what we had to you was just for pleasure, you found out that I was once a Peaky Blinder."
Luca stares. "You wanted out because you felt like it would devour you forever, so I respected your wishes. You told me why you threw in the towel. And I know you're not a Shelby, you don't wanna be a Shelby."
The server comes up to them. "Sir? Ma'am? Would any of you like to hear the specials tonight?"
"No, thank you." Teresa smiles.
"More whiskey," Luca says. "And for the lady, she'll have more wine." Teresa raised her brows. She didn't mind more wine, would she care so much about knowing her limit before it was time to wince at the tab?
"I forgot you love whiskey," Teresa points out.
"Italian whiskey," Luca made a hand gesture. "As I was saying... have you thought long and hard about this, as to why I'm here? As to why I want Tommy Shelby dead, how I now want everyone dead?"
"Your father." There was a pause between the two. The jazz band transitioned their music to a much slower song this time, and it started easing the nerves in both the former couple's systems despite the volume of alcohol consumed. "Arthur Shelby killed your father. John Shelby killed your brother Angel."
"If things didn't happen the way it did, my men and I would be cozying up in New York counting stacks by stacks."
"And I wouldn't be seeing you here," Teresa added. "Almost ever again," Teresa thanks the server for the excess wine refilling in her glass, then Luca's. "Now can we talk about the giant elephant in the room?"
Luca furrows his brows.
"I know why you left, Luca. I know it's been five years, but you really just packed up and left. I've never seen you so frantic until that day when you were running to the train." Not even an eye bat. "I grew miserable ever since."
"Can I say this?" Luca leaned forward, placing the cuffs of his tailored suit that it laid flat on the tablecloth. "Whatever emotion you saw in my eyes on that day, whatever it was, it was for the sake of being alive for my family. Someone's gotta help keep the business up and runnin'. None of it works if I'm not there."
Teresa stares at Luca. This man wasn't wrong. It wasn't like he was running everything in his family all on his own. His father led the family in Birmingham that Angel was a part of, even his mother lived with them, but what makes New York so important and comforting to Luca must have felt like a whole outlet of anything he ever accomplishes, how many Tommy guns he can hold and keep in his home like picture frames, how many men he has to hire from Sicily and America just to help kill one family. All of that was justified when he boarded that train to the Liverpool docks.
"Oh," Teresa straightened her back. "So much for being the big, bad capo."
"Be careful," Luca warned, pointing a finger at her. "Don't question a gangster's honour."
"You know I crack jokes here and there," Teresa's lips curled into a smirk as it reached the rim of her glass.
"So do I," said Luca.
She looked down at his hands that rested on the table. His experienced, non-scrawny hands that had a black hand tattooed on his wrist, one with a crown, and maybe some other new ones Luca got over time. She used to kiss all of them, even the one on his neck that was a cross. His right hand was wrapped with big, gold rings on two fingers, except he only kept his ring finger free of anything, that was something she wanted to bring up. "You got all those rings on your fingers but not a wedding ring.
"Not like you got one on yours, either. Unless you took it off before coming here," Luca jokes.
She shakes her head. "I've been too busy to fall in love with another soul. But you? You didn't tie the knot with Viviana back in New York?"
Luca scowled, knowing Teresa hadn't forgotten about that woman as he did. "No. I still see her occasionally."
"Yet you haven't done anything with her? Never bothered to find anyone to satisfy your mother?"
"My mother says any woman from New York or even from the old country would do."
"What did you say, after?"
"Mamma, you're killin' me.'" Teresa had to chuckle at that, Luca smiled at her. He then looked around the bar, seeing how more of the guests had gotten up to dance with their dates as the jazz music cranked up their higher tunes like a machine. "Don't tell me we're gonna be sitting here all fuckin' night. You wanna dance, Miss Tour Guide?"
The nickname he gave to her the first time. Did he really sit in front of her and tell her he couldn't remember everything they had, then? "I'm a little rusty," Teresa declines.
'We gotta stretch our legs somehow. I ain't even see your whole getup for the night."
Teresa had no problem getting up from the booth. She stepped out so that her heels were shown as well, and she placed the fur shawl down on her seat so her shoulders were out. The dress wasn't purchased by Luca, but by her, and she felt like a Grand Princess, like a little girl playing with their mother's dresses and makeup. She was never too insecure about her looks since it never bothered her, but she felt beautiful, and she wondered if Luca will still ever see her as beautiful whether or not she is clothed in front of him.
Luca kept on staring. "Then perhaps we can head somewhere else," he suggests. "Somewhere we're both quite familiar with."
How and why didn't matter, the young man who looked to be around Arthur Shelby's age paid no second thought to his surroundings as he aggressively snuffed the thick lines of cocaine that formed on the ledge up his nostril. He begins wiping away any excess off his face, exiting the balcony seats just as the Italian mobster escorts Teresa inside the dark theatre to their respected spots.
"You're a lover of theatre," Teresa spoke quietly as the show resumed to its first act.
"If you dress like one, you are one." Luca hooked his leg over the other, folding his hands on his lap.
It was silent, not the awkward or tense silence, but silent to respect and see the performance. Silence or absolute noise, the stage was the latter. The good kind of noise. The skimpy dancers twirled with batons, the man and woman playing the perky main lovers belted the note they must have spent days and nights rehearsing over and over.
Luca knew there would be performances every night back in New York City. There was always something to do and somewhere to go, otherwise you'd be glued to your chairs at home.
The show was about to end, and Luca, for the first time in God's glorious mysterious time, took Teresa by the hand and curled them together on his lap, his eyes were fixated to theatricality in front of the hundreds of people.
Teresa reacts, slowly looking down. It was nearly dark, but she could feel the giant, lumpy rings from his fingers bump into hers. He always held her hand during a show, and would only let go to join the applause when a number came to its big finish, or when the grand finale brought hypnotic joy and bliss in each audience member's senses like himself that he just had to give the standing ovation.
But just as the audience erupted in deafening applause, cheers and whistles, Luca and Teresa remained the only two members seated, their hands still holding.
