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farfromstrange · 10 months

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter Twelve: Just Let Me Adore You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael takes you someplace special for your first date, and you have the best night of your life.

Warnings: Fluff. Like seriously, this is fluffy as fuck. 9k words of pure fluff.

Word Count: 9.1k (I am so sorry this got a bit out of hand)

A/n: You have a bit of suggestive language in here, but nothing explicit. That’s reserved for the next chapter, which will be a pure Smut update. I thought I’d keep the goods to myself for a little while longer and give you a break before the Angst Train drives into the Michael Kinsella station…

You have been to a few dates in the past. Most of them ended in a dirty bar or a restaurant, but you at least knew what you were signing yourself up for.

When Michael texted you while you were at work, telling you he would be waiting at your front door at nine in the evening exactly, you of course texted back and asked where he would be taking you, but he didn’t react to that.

So you text him again, ‘Just tell me so I know what to wear :(‘

‘Wear something u feel comfortable in xx,’ is all he replies.

Something comfortable is a broad range of clothes and it doesn’t help your confusion at all. No matter how many times you keep pressing him, he won’t tell you where he is taking you, and that makes you uneasy.

He told you he would use the time he has left today to get his records straight and make an appointment with the solicitor that is helping him get visitation rights for Anna.

The copy of the contract Ava whipped up for him has been in his hands like precious cargo ever since you left the office building. He insisted to walk to his house from the café, which isn’t that long of a walk compared to your apartment, and you only hesitantly agreed to let him back there after everything he told you.

He insisted that he needed to do this because he has to somehow learn how to navigate his life on his own again after staying with you for a few days. Things are different now, he told you, and you had to agree because he has a new job now and you haven’t been together long enough to move in together, so you both need to coordinate things on your own.

Once he knows what his chances of seeing Anna again are, he has to take the necessary steps to assure the court of granting him those rights. Another thing you agree with. You support him fully, but the thought of his family somehow luring him back in and then you’ll lose him – it’s not the crime you’re worried about, it’s losing him to jail or a gun or any other weapon that might kill and take him away from you – keeps occupying your mind.

A stable home, a job, and a good track record do wonders when it comes to cases that involve children. He needs that. The meeting with Ava gave him a boost you didn’t expect, but he seemed lighter and a lot more motivated when you kissed him goodbye. And he seems stable enough on his own, no longer angry or sad, which is also something you never thought you’d say.

It might be the adrenaline, but you like to believe he is on a good path and he cherishes that enough to see things a lot more positively this time around.

He told you he loved you. It still hasn’t fully settled in, but you said it back because it’s true; you love him. It’s a surreal scene in your head and you have been floating ever since you clocked in.

There are only a few more hurdles in the way. For one, it’s your past. For two, Michael’s family. And three, there is still a chance a judge won’t rule in Michael's favor, and that might actually break him. You hope that the meeting with his solicitor goes well, at least, and he gets to have a chance at getting to know his little girl again. You want nothing more for him.

He was right when he asked if the reason you understand his situation so well was because of your sister. You’re not a mother, but you’ve felt like one many times in the past and it’s a kind of love that never dies.

You should tell him the truth, you think. About everything, not just your sister but the rest of your family as well. He needs to know who you are and what baggage you’re carrying. It’s baggage that could affect your relationship once it takes a turn for the worse. You want to be honest, but where would you even begin to explain the shit show your life was before you moved to Ireland?

You can see the hope clearer now. You have someone by your side who is willing to do anything for you if you as much as asked him, he said so himself, without knowing the full story, and that means you can trust him. You know you can. But you don’t know if you can trust yourself.

You’re always worried for those you love, and you’re always on the lookout. It’s not like your secrets could end in a war; you’re carrying a dark past that might come to haunt you one day, but that would be entirely on you. You can’t drag Michael into that, no matter how much you want to because once you get hurt, he won’t be able to live with himself.

He might start worrying too much, trying to fix your situation, but there is nothing that can be fixed. You have to sneak around with your own sister to even know she’s alive, and it has always been this way, at least ever since you moved away, and you would have to continue doing so before–

You shake the dark thoughts off. You were so happy a few seconds ago, thinking about Michael and your future and your feelings for him, and the thoughts about your family didn’t hesitate to overshadow the little light he lit in your heart. But you won’t allow them to do that. You love Maya, you love her more than life itself, and you’re going to do anything in your power to keep her safe once it comes down to it, but things are okay right now. You can look at it with a clear head and make a wise decision instead of a rushed one, maybe even make a plan and find another way than the ones you’ve mapped out before.

You need to take what little peace you have now and use it for good instead of being a reckless idiot and letting the memories of your past that the last few weeks have triggered in you affect the way you live your life.

And maybe then you can talk to Michael about everything and take the helping hand he has offered you.

Looking back at Michael’s ominous text about your equally as mysterious date, you frown. You considered a few different possibilities. He could be taking you to a less fancy dinner, or he could be taking you to the park, which would explain why your clothes have to be comfortable, but you’re not sure, and that irks you.

You ask him again, but all he sends back is a winky emoji. Up until this point, you didn’t even know he was capable of using emojis. He always seems so confused with electronic devices of any kind, it’s endearing. But he’s just a normal human being who has been away for a long time and now he’s experiencing the world again in a brand new light and that can be fucking confusing.

He’s a father, but he lost eight years with his daughter and now he’s deemed a danger by many, especially the woman taking care of his daughter, and he’s not even sure if she wants to see him, and that is even more confusing for him because he has never learned how to deal with all of these emotions.

Michael always had to function for everyone else around him. He never had a chance to discover who he is and what he wants, even though he had what he wanted for a while, but that was taken from him again and now he has to learn how to live with the guilt and with himself. It’s hard. You get it.

You’ve been there, in a way. Your situations are different, but you feel a deeper understanding because you relate to his pain, and that’s what makes you love him so much more. He’s trying in more ways than one, and that should be acknowledged. He should have someone to support him, even if it can’t be his own family.

He’s not a servant, he’s a human being; he deserves to be treated accordingly.

“Thanks for nothing,” you grumble to yourself, still not close to deciphering what he is planning to do with you.

Part of you is hoping it will end in bed at the end of the night because you’re weirdly horny – checking your period tracker, you notice that you’re ovulating, and it makes sense that you suddenly want to jump his bones while he’s not even near, which will also make for an interesting night, but you push that thought away to focus on the mystery at hand.

What is he planning for your date?

Michael can be such a tease if he wants to be.

Soon enough, after getting home and taking a long shower for your aching muscles, you find yourself panicking in front of your closet like a teenager.

You would consider yourself a romantic; you love rom-coms and romance movies, and you love going on dates as long as they’re meaningful. Atop the broken heart you carry inside, there’s a protective wrap that has been built up on fiction and romanticizing your life. It’s the only way you survived as a child and is surviving now, but living so much in your head prevents you from seeing reality clearly, and that tends to hurt you. You hurt yourself by ignoring the truth, as you did with Maya, and then things turn to shit. Michael is your little beacon of hope. He’s your lucky charm.

You haven’t finished a book or a story because you’re still hung up on the past and it seems like too much of a responsibility. Or maybe you don’t feel capable enough.

You never had support. It wasn’t a lie when you said your parents weren’t happy with your career choice and that’s why you left, but it isn’t the full truth, and the real reason why you left runs deeper. You thought you could start writing once you’re far away from that hellhole, but everything you have started since then landed in the trash because you get insecure, and then you realize that what you have romanticized isn’t true and you don’t ever go back to it.

Maybe it is time to change that now. Your eyes flick to your laptop. The Duke and his promised badass Princess of a promised wife are waiting for you to stretch your fingers and start typing, but once again the claws around your heart pull you back. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

But maybe it’s time that you do, anyway.

You turn back to your outfit for the night, which you haven’t decided on yet and it’s already half past eight.

Only one date in your entire life has been thoroughly thought-out, and the guy dumped you after that.

Frustrated and out of your mind, you dial Sarah’s number and hope she has some smart advice for you since she is the one out of you two who is addicted to going on dates every chance she gets.

After a few rings, she picks up. “Hello!” she cheerily answers. “What is my favorite sunshine up to? Couldn’t go a day without me?”

You plop down on your bed. “I need your help,” you say.

“With what?”

“Picking an outfit for a date.”

There is a short pause before she sighs. “So Mister Mobster asked ya out?” she says. “Is it like to celebrate his ass gettin’ hired or somethin’? Because if it’s bout tha’, I still haven’t been able to fully accept your text message.”

“I’m sorry I did it over text, Sarah, but you weren’t working today and I didn’t have the time to call. And it’s not just a celebratory date, I… we… okay, promise you won’t hate me after this?”

“Depends on what yer about to tell me.”

“He told me he loved me,” you admit.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” She takes another deep, dramatic breath. “I am not nearly drunk enough for this.”

“You said you’d accept him!” Your voice changes pitch. “You said you’d try and I want you to try. For me. Because… because once you meet him—”

“What, I’m gonna like him?” she cuts you off. “Ya know it’s not that easy to look over all the crimes he’s been involved in, right? You were the one who told me about all of tha’, so it’s kinda your fault, too.”

Silence settles between you. She is a lot more composed than the first time around, but her frustration is still palpable. You can’t say you blame her; you can’t blame her, not after you ran to her when you first found out and you, yourself, were still somewhat uneasy. Sarah cares about you. This isn't just about Michael’s past, this is about her not wanting you to get hurt, and if she knew about your past, she would take it even more seriously. That is just the kind of person she is and you love that about her.

You look up at the ceiling. Your voice sounds brittle when you finally speak, but she can feel the passion and the devotion radiating off of your tongue with every word. “I love him,” you say, “and I want to be with him. You either accept it or you don’t, but I want to turn his head more than once tonight and I do plan to get thoroughly fucked at the end of this, so I could really use your expertise on the outfit. I’m not asking for relationship advice, I’m just asking for you to be my friend.”

Sarah lets out a long, exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. You can almost picture her rolling her eyes before finally speaking. “Alright, alright, I get it. Ya really know how to pull the guilt card, don't ya?” she says, her voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Fine, I'll help you. But don't expect me to suddenly embrace Mister Mob-Daddy-That-Said-I-Love-You-First with open arms. I do want ya to have a good night though, and I want ya t’be devoured ‘cause honestly if he's good in bed, ya go get him, girl.”

You chuckle at her enthusiastic response.

“Now, puttin’ aside the fact that I still don’t understand why you fell fer a mobster, out of all people, let’s talk about this date. Where is he takin’ ya?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a look at your closet. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she asks.

“It means I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He said he’ll pick me up at nine and we’ll walk there together.”

“That’s… ominous.”

“Yeah, but not in a dangerous sense. Don’t even start.”

She throws her hands up, the rustling of her dress betrays her. “I wasn’t even sayin’ anything!”

“You were thinking it,” you retort. “No. He told me to wear something comfortable. That is all I know about tonight, and it’s freaking me out. That’s why I called you. I’m not good with clothes. I need your help.”

“Okay, okay,” she caves, “I’ll help ya. In fact, I do you one better and tell you exactly what to wear.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I know yer wardrobe inside and out and I know exactly what you should wear tonight with Mister Mysterious Mobster on your Mysterious Mobster Date.”

“Would you stop saying mobster?” you say and try to sound annoyed, but your lip twitches into a smirk anyway. “He’s just Michael,” you add.

“Just Michael it is then,” she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “For tonight, I’m gonna accept that.”

“Thank you, Sarah, I–”

“Silence!” Her voice echoes dramatically in your ear, and she puts on a fake posh accent that has you cringing. “Let’s find you something marvelous to wear, my dear.”

“Only if you drop the accent.”

“Fine. Way to ruin the fun, but anyway…”

She picks a pair of jeans she weirdly knows exactly where to find. They’re your most comfortable pair, and she chooses a top to match with that, which she says will be easier to take off, and you once again wonder how many times she analyzed your closet when she visited you.

“Throw on some ankle boots, a denim jacket, and those cute little butterfly earrings you have,” she continues. “Cross-body bag, red lipstick, hair tied back with a butterfly clip and you’re a hundred percent yourself but also smoking hot. Oh, and don’t forget to wear that green lingerie set. The one with the lace. I think he’s gonna love that.”

You stare at the outfit on your bed, a little surprised that she managed to put together something that screams your name, but it's also a little more adventurous. When you consider that on your first night with Michael, you wore the ugliest underwear known to man, and the next day you did it again; he never minded because underwear, in his eyes, is something that demands to be taken off, but wearing lingerie would drive him crazy nonetheless, and you feel a little better about yourself when you think about tonight. Sarah's choice boosts your confidence.

“I don’t even want to know how you know all of my clothes,” you say, “but thank you, Sarah. This is… this is going to work great.”

Sarah laughs on the other end of the line. “A girl's gotta have her secrets, sunshine,” she answers. “Just remember to have a fabulous time tonight and enjoy every moment.”

You can hear the sincerity in her voice, and it warms your heart. Sarah has always been there for you, supporting you in her unique way. You appreciate a friend who is not afraid to say what she truly thinks.

You carry your outfit into the bathroom, squeezing the phone between your shoulder and ear. “I'll let you know how it goes,” you tell her. She requires you to give details whenever you go out, and tonight is not going to be any different.

She claps. “Of course! I want all the juicy details. Top to bottom. Bed to the dining table. His end to your end. I need it all!”

You laugh, your cheeks flushing bright red. “Oh, God! That's... that's a lot of details.” But you can feel yourself getting lighter and more excited than before. “Thank you. I will update you,” you say. “And send you pictures. Of the outfit, I mean.”

The smirk in her voice is audible when she retorts, “I don't mind other pictures…”

“Okay,” you remove the phone from your ear, “No nudes for you. Bye, bye!”

And you hang up on her, your lips still curled into a smile, and as you watch yourself in the mirror you can tell that it’s not just pretense – you’re happy.

Taylor Swift blares in the background as you start getting ready. You slip into the carefully chosen outfit, making sure every detail is in place.

You know he won't care that much; he prefers you to wear what you want, and it's something no man has ever told you before. It is the bare minimum, but it draws you to him even more because he accepts you and accepts that you're your own person capable of making your own choices, and it means he appreciates your style at least to a certain point.

The jeans Sarah picked hug your curves just right, and the top accentuates your figure in all the best ways. As you fasten the ankle boots and put on the denim jacket, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You have struggled to accept yourself for a while, but you can't deny that you look pretty.

The lingerie underneath is a small, intimate secret that only you know, a little surprise waiting to be revealed. A gift to be unwrapped. It will drive Michael wild once he discovers you're wearing it, and your heart skips a beat when you think about the things he would do to you.

With your hair tied back and the butterfly earrings adorning your ears, you take a moment to apply the bold red lipstick. A bold lip goes a long way, Sarah once said, and she stands firmly by that. Lipstick often wears off after a while, but she got you one that is actually kiss-safe; Michael would kiss you even with lipgloss on, but you don't want to annoy him with the taste too much.

Looking at your reflection one last time, you feel confident.

Taking a deep breath, you grab your phone and keys, slipping them into the cross-body bag. For a night, you can allow yourself to let go just a little and enjoy yourself with the man you love.

Love. It's still such a big word and it feels weird to even think about it, but at the same time the thought alone fills you with endless warmth and you can't believe he is yours, and he has vowed to be yours now.

At nine exactly, there is a knock on your door. You take a deep breath. This feels like your first-ever date and you’re nervous, but you’re also excited. This is new for both of you, but you are determined to make it work.

When you open the door, Michael stands there wearing his best black jacket, the tight-fitting green sweater underneath that he wore the first time you met and a pair of jeans that hug him just right. His hair is messy, but in a way that seems wanted. He seems to have trimmed his beard and he’s wearing clean shoes instead of his dirty boots tonight.

He cleans up nicely, and he looks good. He is a sight to behold and your cheeks flush bright red at the sight of him.

What makes it worse though is the bouquet of daisies and beautiful violets in his hands. He’s not carrying classical roses or tulips; the bouquet is colorful and adorned with the sweetest flowers you know, and the scent hits you just right.

Your heart skips a beat. He remembered little details about you that you don’t even consciously notice about yourself, and if that isn’t a silent gesture to tell you how much he loves you, you don’t know what is. Telling you the truth must have taken him a lot of courage, and he might struggle to do so again, which you understand, but he’s showing it to you and that’s more than enough.

Michael’s jaw drops when he sees you. His lips carry a small smile of surprise, his cheeks soon matching your color as he takes in the sight of you, shamelessly checking you out. The flowers quiver in his hands and he has to refrain from throwing them aside, pushing you back into your apartment, and fucking you right there against the wall.

“Wow,” he exhales.

You return the sentiment, subconsciously reaching out to touch one of the violets that are pointed in your direction. “Wow,” you murmur.

“You look…” He licks his lips, struggling to find a word that conveys your beauty. He’s awestruck, and his mind stops functioning.

He was stupid enough to plan a whole speech to make this night perfect, but you stole his breath and now he can’t seem to get it back. You’ve stolen all of him, but he loves that because that means he is yours – body, mind, and soul – and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wasn’t sure where we’re going and you said to dress comfortably, not to dress up, but then I didn’t feel comfortable just wearing something random, and you said comfortable, so I tried out a few things, called Sarah, and… here I am.” You open your arms, awkwardly showing off your whole outfit to him. “I hope it’s enough,” you say.

He blinks a few times, his mouth opening and closing. He looks like a computer trying to reboot after a circuit failure. You watch him, your eyebrows furrowed. Does he not like it? You put a lot of effort into your outfit — Sarah did, anyway. You feel pretty, but what if he doesn’t think so?

You would never let your worth be defined by a man, let alone him, but it would hurt a little because you wanted to look good for both of you tonight. You wanted him to enjoy looking at you as if you were a meal he can’t resist. You take his silence as a bad sign, insecurities eating away at you, until he finally snaps out of his trance when he sees hurt flash across your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says.

Maybe you were expecting the worst, after all. Your blush deepens out of embarrassment this time, looking down at your feet to hide it.

“Oh, and... I, uh... got these for ya," he stammers, realizing he forgot to mention the flowers. “I dunno if they're your favorite, but... I noticed you like violets and daisies 'cause ya have a lot of scented things…” He offers the bouquet to you. “Couldn’t exactly get ya a vanilla plant.”

Well done, Michael. He internally curses himself for the stupid joke. But then you laugh and his worries fade away.

“First date means flowers, right? Or so I’ve heard. I’m not up-to-date on date culture. Is tha’... Is tha’ what they call it? Date culture?”

You only start laughing more.

The lighthearted tone brings a smile to his face. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter, but it still fills the room with its song and his heart with warmth.

“First date, date culture, whatever you want to call it,” you say after calming down, and you take the flowers from him with a smile. “And these flowers... they're perfect, Michael. Thank you.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. “I'm glad you like them,” he says. “I was worried I got the wrong ones or somethin'.”

You delicately hold the vibrant blooms in your hands, tracing the petals with your fingers. You get lost in thought for a moment before turning back to him. “They're exactly what I needed. And what I wanted. No one…” you trail off, your chest heaving with a sigh. “No one’s gotten me flowers before,” you admit. “So, thank you.”

Michael's cheeks turn a shade of pink, matching the color of the flowers in your hands. “I... I wanted to make tonight special. I know we're both new at this, but I want it to be a night to remember. And yer so beautiful, you deserve all the flowers.”

Your eyes crinkle. “I'm already having a night to remember.”

“I'm glad,” he says, matching your soft smile. “So…” He switches between the bouquet and your face, and you take it as a hint to put them aside. “Should we go? I, uh, have a surprise for ya.”

His smile looks genuine and you love how the happiness defines his dimples and magnifies the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the hazel of his irises glows like fire whenever he smiles.

You nod. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

As you make your way out of your apartment complex, he takes your hand in the chilly night air, offering you warmth and something to hold onto, and you make your way down the street, away from the gas station that has given you one too many sleepless nights. He walks close to you as if to shield you from any possible danger, and every so often you look at him to find him peeking over his shoulder behind you.

“What are you looking for?” you ask eventually, growing a little uneasy yourself.