HIS hotel room was neat and tidy before he left, now the sheets on the giant bed wrinkled like aged skin when Luca held Teresa down to remove her stockings. She missed his touch. The feeling of being pinned on a bed as he dominated over her, practically tearing what she wore for the occasion just to see her underneath as a sight for his sore eyes, it was definitely there, and her heart pounded.
"Luca," she breathed out a moan. He kissed her softly, now only responding with pacing movements, from positioning her to grabbing the protection from the nightstand drawers. Though he was careful with the dress and fur shawl that was set on the office desk he sat in earlier, within seconds her brassiere was tossed on the floor. With the help from Teresa, she managed to undress Luca from head to toe by just sitting up, and he was now unclothed from the fresh tailored suit his uncle made back in Mott Street.
They kissed again, and Luca went in.
+ me writing "smut": 🧿👄🧿 but ooooo shiiiit their “business” meeting was quite a night lol.
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Happy Together : 20 ~ Finale
The first day of the rest of our lives
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Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve
Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.
This chapter: sex!
Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.
Masterlist
Chapter Summary: The honeymoon begins.
Notes: It’s the end, omg! Yes, you heard me right. I was going over this so many times and then I figured it out and I just you all are ready because I’m not but here we go!
I look forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3
-
It was like your first night again. Restless. Terrifying. Then, finally, numb.
Steve never stopped. Touching you, using you, consuming you. You were entirely his now. When at last he released you, well not truly, you could barely move. You wanted to. Desperate to crawl away from him. To be anywhere but in his arms.
He held you. Gentle despite his endless fervour. His heat was suffocating. Exhausting. You were sore and weak. A shadow of who you were only hours ago.
In the early light of dawn, you're gown loomed like a ghost across the back of the chair. The cool air ran over your shoulder as his hand cradled your hip. He slept blissfully as you laid awake. 
He dozed but he had yet to detach himself. You suspected that even if he wasn't still inside you, you would still feel him. His chest rose and fell against your back, his body flush to yours.
You were crying again. When did that start? It all hazed together now. Had it been one night or one year? Gone was your resolve to stay strong. What good had that done you?
Every time you ran he was two steps ahead of you. Every time you said no he only heard yes. Every act of resistance was another strike against you. 
Best to roll over and cover your face. Best to grin and bear it. Best to let him use your body and act like it wasn't yours. Best to give up.
The sun rose but your world was no brighter. He stirred and you squeezed your eyes shut. Sleep. If only that would stop him. Even that would not save you. He'd used you whether you wanted him or not.
Steve’s hand gripped your hip. He began to move inside of you. He was hard in seconds. You whimpered but didn’t fight it. You had given that up hours ago. He lifted his head and kissed your cheek. You kept your eyes closed.
“Morning, honey,” He whispered and kissed you again. 
His fingers pressed into your hip as he thrust slowly. He groaned and nuzzled the back of your head as he leaned against the pillow. He rocked against you and you clung to his arm across your middle. It felt good. Did that mean it was right? It must. The way you climbed so rapidly towards relief. To bliss, as fleeting as it was.
You moaned. It didn’t sound like you. You moaned again, louder and longer. You buried your face in the pillow and arched your back. You welcomed him deeper if only to forget; who he was and where you were. You clung to him as he sped up and he jolted your body as his groans turned to grunts.
You came with a spasm. You whined and he followed shortly after. His heat bloomed within you and you melted into the bed. He kept his hold on you and finally pulled out. A peculiar emptiness replaced his cock. He turned you on to your back and dragged his fingers along your jawline as he admired you.
“My beautiful wife,” He cooed. You hated it.  
You let him embrace you, you kissed him back when he pressed his lips to yours. It wasn’t so bad when you weren’t fighting. It wasn’t so scary. You stared at the canopy and exhaled. It didn’t have to be bad.
“Steve,” You slowly looked to him, “Sweetheart…”
“Yes,” His blue eyes lit up at your pet name. He could hear your surrender. “What is it, dear?”
“I’m...sorry,” You forced out. The words tasted odd on your tongue. As if they didn’t belong there. “I...was scared. Stupid.” You lowered your lashes guiltily. “I should not have hurt you.” You turned to him and tucked your arm under his. Your lip trembled as you stared into his eyes. The pit you would never reach the bottom of. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He hugged you and kissed you again. Deeper. His thick arms imprisoned you. When he parted, you traced the tender line of his neck. As if you couldn’t believe he were real. Truly, in disbelief. Denial.
“Are you hungry?” You asked. “I’ll make breakfast.”
He smiled again. Oh, that pleased him very much. If you could keep him happy, maybe you would be happy too. He released you and rubbed your shoulder. You sat up carefully. His eyes fell to you naked body. You refused to flinch.
“You should wash up,” He said. “Before our first day as husband and wife begins. Everything should be perfect, right?”
“Yes, everything,” You rubbed his chest. Your hand looked like someone else’s. He closed his eyes and sighed.
You turned and shimmied across the bed. Your legs were shaky beneath you. You held onto the bedpost as you gained your balance. When you walked, your thighs chafed tenderly against each other. Your pussy throbbed with each step. Every inch of your body screamed but your mind was mute. 
Where was that voice now? Why was she so quiet? What was she plotting?
You rounded the bed and dragged your feet to the bathroom door. It opened with a click. A frosted glass window stood across from you just beside the large tub. Was that one real? You wondered if the light was truly the sun or if this was all just another illusion. You steadied yourself with the door frame.
“Honey,” Steve called to you. The bed shifted and you looked back as he sat up. His broad shoulders and chest were impenetrable. The shackles that would keep you here. “There should be enough hot water for the both of us, don’t you think?”
“Yes, dear,” You agreed. You smiled and turned back to the bathroom. 
The tile was cold on your feet. You crossed the room and bent over the tub. Your lower back twinged in agony. You twisted the faucet with a grunt and shoved the stopper into place. You watched the hot water splash down against the porcelain. The ripples blurred in your vision and you stared at the depths as they rose.
But it wasn’t the water which flowed from the tap that clouded your vision, it was the tears that once more stung your eyes.
-
Steve fucked you in the bath tub too. You weren’t surprised by that. You expected it. The hot water had done little to soothe your muscles as he racked them again. The floor was soaked when you finished and you hardly felt cleaner. You could feel his eyes on you; always.
You dried your hair and did your make up. He watched. You arranged your tresses and dressed. He watched. You stood and turned to him with an eager smile. He watched.
He went to the door and touched the handle. It clicked and fell open. He wore only a towel around his waist as he waited for you to pass through. He was hard again. Or, still. His hand grazed your ass as you stepped into the hallway. He leaned against the door frame as you peeked over your shoulder.
“I’ll meet you down there, dear,” He promised, “I just need to get dressed, okay?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” You accepted and turned away from him.
You marched down the hallway and descended the stairs slowly. The door didn’t close until you reached the bottom. You looked around the small foyer, the arches to each side of you. It reminded you of the bunker. The same style but sleeker. The house wore the same mask as Steve.
The dining room was too the left; attached was the kitchen. Red curtains and tile; pristine marble counter tops. Your heels clicked across the floor and you opened the fridge. Bacon and eggs. Simple.
You were just waiting for the toast to pop when Steve appeared. He offered to set the table and you graciously accepted the favour. When he was done, he waited at the table. You brought out the platter of bacon and eggs. You served each of you, poured two glasses of juice, and sat. He tilted his head as he watched you.
“Honey,” He lifted his fork and twirled it, “Are you...okay?”
“I’m great,” You answered. You looked to the window behind him. Had that bird’s wing flickered or flapped? Was that pixel or sunlight? “Wonderful.”
He nodded and poked at his food. You ate in silence. You watched him. You smiled. He was so big. So strong. Unstoppable.
He gulped from his orange juice and you mirrored him. He blinked and furrowed his brow. He thought as he scraped clean his plate. You weren’t very hungry yourself. You hadn’t touched a bite. You rested your chin in your hand and leaned on the table.
“Sweetheart,” You watched as he sat back and finished his orange juice. 
“Y-yes,” He coughed and you pushed your plate away. “Do you want mine?”
“No, I’m...full,” He rubbed his stomach and frowned. “No, I’m...good.”
He touched his throat and tried to clear it. He grimaced and his hand went to his chest. His face went pale and he gripped the arms of his chair. You stood and began to clear the table.
“Well, better get to cleaning up,” You announced as you walked around the table.
You carried the pitcher to the kitchen; then the platters, the plates, the glasses, and the cutlery. He stayed in his seat. You hummed as you pushed in your chair. He gripped the edge of the table as he sputtered. He hit the wood with his fist but he was weak already. You smiled, this time for real.
“H-h-honey,” He stuttered as the realization flowed through him.
“What a lovely meal,” You preened as you straightened the table cloth, “A nice beginning to our marriage.”
He leaned on his elbow and trembled. You walked around to him and placed your hands on his shoulders. He slumped forward. Powerless. Like you. You leaned in and kissed his cheek just before his head hit the table. He started to spasm then.
“A better end,” You whispered. 
You pushed yourself away from him and he leaned heavily on the arm of the chair. It groaned beneath him and toppled as his frame went entirely limp. Your lips fell open as he crashed across the floor. His blue eyes were endless as he stared up at you. You knelt beside him and brushed back his golden hair with your fingertips. 
“So happy together, weren’t we?”
FIN
922 notes · View notes
avecorviidae · 3 years
Text
Fic: mainlining the spiraling spherical truth of the universe
Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: T Relationship(s): Male Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Male Sole Survivor & Shaun Word Count: 5012
Ao3 Link
Toby descends into the Institute to find a son that's old enough to be his father, and despite that, still looks at him with a very careful sort of vulnerability as he walks with him through the pristine white laboratories, introduces him to his heads of staff, shows him orderly living quarters and serene recreational areas, looks at him sidelong like he's always waiting for Toby's reaction, like he wants him to be proud.
And there's a part of him that wants to pull his son close to him, and tell him, yeah, it's fantastic, this thing you've built, I'm proud of you, I love you.
But Toby knows what the Institute does. He's been smuggling synths out of here with the railroad for months, and they're fucking terrified, gun-shy and shaking, watching over their shoulders for the coursers that will surely, inevitably come to reclaim Institute property. and the way Shaun talks about the folks above ground - so dismissive, as though the towns and cities and communities and bonds, the buildings and the families and the love and the art that people on the surface have created, don't matter because it's not pure, not clean,and he just as much wants to grab Shaun by the shoulders and shake him, go, don't you know that I'm one of those people? That you ought to have been too? That it's beautiful up there? That in the face of all this awful fucking shit, I've found people that have, against all odds, refused to be anything but kind?
So Shaun says, "What do you think of my home? Of everything I've built here?"
And Toby says, "I'm sorry. This wasn't what I wanted for you. This place, it's beautiful, but it's not the world I'm from. It's not a world I can ever be a part of. And you can run your lungs dry justifying every awful thing I've ever seen the Institute do by saying it was a mistake, or for the greater good of mankind, but I'm sorry, kid, the mankind you've got down here isn't any better than the mankind I’ve got up there. I love you, and I am so fucking glad I’ve found you, but I can't support you with this. The things you do here - it's gotta change."
"Please," Shaun says, "Father, let me show you- the work we've done down here-"
And Toby just shakes his head, and says, "I've seen the work you've done. I’ve seen the people it's hurt. That's enough for me."
There is a hard, tight hug, and some tears, and Toby leaves the Institute with his son's permission and blessing, and in the seconds before Toby relays out, they look at each other with hard, tight eyes, and Shaun's got a look about him, stubborn and angry, and Toby, with a sinking sense of dread, thinks, that's my boy,'cause if he's a bullheaded little shit, then he got that from Toby and not a damn place else.
.
“Aw, hell,” Nick mutters, as soon as he finds it. “Guerra? Think you might wanna see this,” he calls over his shoulder to the other room of the abandoned house, where Toby and his terrifying friend had been digging through cabinets looking for unexpired food.
Eli appears in the doorway a moment before Toby does, hand already drifting to the holster at her hip. “Christ,” she says softly, as soon as she looks down, sees the baby sitting on the filthy floor at Nick’s feet, gnawing happily on its chubby fist. It’s about the fifth word he’s ever heard her say, he thinks, and definitely the one with the most feeling behind it.
“Nick?” Toby calls, as he rounds the corner, “Everything alri- Oh. Oh.”