Michael chuckles softly, his breath creating a small cloud in the cool air. “Just makin' sure nobody's followin' us,” he tells you. “Can't be too careful, can we?”

His nerves are playing cruel tricks on him. Alone the thought of missing something and getting you hurt makes his blood run cold, and he urges you to walk a little faster to get out of the darkest part of town somewhere he knows no one has stationed any suppliers that interact with him or his family – and that is where you are safest.

You walk for a while in silence. Time continues passing by, the night air brushing through your hair and his own, creating a cool yet gentle atmosphere around you. He squeezes your hand for warmth as you continue.

Eventually, you come to a stop. You can hear the faint sound of music and laughter in the distance, and you crane your neck to get a better view, but Michael’s hands soon cover your eyes.

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he whispers in your ear, “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” you murmur, grabbing onto his wrists.

“Ya’ll like this one, trust me.”

You trust him to walk you toward your destination, but you’re weary about his coordination skills. You feel helpless with your eyes covered. After a few steps, you relax a little, but it’s still unsettling.

“You ready?” he asks you then.

You nod eagerly. “Just show me already.”

The laughing and music get louder, followed by high-pitched ringing and the smell of popcorn, corndogs, and candy floss.

You giggle when he presses his lips to the back of your neck, trying to pull the hands away from your eyes. “Where are–” you begin, but then he allows you to open your eyes and you’re so surprised, you forget what you wanted to ask.

In front of you, there is a small carnival. It’s so small, you can overlook it from inside, but the lights are brighter than ever, shining in different hues of red, blue, green, orange, and purple and other variations of the color wheel. Music is playing in different parts, but it all blends well. There is an auto scooter in the middle, a Ferris Wheel at the end, different booths with games and food, and you can make out some smaller carousels for children.

Glitter is strewn around, feathers of boas pass by you, and you see a clown somewhere. Balloon animals are being made in one corner while in the other, a couple is laughing loudly as they get out of the bumper car area. There is also a faster ride with spinning teacups and a freefall tower, but there is not much more to it.

This is probably the tamest carnival you have ever seen, but the scenery is breathtaking. The music is phenomenal. You find yourself in awe of the lights and the artworks painted on the attractions. You love the layout of the booths, as far as you can see them, and the photo booth catches your eye; you haven’t seen one of these in a while.

Your heart swells as memories flood over you, but they’re kind and they’re somewhat happy, and you realize that this is an escape like the one you sought when you were a child. For many, this is an escape right now.

You’re not sure what’s more beautiful, the lights or Michael, but you have to settle for the man beside you because his eyes are just as wide, but not because of what he sees inside the carnival, he’s only looking at you.

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, still looking around. Your lips curl into a smile. You squeal. You feel like a teenager again. “Michael, this is–” There are no words to describe how nostalgia makes you feel.

He smiles shyly. “Ya like it?” he asks.

“Like it? I–” You stare at him, your mouth still agape. Without a word, you step forward and press your lips against his.

Michael kisses back, his arms coming to wrap around your waist. Music and laughter blend into the background. It’s just the two of you right now, illuminated by the color-changing lights and the comfort of your lips.

You break apart breathlessly after a few seconds. “I…” you shake your head in disbelief. “I love it. I love you.” The most childish giggle escapes your lips. “But you’re fucking mad!”

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Why am I mad?”

“Because… because you brought me here. To a mini carnival.” You emphasize the size, but the way you say it makes it sound cute. “In the middle of the night with all of the lights,” you say, “It’s truly beautiful. You are beautiful. This…” You break apart, opening your arms as if to show him the obvious. “This is beautiful.”

The sounds of laughter and music from the carnival blend with the pounding of your heart. He leans back in. “I wanted to create a moment tha' was just for us, somethin' that would make you feel like a kid again. And seein' that smile on yer face, knowin' that I could bring you joy like this... it means the world to me.”

“You're insane in the best possible way,” you repeat. “Who else would think of a mini carnival as a surprise?”

He brushes his thumb gently against your cheek. “I love you too, more than words can express,” he whispers, the carnival almost drowning out his voice. “And seein' ya happy like this, it's all I ever wanted. Means mission accomplished.”

You find yourself lost in his eyes, the vibrant lights of the carnival reflecting in them. “You're beautiful,” you whisper back. “Thank you so much.”

He kisses you softly again, this time making sure to savor every moment. You break apart with a mischievous glimmer in your eye, grabbing his hand, and you tug him playfully toward the entrance. “Come on now! Let's have some fun.”

He lowers his head with a chuckle before allowing you to drag him with you into the carnival, his heart a million pounds lighter now that he is with you.

Michael pays for the tickets, and he pays for the drinks you get once you enter because you wouldn’t admit that you’re thirsty, so he forces you to have something to drink before you pass out in the crowded space.

Surprisingly, it’s not as crowded as you expected. There is a lack of children because it’s the middle of the week and they’re all asleep in their beds, and the teenagers that are there to waste their time away don’t bother anyone but themselves. You see a few couples walking around, but there are not that many people, and it offers you and Michael some time just for yourselves. It’s almost as if he planned it to be this empty, and maybe he did, but if he did, you appreciate his efforts because you hate crowds, anyway.

Seeing the flashing lights and listening to the high-pitched noise of some of the attractions, you wearily roam your eyes over Michael’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“Are you sure we should be here?” you ask.

He frowns. “Why?”

“Your seizures…”

He says your name, pulling you into his arms as you stop in front of one of the most colorful rides. The passengers in the wagon get tossed around and they’re all laughing, even though you know the plastic can hurt. It’s a lot of fun, you remember.

“Can we please not talk about tha’ tonight?” he says. “Please? I just want to have a good night with ya. Just you and me and forget about everythin’ else. Can we do that?”

Your eyes soften, your hand coming up to rest on his cheeks. “I’m just worried,” you say.

Flashing lights and loud noises are triggers for epileptic seizures. He doesn’t know what he has, but his seizures paint a picture of their own, and without medication, he could get triggered. You don’t want him to get hurt when you’re supposed to be having fun. But you also don’t want him to feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him. He knows his body and condition probably better than you do because you can’t feel what he’s feeling. You’re simply worried, and his eyes tell you that he knows, but he still doesn’t like to dwell on it.

“I’m okay,” he assures you. “I’d tell ya if I wasn’t, but lights… lights usually don’t give me seizures. I can ride rollercoasters and all of tha’, I think. It’s… I don’t know, it happens when I’m– I’m stressed. Hasn’t happened anywhere else before, so I’m alright.”

You sigh. He wouldn’t lie to you after telling you the truth, you know that. And maybe it’s good that you know in case something happens, but you hope it won’t.

“I love you.” You lean in to brush your lips over his.

He brings his lips to your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss on the skin there. “I love ya too,” he says.

“So… you won’t mind if we ride that thing over there?”

Following the line your finger is pointing, Michael’s eyes widen visibly when you point to the moving teacups on the platform a little further away. They continuously keep spinning, and he can already feel himself getting nauseous at the thought.

“Oh!” you exclaim happily when you see the free-fall tower so close to you. “Or that one?”

His eyes are still wide in shock when he stares back at you. “I thought we were gonna ride bumper cars,” he says, “not… not defy death.”

You burst out laughing. “What, as if you’re afraid of carnival rides?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Wait. Michael Kinsella, are you afraid of carnival rides? Or is it heights? Don’t tell me it’s heights.”

He blushes. “That thing falls!” he tries to defend himself as he points toward the tower. “And that one…” he can’t find the words for the spinning tea cups because they just look ridiculous. “Teacups don’t spin,” he says. “And towers are not supposed to… fall.”

Your laughter turns into a soft, teasing giggle as you pull him close and kiss him. The kiss is tender and he melts under your touch, though the fear in his veins remains. When he decided to take you there he was thinking about riding the things Anna used to ride when she was little like bumper cars, a carousel, or the Ferris wheel, not whatever you just pointed out to him. He always steered clear of that.

“Michael Kinsella, part of the most dangerous crime family in Dublin,” you sigh dramatically, “and he is afraid of carnival rides.”

That makes him seem so human, all you can do is pinch his cheeks and kiss him all over.

“Don’t judge me.” Michael pouts at you. “I’m not a fan. I like bumper cars though.”

His smile warms your heart. It looks giddy, a little shy, maybe, but it’s an honest smile.

“I like bumper cars too,” you say. “Perhaps we should try that out then.”

“Yeah.”

“And then we could ride… the carousel with the little animals as wagons?”

“Mhm.”

“Ferris wheel?”

“Only if ya hold my hand,” he says.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours already as you make your way to the bumper car area. “That can be managed, my dear.”

The sounds of laughter and the aroma of carnival treats fill the air, heightening the atmosphere.

“You wanna drive with me?” you ask when it's your turn.

He smirks and shakes his head. What you didn't expect was for him, who claims he doesn't have a license, to be so good at bumper cars – and then you remember that he might have lost it and that he knows how to drive, he just isn't allowed to, and in that case, it makes you competitive.

You and Michael strap yourselves into separate cars, your eyes focused on each other. Your cars are several rows apart, but you can make out each other just fine, and he looks as if he's about to destroy you. As the ride starts with a blaring song through the speakers, he maneuvers his car with surprising skill, finding you and bumping straight into your car. You gasp, blowing the hair out of your face.

“You're going to regret that,” you say.

Hitting the gas pedal, you chase after him now, the people in your way disappearing as you bump them out of the way to back him into a corner. And you manage to do so until he puts the car into reverse and bumps you back.

“Rude!” You bump him right back.

He laughs. “Not so smart now, huh?” he retorts.

“Oh, fuck off!”

“You first!”

You keep chasing each other around the track until you’re both laughing like maniacs. The cars come to a halt and you struggle to get the seatbelt off after being tossed around so much.

Michael, ever the gentleman, offers you his hand and helps you out of the vehicle. You poke his tongue out at him, but you take it anyway.

After the first ride, you make your way to the carousel, hand in hand. The colorful lights and the gentle music create a magical ambiance as you choose your favorite animal to ride. You both simultaneously point out the unicorn, and it feels like you're mentally connected in a way. You find comfort in the simplicity of the carousel, the feeling of the wind in your hair, and the warmth of Michael's hand in yours.

He watches you as you lean back, closing your eyes and simply enjoying it like the few kids in the wagons around you. It's a moment spent in absolute silence, and you wouldn't have it any other way. In this world, it is just the two of you, and you are having the time of your lives. All the worries fade into the background, overshadowed by the comfort of each other's arms.

Finally, after another ride with the carousel, you reach the Ferris wheel, the grand centerpiece of the carnival. It is much smaller than the London Eye, obviously, but you prefer it that way. As you step into the gondola and the wheel starts moving, Michael clasps your hand.

The metal feels unstable under him, and it is a lot shakier than the stable gondolas in a bigger Ferris wheel, but you find that to be the beauty of it. With a soft chuckle, you squeeze his hand and encourage him to place his head on your shoulder until you have reached the top.

“Don't laugh,” he says with a pout, and you try not to, but the thought of Michael Kinsella having a fear of heights still amuses you.

The view from the top is breathtaking, to say the least. You nudge him to open his eyes and take a look around Dublin with you, the city lights forming little blobs on the night sky, and you can make out the river as the moon reflects off it. The stars barely stand a chance against downtown, but once you turn around and look in the direction where nature is, you can make out the different constellations, and you point out Orion to him.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” says Michael, but when you turn to him, he is looking directly at you. “The sight is truly breathtakin’.”

You blush, turning your head away, but he catches your chin and pulls you back toward him.

“Don’t look away from me…”

You shiver at the sound of his voice. “Sorry.”

He strokes your cheek, then your jawline before resting his hand on your throat, feeling your pulse jump at his subtle touch, and then he finally leans in to kiss you. With the stars in the background and the city in the distance alive and bustling, you find yourself enveloped in your bubble again.

As you kiss under the stars for the first time, illuminated by the colorful lights of the carnival high atop the Ferris wheel, you continue falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourself in the moment, in the gentle caress of his lips against yours. With each passing second, your hearts beat more and more in harmony, aligning like the planets that make the stars.

As you break apart, breathless and filled with a sense of wonder, Michael stares at you.

“I never want this moment to end,” he says.

You smile, tracing the outline of his nose. “Me neither,” you say.

“You remind me of a star.”

“Why?”

“Because yer bright… and you fill me with wonder.”

“Wonder?”

“Yeah, wonder.” He kisses you again even softer. “I’m just mesmerized by ya.”

“Good,” you smile, “because I feel the same way about you.”

The Ferris wheel shakes, and your moment is torn in two as Michael grabs onto your arm. You try not to laugh, but you fail miserably.

“And we’re goin’ down,” he says.

You look away, but your laugh reaches his ears, and he pouts all the way down, making sure you feel every last bit of his displeasure. But you can’t help it; the sight is too adorable not to laugh.

Passing by the many booths littered along the carnival as you walk away from the Ferris wheel, you notice one with particularly fluffy stuffed animals lined along the walls.

“I’ve always wanted one,” you point out. “Had a small one as a kid, but I… lost it.”

He looks at you and then the teddy bears you’re pointing at. It’s one of these games where you get a rifle and have to shoot a target – but it’s not real; it’s filled with air. He bites his cheek, then grins at you.

“What?”

He tugs at your arm as he pulls you along toward the booth.

“Hey,” he greets the owner. “I’d like ta take a shot at winnin’ that bear up there. The big one?”

The man eyes him curiously, then looks behind him to see you. “She belong to ya?” he asks.

Michael doesn’t like the way he’s looking at you. His eyes darken, and his fingers brush the rifle. If those held real bullets, he would give the man the fright of his life. Still, he takes it and charges it expertly, his attention focused on him.

The man’s eyes switch from you to him, Michael’s sour smile almost taking him out. He looks dangerous with his jaw clenched and hand wrapped around a gun that wasn’t meant to hurt anyone, but he could make it work if he wanted to.

“If my girl wants a teddy bear,” Michael says, “I’m winnin’ her a teddy bear. Now, may I take my shots, sir?”

You’re not surprised when he hits all targets on the first try. The owner of the booth didn’t see it coming, but you are more than happy when he takes down the biggest teddy bear and hands it to you. His hand is shaking.

Michael winks, pulling him down further when he hands the gun back. “If ya ever look at another woman the same way ya just looked at my girlfriend again in yer miserable life,” he says, his voice bordering on a growl, and his eyes bore into the man’s, “trust me that I’ll come back here with a real gun and make sure it’s the last time ya ever lay eyes or yer dirty little fingers on one again. Ya don’t wanna mess with me. We clear?”

He swallows, all color fading from his skin.

“I asked ya somethin’–“ Michael’s fist collides with the counter, but it’s a silent collision that only catches the attention of the one it needs to; you seem oblivious, even though maybe a little curious. “D’ya hear me?” he repeats. “I won’t tell ya twice. The next time, ya won’t be so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Yeah, got tha’,” the man is quick to respond. “I’m sorry, I–“

“Shut up. Just let her have the teddy bear and move on.”

I get dangerously angry, sometimes, when someone touches what’s mine.

He is not a mind reader, but Michael knew from the moment the at least sixty-year-old man first stared at you he would have done something if he hadn’t been there. And then someone could have bought his hands off the dark web after Michael would have cut them off with a dull knife.

Michael offers the man a big smile and wishes him a good night before taking your hand and the teddy bear and pulling you away from the possible danger he saw in him.

“What was that about?” you ask, curious about what could have conspired between the two men.

It didn’t look friendly and neither did it sound like it, but you were too focused on your new stuffed animal to really pay attention. And you don’t really care, anyway. Michael must have had his reasons.

He simply presses a kiss on your temple instead of answering and says, “Nothin’. All good here. Let’s take a walk.”

You walk the last few meters in silence, your arms hugged around your new toy and his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. The silence isn’t uncomfortable or loaded. You’re enjoying each other's company without disturbing it with words.

After a while, Michael contemplates, his eyebrows furrowing before he looks up at you and admits, “I used to bring Anna here all the time when she was little.”

You meet his eyes. “You did?” you ask.

“Yeah, she, uh, loved bumper cars and everythin’ that was blinkin’, so…” he smiles to himself. “The guys from the carnival come here every few months, and it’s always been a happy place fer us, so I thought it could be yours, too. Ours, maybe. I don’t know.”

You used to take Maya to carnivals all the time when she was younger. It was your way of getting a few hours of freedom without fights or violence, and you always made sure to check out all the rides and win stuffed animals. You ate your way through half of the booths and came out with a sugar rush, but every night was worth it.

His confession weighs heavily on you because even the happiest memories are now overshadowed by a different kind of memory, and it causes the muscles around your heart to contract in agony.

“I’m sure she loved it,” you say with a soft smile, even though the smile is fake.

“She did,” he says, and he grows a bit quieter now, too.

To lighten the mood, you tug at his arm and point toward the photo booth. “What do you say we try that next?”

He frowns. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Deadly.”

“I don’t usually take photos of myself. I hate ‘em.”

“But it’s not just you, is it?” you say. Your eyes crinkle again. “Please? Just a few pictures of the two of us together? And Mister Bear?” You use the teddy’s hand to wave at him.

Michael chuckles. “Mister Bear?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s his name. If you don’t want to take a picture with me, I will trade you for him as my cuddle buddy.”

He raises his eyebrows at your playful threat. The smirk gives you away, but he still fears you might replace him for the stuffed animal in the end if he doesn’t comply. “Alright,” he caves, “let’s take some pictures of us. But I can’t promise they’re gonna be good.”

You pull him into the photo booth with an excited giggle. “You always look good.”

“Beg to differ.”

“Beg all you want, it’s not gonna get you out of this one,” you say.

You get five pictures in a row – five attempts at striking the poses you want to in the small booth.

During the first shot, Michael manages to look particularly grimy, so for the second one, you decide to force the teddy bear in his face, which makes him laugh just as the flash goes off. Then, for the next one, you lean your head against his shoulder and smile, and he has never looked more endearing. You decide to do a silly pose for the fourth one, and he joins in, now feeling less serious about himself. As you stare into each other’s eyes for the three-second break, you let the inner urge take over and kiss him on the lips just as the flash goes off and captures the moment between you.

Walking out of the booth, Michael is quick to catch the photo strips to be the first one to look at them; thankfully, you get two versions, so you both each get to carry the memory of that day with you.

He smiles when he sees the pictures, he genuinely smiles, and he puts the strip into his wallet where there is an empty photo slot.

“We look cute,” you say, pointing at the last picture. “Especially in that one.”

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We do look cute when we kiss, don’t we?” he says.

“We do, indeed. But not just when we kiss. We always look cute.”

“Sure, always.”

You store it away in your cross-body bag, not wanting it to get ruined by dirt or accidentally lose it.

You are about ready to make your way to the exit when he checks the time on his watch and stops you in your tracks by calling your name. “I have one more surprise for tonight,” he says.

“One more surprise?” you ask.

“Yeah, one more. C’mon.”

“What is it?”

“If I told ya, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“But I hate surprises.”

He repeats his words from long before with a smile, not a smirk, “Yer gonna like this one.”

As you settle in the grass on a small hill that connects directly to the carnival, you watch the last few people pass by before it closes. Your teddy bear is nestled comfortably against a tree as you and Michael lie next to each other. It might seem weird, but there is something intimate about how you cradle each other’s cheeks and stare into each other’s eyes as if the person you have been looking for all your lives is finally next to you – in your case, that is.

In the distance, a fire is being lit, and soon enough, colorful fireworks explode above your head. It catches you both off guard. Your eyes widen, mesmerized by the beauty of it all. The night sky is alive with color now, and you get lost in it.

“Michael,” you breathe.

He follows your gaze and watches the fireworks explode in front of the stars he compared you to. “I know,” he says.

There is something special about fireworks. The different colors and shapes lure you in, and everyone views it as a spectacle.

Fireworks, with their fleeting nature, teach you to appreciate the transient beauty of life and to treasure the moments of joy that come your way. They are seen as means to celebrate, not just milestones but life itself, and every human being is drawn to it. Explosions are only pretty if they're fireworks. Humans find beauty in disaster.