In a moment flat he’s crouched on the floor, waving fingers at the little one’s face to catch its attention. “Hey sweetheart,” he says gently, all bright and smiling. “What are you doing alone all the way out here, huh?”
Pointless question, really. Toby knows as well as Nick does that there’s no good answers to it. Whoever the kid was with before was either dead, or ought to be dead for deciding to leave it behind.
Toby grabs it under the arms and scoops it up, tucking it snugly against his hip. It makes a hiccupping, surprised little noise, looking at Toby with wide, guileless eyes.
(He oughtn’t call the kid an it, really. Most of the humans he knows have been nice enough to do him the courtesy of a pronoun, he can at least return the favour.)
“Okay, sweetpea, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.” He’s talking to her in a low, sorta sing-song voice, swaying gently, and it’s right around then that Nick remembers that Toby’s got a kid. Well, it’s not as if he forgot, it’s practically the first thing the guy says to half the people they meet, I’m looking for the man who took my son. But this is the first time Nick’s looked at him and really understood what that means. ‘Cause it’s gotta be some paternal instinct, right? The way he comforts her like he’s not even thinking about what he’s doing, like it comes as easy to him as breathing.
She’s been alone long enough to be soiled, so Toby sends Eli off to look for a metal washbasin, pours some of their purified water in there, warms it over the fire for good measure. Grins when he dips her little feet in there to let her test the temperature and she starts to giggle and kick, splashing him right in the face. She seems delighted with the bath in general - Nick guesses he would be too, if he’d been waddling around in a stinking diaper for however long. (He sometimes gets - phantom memories, he supposes, of what it’s like to have a human body. Sometimes feels a strange nostalgia for the sensation of hunger, or genuine, non-battery-related exhaustion. He has never once missed the ability to excrete.)
Toby’s only got eyes for the kid, all attentive and careful as he cleans her off, and Nick finds himself making an awkward sort of eye contact with Eli, who shrugs slightly, expression as blank and unreadable as it’s ever been. She’s sat herself down cross-legged on the rug, ostensibly relaxed, but Nick’s travelled with enough mercs, knows she’s one of the smarter ones, knows how carefully she’s positioned herself, sat between Toby and the door, rifle across her lap, angled towards the open window. It had used to make Nick nervous, how careless Toby seemed, like he’d never been taught to watch his own back. Guess he gets it better now, the idea of having someone that you trust enough to watch your back for you. He feels safer these days, walking into a room full of strange humans, with Toby at his side, fending off any synth-averse sentiments with a truly aggressivedegree of cheeriness.
“Are you old enough to talk?” Toby asks, to absolutely no response from the babbling kiddo. Still, she’s clearly charmed with Toby, like just about everyone is, and she’s watching him with big, happy eyes as he chats at her. “Can you say... Toby? To-by?”
She laughs, and Toby snorts, swipes a little booger from under her nose, and Nick’s struck again by how unthinkingly he does it, like it’s just second nature to him. “Alright, maybe that’s too hard. Let’s try... Can you say aaaaahhhh?” He goes all dramatic with it, roars like a little deathclaw, and the kid laughs, delighted, and copies him, screeching with all her tiny little lungs can give.
“Awesome, sweetpea! And look at those teeth! You’ve got a whole bunch! Think you can handle some tato stew?”
She’s got no idea what he’s saying, of course, but she’s very agreeable as he lifts her out of the water and pats her dry with one of his clean shirts, dresses her as best as he can given their limited supplies.
Feeding babies is, apparently, a spectacularly messy process, but Toby seems inexplicably delighted to have half of a perfectly good meal splattered down the fronts of him and the kid.
“We’re, what, five hours from Diamond City?” Toby says, eyes not leaving the kid as he waves a spoon enticingly in front of her face, trying to coax her to open her mouth.
“Six, if we take the long way around Hangman’s Alley,” Eli says, almost making Nick jump out of his circuits. She says it real neutral-like, almost careful, makes no mention of the fact that they’d packed for a week out in the wasteland, a job for Nick’s agency, nearly halfway from here to Sanctuary, with no plans to turn back.
“Six,” Toby repeats. “Okay. We’ll catch a few hours’ sleep here, set off at dawn. Someone in the city will be able to take her in.” The kid finally takes her spoonful, only a little of it dribbling down her chin this time. There’s an odd, hard set to his face that makes Nick some weird sorta mix between nervous and sad, a kind of seriousness that doesn’t often touch Toby unless it’s something to do with Shaun, or the gal that Kellogg killed, his life before. Makes Nick almost want to rest a hand on his shoulder, say, look, she’s sweet, but you know you can’t keep her. not now, not here. she ain’t a lost mutt that you’ve found in an alley, and she can’t be what you’re looking for, not when you’re still following leads on your boy. But Toby knows that, doesn’t he? It’s why they’re heading back at dawn. Why he’s going to knock on the schoolhouse and ask around for any families that’d be able to care for a kid her age, why he’s holding her so close on his lap now, his nose and lips pressed into the dark, downy hair on her head. He knows, maybe better than any of them, what he can’t have.
.
Despite that - Toby does go back. Gets a message on his Pip Boy from Shaun, asking if he would like to visit, for coffee. They sit in a careful, studied sort of silence at the table, Toby sipping on the freshest fucking coffee he's had in 200 years and feeling conscious of the fact that he's probably leaving dust and various other wasteland detritus all over Shaun's bright fucking white chairs
"I just-" Shaun starts, shakes his head. “You're from before. When everything was pristine, when humanity was striving forwards. We're doing that, here, now, looking to the future. How can you support the people up there, stuck in the filth and ruins of the past?"
Toby leans back in his chair, sighs. "Forward isn't necessarily a straight line. Sure, back in the day, we had working air conditioning and fancy vending machines, but the way I was- the way I am- was illegal. It was an unkind fucking world, and all the shiny trinkets didn't do a whole lot to hide that people were paying a few hundred bucks a month for medication that they needed to live. Down here—you’ve got the science down, I won't deny it. Clean food and water, medication, synthetic life. The kind of shit we read comics about when I was a kid. But up there? Shaun, they've made art. You can't walk thirty feet in Diamond City without hearing someone playing guitar, there's murals on old billboards, I once met an old church choir made up entirely of ghouls. Here, you're taking care of the body, but Shaun, humanity needs a soul."