Fireworks, with their dazzling display of colors and patterns, evoke a sense of wonder, allowing us to momentarily escape from the complexities of life and immerse ourselves in the beauty of the moment.

You fill him with wonder, too. You fill him with all the good feelings and he’s always floating on cloud nine when he’s with you.

Curling into his side, you place your head on his chest, watching the fireworks continue their dance on the black canvas.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Tonight was… the best night of my life.”

Michael wraps an arm around you. “And it was mine, too,” he says.

“I don’t want it to be over.”

“We can stay as long as ya want, my love.”

“Watching the fireworks?”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “‘Til they’re over,” he assures you, “every last one of ‘em.”

You snuggle closer with a content sigh. “Sounds perfect to me.”

As the fireworks continue, he holds you close to his heart, making sure you’re warm and taken care of, and you find yourself letting go in his embrace. His arms form a protective shield around you, protecting you from the world and the pain that always seems to come back to haunt both of you. But love has been known since the beginning of time to keep us alive; lying on the grass in each other’s arms is all you need, and your love exceeds all expectations either of you had for the future.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #chaos theory #reader insert #x reader

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rollercoasterwords · 9 months

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Hi! I found your blog through the female rage substack article that you posted and I’m curious about a couple things (so I hope the tone of this ask will read as genuine/non-confrontational etc).

I really liked the article and the anti-gender essentialist content, so I looked through the others and eventually found your jegulus article (which I read and also liked) but I was sort of surprised to see that you are a part of the hp/marauders fandom. For me personally, everything related to that franchise has just been tainted since the whole jkr terf debacle really took off. I was big on hp when I was younger and wolfstar is a ship/dynamic that I enjoyed back then, so I’d probably like your stuff if I were to read it. But I decided some time ago to give any and all hp content the chop, because to me it didn’t feel right to engage with it anymore. So I was just wondering how you feel in that regard, if you don’t mind sharing. I don’t have anyone in my internet content circle that still actively posts about hp and if irl friends still enjoy it then it’s not something we talk about, so I’d just like to know how you juggle the ‘two sides’ in that sense of your trans-positive/anti-essentialist beliefs and fandom content that’s still so intrinsically connected to jkr and her politics. (Also, sorry if you’ve answered a question like this before. I scrolled through your blog a bit, but if yes then not far enough.)

Anyway, hope you’re well and I’ll probably keep an eye out for any future essays on your substack even if I don’t follow you on here. cheers! (and thanks for the “playing the whore” book rec, I’ll be looking into that. a rec from my end would be paul b. preciado's "can the monster speak". it's the written version of a speech he tried to give at a Freudian psychoanalysis conference about the position trans people occupy in psychoanalysis before being booed off stage. it was short and pretty intriguing, in case you're interested/haven't heard of it yet.)

hi! happy 2 hear u enjoyed the female rage essay--i wasn't expecting it to spread as much as it did + had to turn off reblogs for my own peace of mind 2 keep terfs away from my blog, but it's nice to know there are still people getting something out of it. also appreciate the book rec--that definitely sounds up my alley + i'm excited to check it out!

and i'll do my best to answer your question about hp, but i'm gonna put it under a cut because i know this is a contentious topic + i have a feeling my answer's gonna get long--so if anyone doesn't want 2 read abt my conflicting hp-fandom thoughts, just scroll away please xx

so, quite honestly, i'm in agreement with you that the entire franchise is tainted by jkr. the truth is that it was never really my intention to join the fandom--i read a single fic because it went viral on tiktok, then decided to rewrite the fic from another character's pov just for fun. at that point, i hadn't read any other hp fic and had never been involved in any kind of online fandom space, and although i'd read the hp books + watched the movies growing up i hadn't touched them in years + was so far removed from the franchise that i vaguely remembered hearing jkr had said some terfy stuff, but wasn't aware of the extent to which her politics were like. actively and significantly causing real-life harm.

anyway, i'd done a rewrite for fun of another story i liked and had posted it on ao3, and that had received a handful of people commenting + talking about the story with me as i wrote but had remained pretty self-contained + small. i was expecting the same sort of thing with the hp fic i rewrote, but instead someone posted about it on tiktok and it went viral, and then suddenly there were thousands of people reading every ch update and hundreds of comments. like i said, i had never been involved in an online fandom space before, so i sort of awkwardly stumbled into it and tried to figure out what i was doing as i finished up writing the fic. this was at a point in my life where i'd recently moved to a different country and had to go back in the closet after being publicly out for years, and this online fandom space became my only queer community and a bit of a lifeline in that way. i started making actual friends and talking to people + getting more deeply involved in the community aspect of things.

at the same time, i started actually educating myself on jkr + her politics + her impact, and the more i learned the more uncomfortable i became with being part of anything hp-related. now, i've been writing hp fic for almost two years and 'active' in the fandom for ~one and a half, and despite being grateful for the friends i've made and treasuring the space i've been able to cultivate, i've become increasingly disenchanted with 'the fandom' as a whole and have increasingly found it to be a hostile space, so i've sort of taken a step back from broader engagement and more + more have limited my interaction to just my mutuals here on tumblr. unfortunately, i think many of the 'bad parts' of this fandom are somewhat built-in because of the source material; there are a lot of people who agree with jkr's politics to varying extents and that can make it kind of a miserable place to be sometimes. i know many people insist that hp can be completely removed from jkr, but i don't think that's the case, and i've talked on my blog before about the fact that her politics are built into the very foundations of the text, so i think it's necessary to acknowledge her influence if we want to actually engage with hp at all in a way that isn't just perpetuating her politics.

all that being said, the point i'm at currently is that i'm not really sure that this fandom is a space i want to be a part of forever. again--i understand how it can be lifeline for some people and a queer community they might not have elsewhere, because that's been the case for me. but for me personally, as much as i value my own carved-out space, it doesn't completely outweigh the negatives that i have found myself coming into contact with more and more in this fandom. writing hp fic is also something that i keep strictly separate from 'real life,' contained solely in this online space, because i know that any engagement with hp is a red flag for many, many trans people and i don't want to bring it outside of this space. within this online space, i don't keep it a secret that i write hp fic; it's right at the top of my blog so that anyone who wants to can easily block and unfollow me. i only post my fics on ao3, where they are clearly tagged as harry potter fanfiction, and i only post about hp fic + fandom stuff on this blog, which was specifically created for that purpose. i've requested that people no longer post about my hp fics on platforms like tiktok where the algorithm could send it out onto anyone's fyp, and that request is also in my pinned faq. keeping my hp fic as contained as possible to only people who are already engaging with hp fic is one way that i try to mitigate any harm that might be caused by my fics contributing to hp's ongoing popularity.

the other ways i try to mitigate potential harm are by actively discouraging people from giving any financial support to hp + jkr and by being very vocal about my politics on this page, so that anyone who is following me will be getting pro-trans and anti-gender essentialism politics along with any hp engagement. i also don't engage with hp uncritically; i am specifically critical of the shitty politics in the books both in my posts on this blog and my fics themselves. i don't make it a secret that i think the books are politically rotten all the way down through to the foundations.

none of this is to say that there's, like...a Right Way to engage with this content or a set of rules that, if followed, Absolve All Shittiness. this is just an explanation of the personal evaluations i've had to weigh when it comes to deciding how i'm going to interact with content that is fundamentally opposed to my own politics. and again, i don't blame people who think that any amount of engagement is morally untenable and completely block it out. this is a growing source of cognitive dissonance in my own life, and i'm increasingly considering whether/for how much longer i want to continue to write fic + be involved in hp fandom. but for the time being, i'm still here + still writing fic, and i guess my feeling is that any harm that fic causes is a drop in the bucket, and even if i were to stop writing it wouldn't necessarily have a huge impact either way. i'm just some random guy online like everyone else; even though i talk about politics, that doesn't mean that i'm asking to be held up as some sort of moral standard, nor do i think anyone should be expected to be 100% politically perfect in every action they take--like, for me, writing hp fic kind of falls into the same category as like...eating mcdonalds even though i think factory farming is fucked, or buying + wearing makeup sometimes even though i think the beauty industry is fundamentally corrupt, or paying to see the new guardians of the galaxy movie in theaters even though i think marvel movies are us military propaganda. i don't think "no ethical consumption under capitalism" is an excuse to completely abandon any attempt to mitigate the harm our actions might cause, but it does matter to me the way in which someone is engaging with a fundamentally broken/corrupt piece of media beyond simply whether or not they're engaging at all. at the end of the day, it's up to everyone on their own to evaluate where they draw the line on hp, and i am not looking to make that judgment for anybody else considering that my own thoughts + feeling about it are still changing.

#ask

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

busted in busan

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k a/n; for @suhdays holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.”

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh.

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans.

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea.

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease.

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile.

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head.

“Will the weather let up?” A frown.

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive.

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him.

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment.

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter.

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first.

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.”

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.”

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down.

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care.

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.”

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him.

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.”

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.”

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.”

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?”

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.”

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line.

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot.

“Nah, been booked since last month.”

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?”

He pats his luggage as a response.

“That’s not fair!”

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.”

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.”

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face.

“You want my ticket,” he states.

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle.

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those!

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks.

“Who said I was offering?”

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?”

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides.

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake.

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.”

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate.

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10.

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy.

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes.

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes.

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.”

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?”

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.”

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—”

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain.

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard.

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not.

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good.

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell.

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things.

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer?

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price.

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice.

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.”

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?”

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution.

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.”

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.”

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.”

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.”

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks.

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.”

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut.

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty.

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh.

You huff, and shift in your seat.

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply.

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.”

“Why, I’m engaged!”

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.”

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind.

“Holy fuck, have you two not—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!”

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing.

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle.

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.”

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position.

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to.

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months.

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.”

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you.

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—”

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman.

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger.

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that.

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses.

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to.

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook.

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams.

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow.

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside.

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible.

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat.

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van.

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back.

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them.

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off.

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet.

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously.

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots.

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint.

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure.

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey.

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?”

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.”

“Do you drive around a lot?”

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.”

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach.

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain.

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.”

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute.

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening.

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!”

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.”

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.”

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose.

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?”

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.”

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like.

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize: are you flirting with Jungkook?

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell.

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind.

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.”

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?”

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.”

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—”

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.”

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air.

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car.

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt.

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?”

“Wait, you have a crush on me?”

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.”

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.”

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.”

That singular statement hits you, hard.

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs.

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.”

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself.

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable.

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow.

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route.

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.”

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath.

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer.

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours.

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours.

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?”

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.”

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook?

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk.

There’s no drugs.

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell.

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real.

Jungkook’s an artist.

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?”

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you.

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.”

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced.

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it.

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart.

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him.

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow.

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway.

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it.

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents.

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.”

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours.

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.”

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door.

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed.

It’s been a day.

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him.

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought.

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face.

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed.

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks.

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake.

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox.

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.”

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.”

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.”

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.”

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, I think I’m in love.”

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.”

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.”

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.”

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin.

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you.

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back.

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.”

“Impossible!”

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family.

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.”

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door.

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers.

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him.

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window.

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him.

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.”

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.”

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself.

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.”

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible.

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.”

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.”

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.”

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch.

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking.

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown.

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.”

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.”

“Will you rile me up now?”

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.”

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell.

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath.

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—”

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.”

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner.

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

Moment || Aaron Hotchner x gn Reader

A/N: hiiii besties expanding on a lil prompt from the weekend due to popular demand! Thank you to @the-modernmary for helping me with it!! If u liked this teeny bit of angst u will love her fics!!

just a little note for those of you who read The Right: I am going on vacation this coming Saturday-Wednesday. I will have the chapters queued to post for y’all, but I will not be able to respond to taglist requests or update the masterlist until I come back! Still let me know what you think about the chapters though, they’re some good ones! ok onto this fic.

contains: slight cursing, alcohol consumption

wc: 1.7k

You take a deep breath as you walk out of Strauss’s office, taking exactly one beat to regain your composure before hastily making your way over to Hotch’s office, letting yourself in without knocking.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you said by way of greeting as you crossed his office and settled into one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Tell you what?” Hotch asks, looking up from his paperwork with confusion knit across his brow.

“That Strauss was going to harangue me the second I walked into the building this morning. I seriously didn’t even make it past security before she nabbed me.” You told him, disgruntled.

“I didn’t know. What did she want?” Aaron asks, and you look up and see that he’s telling the truth-- he really didn’t know.

“Oh… I assumed she would have cleared it with you before she asked me.” You said, your boisterous energy deflating the longer you sat in the chair.

“Is she pulling you for undercover work? She always does that, and she never asks if we have anything coming up or what your consult workload is--”

“No, Hotch. She’s, uh, she’s not pulling me for undercover work.”

“What is it?”

“She said the director tapped me to lead the field office in Vegas.” You confessed, looking up and seeing the air leave Aaron’s chest.

“Wow.” Aaron says, blinking.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“And you’re going to take it?” He asked.

“I told her that I needed some time to think about it.” You answer him.

“What’s there to think about?” He wonders.

There’s a moment where you think you might actually roll your eyes at him. There’s a moment where you consider begging him to give you a reason to stay. There’s a moment where you consider crossing the desk and depositing yourself in his lap, kissing him with the weight of all of the feelings that had you wanting to stay.

But, after a moment, you realize that none of that’s happening. He’s sitting across from you, looking at you like you’d be the biggest fool in the world not to take advantage of this opportunity, and maybe he was right. Maybe you would spend the rest of your life wanting him one-sidedly, wondering what good you could have done for the world if you had simply accepted that he’d never love you back.

“Nothing,” you answered, after a moment. “There’s absolutely nothing to think about at all.”

****************************

Aaron’s barely even distracted when you swing his door open and plop yourself into one of his chairs first thing in the morning. He’s used to it, by now. He may have been a less-than-willing participant in your friendship at the beginning of your relationship, but now he was glad to call you someone he was close to. His closest friend, really.

His ears perk up when you mention Strauss. “Is she pulling you for undercover work?’ He starts to rant, already planning the tirade he’s going to deliver to Erin when he notices your demeanor change. You’re… shy, all of a sudden. You’ve never hidden from him before. He doesn’t like it.

“She said the director tapped me for the field director position in Vegas,” You revealed. The sentence hit him like a punch in the gut.

“Wow,” is all he can manage to get out, fighting the way his throat threatens to close up. “And you’re going to take it?” He asks, although he knows the answer will break his heart.

“I told her I needed some time to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?’ He asked, allowing himself to hope for a moment that you’ll make some grand confession, to imagine for a moment that you might possibly feel the same way he does, to believe for a moment that he’s worthy of your love. But he’s not.

“Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing to think about at all,” you tell him, standing up and leaving with a forced casualness.

Aaron had been married long enough to know that that tone and those words together mean the exact opposite of what they are supposed to mean-- but he was still confused. What could possibly make you stay? And how could he find it before you left?

*****************

The following days between you and Aaron had been chilly, to say the least. You didn’t bounce ideas off of each other on cases like you normally would. You came to the opposite conclusions at every turn. You were out of sync, and everyone felt it. So when the case wrapped up on a Friday afternoon, you were more than happy to rush home to a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream, your moving boxes and some trashy reality television.

You’d given up on packing after about an hour. Your heart just wasn’t in it. So instead, you lounged in your pajamas, sipping at your wine in the hopes that it would guide you to your first full night of sleep since you’d spoken with Strauss. You’re just about to head to bed when there’s a knock at your door. You swing it open, revealing Aaron, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.

“I was an asshole.” He offers. “Am I interrupting anything, or?”

“Just packing,” you say, wanting to twist the knife a little bit even if it wasn’t truthful. Aaron is undeterred, and steps inside anyways.

“I didn’t want you to leave with us still in the middle of the fight. You can be as mad as you want in the morning, but have a glass of champagne with me?” He asks, with those big brown eyes you could never refuse.

“Fine,” you sighed, still easily won over by him, even when you were heartbroken and mad.

“Here, you open it. Congratulations,” he tells you, handing over the bottle. You start picking at the foil, and he speaks up in the silence. “Things are going to be different without you, you know. I like that our team is structured the way it is… as a team, but you know, in a lot of ways, it was nice to have a partner in you.”

“You know, come to think of it, I’m not sure if I even have cups. They might be packed away,” you say, still picking at the foil and decidedly not looking Aaron in the eye. He chuckles a little at your comment.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone. I mean, who else can rein in Derek, or get to see me the big picture, or talk Emily off the ledge when I’m sure she’s about to go rogue?’

“It’s going to be okay,” you tell him, setting the bottle on the counter, still unopened. Aaron heaves a sigh.

“You should stay.” He says, after a moment.

“What?” You say, blinking, because surely you must be drunk or dreaming or something else.

“You should stay here. You don’t have to take the job in Vegas.”

“Haha, very funny,” you joked, bringing your attention back to the bottle to avoid looking him in the eye.

“I’m serious. Listen, I know I said there was nothing to think about, but I changed my mind.”

“Oh, did you? And what if I haven’t changed mine?” You asked, getting angry now.

Not able to hold back for another second, he takes your face in both of his hands and kisses you. “Just, think about that before you board a plane. Okay?” He says, and before you can even speak, you hear the door swing shut behind him.

Damn you, Hotchner.

You don’t sleep a wink. When 8am finally rolls around, you pull yourself out of bed and get dressed, heading over to Aaron’s. As you buckle your seatbelt, you realize that you know you have to go over there but you have no clue what it is you even want to say to him. You hope you’ll figure it out without sounding completely insane as you knock on Aaron’s door, and he swings it open, still in his sweatpants and incredibly surprised to find you on his doorstep.

“I’m even more mad at you right now than I was last night,” you tell him by way of greeting.

“That’s understandable. I haven’t been very fair to you,” he agrees, and the fact that he’s being so reasonable only makes you angrier. You slip past him and step inside the apartment.

“I don’t get it. You couldn’t just let me move on, start a new life and forget about the torch I’ve been burning for my boss the entire time I’ve worked here? You had to have the last word, even if I was leaving forever.”

“No,” Aaron says, and you bite your tongue, trying to allow him a moment to respond even if you weren’t feeling all that gracious. “No, I couldn’t let you move on thinking the torch you were carrying ws unrequited.”

You’re struck by his words. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter. It’s a great opportunity for you in Vegas. I’m happy for you, and you shouldn’t let this--”

“Hotch, what are you trying to say?”

“Just that I’m proud of you, and I know that you’ll do excellent work, and--”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to hide from me.” You call him out, and he looks at you for a moment. This time, you don’t break his glance.

“I’m not trying to hide. I’m just too late.” He tells you, looking down at the floor.

“Tell me, Hotchner. Tell me, please.” You beg of him, shifting to try to get him to look you in the eye.

“I love you, and I figured it out too late.”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he’s ruined any vestiges of friendship that still existed between the two of you in this moment, and that you’ll board your plane to Las Vegas and he’ll become a creepy old boss that you never think about again. He takes a moment to look at you, a moment to mourn what might have been, a moment to remember the way your laugh made him smile while the memories were still fresh. He takes a moment, and then you speak up.

“No,” you correct him. “You figured it out just in time.”

tagging: @choppa-style @wanniiieeee @zheezs14 @torykjamie @maureen4y

@ssavanessa22 @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @ssahotchie @infinite-tides

@itsmytimetoodream @averyhotchner @msmarvelsmain @hotforhotchner11 @hotchinkevlar

hi besties I tried to tag everyone who said they wanted to be on my regular hotch list and a few of y’all who regularly interact with the right but if i made a mistake/u want to be removed u can lmk I will not be offended!!!

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 3 years

Text

Texts from the Lost Tomb part 6.1

🎶 Back on the bullshit I never got off🎶

Is this another unnecessary story arc?? With three sections??

Yes.

Wushanju Crew Chat

Wang Meng: You know, I’m someone who appreciates consistency in my day. My life is pleasant, very few issues indeed if you ignore the big ones. And yet. Yet here we are. With unresolved messes at the end of a day.

Wang Pangzi: SOMETHIN YOU NEED TO SAY MARY POPPINS

Wang Meng: We need to talk about Huo Daofu and the glittery bead curtain.

Wang Pangzi: MY FAVE TEEN WIZARD SERIES

Wu Xie: did you turn on that suggested word thingy lol

What glittery bead curtain

Wang Meng: I closed the shop at 6:00pm this evening on the dot. I locked all of the doors in and out of the shop very carefully, especially in light of recent events. The hall leading to the back office was empty. I filed the day’s paperwork, updated and sent emails, and then spent an extra hour organizing receipts and dusting. When I came back out, there were glittery iridescent bead curtains over the front entrance to the shop.

What could this mean?

Wu Xie: uh that you need to spend less time at work?

Wang Pangzi: LOOKS LIKE WE GOT ONE FOR THE DETECTIVES. THE MYSTERY OF THE BEDAZZLED THRESHOLD COMMENCES

Wu Xie: I think we can be relatively secure in thinking a glittery bead curtain isn’t a hostile threat

Wang Pangzi: SAYS YOU

I REMEMBER YE OLDE EXPLORATION TIMES HOW FAST THINGS GOT FURIOUS

BEANBAG CHAIRS SET AFLAME AND LEFT ON DOORSTEPS AS A WARNING

GLITTERBOMBS FOR DAYS

PANIC AT THE DISCO

Wang Meng: Ugh, forget it. I should have just taken them down, regardless of who they belong to.

Zhang Qiling: They are not mine.

Wang Pangzi: A BOLD STATEMENT COMING FROM OUR PRIME SUSPECT

SOMEONE QUICK GO DRAW CHALK AROUND THE DOORWAY TO MARK THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Wang Meng: Do we know anyone who *would* sneak in and put those up? For whatever reason, legal or not? Even as a joke?

Wang Pangzi: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING WHETHER WE KNOW ANYONE WHO IS CHAOTIC, AN OUTLAW, A PRANKSTER AND/OR SNEAKS INTO PLACES

BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN OUR SUSPECT LIST IS LITERALLY EVERYONE WE KNOW EXCEPT FOR YOU.

Wu Xie: okay let’s think about this; for starters, I didn’t break into my own shop

Wang Meng: You would be in danger of doing some work in the process, that’s true.

Wang Pangzi: LOL

Wu Xie: ANYWAY let’s keep going. For example, Xiao Ge would only break in somewhere for a good reason. Xiao Ge, did you do this?

Zhang Qiling: No.

Wu Xie: okay who’s next

Wang Pangzi: YOU REALLY MISSED YOUR CALLING IN INTERROGATION TIANZHEN

REALLY PUT THE SCREWS TO HIM

IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE;)

Zhang Qiling: How can we be certain *you* didn’t do it?

Wang Meng: Admittedly that was my guess, too.

Wang Pangzi: WOW I SEE HOW IT IS

BLAME PANGZI AS USUAL

ANYWAY HOW DOES HUO DAOFU FIT INTO THIS

Wu Xie: Oh yeah him! Oops I got distracted

Wang Pangzi: UR ENTIRE HISTORY IN A NUTSHELL

Wu Xie: Ugh fuck off

Wang Meng what abt Huo Daofu??

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wu Xie: oh sorry xiaoge I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have spent much time around him last year

He and I go way back

Zhang Qiling: Way back where?

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: I CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS BUYING YOUR INNOCENT ACT

IF YOU EVER TURN TO EVIL WE ARE FUCKED

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO HUO DAOFU IS

YOU WERE EXTREMELY POLITE AND BORDERLINE FRIENDLY TOWARDS HIM

Zhang Qiling: I wanted him to feel welcome. I wanted to be sure he understands he has a place here. A specific place.

Wang Pangzi: FOR A SILENT GUY YOU ARE A MASTER AT SUBTLE POWER PLAYS IM ALL TINGLY

LMAO THE IDEA OF WU XIE LEAVING YOU FOR HUO DAOFU IS HILARIOUS AND ALSO NOPE

Zhang Qiling: Rationally, I understand that.

Main Chat

Wang Meng: Huo Daofu is coming for the weekend—didn’t Wu Xie tell you? Wu Xie asked me to check in a week ahead so we could start getting ready for his arrival

Wu Xie: oh yeah I did do that

Wang Meng: Fortunately I know you and so I already went ahead and took care of everything.

Re: the trip

He made a deal with Wu Xie’s doctor that he would do periodic checkups on him here at Wushanju

Bc Wu Xie hates being in the hospital

And frankly the hospital hates him too

Wang Pangzi: FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT LOL

I FORGOT HUO DAOFU WAS DOING THAT

A VERY CHIVALROUS GESTURE

WOULDNT YOU SAY

XIOAGE

Zhang Qiling: Is it safe for him to be here with a criminal loose on the premises?

Wu Xie: Right, back to the curtain! Let’s focus on the curtain, hmm?

Wang Pangzi: I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS WEEKEND.

ALSO WE CAN RULE OUT XIAO BAI FOR THE CURTAIN SHE JUST SENT A SELFIE FROM NORWAY COVERED IN GREEN SLIME WITH ZERO CONTEXT, UR PROTEGE INDEED

Wu Xie: okay but who else would do something so oddly charming yet illegal and—wait.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: hey, Glasses hasn’t been in touch lately right?

Li Cu: uh nope

Unless u count the outdated memes

Why, is money or Xie Yuchen missing

Or is this curtain related, I saw Wang Meng’s tweet

Wu Xie: haha no nothing to worry about really

(I mean maybe? but who knows)

Wang Meng is probably just getting a little paranoid in his old age

Li Cu: better than getting reckless and stupid as hell in ur old age

Wu Xie: …hey:(

Unknown Number: Li Cu, we discussed this.

Wu Xie: ????????

Li Cu: *sigh* fine, reckless and stupid as heck

Unknown Number: …close enough.

Wu Xie: EXCUSE who is that

Madame, Sir, Non-Binary Tree Spirit, etc—whomst the fuck

Are you

Li Cu is underage FYI

So Im staying on this chat

Li Cu: okay first of all, it’s not like that

Second of all I’m literally not underage I s2g

u threw the embarrassing surprise bday party, okay so u should remember

And C, that’s my counselor and I invited her. She wanted to meet u and I knew u wouldn’t agree to a visit so I added her to our chat

we have been discussing u

Wu Xie: Oh wow!!!!!!!

What a surprise:)

hi so nice to meet you:)

Main Chat:

Wu Xie: RED FUCKING ALERT

FUCK THE CURTAIN FUCK THE VISIT

IVE BEEN TRICKED INTO FAMILY THERAPY BY A SMUG TEENAGER WHO TEXTS UNKNOWN NUMBERS

Wang Meng: I assume that means something to someone here?

Not my problem? Good.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHA GOD I LOVE LI CU

HES LIKE ADORABLE KARMA FOR ALL THE SHIT YOUVE PUT ME THROUGH

IM RAISING HIS ALLOWANCE

Wu Xie: wait i give him an allowance

has he been collecting on two allowances??

Zhang Qiling: Three. I knew about both of yours.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: so uh may I ask your name?

Unknown Number: you can call me Ms. Lee.

Now, if you’re comfortable talking in this format, why don’t you tell me how things have been going?

Wu Xie: oh everything is normal and fine and safe as usual, why do you ask:)

Li Cu: I heard about ur necklace thing. nice of you to NOT mention it.

another dangerous adventure. again. prick.

Ur lucky your cool boyfriend cares about you so much or you’d have already died like ten years ago

Wu Xie: lol try twenty years ago

Li Cu: That isn’t funny.

Unknown Number: …What?

Wu Xie: shit ur right, okay that was a bit glib, my apologies.

…I use humor as a coping mechanism?

Unknown Number: and Li Cu, how do you feel about that?

Li Cu: he doesn’t even know what that phrase means

He doesn’t cope, like ever

In fact

It’s kind of why we met

Which is a funny story in retrospect tbh

Wu Xie: haha what are you talking about sweetie hahaha need I remind you of certain anecdotes that could idk send me to jail maybe lmao

Unknown Number: …You know, perhaps an in-person meeting might be more effective?

Wu Xie: haha such a nice idea but why

Main Chat

Wu Xie: If I go to jail, I’ll have to create alliances for protection, right, that’s how it works on tv

Who do we know who spends time in jail

Other than Hei Yangjing, he’s only ever there for like 12 hours and i suspect he just gets himself arrested bc he enjoys the breaking out process

Also how’s the curtain case coming along

Zhang Qiling: Has someone threatened you?

Wu Xie: well not yet but soon I’m sure

Wang Pangzi: WHERE WAS THIS PARANOIA WHEN WE GOT TAKEN TO THE TEA HOUSE HUH

Snake Eyes Minus Your Fucking Therapist Chat

Li Cu: okay how tf did u pull off spy and undercover shit

u are sus as hell

Wu Xie: damn son is it pick on Wu Xie night

I missed the flyers or I would’ve invited my uncles

Also re: the curtain it’s been mostly solved

Li Cu: I’m not your son, idiot.

Wu Xie: …oh. Sorry, sorry, you’re right, bad choice of words, haha

Forget i said anything

Delete this chat even

Li Cu: shit I meant

Legally, biologically, I meant—

shit

…I turn into an asshole as a coping mechanism?

Wu Xie: oh that’s all okay! I have to go do something else now let me know if you need anything okay kid thanks!

Li Cu: goddamn it calm down who’s the kid here

lemme organize my thoughts so I can articulate my emotions fuckin healthily or w/e

Ugh maybe for like one afternoon we could go to Ms. Lee together? She knows how to word stuff

Wu Xie: uh…okay.

Li Cu: Anyway you don’t need to worry abt jail

As if you would survive prison for one day you’d piss off half the place in like an hour or less

I gave Ms. Lee the heavily edited version of the desert highway to hell roadtrip and i discussed it more in terms of like “nightmarish but still wouldn’t take any of it back”

Well maybe the sand

that shit was everywhere

Wu Xie: oh kiddo. It’s fine, really…You don’t have to explain yourself to me.

Li Cu: no, no it’s just

I do technically have a dad

who is an asshole. Being a son doesn’t really mean shit to me bc it sucked.

So you need to stop backing down just cuz ur guilty abt stuff. I’m really really glad ur not my dad in a good way. Do u get what I mean there

Where’s the mafia widower I followed into hell, huh

Wu Xie: Ur a good kid, despite my influence. I’m really glad you have someone to talk to after everything I…after everything. Wow this talking through feelings thing is kind of weird but nice ur right

Jfc no wonder it took me and xiaoge so long to—you know what, we won’t get into that

Li Cu: ew tmi

Also re: this week’s recent necklace fuckery

I moved my stuff here, I live here now

So you can’t die anymore

Or else…Idk I don’t have a threat planned

anyways abt the curtain

Wu Xie: oh my god, kid…kid you have no idea

I am in tears.

Li Cu: see this is why I can’t be nice to you I can sense the hallmark channel from here

Ugh don’t be sad in ur room that’s dumb

Go hug Pangzi or something

Maybe delete this chat

Or the curtain thing

Focus on the curtain thing

Just stfu and go away

Wu Xie: <3 screenshotting this <3

Li Cu: I take back everything I said. This is why Xiao Ge sleeps on the roof. I hope the ghosts of the Wangs put up that curtain to strangle you somehow. Go die in a stupid way, it’ll suit you.

Wu Xie: lol don’t worry I’m not gonna embarrass you with it or anything

Main Chat

Wu Xie: omg guys look how cute my kid is *sending screenshot*

Wang Pangzi: I MEAN

HE IS WISHING YOU DEATH

BUT SURE

CUTE I GUESS

Wu Xie: no but read the whole thing:):):)

Zhang Qiling: It is indeed very hard to remain angry with you. And you are welcome to join me on the roof.

Wang Pangzi: UH NOPE

NOT WHENI HAD TO BLEACH THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN

DONT TRAUMATIZE THE EARLY BIRDS THEYRE ALREADY FREAKED OUT BY U YA HOODIE CRYPTID

Wu Xie: ok true but babe ur like a sexy cryptid

Wang Meng: so, are we just accepting that there is a glittery curtain of unknown origin, and Huo Daofu is going to have to see it while he’s waiting for you at Wushanju bc you’re going to family therapy?

Wu Xie: right

Wang Pangzi: SHOULDA TAKEN EARLY RETIREMENT HUH

Wang Meng: I’m going to go dust something.

Unnamed Chat:

Unknown number: so the curtain…

Unknown number 2: yep, not my best work but I kinda panicked last minute u know

Unknown number: what is in the water at Wushanju that makes everyone dumb and attractive

Unknown number 2: relax they’ll figure it out

#ultimate note #whomst #wu xie #dmbj #the lost tomb #pingxie #iron triangle

36 notes · View notes

ewates · 2 years

Note

dear dustin,

sorry if this comes off strange! but consider this almost kind of a letter to an author, in this case, to you. i’ve wanted to write/send this for so long but never knew how to put how i felt into words and i feel a lot of things about your works!

to start with, i only found out about your works pretty recently, maybe 2020, but i’ve loved dbh since it came out (i mostly watched people play it because games with too much timed actions/consequences stress me out too much to finish them). but now dbh holds such an important place in my heart and i can honestly say it’s because of your writing, connor and gavin just stole into my heart so damn quick and they haven’t left (i also bought the game even though i won’t play it because i just like having tangible manifestations of things i love so i can hold them in my hands, and i can’t say how much your writing has influenced me to love dbh that much more that i went out to get the game!)

i think one of the first works i’ve read from you was whatever we call beautiful, and i fell completely in love with your writing, i really think you write pain/emotion/love the way i want to read them, so it just consumed me in the best way and i went right ahead to read everything else you’ve written.

it’s quite impossible to rank my favourites from your works, but i’ll give you my love has me in a vice grip and i’ve read it so many times i love everything about it. i loved the journey connor and gavin took, from them hesitantly getting together to the divorce to everything that came after. other ones i’ve read more than once is the inescapable sadnesss, in defence of arson, the earth is not a cold dead place, the last time you were happy and oh no im just realising i’ve probably reread most of your writings i shouldn’t list them all, but in conclusion, i really enjoy your writing.

(also i think your characterisation of gavin has to be my favourite of all ive read. at this point my headcannons of gavin is entirely your version of gavin and i love it.) (i also honestly think meeting you would feel like meeting a celebrity because of how much i revere your writing!)

i’m having a pretty tough time at uni now, going into my third year is pretty stressful, and i look forward to every update of tabp, so i can sink into the story and escape my life for just a little bit! i hope you are taking care of yourself, and have a wonderful day!

sincerely,

(ps. was not sure how i should be sending this, so i had to send it as an ask, but you don’t have to publicly reply to it! it’s enough to know the letter reached you well!)

hey!! honestly this message made my day this is so sweet. i'm literally gonna print it out and keep it in my journal to remind me to keep writing. thank u so much. i really just started writing dbh for fun but it's been such a nice fandom to be a part of and make friends in that it was kind of life-changing (i remember getting the game the day before my birthday and playing it through the entire day and just wanting to restart it over and over again)

i'm glad my fics can provide some kind of entertainment and distraction but i really hope uni gets better for you soon!! my classes this year have sucked so much so like, writing is definitely an outlet that helps me with my anxiety about grades & the future.

and always feel free to message me i love talking to people <3

#asks #anonymous #i saw this last night and almost cried tysm seriously. it's taken me a little bit to collect my thoughts into a good reply and i still feel #like i havent properly shown how grateful i am that people enjoy my works enough to read them once let alone multiple times. tysm ty ty ty

3 notes · View notes

doexoeyes · 3 years

Text

Of Finches & Firsts

Ahhhhhhhh! Thank u so much for all the notes, I wasn’t expecting it but I'm very very grateful ♡ since I have 4 chapters already up on aoo3 & wattpad, I'm gonna be able to update these upcoming chapters pretty consistently so here you go, chapter 2! Thank you again and I hope you enjoy.

Things to note for this chapter : “N/y/n” means ‘not your name’ but something close to it. For example if your name is Ellie, it could be Allie. Really silly thing to note but just so you’re not confused when u get to that part ♡

In case you wanna read ahead:

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: “A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok.” You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2 ♡ Chapter 3

Chapter 2: The Trouble With Tournaments

Your fourth year brought on the news of The Triwizard Tournament, which was to be held at Hogwarts that very year. This induced a frenzy of excitement from everyone, especially those who were interested in participating themselves, along with the announcement that two other schools were to be competing with them as well.

The excitement died down for many, however, when Dumbledore had announced that no student under the age of 17 could volunteer to participate, which was more than half of those attending, you included. You didn’t mind it really, seeing as you had no interest in competing for the Triwizard cup (you weren’t very athletic or even brave enough for that matter), but many of your Hufflepuff housemates were upset about the newly implemented rule.

From your spot in the table you were able to look across the room and spot Draco, who was seated with his Slytherin housemates. He rolled his eyes and looked very displeased so you could only assume that he was interested in putting his name in the goblet. You felt a surge of gratitude for Dumbledore and his new rule then. If his words were anything to heed, the challenges the tournament consisted of was nothing to laugh at.

The schools you would be competing with was Beaxbatons Academy of Magic and Drumstrang Institute and all the students were very enthused with the new arrivals, Mauve included.

“Viktor Krum? More like Viktor Yum,” she teased with a mischievous wink towards said boy’s direction, sending him a little wave.

You lightly elbowed her shoulder, embarrassed at your daring friend’s antics, yet were unable to stifle back a laugh. Despite being a Hufflepuff, Mauve could very much rival any Gryfiindor’s bravery. Especially when it came to boys.

“He just got here and you’re already making googly eyes at him? Geez Mauve, give him a second to stretch his legs at least,” you teased as Mauve tossed a pea at you, causing you to snicker.

“Oh ha-ha. Keep in mind that with the Triwizard Tournament there’s the Yule Ball and there’s no way I’m letting you attend without a date, so you better have some boys in mind ‘cause Merlin knows I’m not gonna be the one scrambling to find you one last minute,” she said as she began to dig into the feast.

Your cheeks reddened as you found your eyes wondering back to Draco, who at the moment seemed to be laughing at something Blaise Zabini had said.

Despite being best friends, you never told Mauve about your crush on Draco for several reasons:

1. It was Draco Malfoy, the ‘Slytherin prince’.

2. Mauve absolutely despised Draco Malfoy, the ‘Slytherin prince’.

3. She would probably pressure you to say more than two words to Draco Malfoy, the ‘Slytherin prince’, because despite her personal feelings for him, she was as supportive a friend as possible and as pushy as one could be.

Besides, you thought, it’s not like anything was ever going to happen with him.

And as for the Yule Ball, Draco would never be interested in being your date. You made a mental note to think of someone before the time came just so Mauve could be pleased.

Talk of the tournament had shifted one day, however, when they announced the participants and Harry Potter, a fourth year, was picked by the Goblet of Fire.

Not only was Harry not 17, but the champion for Hogwarts was already picked: fellow Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory. Many blamed Harry, believing he had done some spell to outdo the enchantment Dumbledore had casted around the Goblet. You yourself, however, didn’t know what to think. From what you knew and experienced about Harry, it didn’t seem like something he’d do. Still, someone threw his name in and now Hogwarts had two champions.

“Us Hufflepuffs can never catch a break, can we?” Augustus Boggs, a fellow fourth year, said with a sigh.

You were presently in the Hufflepuff common room, where Mauve and you immediately headed to right after the champions were named.

“Right? We get one chance to be known and celebrated in the school and now we have to share it with Gryffindor. As if they don’t get enough praise and attention,” another boy, Milton Morris chided in, looking just as annoyed.

Mauve shook her head at them from her spot on the couch.

“Come on boys, do relax will you? Even with his name being called, do you really think Harry Potter has a chance of winning the tournament, especially with Cedric as our champion? Harry’s cool and all but come on, he’s just a fourth year. He’s way in over his head. Bet he’s regretting putting his name in. Kinda feel for him, if I’m honest,” she admitted.

You had been listening to all the conversations being had in the room, and despite being a bit upset at what transpired, you couldn’t seem to agree with what most were saying.