The kidbot - Toby can't bring himself to think of him as Shaun, despite the fact that he's got Toby's eyes and freckles and smile - steps into the room with something in his hands, freezes in the doorway when he sees Toby sat at the table.
"I was just-" he starts, looking back at the door like he's thinking of bolting.
"It's alright, don't mind me," Toby says softly, waving the kid in.
"What did you need, Shaun?" Shaun says. Fuck, that's going to get weird fast.
The kid shuffles his feet, something guilty about his face. "I was trying to make my remote control car go faster, but I think I broke it." He holds the little shiny red racecar up to Shaun and Toby for inspection. Toby's actually got a similar one back at the house in Sanctuary, blue paint fading to an off-green, some rust gathered around the wheels. He'd managed to fix up a little motor in it to make it go one night, and he and Hancock had spent half the night racing it against a rat. Good times.
Shaun peers over to inspect the car with a distant sort of interest, but Toby can see where the kid's gone wrong. He's always been good at that shit, fiddly little stuff to do with his hands. Besides, his dad taught him his way around a motor back when he lived out west and they had the truck, and he fixed garage doors for a while when he and Val were trying to get on their feet in Boston.
"Give it here?" He holds out a hand for the car, and the kid hands it over. It takes him a couple minutes of fiddling with the multi-tool he keeps in his coat pocket, but he returns the car with a perfectly functional suped-up battery, and the kid grins when he sets it down and sends it careening off out of the room and down the hall, says, "Hey, thanks!" and runs off after it.
The door slides closed behind him, and Toby finds that he's smiling softy after him, and when he turns back to Shaun, he's looking at him oddly. Do you think you would be capable- Shaun had asked, that first day, Of loving a synth? As though it were a human?
Toby knows he is, as surely and intimately as he knows every crack and tear along the seams of Nick Valentine's face, knows the whirring and clicking of machinery under the skin when he's lying with an ear to Nick's chest, the black metal of his spindly hand tapping an arrhythmic beat on Toby's shoulder.
"Don't you know what you've made, with synths? the Gen 3s, they have free will, they feel.They're feeling for the first time, it's incredible."
Shaun tuts dismissively. "They're just machines. They cannot feel. The Gen 3s have some errors which seem to cause them to behave... erratically. The defects, they are violent and dangerous, and cannot be allowed to roam free."
Toby raises a single, skeptical eyebrow. Shaun wilts, just a little, and Toby realizes that he's just given his son his first ever I’m not mad, just disappointedlook. What an exciting moment in his parenthood journey. "Yeah," he drawls, "so violent and dangerous that they desperately run away from the coursers that want to bring them back to be dissected, and go looking for help and shelter, usually blending in peacefully into human settlements in an effort to live a normal life and find a purpose. Real terrifying. Shaun, jesus, this is what I'm talking about. You've created people, and you have the chance to care for them, to guide them into being a person, and you're treating them like defective equipment! Up there, at least, they can find community. They can find home."
.
You’ve never personally met the General of the Minutemen.
Which, like, you get it. He’s this big important guy, right? Dragged the Minutemen out of ruin and obscurity singlehandedly, spreading goodness and justice wherever he went, and you’re just a farmhand from fuckoff nowhere. You and your folks joined up with the Minutemen because it was your best shot at protection from the local gangs of raiders and other assorted scumbags that tended to make your lives miserable, and all the righteous justice and fun uniforms and shit were just a bonus. Still, you believe in it, right? And you’re grateful. So when the radio call comes through that Garvey and the General want to retake Fort Independence, set up a big fuckoff stronghold, yeah, you want to get involved. You’re twenty-nine and pretty much the most exciting thing you’ve ever shot is a real sad looking radstag, so you’re pretty excited at the prospect of some real action.
When you roll up to the diner across the wharf from the old fort, there’s a few campfires burning all around it, sleeping rolls and tents and scattered packs, folks sitting around on upturned cars and half-rotted benches, cleaning rifles and gnawing on jerky and passing around canteens. Preston Garvey, the biggest bigshot the minutemen had before the general came along, greets you at the door of the diner with a big smile and a clap on the shoulder, tells you to make yourself comfortable, introduce yourself to your brothers in arms. apparently the general’s travelling from pretty far west, and he’d had to detour south to rendezvous with an ally of theirs, so it’d be a few days yet before they mounted the attack on the fort.
There’s folks from all over the commonwealth here, and all sorts. Salt-of-the-earth farmers like yourself, hoity-toity Diamond City types, rough mercenary-looking people, all breaking bread and listening to the radio, singing along to the same five fucking songs, and you’re right there along with them, sipping whiskey and drunkenly drawling Johnny Guitar into the shoulder of one of your comrades.
The General arrives near sunset, and if Garvey hadn’t greeted him as such, you’d never have guessed it. You’re not sure what you expected – maybe a big buff blonde guy waving the star spangled banner, maybe someone more like Preston Garvey himself, big tough freedom type – but it wasn’t the unassuming kid who pulls Garvey into a brief, warm hug, grinning wide as Garvey claps him on the shoulder. You wouldn’t put him at older than twenty-one, and he’s small, got this kinda delicate look about him, all freckles and big puppy eyes and bouncy, curly hair in a cute little ponytail at his neck. He looks soft, and you’re pretty fuckin’ sure that he’s not really the General. Like, okay, maybe he’s got the title, but it’s cause somebody’s his daddy, right? Something like that. Anyways, he’s just some ditzy, pretty kid who smiles at folks and tells them everything’s gonna be okay, and Garvey’s gotta be the real brains of the operation, the one who does all the bloody, dirty work to make it happen.
The attack is being mounted at dawn, and when y’all are gathered round for the strategy meeting, you figure Garvey will take point on explaining everything while the kid smiles and nods along. Still, he seems to have half an idea what he’s talking about as he points to things on the map of the fort, asks questions about fortifications and potential choke points, takes shit into account when Garvey or one of the other more experienced vets chimes in with an idea. It’s just weird to see, you guess. This bright-eyed, smiley kid squatted on his haunches, his pouty, round face all serious as he stares down at a war plan. Fuck’s sake, he’s still got baby fat clinging to his cheeks, he looks younger than your baby cousin.