“I don’t know guys...Harry looked shocked, terrified even, when Dumbledore announced his name. Now, I can’t say he didn’t manage a way to throw his name in the Goblet because I wasn’t there, but his reaction seemed incredibly genuine and I never thought of Harry as a convincing liar,” you stated, fiddling with the ends of your bright yellow scarf.

Augustus, Mauve, and Milton seemed to think what you said over for a moment before finally shrugging their shoulders and shifting the subject to discussing ways to get back at Harry.

You rolled your eyes, leaving the conversation mentally before deciding to leave it physically as well. No one cared to listen to you anyways.

Mauve flashed you a look of concern when you got up from the couch, but you quickly informed her of your plan to head to the astronomy tower to get some air and maybe start on a sketch or two.

The conversations being had in the room were making you feel anxious and sick, especially when most of them consisted of bashing on the poor boy who you truly believed was innocent. It was unlike your house to act this way, but given the circumstances, you sadly understood why they were so fired up. A part of you thought back to Cedric and wondered what was going on in his head. The pressure to win was now doubled and you couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

Sketch book and pencil pouch now in hand, you made your way up the top of the tower and settled down in your spot on the floor near the middle of the room. You hummed as you opened up the pouch and took out a black pencil, flipping to an empty page on your nearly filled book.

Sketching was an escape for you and you were very much in need of one at the moment. Lost in the way your pencil slid across the page, you didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs or even noticed the person when they made their way up.

“Do you mind?” said the person, and you jumped at the sudden break of silence.

“Oh!” you yelped, your foot accidentally kicking your open pouch, causing the pencils inside to roll over as it fell on its side.

You stayed there, frozen for a moment as you stared at none other than Draco Malfoy. He remained still by the stairs, brows furrowed at you and you cursed under your breath as you got on your knees and scrambled to pick up the scattered pencils off the floor.

“Sorry, sorry. I...I was so concentrated, you just startled me,” you said sheepishly, a blush threatening to spread across your cheeks, a common occurrence whenever Draco was in the room.

He watched you pick your things up, not bothering to respond to your admission. Instead he analyzed you silently and you could feel his gaze as if it were burning right through you. It was then that he began to walk towards you and you froze when his perfectly shiny black shoe made contact with a pencil you were about to reach over for.

“Hufflepuff, is that you?” he asked simply and you lifted your head up immediately.

“Umm...yes. It’s me,” you said and your cheeks betrayed you once again as you could feel the warmth radiating off of them.

“Of course it’d be you up here. We keep running into each other. I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” he said in a cocky manner and it took everything in your power not to scream in complete frustration and embarrassment because of course this looked bad and of course you’d look like some freaky stalker.

Instead, however, you babbled on like an idiot.

“I-I..ummm...I...n-no I...never...umm...”

Draco frowned.

“Relax, will you? I wasn’t serious. Unless you really are stalking me and then I’d say you’re doing a rather shit job at it as the whole point is to not get caught,” he stated, rolling his eyes.

All you could do was stay there in silence until you realized you were still on the floor, on your knees. Clearing your throat, you got up, pouch and book in hand.

“I’ll just go, sorry,” you said, clutching your things to your chest as you began to walk away.

“N/y/n, right?” he simply called out and you stopped in your tracks, slowly turning back to face him.

“Your name?” he asked, brow raised.

Realization dawned on your face. He remembered your name.

Well, almost.

“Y/n, actually, but you were close,” you said offering him a small, awkward smile.

“Is that all?” he asked and you tried your best to understand what he meant.

You came up blank.

“Your name. Is that all there is to it?” he rephrased, looking at you as if you were a child who was unable to comprehend things.

You bit your lip, not liking the look he gave you.

“Y/n. Finch,” you answered.

He seemed to think it over for a moment before stating, “I think I like that better.”

“Y/N?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“Finch.”

There was a certain look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint and you wondered if you would ever be able to read Draco or if you would continue on never really understanding the boy.

“Ok,” you stated simply, head tilted slightly as your eyes watched him curiously.

He then proceeded to turn his back to you, walking over to the railing that overlooked the lake, leaning his body on it slightly.

“See you around then, Finch,” he says, as he remained facing forward.

You took this as your cue to leave, gripping your book closer to your chest, and sneaking one last glance at him.

He looked so serene and unlike his typical self in that moment. You wish you could commit it to memory.

Making your way down the steps of the tower, mind still reeling from your interaction, you thought back to that mental image of Draco leaning on the railing, looking out into the lake.

Funny, you thought, how different people like the infamous Draco Malfoy were when they were away from the noise and the masses and the expectations.

They were just left to be like everybody else.

♡

Tag list: @sadgirlnumber92899

(message me if u’d like to be included <3)

#Draco Malfoy #draco x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #hufflepuff #slytherin #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter #draco x oc #draco x y/n

45 notes · View notes

ggukcangetit · 4 years

Text

Dreamcatchers 6

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Summary: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama.

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

A/N: it’s been a while since i posted and even longer since i updated this fic but its still here and so am i! lol. updates are not gonna be very frequent but i have a list of works in progress that i plan to finish so there will be something or the other being posted at the most random moments.

also, reminding everyone that this story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing!

21st December

"Is this how you conduct a sample analysis?! Where did you even train? I've half a mind to report you and get you kicked out!!"

Yuri stopped at her desk, surprised to hear Seulgi's yelling so loudly that she could be heard all the way from the floor above. She was usually extremely calm and even-tempered, but the past couple of days had seen her irritable, snappy, and downright furious.

"Dr. Ahn sounds really angry," whispered Jisoo, clutching a file close to her chest. "I've never heard her yell at anybody before. I hope she's okay."

"I'm sure everything's fine," said Jeon, walking over to his desk and dropping a bunch of files on it. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Yuri raised an eyebrow at him, but complied nonetheless. They walked outside, standing near a clump of trees outside of earshot of anyone in the station.

"Guess who I've just brought in on suspicion of murder for the 2nd Nov case?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"No!" gasped Yuri. "Minhyuk?"

"Yep. He's been in the country for a while now. Fancy giving me a hand with the interview?"

"Me? I mean," she bit her lip. "I wasn't part of the original investigation."

"I know, but in light of what you've found out and the fact that you're now my partner, Goh thinks it's okay."

"You told Goh?!"

"I had to. I can't restart the investigation without his permission."

Jeon stared at her for a few moments, trying to gauge her reaction. "So, what do you say?"

"Alright. Let's nail this bastard."

Ahreum was late. She had a meeting with one of her professors to decide on which medical stream she'd specialize in. Despite using forensics as an excuse to distract Seulgi, she was seriously considering it now. Deciding to pursue medicine had been a drastic career switch for Ahreum, and a lot of people had questioned her decision relentlessly. But if there was something she had learnt in the years following her parents' divorce, it was patience and the ability to block out irrelevant conversations. Namjoon had always been immersed in his studies, barely affected by the bitterness existing between their parents. Ahreum, barely in high school, felt lost and helpless during those times. After the divorce, things had become less tumultuous and she was able to see her parents as individual entities. That was when she realized that her father was never going to like any of her decisions, no matter how hard she tried to please him, and her mother preferred to stay aloof at the best of times. Ahreum learnt pretty early in life, that she needed to be there for herself. She loved her brother and parents, though the latter a lot less than the former. Her decision to study English Literature and Creative Writing had been a spur of the moment one - dictated more by the fact that her high school boyfriend was going to study at a major Arts university. She didn't really regret any of her decisions. Her degree had led her to finding a hobby she adored - photography. And having a freelance job meant that she could stay with Namjoon - who earned a significantly larger amount than her - and move whenever he needed to move as well. This was also how she had met Taehyung 3 years ago - a happy coincidence of events when she had been taking pictures outside the museum at Seoul. They had started talking about art and photography, eventually realizing that they lived in the same part of the city. In addition to Yuri, she also considered Taehyung to be her best friend. She had seen him during one of his lowest moments when Seokjin had left home; and then some time later when he had found Seokjin living in the town Ahreum and Namjoon had recently shifted to, she had stayed by him as he grappled with his anger and frustration towards his older brother until an eventual reconciliation.

But at this moment, she was beginning to lose patience with him. Five minutes before she was about to leave for her meeting, she received a bunch of frantic texts from him.

8.25 am

T: ahreum?? are u up??

T: jimins still in custody

T: im so worried

8.26 am

T: u there?

T: i want to visit him...

T: will u come with me?

8.27 am

T: hey

T: ???

T: i didnt sleep much so i dont wanna drive there

8.28 am

T: are u sleeping?

T: ???

He knew she had a meeting today. He knew how important the meeting was for her. She had spoken about it many times. Not for the first time, Ahreum wondered whether Taehyung cared about her beyond what directly concerned him. If it wasn't somehow relevant to him, he never seemed to remember much. It was a careless apathy that had hurt her during the beginning of their friendship, but she had accepted it as a part of him.

Her meeting was at 9 am and she usually needed 20 minutes to get there on her bike. She closed her eyes and mentally rehearsed the points she was going to bring up during her meeting. Her phone pinged once more, breaking her concentration.

8.30 am

T: hey

T: can u pick me up?

She frowned and shot a quick text before pocketing her phone and strapping on her helmet.

A: sorry have a meeting... talk later

As Ahreum sped through the narrow lanes, she was convinced that there was no way she was going to talk to Taehyung today. He would have to manage on his own for once.

Yuri and Jeon sat across from a very nervous Park Minhyuk, his bloodshot eyes indicating that he had been brought in after a rough night.

"Good morning." Jeon began the interview, his notes stacked neatly in front of him. "You were very hard to get a hold of, Mr. Park. Specifically because your company categorically states that you've been out of the country for business."

"I-" His face was white as a sheet.

"When we called your office, we were told that you are often out of the country on business trips. Short trips," Jeon flipped through his notes. "A fortnight, 20 days at max. Your secretary was very obliging - he told us that you traveled on October 12th and returned on October 27th. Then left the country again on November 1st and returned on November 16th. Another trip between November 22nd and December 6th. And finally, one more on December 10th from which you still haven't returned."

"Your phone records are very interesting, Mr. Park," said Yuri, joining in. "I'm DI Choi, by the way, and I will be assisting DI Jeon as his partner on the case. Now -" she opened the file in front of her and took out a particular page - "is this your cell phone number?"

"Yes, but-"

"Our Telecomms division looked over recent activity over the last 3-4 months. While your office confirms that you have been on multiple trips out of the country from October onwards, your phone has been operating in Korea for almost two months. Can you tell us why?"

Minhyuk remained silent, his hands clenched on the table.

"Do you recognize this?" Yuri placed a plastic bag on the table and moved it towards him.

The remaining color drained from Minhyuk's face as he stared at the ring inside the plastic bag.

"Let me help you out, Mr. Park," she continued. "This is an heirloom from your mother's side of the family. There was three such rings - one buried with your mother, one on your brother's finger, and one found at the scene of Son Eunbi's murder. Can you tell us how your ring found its way to a murder scene?"

"I didn't kill her!" Minhyuk looked like he was going to pass out. Jeon poured some water into a glass and passed it to him.

"She was dead when I got there!" he said after gulping down the water. His hands were shaking by this point.

"If she was dead when you got there, why didn't you call the police?"

"I..."

Faced with a possible murder charge, Minhyuk looked frightened but not nearly as forthcoming with an alibi as one would have hoped.

"Mr. Park," Yuri spoke after a period of silence. "Did you know that Ms. Son had a three year old daughter named Gina?"

Minhyuk gulped, his eyes breaking contact with hers. He removed his hands from where they had been clenched on the table, choosing to hide them in his lap.

"Are you Gina's father?" she continued. Minhyuk head shot up at her question.

"H-how did-"

"When did you find out?" she asked.

Minhyuk sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I guess there's no point in denying it since you know everything." He reached out and finished the remaining water in the glass. "In October, after I came back from a trip, I happened to meet her by chance and Gina was with her. It was odd, the way that she tried to avoid talking to me. And the fact that Gina also had clear grey eyes."

For the first time since the interview started, Yuri realised the resemblance between the Park brothers was limited but striking. Their eyes were the exact same shade of grey - while Jimin looked cold and unwelcoming, Minhyuk's glasses did well to give him a warmer appearance.

"I asked her why she hadn't contacted me when she got pregnant. Or in the three years since Gina was born."

"What did she say?" asked Yuri, softly.

"She was scared that I wouldn't believe her." Tears had started to roll down his cheeks. "I loved her... so much. And then she just disappeared one day. I tried so hard to find her but..."

Jeon poured another glass of water for him.

"I told her how happy I was to hear about Gina. That I wanted us to be a proper family. I was willing to do whatever was necessary if that's what she wanted as well. I think she was beginning to warm up to the idea. I even told my father to postpone my next trip so that I could spend a little more time with both of them. But-"

"But?"

Minhyuk stared at his hands, looking tired and dejected. "He - uh, he wasn't happy when he heard about Gina. My father has very particular expectations."

"What did he say to you? Did he threaten you, Mr. Park?"

Minhyuk let out a soft chuckle. "My father doesn't threaten. He suggests."

"And what did he suggest you do about Gina and Eunbi?" asked Jeon.

"That I stay away from them. For the sake of my inheritance."

"And did you?"

"I was planning to... I-I was meant to travel the next day and I thought I would go and see her once more before I left. But when I got there..."

Minhyuk covered his face with his hands, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself.

"What happened when you got there, Mr. Park?"

"She was lying there... in a pool of blood. Gina was asleep in the back. I-I didn't kill her. You have to believe me."

Yuri and Jeon exchanged a quick look as Minhyuk protested his innocence. They were aware that the homeless man had killed Son Eunbi. The DNA found at the crime scene confirmed the fact that he had stabbed her. But they needed Minhyuk to give them as much information as possible.

"I'm afraid we do not conduct our investigations based on belief, Mr. Park," continued Yuri, shuffling her notes meaningfully. "You still haven't provided us with an alibi for that night. Strange thing - the Park family seem to have a particular aversion towards providing alibis. Your brother was also extremely resistant when we spoke to him."

"You spoke to Jimin? What for?" Minhyuk's expression had changed completely. He looked strangely alert.

"I guess you aren't aware that Jimin was arrested for the murder of Kang Eunwoo on December 15th." Jeon spoke deliberately, hoping to elicit a reaction. And he was successful.

"What?! That's impossible! There's no way he could've done that!"

"Why are you so certain of that?"

"Because he was with me on December 15th!"

"I'm sorry but we can't take you at your word. You can't even provide a proper alibi for yourself on the night of Son Eunbi's murder. How can we be sure that the two of you aren't just covering up for each other?"

It was then that Minhyuk realised that he would need to come clean. There was no way to save Jimin without telling them the entire story.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll tell you everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes. If it can help Jimin, I'm willing to risk my father finding out."

Yuri glanced at Jeon who gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

"Go on."

"After I saw Eunbi... lying there, I couldn't leave Gina. No matter what my father had said, I couldn't leave my daughter in such a situation. So I... took her away with me."

"Where is Gina now, Mr. Park?" Yuri asked, frowning.

"She's safe."

"Where is she?" asked Jeon, sharply.

"In Busan. I have an apartment there and she's been with me since that day."

"Why didn't you tell the police that you had her? Why does your company believe that you are abroad on a business trip?"

Minhyuk rubbed his eyes tiredly and drank some more water. "I couldn't let my father find out. Jimin and I have an apartment in Busan that we bought under a different name. It was a place our father couldn't find us. Gina's been staying there with me since 2nd November."

"Are you sure your father thinks you're abroad? It doesn't seem like something easy to cover up."

"Jimin helped with that," said Minhyuk, leaning back into the cold metal chair. "He told father that I had run away because he hadn't been understanding of my situation with Gina and Eunbi. Jimin's good at convincing people - it's a talent he's barely ever put to good use."

"So Jimin knew that you were hiding in a secret apartment with your recently discovered daughter?"

"Yes, he did. I have an alibi for 2nd November. I was in a meeting till 9 pm and then stopped for drinks at a nearby fried chicken place till 11 pm. I was a bit tipsy after that, which is why I decided to visit Eunbi and Gina. After taking Gina away from there, I went to Jimin's place, got the keys to the apartment and drove straight there. I think I reached around 2 am."

Yuri jotted down all this information, making a note to check on every new detail that had been mentioned.

"What about December 15th? You said Jimin was with you. Why?" asked Jeon, folding his arms across his chest.

"We meet once a week to make sure everything is going okay," said Minhyuk, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Sundays are usually the best days for that."

"Where did you meet?"

"At the local ice-cream shop," Minhyuk frowned, trying to remember something. "You know the one near the end of town?"

"The Dairy Berry? Yes, I know which one you're talking about." Jeon gave Yuri a brief nod to confirm that this was a legitimate spot and not something Minhyuk was making up on the spot.

"Gina loves sweet things and I thought it would be easier to take her with me the same day I met Jimin. I think we were there till 10 pm. After that, I dropped Jimin at a bar and drove back home."

"Which bar was this?" asked Yuri.

"Sunset."

"And you drove straight home after that?"

"You can check the dash cam on my car and the security tapes at my apartment building, if you want."

"We definitely will, Mr. Park," said Jeon, surveying him carefully. "In the meantime, you will be in custody until we have verified each and every single thing you just told us. So I suggest you keep yourself hydrated."

Yuri could feel a pair of eyes on her as she spoke to Jisoo and Suho.

"We need to verify everything that Park Minhyuk told us. But there's a lot of ground to cover and we've lost quite a bit of time since the murder of Son Eunbi. So I suggest you recruit some uniformed officers as well." Jisoo jotted down the locations and the times they needed to verify, and nodded to Suho to indicate she had forwarded the details to him. "We need to get the information as soon as possible."

"Will do," said Suho, giving her a reassuring nod.

Yuri waited for them to leave before walking over to the person who had been watching her for a while.

"Did you want to talk about something?" she asked Seulgi.

"I-" Seulgi tugged at her sleek, high ponytail, looking oddly hesitant. She seemed in a better mood than earlier in the morning when she had almost scared one of the interns into leaving the country. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah- " Yuri checked the clock on her phone - "just a minute though. I'm waiting for Jeon to get a warrant from Goh."

"Did he-? I mean, Jimin, uh... have you...? You know-" It was strange to see her grappling for words. "Are you certain he's done it?"

Yuri stared at her for a second. This wasn't what she had been expecting Seulgi to talk about. The doctor's relationship with Jimin was even more puzzling than she had originally perceived it.

"We're looking into it right now." She paused, trying to gauge Seulgi's reaction. "But you already know about the blood sample match - that, in itself, is pretty damaging."

"Y-yeah, I know."

Before Yuri could say anything more, Jeon came out of the Chief Inspector's office. "We've got a warrant to search Minhyuk's apartment. Let's go."

Glancing one more time at Seulgi's ashen face, Yuri put on her coat and scarf and followed Jeon out the exit.

Once inside Jeon's car, Yuri debated whether or not she should attempt to engage him in conversation. Her decision was made for her when he drove onto the main road, and lowered the volume of the police scanner.

"What was Seulgi saying?" he asked, his eyes focused on the road.

"Just where we were in the investigation."

"I see."

Yuri fiddled with the button on her coat, itching to say more.

"What's the deal with her and Jimin?" she finally asked.

"I- what do you mean?" Jeon raised his eyebrow and gave her the most puzzled expression he could muster while trying to stay focused on the crazy traffic.

"Their relationship is... weird. He keeps flirting with her, and she is on the verge of ripping his guts out at every given moment. But just now, she seemed almost worried about him."

"I don't really know... they've never really seen eye-to-eye on much." Jeon checked the rear view mirror to make sure he was clear before deftly changing lanes. "Jimin has always been the person who tries his utmost to push everyone's buttons. And Seulgi... well, she has a lot of buttons."

Yuri snorted loudly. "That tells me nothing and everything at the same time. You really have a way with words, Jeon."

He smirked at this, his eyes never leaving the road. "So does that mean you trust me now?"

"No." She looked at him and caught the way his face fell slightly at her response. "But who knows what the future holds..."

The smirk was back.

Ahreum had a terrible headache. She usually didn't get many headaches. So on the rare occasion that she did, it put her in a really terrible mood. The only person who knew how to handle this situation properly was Namjoon. He knew that she needed silence, dim lighting, green tea, fresh bread, and absolutely no unexpected company.

So when Ahreum got home after her grueling 3 hour long meeting, hoping to relax and recuperate, she wasn't too pleased to find Taehyung sitting in her living room, playing a very loud game on his tablet.

"You're back!" he yelled, once she slammed the door to make her presence felt. "I've been waiting for hours. How was your meeting?"

"'S okay," she replied, shortly. Taking off her coat, she opened the middle cabinet in the kitchen and searched for the green tea.

"Great! So do you wanna go and visit Jimin now?"

"No."

"What? Why not? You don't have anything else to do right now. Just come with me. Please!" He had walked into the kitchen and was standing in front of her with a pout on his lips.

As endearing as she always found his antics, Ahreum was at breaking point. She placed the cup on the counter with a loud clink, and turned to face him.

"Because I don't have time to follow you on your every whim, Taehyung. Because I have a life of my own. Because I am studying medicine, which, if you aren't aware, is a very taxing occupation." She paused for a breath, as his mouth fell open in shock. "Because I am not your babysitter. Or your handler. Or your caretaker. And I'm tired of being responsible for you. You're a grown ass adult and it's about time you acted like one."

"Ahreum, I'm-" His eyes were wide and worried, and she felt a tiny sliver of remorse. "I don't think you're my babysitter or handler or whatever. You're my best friend."

"I thought so too. In fact," she said, looking away from him. "I thought we were, or we could be, more."

"W-what? Ahreum?" Taehyung sounded so lost and confused that she was tempted to console him.

She walked to the front door and held it open for him. "I think you should leave now. I'm tired, I have a headache, and I don't want to be around anyone right now."

"Wait! What did you mean by that?" he asked, hesitantly standing at the entrance.

"I'm tired, Taehyung. I don't have the energy to explain everything to you. Now, please," she began closing the door slowly. "I want to rest."

"It's clear!" The uniformed officer confirmed to them, before opening the door further.

"Okay, let's see whether little Gina is here," instructed Jeon, his face drawn into a frown.

Yuri nodded and walked into the room on the left of the large living area. It was a study of sorts, with a large wooden desk, a swiveling chair, and shelves upon shelves of books. She quickly checked to see if there was anyone in the room before shouting "clear!". There was another door connecting to a smaller room, it's walls bathed in bright sunlight and smelling of soft lavender. This was clearly some sort of guest room, judging by the inconsistent decor theme. The furniture looked sleek and modern, but the sheets on the bed were soft and pastel colored. A bunch of soft toys stood leaning against the flat screen tv, and Yuri realised that this was probably the room that had been hastily fixed up for a small child's unexpected stay. And sure enough, soft strands of brown hair peaked through the large covers on the bed.

She walked over to the bed slowly, not wanting to startle the child. Yuri barely managed to stifle a gasp as she looked into the child's clear grey eyes - the same color as both Park Minhyuk and Park Jimin.

"Hello," she said, softly. "Are you Gina?"

The little girl nodded, bringing the covers closer towards her.

"I'm a police officer. I help catch bad people." She didn't respond, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Do you want to go to your dad, Gina?" She nodded vigorously, sitting up at the mention of her father. "Okay, we will. But first, tell me, are you okay? Do you feel pain anywhere?"

The little girl shook her head.

"Are you sleepy?"

Again, she shook her head.

"Are you hungry?"

Slowly, she nodded her head.

"Okay, we'll go and see your dad, and also get you something to eat. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful."

It was just after 2 pm and Yuri felt completely drained. After they had found Gina, she had insisted on returning to the station to ask Jimin about his alibi for the night of Kang Eunwoo's murder. From what she had understood, he had refused to provide an alibi to protect his brother and keep him out of the police's radar until the situation with Gina worked out. Even though she still couldn't get herself to consider him a pleasant person, his desire to protect his brother had humanized him a great deal in her eyes.

Sure enough, once he was made aware that Minhyuk had come forward and spoken about his daughter and the events of the past month and a half, Jimin looked much less hostile than before.

"I was at Sunset from around 10.30 pm to closing time - which is 2 am," he said, sighing tiredly and rubbing his face with his hands. "You can confirm with them."

While Minhyuk and Jimin's alibis were verified, Yuri received a text from Namjoon, asking her and Jeon to meet him at Seokjin's bakery. It was barely a 2 minute drive there, so Jeon suggested they get lunch over there and make it before Goh finished compiling the list of paperwork for them to finish.

The smell of freshly baked milk bread wafted out of the kitchen, adding another layer of warmth to Seokjin's cozy shop. The man in question picked up the large tray filled with various different confections, and brought it over to the table by the window.

"Peach danish and americano for Namjoon, chocolate fudge brownie and vanilla bean ice cream for Jeongguk, and a snow croissant and hot chocolate for Yuri." He placed everything on the table, before grabbing his lukewarm cup of tea and sitting down with them.

"So you finally find the child, then?" asked Seokjin, sipping the tea. He made a face at the odd taste that tea acquires when it's between comfortingly steamy and soothingly chilled.

"Yeah we did," Yuri replied, when her partner remained silent. "Goh is dealing with Minhyuk and the custody charges. It's no longer in our jurisdiction."

"Namjoon, how's grad school treating you?" Seokjin diverted the conversation, realising that his friend wasn't ready to talk about the case at that moment. "How much longer do you have?"

"A few more months and I should be done." Namjoon wiped the pastry flakes from the corner of his mouth and nearly tipped over his americano in the process. Yuri chuckled at this, suddenly remembering those random moments in high school where Namjoon was a lot thinner and less confident, but still had a propensity for knocking things over.

"Remind me why you're putting yourself through this?" Seokjin broke off a piece of the peach danish and popped it into his mouth.

"The last time I tried to explain that, you spaced out and created a new pastry recipe for your menu. As much as I like helping your business flourish, I'm gonna preserve my energy and only talk about things when necessary."

Seokjin chuckled and picked up a spoon from the dispenser. "Jeongguk, can I get a bit of ice cream from you?" There was no response, and looking at him for confirmation Seokjin's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"Okay okay, I won't eat any of your ice cream. You don't have to tear up about it!"

Yuri and Namjoon turned towards him as well, not sure what to do when they saw tears slowly sliding down Jeongguk's cheeks.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" asked Namjoon, patting his shoulder softly.

They sat in silence, as Jeongguk sobbed softly and wiped his face with his coat sleeve. He turned towards Yuri, his eyes glazed with tears but holding a soft radiance unlike what she was used to.

"Thank you."

Yuri felt her face heat up suddenly. This wasn't what she had been expecting. The soft sincerity in his voice startled her. It was nothing like the person she had met only a week ago. She looked away abruptly and nodded her head.

"There's nothing to thank me for. This is our job."

Jeongguk smiled and resumed eating the disgustingly sweet dessert combination in front of him. He nudged Seokjin to take some ice cream like he had originally intended. There was silence once more, but this time, it was very different.

Back at the station, Yuri finished the paperwork for the day. There was a lot to complete, and since they had stopped at Seokjin's for a break, they had lost some time as well. Goh had been very clear about completing all the paperwork for social services to take over the case from them now that Gina had been found.

It was barely even 5 pm but Yuri felt a large yawn coming on for the third time in the past few minutes. She wasn't sure how long she would be able to carry on without getting proper sleep at night. At this rate, she would eventually burn out. There was only so much coffee could do for her.

A light tap brought her attention to another person standing in her cubicle. She looked up to see Jeon holding two steaming cups of ramen, tilting his head slightly to confirm whether it was okay for him to sit down.

"Did you need anything?" she asked, after moving her slightly. He placed the ramen on her desk and pulled up his own chair and sat down.

"I've got a peace offering," he gestured to the ramen. "I wanted to apologize properly for being an absolute dickhead to you. I-" He hesitated, looking down at his hands that lay clenched on his lap - "I don't really have an excuse for my behavior but I had a lot on my mind. Particularly about finding the little girl. And, well... you really don't know what solving this case means to me."

Once again, Yuri wasn't sure how to react. She felt embarrassed that he was thanking her for doing her job - something that he did as well. While she appreciated his apology, his entire being remained confusing to her.

"Don't worry about it," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "And thanks for the ramen; food is always appreciated."

Thankfully, her computer ping-ed with a new email before the atmosphere could get any more awkward.

"Okay, we've confirmed Minhyuk's alibi's for 2nd November and 15th December. He wasn't involved in either murder. Jimin was with Minhyuk till 10.15 pm on 15th December - his car's dash cam confirms that he dropped Jimin off at Sunset bar around that time."

"Fantastic! And what about the CCTV footage at Sunset? Does it confirm Jimin's story? He said he was there till 2 am."

"Hang on, I'm opening the report. Th-" she stopped abruptly, frowning at the screen.

"What?" asked Jeon, looking over her shoulder to read the email.

"CCTV footage does not place Jimin at Sunset from 10.15 pm till closing time at 2 in the morning. He doesn't have an alibi for Eunwoo's murder."

She turned to look at him, an odd sense of foreboding hitting her as she realized that they would have to charge Jimin for murder by the next evening. He held her gaze, his dark eyes reflecting a similar shadow of doubt.

please reblog and leave a comment if you liked this part! thank you! 😊

#bts fic #jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fluff #taehyung #seokjin #namjoon #yoongi #hoseok #bts fluff #bts bookclub #btswritingcafe #bangtanhq #magicshopnet

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jincherie · 5 years

Text

florescence | ii

❀ — pairing: taehyung x reader x seokjin ❀ — genre: hybrid au, hybrid tae, hybrid jin, poly au, fluff, smut (future), angst ❀ — words: 6.8k+ ❀ — rating: sfw ❀ — warnings: more shy and blushing boys, maybe a little tugging of the heartstrings towards the end u know how it is ❀ — notes: another hybrid taejin update!! i decided to throw this up since I’m working on fox rain and aiming to have it out this weekend, but just in case I’d like to publish at least something,, you know??? anyway I hope you all like this part!! man was it a mess before i edited and fiddled with it fhbjfbjf please let me know if there are any sudden cut off sentences lol

Okay, so maybe you’re lonely, and maybe there is something missing in your life, a void that you maybe want to fill with a companion that may or may not be of human origin… You’re perfectly content not doing anything about it though, until your best friend calls you in desperate need for your help and you suddenly end up coming home with not one, but two hybrids that may or may not have been on the way to the chopping block had you not taken them in. They’re more than a little rough around the edges, and the situation is less than ideal but… maybe the best things don’t always come in perfect, shiny packages. Maybe they just need a little time to bloom.

— posted; 29.08.2019 // masterlist || prev. | next.

In the first three days at your home, the hybrids are… somewhat withdrawn. They don’t shun you or ignore you, but are notably wary in your presence, hesitant to act when around you. They’re both somewhat shy, Taehyung markedly more so than Seokjin, and while you long to talk to them and try and ease them into their new lifestyle a bit more, you try to hold yourself back and give them the space they need to adjust on their own. You know it takes time.

It’s hard, though, and at several times throughout the three days, you find yourself wondering—should they really be this shy?

You’re new, this situation is new, everything is new to them. Shyness is expected. You know that, but… you can’t help but feel something is off. Something doesn’t add up, and while you haven’t figured out exactly what yet, you’re keen to pinpoint it soon.

The first day they spent in your home, was essentially nothing more than a night since you really only brought them home that night. The next day though, the second day, the two hybrids wake early and spend hours wandering around and taking in every little scent and inspecting every item in your house, allowing themselves to grow as familiar as they can. You notice that they seem to take turns leading each other and choosing where to go, but they never part. You notice with spark of affection, that Taehyung grasps Seokjin’s sleeve out of habit as he follows him, gazing around with wide eyes and waddling behind him like a little duckling. When it is his turn to explore, he leads the other male with the same soft grip on his sleeve. You think it mustn’t be unusual since Seokjin doesn’t even bat a lash.

Other than exploring, the two hybrids seem content to nap and cuddle with each other, mostly on the bed in their room. It brings a smile to your face when you walk past and catch sight of them, Seokjin clutching Taehyung’s shirt in his sleep, and Taehyung hugging him like a stuffed toy. Taehyung is quiet, but Seokjin is letting out soft snores that, were he a feline hybrid, you might mistake for purrs.

When they wake, you ask them what they want for dinner tonight, and for the days coming, but even in this, they’re hesitant to voice their desires.

“Is there anything you really like?” you ask, pushing gently for an answer you can work with. “Any dish or type of food?”

“Uhm…” Seokjin blinks, eyes flicking from you to the ceiling, and then back to you. “I… It’s okay. We’re happy to eat whatever is being served. You d-don’t have to go out of your way to…”

“Seokjin, it’s not a bother,” you say, hoping to remind him that you chose to take them home. “I’m asking because I’m happy to make it, or buy it. Is there something you like?”

It takes a few pointed looks and verbal prompts before Seokjin finally admits his love for meat and ramen dishes. You also learn that Taehyung really likes healthy meals, with meat and vegetables, but he also likes desserts. Of course, it isn’t Taehyung that tells you this, but Seokjin. The russet-haired hybrid still refuses to talk to you. Deep down, you’re a little frustrated, and a little sad and hurt both at Taehyung’s silence and the distant, withdrawn behaviour of the two, but you know it’s unreasonable to feel that way. You understand that whatever experiences they have had in the lab aren’t ones that are easily forgotten in just one night. You can only hope that eventually they will allow themselves to open up a little more and will just bear with it in the meantime.

Later in the night, after eating the ramen you cooked up for the three of you, you plan to go sit with them and ask their opinions for some clothes, since you need to order them. Currently they only have a few sets between them and to you, that’s unacceptable. You’d like to go out to an outlet or shopping centre with them to get them a wardrobe of things they like, but also know to wait until after they have settled in a bit more. Still, in the meantime they need some clothes to wear that aren’t plain white and almost threadbare. So after tucking away the last plate into the dishwasher and turning it on, you gather your laptop and turn towards their room—except you don’t get very far, barely even a step, before you stop in place.

The door is shut. It seems they’ve retreated for the night.

A little bummed but ultimately understanding, you call out a soft ‘goodnight’ and move to your own room. You think you hear Seokjin call softly back, and although you’re not sure, you’re willing to take what you can get.

Since they weren’t there to supervise your choices, you only buy them two outfits each. You know a few economic clothing sites that cater to hybrids, so the dent in your wallet isn’t too big—you know it will be when you eventually take them out for a big shop, though. If you start preparing yourself for the pain now, it will probably hurt a little less in the future.

Humming to yourself, you sit and browse for a little over an hour, sifting through the many tabs you opened so you’d have all your favourites in front of you. For Seokjin, you end up placing some dark jeans and loose pants, along with a grey hoodie with fluffy insides and a peachy light orange long-sleeved shirt, into your cart. You don’t have much basis for your decisions, except that you thought they would suit him and they weren’t too garish or out-there. When you choose Taehyung’s, it is a little harder if only because he’s a bit more difficult to read. You end up selecting some loose black pants and jeans, the same as Seokjin, and a soft-looking dark green button-up, as well as a fluffy hoodie. You have a feeling he’ll appreciate the comfort aspects more than anything. The sizes you chose were a bit of an in-the-moment guestimate, but hopefully they won’t be too far off the mark.

You bought them online, so you’re not really expecting them any time soon—you took time off work the night you brought the boys home so you don’t have to worry about the delivery coming when you’re not here. Well, that is, unless it’s incredibly late and comes in two week’s time or more. Hopefully it will arrive within the two weeks you took off, though. You don’t think you’d get away with asking for more time, even though your job isn’t all that traditional and it’s common knowledge that although each hybrid is different, they all need an adjustment period of sorts to settle into their new home and initiate and complete the bonding process. You’d managed to get two weeks without a problem, but you feel as though any longer than that would be pushing it.

Contrary to what you expected, the clothes actually arrive the very next morning. You’re fresh out of the shower, dressed for the day ahead, and entering the living room where the hybrids are curled tentatively on the couch, when you hear a decisively loud set of knocks. The two hybrids flinch, Seokjin almost falling off the cushion of the couch from the extent of his reaction. Biting your lip to hide your smile, since it was funny but also you don’t want to embarrass him, you make your way to the door and peek through the peephole before letting out a surprised noise and swinging it open right away, accidentally bumping the handle into the wall in your haste. Yikes, hopefully it didn’t dent.

“Miss—?!” Seokjin’s alarmed voice sounds from the living room, and you hear him scrambling from the couch and rushing over. You must have startled him by swinging the door open so quickly and making such a ruckus.

“Delivery for Miss y/n l/n?” It’s an elder gentleman at your door, dressed in the uniform of the company that usually delivers your packages. In his arms is a large box, the site you bought the clothes from last night displayed on the sticker.

“Oh, that’s me!” you smile at him, and he returns it kindly. You take the box from his hold, awkwardly shuffling it under one arm so that you can sign his little digital delivery pad. “Thank you very much!”

“No problem.” You receive another smile, and then the postman is nodding his head in farewell and returning down the path to wherever he parked his van.

Making sure to wait a moment to be polite, you close the door once he is far enough and direct your gaze to the box in your arms as you turn around. This is probably why you don’t see Seokjin and Taehyung straight away, and why you let out a short, startled scream as you look up and catch sight of them hovering closely. They jump in response to your scream, and you can’t help the sudden laugh that rises at the situation.

“Sorry! Sorry, didn’t mean to scream,” you say, trying to meet their eyes as you speak. You manage to catch Taehyung’s for a split second before he tears them away, his cheeks colouring slightly as he ducks his head. Well, you’re counting that as a little victory.

“Who… Who was that?” Seokjin asks, seeming torn between curiosity and concern as he tilts to peer at the door behind you.

“It was the postman,” you explain with a smile, holding out your hand for him to take on instinct as you move past him. He doesn’t notice it for a moment, but when he does he stiffens and his wide-eyes whip to your face. Realising what you’ve done, and somewhat embarrassed by how your hand was just hanging there, you retract it and turn back in the direction you’re walking, clearing your throat. “He was delivering something I ordered. It came so quickly! I’m sorry if you were surprised, if I’d known it was coming today I would have told you ahead of time.”

“It’s okay…” Seokjin begins, his sentence trailing suddenly. You hear shuffling behind you as you continue into the kitchen, a whisper that sounded suspiciously like Seokjin brushing your ears. You reach the kitchen table and turn back just as Seokjin is pulling his head away from Taehyung’s, tall ears flicking. Seokjin’s dark eyes catch your own, teeth sinking into his lip for a moment as though he’s mulling over whether to voice this next thing or not. He seems to decide to voice whatever is on his mind, “Um, w-what did you order?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say, smile warming. “It’s actually something for the two of you.”

They’re still for a moment as your words sink in, but the second they do the hybrids are perking up. Taehyung’s eyes have adopted a light glimmer, ears straight upright amongst his russet locks and betraying his interest. Seokjin is looking at you in a similar manner, except with much more shock displayed across his handsome features.

Grasping your keys, you use the pointy end to cut through the tape on the box, excited to give them their clothes so they’d have something that wasn’t plain and white to wear. You turn back to them, open box in your arms and a bright smile on your face.

“F-For us?” the charcoal-haired hybrid finally stutters, his fluffy tail whipping behind him and his ears tilting down slightly. You panic, smile dropping as you interpret his body language as upset. His hands come together, grasping each other. “You bought something f-for us?”

“Ah, yeah…” you bite your lip, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I bought you some clothes because you need them, and I was going to buy them with you but you were asleep so— I, uh, I’m sorry if this upsets you.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, before he turns his gaze to his friend and smacks him on the back. Seokjin jerks, gasping in realisation. “Oh no, no please don’t be sorry! It’s… It’s just… well we haven’t really gotten anything like this before… Or, well, anything...”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and when they do you’re overcome with an overwhelming combination of anger at the injustice of it and sadness at the realisation that with the life they’ve had so far, of course such a situation would never arrive. Who, in a lab, is going to take the extra time to buy them personalised clothes and items? The answer is no one, and it saddens you. Well, you suppose, time for that to change.