The plan, such that it is, is not the most complicated thing you’ve ever heard. There’s a bunch of slimy monsters holed up in the fort. You and your comrades will storm the fort, and shoot the monsters. Simple enough. Some of you will be scattered around outside, taking the high ground and moving up to the turrets once the towers have been cleared, to provide ranged support and catch any little bastards who try to escape down the hillside. You’ve all got a nice little stockpile of frag mines to take care of the egg clutches. Gross. You reckon it’ll work, though.
“Gonna let y’all go to catch some sleep before we get this started tomorrow,” the General says, addressing his little crowd of soldiers as a whole. “But just wanted to say one thing, so listen up. If you find yourself shit out of luck tomorrow – if you’re cornered, run out of ammo, get too scared, too tired, too hurt to keep fighting? Run. Scram. Get the hell out of dodge. I know it’s the coward’s move, I know it doesn’t make for a good story, I know it feels like deserting. I know you probably joined the Minutemen because you believed in it, believed in what we do, and you’re willing to die an honorable death doing it – and I’ll be honored to fight and die alongside you. But in the end, that’s just a big old castle with a bunch of mirelurks crawling around in it, and that’s not worth dying for. The fort is a symbol, and in my eyes, no symbol will ever be worth more than people. I’d rather each and every one of you ran away from it screaming and lived to tell the tale, than if we managed to take the fort, but at the expense of half of you getting gutted by some overgrown crabs.”
It is the weirdest damn speech you’ve ever heard, and the weirdest part of it all is, you’re pretty damn sure he means every word of it. He’s looking around at you all like he’s trying to remember faces, nervous sort of energy to the way his fingers tap tap tap on the stained yellow paper of the map at his feet.
“Besides,” he says, smiling ruefully, and you realize that this kid’s carrying an exhaustion that’s older than the fucking war, “If y’all keep on dying, people are gonna start saying that we’re called the Minutemen on account of us managing to lose another man every minute.”
.
They keep irregular coffee dates. Fuck if Toby knows why Shaun keeps inviting him. Fuck if Toby knows why he keeps coming back. Maybe it's the same reason for both of them. Shaun is his son, and Toby loves him, wants to know him, even if he hates him half the fucking time.
The Railroad's suspicious of his intentions, and he has to smile his way into a restricted lab and bring them back some stolen synth research to convince them that he's still on their side, despite getting cozy with the Institute's director. Desdemona's angry that he won't commit to destroying the place from the inside out, but... he's talking to Shaun. It's philosophy and ethics, and even Toby's got to admit that the serene quiet of the Institute is a good place to do it, and Toby brings him little oddities he's found along the way, comics that survived the old word, photographs and holotapes, even shows him some of the sketches he's done of the folks he's met above.
Toby starts bringing toys for the kidbot. They're nothing near as shiny and pretty as the ones he's got down here, but he seems to still love the scuffed up Nuka-Cola van Toby had found in a ruined comics store, goes wide-eyed and amazed when Toby hands it to him.
.
It's a peace that wasn't meant to last, of course. Most of the Minutemen settlements at this point are informally doubling as Railroad safehouses, Dez and the rest delighted to have farms to send newly-escaped synths to, places where they're guaranteed jobs and work and purpose, and folks who will look after them and check up on them like they're family.
Preston flags him on the radio, lets him know that there's been reports of coursers at five different settlements across the Commonwealth. They're going after the escaped synths, and they're more than willing to kill any humans that get in the way.
Nick gives him a dark old look, that, "We've both seen two hundred years of the world going to shit and you and I both know this doesn't end well"look. They recall everyone to the castle, it's the most fortified place they've got, the best shot they've got at defending their people. They all arrive within a couple days, plenty of them with coursers on their tails, and Eli dispatches them with quick, clean shots, the respect that one hunter shows to another. For days, the coursers keep coming, and Toby's people are getting tired. Shaun's not responding to any of his efforts to contact him on the radio, and with grim finality, he lets Preston prepare the Minutemen and the Railroad to invade the Institute and take down the Commonwealth's boogeyman, once and for all.
It's surprisingly quick work in the end, Toby using the access Shaun gave him to relay his little army inside, and they make quick work of the synths that patrol the halls. Ss soon as alarms start blaring, all the humans in clean Institute whites panic and scram, which makes Toby's job a hell of a lot easier. Place the detonator on the central reactor, ignore the frantic ticking of his Geiger counter and the vague feeling that radiation might be making his teethbuzz.
He tells Preston to issue the evacuation order, get as many people and willing synths out as quickly as they can, and he and Nick trek up through the eerily empty halls to the director's quarters.
Shaun's in some kind of biobed, skin ashy and face gaunt, eyes half-lidded as he watches Toby step softly into the room. the kidbot's sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled around himself and shaking, and as soon as he sees Toby, he darts up, wraps arms tight around Toby's waist. Toby keeps a firm hand on his back, comforting as he knows how to be, in a situation like this. He meets Shaun's eyes.
I didn't want it to come to this, is what neither of them say, but both of them mean, when Toby blames him for the death and pain the Institute's wrought on the Commonwealth, when Shaun spits back that Toby is destroying his life's work. But what's done is done.
"...You'll take the boy?" Shaun asks wearily, looking at Toby's hand, still keeping the kid close to his side.
"Of course," Toby says, rough with feeling, "Yeah, of course. We're taking everybody, everyone we can get out. We'll take you, too."
Shaun shakes his head. "No. I want to rest now. I don't want to live to see the destruction of my home."
"Neither did I, but I managed, didn't I?" Toby snaps, then shakes his head. That was, well. Mean. Even for him. "You wanted progress. You wanted to move forward. You don't always get to choose the direction that goes. You don't just give upwhen you lose."
Wordlessly, Nick hefts the kid up against his hip, and Toby guides his son to a wheelchair near the bed, pushes him back down the sloping halls to the relay point, where the last party is getting ready to leave, waiting only on their General. Preston and Dez give him hard, unreadable looks when they see who he's pushing, but they've both got the good sense not to say anything, especially with Nick hovering over his shoulder and Eli quickly returning to his side.
.
Later, much later, they return to Sanctuary.
The kid wants to be called Callum. He read it in one of the comics Toby gave him. Toby had helped him to set up a bedroll and a lantern in the upstairs nook of Toby and Nick's home, had tucked him into bed wearing a soft shirt of Toby's that went down to his knees, hugging the bedraggled teddy bear he'd left the Institute with to his chest, and Callum had said, softly, "Night, Dad,"and Toby had smoothed a hand over his soft, perfect, synthetic hair, and said, "Night, kiddo."
At night, Sanctuary's strung up with lanterns and cooking fires, soft orange glows from inside the windows of the carcasses of old homes, flickering lamps in garages and driveways. It's more crowded than usual, on account of it being something of a celebration, the end of the Institute, and all. There's most of the Minutemen from across the state, the Railroad HQ, and the Institute evacuees, scientists, citizens, and synths all. Deacon and Hancock are arm wrestling, and they've drawn... quite the crowd. The Institute evacuees are slowly, surely mingling with the Commonwealth scum, who are meeting them with only minimal suspicion, and mostly good-natured heckling about the ugly white clothes. Someone's playing Johnny Guitar, obviously, and the soft strumming mixes with the gentle, constant murmur of a hundred or more voices laughing and talking and singing.
Toby finds Shaun on the outskirts of the celebration, his wheelchair parked in the dim driveway of the house that he was supposed to grow up in. Toby wonders, vaguely, if that's a coincidence. He's avoided this house, since he woke up. Maybe he's more like Shaun than he's wanted to admit. He's wanted to move forward.
Toby sits beside him on the concrete, follows Shaun's gaze to further down the block, where Preston's got an arm around Desdemona's shoulder, making some kind of triumphant speech, most likely.
"So," Toby says eventually, with a strange sort of serenity. He's got a thin layer of dust and sweat on every inch of his skin, and his fingers probably smell like battery acid from the plasma cell ammo, and his lip is still tingling from the little shock he'd gotten when he kissed the open circuitry on Nick's cheek. He's aching and stinking and exhausted, and he's never been happier. "What do you think of my home? Of everything I’ve built here?"
Shaun sighs softly, and after a long moment between them, says, "I don't know this world. but I suppose I'll have to take after you, and learn to adapt."
He stands, puts a hand on Shaun's shoulder, squeezes. "That's all I can ask for."
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marisaaa · 4 years
Text
A Habit (AO3)
Robron week 2020 day 3 - Dads.
“You try having a toddler who refuses to go to bed.”
Seb always has a request before he goes to sleep.
It started when Seb was four. He’d gone with Moira and Isaac on a weekend trip to a donkey sanctuary outside Leeds. Moira had a friend there so they were staying in her house overnight, letting Aaron and Robert have a night free.
Just as they were getting ready to sit down and watch something that wasn’t a cartoon – like usual – the phone rang.
Aaron groaned as he slowly got up from his position on the sofa to answer it, picking up with the nicest voice he could muster.
“Hello?” he answered down the phone.
“Aaron, It’s Moira.” She replied, sounding worn out.
Aaron’s nerves suddenly sky rocketed as he pulled the phone closer to his ear, worried that something had happened. “What’s wrong?” he asked nervously, causing Robert to turn his head, confusion etched on his face.
“No there’s nothing wrong.” She quickly calmed him, “Seb’s not sleeping.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and his muscles quickly relaxed, “Does he have Teddy?” he questioned, knowing he had definitely packed it as Seb could never sleep without it.
“Yeah, he has Teddy.” Moira told him, “I put them to bed hours ago, Isaac’s fast asleep but Seb is just wide awake every time I check in. Maybe he’s just not used to me enough to handle being away without you.”
Aaron nodded, “Yeah okay I understand, it’s still early so one of us will be there to collect him.”
Moira thanked him before he hung up, walking back over to the sofa.
“What’s going on?” Robert asked as he had only caught Aaron’s side of the conversation.
“It’s Seb, he’s not sleeping” he informed him, “I said I would go and pick him up, probably just misses his bed.”
Aaron went to reach for his coat and Robert picked up his keys to throw over to him. “Take my car. Saves you from having to move the car seat again.”
They really needed to get two of those. Aaron nodded his thanks and held to keys in his enclosed hand as he put his coat on. He pecked Robert on the cheek before leaving the house, “Won’t be long!” he shouted before the door closed with a bang.
-
Once he got to the house, Moira opened the door and welcomed him in. She led him through to the main sitting area where a woman was sat on one end of the sofa, a colouring book on her lap and Seb sat next to her. As he stepped into he room, Seb’s head turned and he smiled.
“Daddy!” he shouted, jumping off the sofa and running towards Aaron who scooped him up in an embrace.
“Hey, buddy.” He spoke softly, “You not feeling tired after your day with the donkeys?”
Seb shook his head, still smiling and playing with the hood on Aaron’s coat. “Daddy’s car.”
The adults all let out a small laugh, not quite sure what he meant.
“Yeah, it’s just out the front.” Aaron answered him, picking up the bag that Seb had brought with him, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Seb was making noises during the first part of the journey back home. He was babbling to himself, asking Aaron odd questions and singing random parts of songs together. Aaron thought there must be some explanation involving sugar for him to be so hyper.
He started to settle down about ten minutes later and the car was finally silent. Aaron looked in the rear view mirror to see the boy fast asleep in his little blue car seat. He shook his head and smiled to himself, happy that he’d finally got some sleep, all it took was some familiarity.
When they got home, Aaron explained his theory to Robert who was confused when he’d walked in with a sleeping Seb in his arms.
“I don’t get it though” Robert said quietly as he stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Aaron tuck Seb in, “He’s stayed with Diane overnight, even without Teddy once.”
“Yeah but he’s done that since he was a baby.” Aaron whispered, standing up from the bed and stepping on the landing with Robert, “This was the first time he’d been at someone else’s and properly aware of it.”
Robert shrugged, and pulled Aaron by the waist. “I love it when you go all fatherly therapist on me.”
Aaron rolled his eyes and leaned up to kiss him, pushing him towards their bedroom.
-
Seb was stood at the door in his pyjamas and dressing gown, jumping excitedly on the spot. It had just turned nine o’clock, way past his bedtime.