“I see,” you say, mulling over how to say what you want next. You allow a cheeky smile to slide onto your lips “Well… this isn’t the only thing I plan on getting you, so you better get used to it quick.”

Both males’ cheeks burn bright at that, but you can tell that your words make the two of them happy. You nod your head towards the box still in your arms. “Well, do you want to see what I got you?”

Sharing a look, the two hybrids nod hastily before shyly coming up and peering into the cardboard box. The first item you can see on top is one of the pants, and you tell them to take them out, explaining what you got for each of them as they do.

Their eyes are bright and tails lashing in glee as they survey the bundle of clothes in their arms, despite how small it is. Seokjin asks if they can try them on, and when you answer, “of course!”, he is quick to grab Taehyung by the sleeve and drag him back to the room. From there, they try on both pants and shirts you bought for them.

Each time they come out to show the outfit, blushing but still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you move closer to make sure each article fits properly, and that they’re not too tight or uncomfortable around parts like their tails. Both hybrids go completely pink when you ask and help them check that, the colour even going so far as to stain their necks. Ultimately, it seems your tiny haul was a good one. The pants all fit, and the shirts too—well, for the most part. Taehyung’s fit nicely, loose enough to be comfortable and breathable, but you’d overestimated sizing a little bit when you’d factored in Seokjin’s broad shoulders. The hoodie and shirt are a little oversized on him, but to your surprise he seems to like it like that. A soft smile curls at his lips as he looks down and wriggles the tips of his fingers where they’re visible peaking out of his sweater-paws.

Both hybrids are smiling, seeming content at their gifts, but still… you want to put to rest the niggling question in the back of your mind that asks, what if you messed up and they don’t actually like them? Clearing your throat, you catch the hybrids’ attention easily from where you are, leaning against the table.

“We’ll get more things for you to wear another day, but for now… I hope these are enough.” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly feeling a bit bashful. “Do you… do you like them?”

Seokjin blinks, before straightening and taking a few steps forward. “Yes! Yes I… I really like them. They’re soft, and comfy. They smell a little odd, but it’s just because they’re new!”

His answer makes you smile a little, a flush of affection washing over your chest at how cute he is. “Ah, I’m glad. I really—oh!”

You freeze in place, hands almost slipping from their grip on the table in surprise. You very suddenly register Taehyung very close to your face and feel the tip of his nose brush your cheek, making your heart stutter. His nose is soon replaced with a brief brush of something wet that drags quickly over your skin, leaving you reeling as Taehyung pulls back with crimson cheeks and takes one look at you before turning tail and scuttling back towards his room. He disappears around the corner, the sound of the door shutting softly greeting the air moments later. Both you and Seokjin stand in shock for a moment.

“Oh…” Seokjin seems bewildered, but something akin to cheekiness glimmers briefly in his dark eyes. You feel your face begin to flush with heat as the realisation sinks in that Taehyung just licked your cheek. “Uh… he likes them too.”

Unsure what to say to that, you merely let out a grunt. Well, certainly not how you expected this scenario to play out. You can’t deny the tiny spark of hope that has spawned in your chest, though. Time, you just need to give them time.

x x x x x x x

‘Guidebook for Subjects of Batch #2991

Subject: F1204— Kim Seokjin Additional DNA: Canidae—Vulpes Vulpes Approved for progression beyond laboratory?: Yes ☐ No ☒ Observations/reasoning: Unlike ‘littermates’, subject failed to demonstrate initiation of imprinting and bonding procedure despite ample fodder and presented opportunities—did not respond to attempts from Handlers to induce natural protocol. Unclear whether from inability or refusal. Subject is also only one from litter possessing mutated colour variant in animal DNA—presents as ‘silver fox’ rather than expected ‘red fox’. Subject meets all other aesthetic requirements and has been observed to play previously, however subject is shyer, more withdrawn than littermates and will not play with humans. Does not meet aims and requirements of batch for suitable companionship, cannot be moved forward in procedure. Not approved for next stage.’

‘Guidebook for Subjects of Batch #5991

Subject: D1230— Kim Taehyung Additional DNA: Canidae— Cuon Alpinus Approved for progression beyond laboratory?: Yes ☐ No ☒ Observations/reasoning: Demonstrates unwillingness/inability to initiate imprinting and bonding procedure when in optimal environment and presented with ideal cues. Completely contradictory to social nature of the animal this batch is spliced with (Dhole/Asiatic Wild Dog), subject presents as incredibly shy and withdrawn with marked refusal to speak when interacted with. Subject appears to get along with littermates however is observed to withdraw completely around handlers and other human figures. Testing reveals larynx and speech organs functioning within normal limits, however subject refuses to use them. Aesthetic requirements of batch are met. Subject demonstrates refusal/inability to bond with humans and incredibly shy and withdrawn countenance, and therefore does not meet requirements for ideal companionship of this batch overall. Subject not approved for progression to the next stage.’

Over the past few days, the two hybrids have begun slowly unfreezing and allowing themselves to grow a little closer to you, bit by bit. You’re not trying to complain—you’re overjoyed at the progress actually—but scrolling through your social media feeds and seeing your friends with their own hybrids makes you remember all the stories you’d heard from when they first got their hybrids, and when you compare them to your own…. You can’t deny how they don’t match up. You can tell that both hybrids are shy, but you’ve never heard of anyone else having a hybrid that was shy to this extent. You’re actually a little confused too, because as far as you know from what Seulgi has told you in the past, all hybrids are created with the inner drive and instinct to bond with their owner, or at least someone that is closest to them. It’s a process that is set in motion in the first few weeks of them living in their new home, and it’s a somewhat obvious process, for most hybrid species. The need for a bond usually overrides any shyness or hesitance the hybrid may have within the first few days, but you’ve not noticed anything like what you’ve read and heard the start of the process to be like in either Seokjin or Taehyung, who has steadfastly remained silent and has yet to speak to you or hold your gaze for more than three seconds at a time. You went to search on the internet, wanting to know whether it was normal for their hybrid types, but then you realised that you didn’t actually know what kind of hybrid they even were.

That was when you’d remembered that you have such a thing as their hybrid guidebooks, and you’d promptly upturned your room searching for wherever you’d left them.

The hybrid guidebooks, made by the lab and the workers who created them with the facts of their creation along with observations on them from conception onwards. It didn’t take you too long to find them, and as soon as you did you plopped down and dove in. It was already late and as far as you knew the hybrids in question had already headed to bed, so you felt safe to read them. It was only just now that you finished reading them, and in all honesty, you think you might be about to cry.

With each book, when you went to read the next page, you were shocked to find it completely blank. A quick flick through the remaining pages revealed very much the same thing. The book isn’t all that thick, but still you’re surprised at the magnitude of pages left untouched. Perhaps they are left there for you to make your own observations? Seulgi should have told you it would be as unhelpful as it is helpful. It takes you less than a minute to reread all the meagre information provided to you, your heart clenching and sinking in your chest.

Seokjin was deemed a failure because his animal features hadn’t been the same as the others in his batch and he was reserved around humans, and Taehyung’s extreme shyness had been his downfall— and because they were deemed a failure due to those “faults”, they’d almost been sent to their death just days ago.

You blink, feeling a stray tear slip from the corner of your eye and drip down your cheekbone. Rage and disgust fill you in a violent, roiling motion before it disappears and leaves an empty ache. That isn’t fair at all. It’s no fault of their own that they didn’t meet whatever ridiculous requirements the lab held for them, and it is completely and utterly unfair the life they’ve been given so far. You slam the booklets down on the bed, taking a moment to allow your remaining tears to fall and the sadness their profiles had elicited to settle. Once you’re sure you are a little calmer, you allow yourself to ponder the information you’ve learned.

As much as you dislike the implications of what you read, it does explain a lot—knowing their breeds helps a bit, and also explains the act of thanks Taehyung saw fit to bestow upon you when you gave him clothes, but you’re also somewhat relieved at the knowledge that the way they’re acting isn’t because of you, per se, but rather is part of their observed and already-existing behaviour before meeting you. Still, a part of you longs to get closer to them and begin easing down the walls they have up— but you suppose with their personalities it may take a while. You’re willing to wait and do what you can to ensure they’re happy and content in the meantime, but still… Your mind can’t help but come back to the parts that seemed to stick with you the most.

Refusal to initiate bonding process. The question lingers in your mind, but you aren’t sure if you want to know the answer— what happens if your hybrids never imprint or bond with you?

Something heavy presses over your chest at that, and you feel your lips tug down of their own accord. It’s probably better if you don’t worry about things like that so early on. They’ve only been here a few days, after all. Flicking your bedside light off, you settle back into the covers and resign yourself to finally going to sleep, even if it’s hours after you probably should have. You’ll sleep now, and when you wake in the morning you’re going to do your very best to make sure that these two hybrids have everything they want and need and that they feel comfortable and safe in your home.

And if you can manage to get even just a little bit closer to them, that’s a plus too.

x + x + x

You spend the next day researching more on hybrids and the animals they’re spliced with and amassing a long list of things that you think will probably help them grow more comfortable and feel more at home here with you. You also intend to stock up on food that you’ve noted they like, getting some extra things as treats. You don’t imagine they ever had the chance to try caramel popcorn at the laboratory. Initially you’d only intended to make a small list, but now the one you have scribbled down is pretty impressive with its size. Watching the money come out of your bank account is going to hurt, but you’ll make it back soon enough and you’d rather spend it on them than anything else. Still, you make sure to shorten it a little bit down to some ‘essentials’ that can be retrieved in one quick trip.

You don’t have to bother being sneaky with your researching, because the hybrids stay holed up in their room or bathing in the sun in small courtyard around your front door area—you note that Taehyung in particular seems to enjoy that, always appearing the picture perfect definition of ‘at peace’ whenever he curls into the hammock you have there and lets his eyes flutter closed. He still hasn’t spoken to you, and since you know that’s not exactly… unusual for him now that you’ve read his guidebook, you do your absolute best to let go of the tiny shreds of hurt you feel each time he withholds his voice from you.

Ever since you introduced your television and Netflix to Seokjin, his favourite place has become the plush black couch pressed in the corner of the living room where he proceeds to watch a number of things from cartoons to crappy soap operas to cooking shows. It is in these moments that his guard lowers and you catch him grinning openly, and part of you wants so badly to take the opportunity to talk to him a bit more but you can’t… bring yourself to. You don’t want to ruin and intrude upon the little bubble of comfort that he has built for himself here. You just have to be patient, and wait for that bubble to gradually expand and encompass you as well. No big deal, you can do it.

Still, even though you reassure yourself with those words you can’t help the tiny part of you that fears still—what if they never grow used to you? What if they never accept you, never let you in? The prospect of it is a bit gutting—these are now technically your hybrids, this was your one chance at finding a good companion and even if they never warm up to you, you can’t just give them away. You made a commitment, took a chance, and if it turns out that they don’t take to you then the cold reality is that your one chance will have been blown.

Suddenly deciding you’ve had enough of thoughts like that and need a breath of fresh air, you gather your list and grab your bag. You know that you’d be better off staying and spending time with them, since they’re not secure in their environment yet, but… you’re also torn between that and giving them more space to get habituated. You war with yourself for a while, but eventually come to the decision that you may as well go and get everything now while there is still enough time left in the day. You can zip in and out and be back before they even know you’re gone, you reason. A feeling in your gut tells you that you probably shouldn’t, but the urge to step out for a moment and get some things that potentially might make the hybrids happier is stronger than you can ignore and you find yourself scribbling a quick note to let the hybrids know where you are in case they actually notice you’re gone.

You pass Seokjin on the way to the door, and he spares you a brief glance that you take as the opportunity to flash him a smile. He flushes at once, instantly whipping his head back around to face the TV as he avoids your eyes in what seems to be embarrassment. You catch it as he curls further into the cushioning, hands gripping the soft orange material of his shirt and his fluffy speckled obsidian tail coming to curl over his lap. Smiling to yourself, you place the note in your hold onto the kitchen table as you pass and then slip quietly out of the house. Taehyung isn’t on the hammock so you presume he is in the room inside.

In the note you essentially told them you were stepping out for a bit, and not to worry because you’d be back soon. You don’t really think much of it and considering how aloof they’ve been overall, you assume they won’t even miss you while you’re gone. The most you expect is a brief thought wondering where you went.

It seems you are fated to be proven wrong, however. While you only meant to be gone for maybe an hour, an hour and a half, the trip itself for everything you have on the list takes a bit longer than intended. When you arrive home, your arms laden with bags, it’s getting to late afternoon and you’re surprised the second you step inside to find the two hybrids waiting anxiously by the door with wide eyes.

“Mistress!” Seokjin steps forward, and you presume it’s the alarm colouring his tone that causes him to forget what you told him the other day about calling you that. Taehyung trembles behind him, looking at you with big glossy eyes for a moment before darting forward and taking some of the bags from your hold wordlessly, ferrying them to the kitchen. You don’t doubt he’s still listening as Seokjin continues, a waver present in his smooth voice that makes your chest ache. “Wh-where did you go? Why did you go? Wh-what—”

You flounder, arms too full for you to comfort him as your instincts scream for you to. You panic when you see his eyes glossing, the first signs of tears beginning to gather at the corner. Heart lurching into your throat, you dart to the kitchen and deposit the bags by the bench before turning to comfort Seokjin—and nearly running straight into him as he’d been hot on your heels the second you moved.

“Oh, Seokjin,” you murmur as you take in the sudden crestfallen expression on his handsome features. The panic returns as you see the first fat tear roll down his cheek; you realise quickly that it’s something much more than a brief trip to the shops without them on your end that has him so worked up. Your hands fly to grasp his own, holding them gently—his fingers clutch back desperately. “Oh, Seokjin— hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry. I left you a note so that you’d know—what’s wrong? Please tell me why you’re upset.”

The male had been holding it together somewhat before you spoke, but the second your words brush his ears he can no longer hold back his sniffles and the wobbling of his chin, his ears flattening almost completely against his head. You witness the conflict on his features, the way his arms twitch with the urge to take his hands back yet the way he also leans into your touch, shuffling closer unconsciously. You suspect he doesn’t know what he wants let alone what’s going on, and you feel even worse that he’s gotten so upset on your watch.

“Did you go to return us?” he asks, avoiding your question, voice clear despite its wobble and the sob that climbs his throat. He tears one hand away to rub at his eyes, sobbing into his shirt sleeve like he is ashamed that you’re seeing him like this. “D-did you go to see if you could t-take us ba-ack?!”

You can feel the horror distort your features as his words registered in your mind—did he think that? Did they both think that? You left them a note, you didn’t realise they’d… oh, god.

“Why would I want to return you, Seokjin?” you ask softly, meeting his eyes and aching at the heartbreak you find in their amber-hued depths. “Why would I want to take you back?”

He clenches his eyes shut, biting his lip to contain the whimpers climbing his throat, but to no avail. They all come spilling out when he opens his mouth to answer you, his shoulders curving as he curls in on himself slightly.

“Because we’re failures,” he sobs, lifting his arm to hide his face in his elbow again. Each word that slips from his mouth flings another shard of pain to pierce your heart. “We didn’t pass the requirements, we’re not fit to be c-hic-companions. I-If no one at the lab or at a shelter wants us, then why would you?”

You’re speechless for a moment as he cries into his arm, your eyes wide as you flounder for what to do, how to proceed. Fuck it all, you decide. You’re going to go with your instincts for once.

“Oh, Seokjin,” you coo sadly, tugging him to you by the hand; you release it once he’s close enough, slipping your arms around his waist and pulling him close. You rest your chin over his shoulder, guiding his head down to your neck. “Come here.”

He stiffens instantly, and you almost worry he’s going to tear out of your hold before he lets out another heaving sob and buries his face in your neck where it meets your shoulder, arms coming to clutch you desperately. You can feel his ear pressing against the side of your head as you coo, rubbing his back with one hand and using the other to card softly through the hair at the base of his neck. He absolutely melts into your arms.

“Seokjin, I didn’t go to return you, and I am so sorry for anything I did that led you to believe that.” You rest your head against his slightly, letting out a soft noise when he tightens his hold at the action. “I’m sorry for what happened to you before you came here, but please believe me when I say I’m going to do my best to make sure you feel safe, and happy, and loved here. I won’t ever return you, or Taehyung. You aren’t failures, you don’t fall short. You’re perfect and I’m glad I ended up with the opportunity to meet you. Okay?”

While your words did serve to comfort the male in your arms, they also made him sob that bit louder and harder into your shoulder. You turn, catching sight of Taehyung staring at you from the kitchen threshold with tears a split second from falling in his eyes and his bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably. You open your arm to him wordlessly and he doesn’t hesitate to dart forward and join Seokjin in clinging to your form, shoving his face into the other side of your neck. You hear him sniffling, can feel his chest wrack with sobs, but you don’t hear him wail as Seokjin does.

You do your best to soothe them both as much as possible, running your fingers through the hair at the back of their necks and rubbing over their broad backs. With Seokjin’s words from earlier, you realise that this whole time part of their distance has likely been due to the fact they thought you weren’t going to keep them. They were scared to get settled in and accept you, because if they did and then you turned them away, it would break their hearts. Your very first meeting you’d swooped in just in the nick of time to save them from a glorified execution, for crying out loud. You don’t doubt that the situation they’ve been in is one that led to a lot of feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness—you can kind of understand the thought pattern that can result, and once more the realisation of how they must be feeling truly saddens you.

You guide them to the living room, easing onto the bigger couch that occupies the space, and the two of them waste no time in curling onto it next to you, very much still clinging to your form. Gradually, with many whispered assurances that you aren’t going to return them, they are here for good or as long as they want to be, you manage to soothe their sobbing until it is just the occasional hiccup and sniffle that pierces the air. From your position between them, caged in by their arms and the faces pressed to your neck still, you can see their ears flicking and shifting from the corner of your eyes and have to squash the urge that rises within you to pet and scratch them. Someone once told you it was considered rude to do so, and you try and keep that in mind as you do your best to refrain from giving in.

As you peer out the window and take note of the darkened skies, it is with regret that you begin to shift between them. Seokjin lets out a low whine, Taehyung silent but his grip tightening around you.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask, voice soft. It’s directed at both of them, although you’re only expecting one vocal answer.

“Yes,” Seokjin croaks, pulling away with a sniffle and averting his eyes. It seems his actions are finally catching up with him, along with the resulting embarrassment they appear to cause him. “Th-thank you m—y/n.”

You feel Taehyung nod against you, but contrary to what you expect him to do next he actually burrows his face deeper into your neck. It takes you a moment to think of why he does that instead of pulling away, when you feel the heat of his cheeks against your skin and realise he probably is also embarrassed and just doesn’t know how to act about it. You turn and press a kiss to his scalp, close to his ear, and pull Seokjin back to plant one on his forehead. He lets out a squeak, hand slapping to his forehead as he stares at you with impossibly wide amber eyes. Violent pink flushes his face and you almost stop and wonder if he’s actually okay for a moment.

“I’m glad,” you say, meeting the hybrid’s eyes so that he can see how serious you are. “I don’t intend on giving you back, Seokjin. Please tell me next time when you’re worried about such things—both of you—and I’ll do my best to make you feel better, okay?”

They both nod, Taehyung finally pulling away with burning cheeks and averted eyes. You can’t help the fond smile that slips onto your cheeks. Considering how embarrassed they are right now at the emotional mess they just were and how desperately they’re trying to reclaim the distance between you, you decide to let them off the hook and move on to the subject that always seemed to catch their attention.

“Alright, now that you’re both feeling a bit better—how about we make dinner? I got some snacks and there’s a movie I’m going to watch after, if you want you can join me.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone’s face change from downtrodden to excited as quickly as theirs do. Laughing, you rise and drift to the kitchen with the two beautiful boys trailing after you, and go about showing them how much you care in one of the ways you’re best at. Dinner is made with them tending to every task you ask of them, and once the food is in your tummies and the table is cleared the three of you move to the couch, snacks in tow.