“Seb, mate, can we just give it a miss for tonight?” Aaron asked through a yawn. Seb had been refusing to go to bed for the last week without being driven around in Robert’s car. Specifically Robert’s. He’d be tired the whole evening but as soon as bedtime came, he would suddenly perk up and demand a drive in Robert’s car – in which he would fall asleep.
He frowned and stomped his foot, “But Daddy I can’t sleep without driving.” He whined, moving his arms around, flailing Teddy – who he was holding – around.
Just on time, Robert came jumping down the stairs holding a book. “Hey, Seb, look.” He said, pointing to the cover of the book. It had a giraffe on. “Just like one of your toys. If you go upstairs now, we can read it for a bit?”
Seb kept on frowning and faced the door, his arms folded. Robert sighed and walked over to him, crouching down to see his face that was still grumpy.
“Daddy’s a bit tired tonight.” He explained softly, “it might be dangerous if you go in the car with tired Daddy.”
The boy turned around and looked over at Aaron who was at on the sofa. Aaron pretended to yawn again, trying to emphasise his tiredness.
Seb turned back to Robert who smiled softly.
“You take me.” He said bluntly.
Robert’s face fell and Aaron let out a breathy laugh.
“Me?” Robert asked him, his eyes darting between Aaron and his son. “I thought you wanted it to be Daddy Aaron?”
“But you said he was dangerous.” Seb argued. Robert couldn’t help but smile at that, the misunderstanding providing more comedy than the boy was aware of.
“Why not?” Aaron said from the sofa, getting up slowly, “It is your car.”
Robert gave him a stare and shook his head. “I have – I have stuff I need to do.” He tried to argue.
“More important than your son?” Aaron joked lightly, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout that Seb saw and copied. Robert looked down at the pouting boy and sighed.
“Fine.” He relented, making Seb grin and jump up and down towards the door, holding onto the handle for leverage.
-
Like clockwork, Seb fell asleep in his car seat strapped to the back seats. Robert smiled as he pulled into a layby outside Emmerdale and turned in his seat to see the little boy sleeping peacefully, Teddy sat on his lap.
Robert dug around in his pocket for his phone and pulled it out to take a photo of the sleeping boy. He sent it to Aaron with the message:
    -   Just drove around the village and then the fields. Sleeping soundly.
  Obviously as interested in farming as his Dad. ;) -
Came the reply.
Robert smiled and put the phone back in his pocket, starting the car up again to drive back home.
As he got to the village, he saw Victoria leave the pub and head towards her house. She waved before she crossed the road and he slowed to a stop, winding down the window.
“Where have you been?” she said loudly, causing him to bring a finger up to his mouth and tell her to shush before gesturing to the boy asleep in the back. She looked at Seb confused and brought her hands up encouraging him to answer her question.
He sighed, “Just a drive.”
“With him?” she asked, even more confused.
“You try having a toddler who refuses to go to bed.” He answered, suddenly realising he’d spoken rather loudly and Seb was stirring.
“What?” Victoria whispered, stifling a small laugh and looking between her brother and Seb.
“He won’t go to bed until me or Aaron have taken him on a drive.” He explained, “Well, Aaron has done it the last week – this is my first time.”
“That’s really weird.”
Robert snorted quietly, “Well he is related to you, so it’s expected I guess.”
“Hey!” Victoria exclaimed but laughed it off. She reached through and stroked Seb’s head before saying goodnight to both of them and heading towards her house.
-
It was almost routine for the next few years. Seb would sleep fine in the day and when he would have nap time at nursery, but when it was time for him to go to bed for the night, he would demand a drive in the car. Aaron and Robert took it in turns, even going as far to making a rota for the week, subject to how much work they were expecting in the day. It was all for Seb’s safety, of course, even though there was a new Top Gear episode every Thursday evening that would always coincidentally be Robert’s day.
They were worried that Seb’s social life would be impacted once he started to get older and got invited to sleepovers, which he turned down in favour of being at home where his usual routine happened. Some arguments were started due to this incident, Robert claiming that Aaron was too soft on him.
-
Seb was turning ten and he was upstairs cleaning his room out for when his friends came round the next day.
Robert and Aaron were busy downstairs, filling the cupboards with all the food that had just been delivered for Seb’s birthday party and the meal in the evening that Seb said he would help Robert cook.
It was nearing nine o’clock and Seb still hadn’t come down to get ready to go out for the drive.
“Seb!” Aaron called up the stairs, “Come on, it’s getting late.”
There was no answer.
Aaron decided to go up to get him himself, he was probably playing on the Nintendo DS that they had bought him as an early birthday present.
As he got to his room, he could see that the lights were off through the gap in the door and slowly opened it so he could see. It was a sight that he started to think was impossible.
He quietly ran down the stairs, to get Robert, whispering his name and gesturing for him to come upstairs. They both quietly tip-toed upstairs and peeked into Seb’s room.
He was laying in his bed, his slippers placed perfectly on the floor next to it and his Nintendo DS was shut and on his desk.
Aaron walked over to the bed to check that he really was asleep, confirming it with a silent nod and thumbs up to Robert who was stood by the door. They exited the room as silently as they had come in and tip toed back downstairs, both smiling widely.
Once they got to the bottom of the stairs they both fist bumped the air and let out a giggled as they pulled each other into a tight embrace.
“God, we are horrible people.” Aaron admitted and Robert laughed as he pulled away to look at him.
“Five years, Aaron.” Robert said, still smiling, “My car is probably as happy as we are right now.”
Aaron laughed and looked over to the door, seeing a small boy dressed in a long dressing gown running around excitedly. A small feeling of sadness swept over him.
“It is a bit sad though.” Aaron admitted, turning back to Robert, “He’s growing up.”
Robert sighed and shrugged, before a small smile appeared on his face.
“What?” Aaron asked suspiciously.
“This is going to be a great story to tell at his wedding.” He laughed but Aaron slapped his arm playfully.
“You’re evil.” Aaron joked, but was secretly impressed by the idea.
“And you love me.” Robert said softly as he pulled Aaron towards him by the waist.
“I do.” Aaron hummed contently as he kissed him softly on the lips.
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