When the movie begins to get into the swing of things, you feel the two hybrids inch closer on the couch, and can’t help your smile. A part of you aches as you imagine how they must have felt earlier, but you can’t help but hope that from this point onwards, they’ll finally begin to warm up to you like you long for. You want them to feel safe and happy, like they deserve, and damn it if you won’t do everything in your power to make that a reality.

masterlist || prev. | next.

p.s; please let me know what u think! and if u like this, please let me know by liking and/or reblogging!! it doesn’t seem like much, but I’ve been struggling with a bit of a low mood lately and tbh it’s the little things like seeing people enjoy my stuff that help keep me afloat

if you’d like to support me, feel free to send me a kofi and aid my poor uni student ass :’) thank u for reading, ily!

2K notes · View notes

uwua3 · 4 years

Note

yoohoo!! may i ask for some soft hcs of tenma and his s/o on a summer night? thank u n ily 🥺💕

MELELELELELEL 🥺 i,,, i Love You. of course i will write this for you because i Love You ♡ I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU 🥺🥺🥺

summary: school’s out! that means a beach day with your boyfriend, tenma!

author’s note: everyone go check out nervwrecked right now she’s the Funniest Person on the Planet i promise you!!! she is the best i love her so much ♡ this turned more into a beach day into night hc so i hope you don’t mind, mel !!!

Tenma Tenma Tenma Tenma Tenma. that was my entire thought process, i just love beach!tenma so much and i went a little crazy. sorry about that~ tenma has such a specific, chaotic energy to me and i had to write about it

word count: 3,632

music: lightning in a bottle – the summer set (please mel this is the most perfect song ever, you’d love it!)

summer nights.

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

school was out and life never felt so good!

the moment that last bell rang, tenma sprinted outside of the academy with his emerald green uniform blazer flying behind him

“freedom! no more school!” tenma shouted into the horizon, ignoring the judgemental looks he got from students who were, you know, leaving normally

“tenma! wait up!” you sprinted after him, jumping onto his back as tenma instinctually caught you with his arms supporting your legs around his waist

(you did this so much, he started purposely turning his back towards you so he could catch you)

looking over his shoulder, tenma grinned as he adjusted his grip and started heading out to the sidewalk to walk home

“how was your day?” tenma asked, feeling you hum as you rested your head against his shoulder. tenma almost tripped over nothing, his cheeks burning as he averted his eyes to the clear, sunny blue sky

“okay, better now i have my boyfriend to carry me wherever i want.” you held onto his dress shirt loosely, your nose fitting perfectly with the curve of his neck. he smelled sweaty, he obviously tried way too hard in gym and it showed

tenma grinned, pretending to yawn as he lightly loosened his hold, making you slip down out of no where as you squeaked, tightly holding onto his shoulders

“my bad, sunshine. seems like i’m a bit rusty at piggyback rides.” tenma nonchalantly teased, but tensed when he felt you freeze against his back. did he say something wrong?

tenma puffed out one cheek, wondering if he should push aside his pride and apologize before you reached over and pinched his cheek, smiling sweetly

“sunshine?” you watched as tenma’s face turned red and he nudged your hands off. tenma huffed, wanting to die and fall into a black hole on the street so bad. he could say he didn’t mean it—

“i like it.” you whispered, returning your head on his shoulder. you couldn’t stop smiling; tenma was so precious even if he acted like he was some hotshot. tenma was just so cute when he acted like he didn’t care about romance (he did, very much. he tried very hard)

“it’s been so sunny recently, too. i miss going to the beach.” you mumbled, absentmindedly playing with his tie. you two reached the part of town with plenty of trees, providing shadows to cool down from the summer heat

tenma slowed down by the vending machine, popping in a coin to pass you your favorite drink. you couldn’t see his face, but you knew it was blushing as his hand slightly shook passing you the can

(he remembered, how cute)

“let’s go then.” tenma coughed into his arm, rushing the words so they were hard to hear. you tilted your head, staring at his face as he stared directly ahead of him. tenma pressed a button at the crosswalk, waiting for the walkimg light to let him pass

“what?” you asked, pretending like you didn’t hear him the first time just to poke fun at his shyness. tenma kicked at a stone beneath his shoe, rolling his eyes as he looked at your shit–eating grin

“you heard me the first time. we can go now if you want.” tenma raised his eyebrow, knowing he had you hook, line, and sinker. the predicament was perfect: there was no more homework to keep you both up stressed, no more finals to cram for, and certainly no more classes keeping you guys apart. it was time to catch up on all those dates you missed from school events

“have i told you you’re the most perfect man ever?” you teased, but genuinely laughed when his face got even redder. of course, child star tenma, who got compliments and praise everyday couldn’t handle it when you said something nice. it was endearing to see what an effect you had on him

“shut up.” he muttered, letting you down gently as he phoned his private driver an update to his plans

you sat down on the bench, innocently drinking your drink as you glanced around at the sunlight streaming through the leaves

(tenma mid–conversation blanked, turning to see you completely at peace. he softly smiled, admiring the way you glowed in the summer sun before his driver called his name, making him jump slightly before stammering back a quick response)

(you caught his eye and you both tried your hardest not to laugh like two crazy teens in love)

you arrived at the beach with excitement to match your beloved boyfriend’s rare enthusiasm

(tenma kept asking if they were there yet, backing down when he noticed his driver send him a sharp glare. he leaned on you for reassurance, pouting like a little kid)

tenma wore his classic pair of oversized sunglasses that did nothing to hide his identity, passing you your own, from the trunk

(yes, you even had matching ones! he had bought them one day after throwing a whole tantrum about losing them. when they arrived, tenma acted like he just found his “lost” pair when in reality, he just liked matching with you)

(he’d never admit it, though. no matter how much evidence you had against him, he was a stubborn soul)

in case of long rides, you two liked singing your heart out to the top 50 songs on the radio. the driver always turned it up so he could block out tenma’s terrible attempts at hitting the high notes as you hyped him up

(yes, it hurt your ears. but you were just as bad just to make him hold his stomach, hunched over laughing and wheezing)

this time, you two fought to see who would get out of the car the fastest just because. you made a rule to wait until the driver completely stopped the vehicle at the beach’s frontier

“i don’t want you to die on our beach date, tenma!” you reasoned, seeing him internally malfunction from realizing it was really a date

(he agreed, like immediately)

(“you’re so right.” tenma said, like he wasn’t aware of his own actions and nodded very, very seriously)

“alright kids, we’re here—” the driver started before both of you immediately lunged for the car handle like 5–year–olds. screw the rules!

“last one to get out is a loser!” you yelled, trying to open the door before you felt your window hit something very tenma–like

“why?!” tenma yelled as he fell back onto the fence, pretending to pass away as he stuck his tongue out, laying his arm across his forehead

“leave me here... don’t look back... even though you’re a loser for getting out last.” he choked out, coughing for the dramatic effect. all he got was a kick in the shin

(“ow! will you do this when i get best lead actor?!”)

“come on winner, time to not embarrass me in public.” you joked, pulling him up by his jacket collar and—oh. you frowned, looking down at your own uniform

“tenma.” you said carefully, watching as he owlishly blinked up at you. this kid was seriously the embodiment of “no thoughts, head empty”

“yeah?”

“we’re still in our school clothes.”

tenma quickly grimanced, letting out a very loud “ew!” as he shook off his blazer and threw it behind him without thinking. it tumbled into the sand dunes, rolling away

“and that’s for making me feel stupid, school!” tenma yelled, standing proudly on top of the stone ledge as you slapped your forehead. this kid...

“tenma... you still need that for next year.”

(you two had to spend five minutes running after a blazer that seemed to have a mind of its own. tenma winced when he pulled it out of the ocean and it dripped with sea water. his parents weren’t gonna be happy)

(you didn’t have the heart to point out his wet pants as well)

you two came to an overpriced beach shack as you thumbed through hawaiian–themed dad shirts and revealing swimwear. you decided to choose something for tenma, finding the most questionable denim jacket that would fit tenma’s taste perfectly

you snuck behind him, about to give him the biggest scare of his life before you saw a flashy shirt in his hand. tenma seemed to have the most oblivious face ever, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked over the design

(he was holding two shirts and you realized it was in the couples’ section)

“would they like this? maybe i’m being gross...” tenma sighed, about to put the shirt back before you tapped his arm, holding the denim jacket in front of your face

“ta–da! we can match!” you cheered, knowing you would wear this very peculiar jacket if it meant tenma would be happy

(it did. his entire face lit up like it was christmas in july)

“yeah! i mean, yeah.” tenma lowered his voice, clearing his throat as he debated between showing the shirts before tossing one to you like it was the most coincidental thing in the world

“i mean, only because you want to.” tenma pretended like he didn’t care, but only looked away when you didn’t buy it

you shrugged, tucking the clothes under your arm as you gestured towards the mannequins wearing snapbacks

(tenma loved snapbacks)

“oh? you don’t want to? i thought maybe we could’ve gotten matching snapbacks but...” you were about to head to another display before he grabbed your shoulder, his eyes wide and face about to have a breakdown from admitting his own feelings

“don’t make me say it...” tenma begged, but you weren’t backing down, just smiled as he dramatically refused to say what he wanted and went to go retrieve two snapbacks without another word

you two went in opposite changing rooms and he came out first, smacking the beach hut door against the wall loudly as he struck a runway–worthy pose

he looked ridiculous. the denim jacket was luckily thin so it was breathable, the patches were just too loud and had so many out of date slang terms that were only popular in 60s america. the shirt was white with a neon rainbow palm tree with a wave and the snapback had a rim around it like a hula skirt. it was very fun in the sun

tenma was about to complain about how much he looked like an idiot and you had no fashion sense before you stepped out, and he was breathless

you looked just as dumb, maybe even more, but the fact you two were matching was enough for tenma

(tenma didn’t even say anything. he just stared, came back to his senses, and quickly shuffled to the cashier)

(he paid willingly. your jaw dropped. he didn’t even flinch when he heard the price)

you two strode out onto the sand confidently. seconds later tenma started hopping up and down

“why is the sand so hot?!” tenma yelped, forgetting he was wearing sandals in deep sand as repeated, “ouch. ouch. ouch.”

you sighed. he was such a big baby

you moved closer until you swept him over your shoulder, carrying him fireman–style with ease as you marched through the sand to an available umbrella the driver reserved in advance

tenma recovered from his moment of shock before he started smacking your back lightly, kicking his legs wildly

“let me down!!! i can walk!” tenma tried to roll off, but you just laughed. better this than hear him complain the entire walk over

you suddenly noticed the ocean that wasn’t very far away

you tried to walk normally to avoid suspicion, but tenma started connecting the dots when he saw the umbrella and towels in his view

why were you were going further away?

“hey, isn’t that—” tenma got cut off by a loud splash! as he quickly resurfaced, a defiant determination to his face for a split second before he faked a convincing frown

(you were doubled over losing your mind, unable to believe he fell for it)

“sunshine~ it’s so cold, help me!” tenma whined, reaching his arm out as he pretended to shiver. you paused, considering your options before you sighed (you definitely didn’t do it because of the endearment). you swam out a little more, putting your hand out. tenma grabbed your wrist with vengence

splash!

now both of you were in the ocean as you gasped in air, about to accuse him of tricking you before more water splashed in your face

tenma swam across from you, his snapback at the coast and denim jacket very heavy now

“tenma. stop.” you warned but more water hit your face, again

he watched you with a mischevious grin, you wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face

you smiled, moving in closer as tenma’s breath hitched, your lips just inches away before you dunked his head underwater

he pulled you with him, laughing even though he was supposed to use as little oxygen as possible

his hair floated around his head, the bright orange resembling coral and vivid purple eyes gleaming with childish euphoria

(you finally gave him the kiss he deserved when he made a heart with his hands)

(he made a surprised sound and bubbles floated out of his mouth when you pulled away)

(you literally made him speechless)

when you two came back to land, you insisted on drying tenma’s hair as he spluttered, unable to form intelligent words for the life of him

(you dried his hair with a crab towel, liking the way he sighed comfortably and leaned into your touch)

after settling down, you chilled out on the beach chairs with fresh coconuts

(tenma insisted he could crack one open. you didn’t bother telling him they already had holes in them)

lazing about on the beach, you two talked about how awful school was as you ate tropical fruit that came in the bag the driver took out from the back

(tenma denied ever planning a beach date, but you gave him the “really?” face when you held a beach ball up to him)

(he just shrugged, looking at his nails. “i love playing volleyball anywhere, what can i say?”)

it was so relaxing to spend the whole day on the beach! you went looking for seashells and tenma trailed behind you obediently, holding your pail out every time you excitedly yelled “look!” when you found something

(tenma didn’t get the hype, but he tried to match your energy)

tenma liked the sea glass though, proudly showing it off unprompted and believing 100% it came from a secret, undiscovered civilization like atlantis

(tenma must really not pay attention in school if he didn’t know about littering)

you two even had a sandcastle collecting competition! it was clear tenma didn’t know how to make one for the life of him, so you two worked together to create one

(he fantasized about mermaids. when you wrote your name and his at the base of the castle, he swore sirens were real when you sang off–tune a random melody while putting seashells on the sand)

later on in the day, you two were chatting about your plans for the summer as a seagull came up, staring at the bag of chips in your hand

tenma was about to point out the bird (he never noticed them before) before it snatched your chips, happily waddling away with its newfound treasure

before you could even react (or tell tenma this was normal), tenma used his athletic skill to absolutely outrun the seagull, yelling nonsense about rights to food as he nearly jumped onto the seagull

“tenma!” you called his name, wide–eyed as you watched tenma chase a singular seagull around the beach shouting profanities about giving back your chips. yep, that was your boyfriend

(at the end, tenma got them back even though most of them fell out when the seagull tried flying away. tenma caught the seagull with his two hands, holding it tightly as he shook it, demanding it released your chips)

(it didn’t, and tenma had to yank them from the seagull’s beak)

everything after that, went smoothly. definitely a lot more relaxing after witnessing your boyfriend almost fight a seagull in your honor

you guys even had a friendly game of volleyball at the beach’s public net, forcing his driver to be the referee that seemed to be in your favor

(“the ball was totally out!” tenma protested [it was] as you scored the point, leaping up to high–five the driver. stick it to the man!)

(you won with a landslide. you got a double popsicle as a prize, and you split it to offer tenma the other side. it made you smile seeing your favorite orange–haired boy with a popsicle that looked exactly like him)

time passes when you’re having fun! night began to settle in, as you yawned and rubbed your eyes tiredly. you were dozing off in the beach chair, trying your best to stay awake after a long day at school

“tenma, maybe we should go home?” you suggested before you heard two sticks being scraped together. oh no, tenma was up to something again

you weakly opened your eyes, seeing a very frustrated tenma trying to create a fire

“tenma?” you questioned, sitting up from the chair to see a bunch of sticks surrounding your boyfriend who looked just as confused as you were

“uh... i don’t know how to start a bonfire.” tenma admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up, kicking the sticks with no remorse

“that’s okay! we can just head back—” you started but tenma furiously shook his head, very opposed to the idea

“no! i mean... let’s stay a little longer, okay?” he offered no explanation as he tried again, but to no avail. you didn’t know what to do when he kept glancing at his watch and up at the sky

“ok, you know what.” tenma held your hand as he pulled you to the coastline, stopping as the water surrounded your ankles

you were about to ask if he was okay, before a boom! electrified the sky

it was summer, alright. colorful fireworks exploded before you out of no where as you couldn’t help but gape at the sight

(the timing was too convenient)

“you planned this... for me? why?” you were amazed by the fireworks show, wondering how many contacts tenma had to reach out to

your face was illuminated by every color possible, the fireworks reflected in your eyes as tenma stared, wondering how he got so lucky to share his first summer day with you

(tenma would have gotten you fireworks everyday if it meant you were this excited)

you were about to say something, anything to remember the moment before tenma squeezed your hand

“i like you so much.” tenma whispered, staring at the way you impulsively blushed, turning to look back into his eyes

tenma got on one knee

“oh my god...” you were shell–shocked. was tenma proposing? you guys were both still in high school, how would this affect his career? you were about to pull him up before he popped back up with a seashell between his fingers

“look! it’s a big one, too!” tenma shoved the sand dollar in your face. you blinked. and took it out of his hand, flabbergasted

“thank you.” you slowly said, trying to wrap your head around his denseness as he proudly rambled about how he was able to find such a cool seashell

“kidding.” tenma teased, giving you a thin ring with your birthstone in the middle. you froze, staring at the jewelery as he looked up at the sky, listening to the distant booms and wondered how many people were staring up at the same sky

(tenma sneaked a peek at your face. he knew he had the best view, though)

“i saw this and thought of you. maybe it can be our promise ring, to be together.” tenma’s words left his lips hesitantly, ignoring the one thing he wanted to finish with. he wanted to promise to be together, forever

you were about to respond, speechless from the romantic gesture before a rather large wave almost knocked you off balance

you let go of the ring and heard it drop into the ocean as you and tema stared at each other

“um. the promise is still on right?” you asked, nervously laughing as he looked back down at the ocean and up at you

“uh... this kinda ruined the moment, didn’t it?”

(you two bent down immediately, digging through the sand for the ring as the fireworks began to die down. as a firework blew up, tenma breathed a sigh of relief as the ring glinted in the orange light)

(he wouldn’t admit it, but it was very expensive)

he slipped it onto your pointer finger, admiring how your hands perfectly fit his. it was like he was born to be in the ocean with you, watching the summer night sky

tenma was about to say something about how he actually got the ring size right before you pulled him towards you, grabbing his god awful neon palm tree tee shirt. you kissed him under the glow of the last firework of the night

tenma squeezed your hand again, smiling into the kiss as you ran your thumb over the palm of his hand

(if mermaids weren’t real, they were super jealous of him right now, they had to)

(the most beautiful person alive had two legs and was walking on land, and was kissing him! out of all the people!)

you leaned back, savoring the moment as the stars shined above you in the deep blue sky

“sparklers?”

(tenma looked like he was having flashbacks)

“i really like you, but no.”

#sumeragi tenma #tenma sumeragi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #tenma x reader #a3! tenma #a3 tenma

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imbellarosa · 3 years

Text

some crack (but not really) headcanons for @statementlou under the cut come on people u know ur curious it can’t be THAT BAD...orrrr cannn it?? (also s/o to @dependsonwhospitching and @queenlokibeth who were too late to stop me)

SO what if liam and oli (u read that right) got really close near the end of 1D. like...reallllyyyy close. everyone was doin’ their partying thing and they liked partying together and one thing led to another and u know how it isssss, things HAPPEN but it wasn’t SERIOUS or anything Liam was like Louis’ little bro Oli would NEVER!!! anyways then the band broke up bc...thats what bands DO (yes i know 5sos and the goo goo dolls and 21 pilots are still together but ALL OF THE GREATS have a dramatic break up make up story okay we’re just not at the make up yet give me this) ANYWAYS the band breaks up right? and they go their separate party boy ways and run into each other here and there and Oli even does a cameo in a Liam commercial (Louis can’t for the LIFE of him understand when he agreed but he’s like...yeah alright lad have fun) and then years pass and Louis and Liam still chat (sometimes) so like...they keeps tabs on each other in a periphery kind of way like how sometimes parallel stars have pieces of debris in their orbit that sometimes crash into each other unexpectedly and move on, but theyre different because they met each other.

ANYWAYS then this mess of a pandemic hits right? and by liams own admission they got the band back together (via WhatsApp! It COUNTS!) and then Louis wants TIPS for VEEPS because he wants to be doing thingsss rn he had a great five/six months off but October hit and it was BACK TO WORK FOR HIM! (why that month?? oh no reason ObVIOusLY just...felt right). right so ANYWAYS he’s on the phone with Liam a lot more but then he wants to go to LA (again, no reason) so he updates Liam on Oli’s contact in case of emergencies and Liam’s like “ah yes that dude i used to party and um...mutually respected for a while wonder what he’s up to”. and then they started texting and they’d never really had an actual convo before wo the help of, uh, adult substances?? but as it turns out, Oli knows his SHIT about art bc he’s been forced to sit and watch documentaries about obscure queer artists and listen to, um, a certain SOMEONE go ON AND ON (usually high) about paintings and subtext and how much they can spend (is reasonable to spend) on a piece so when liam starts talking about watercolors and shading and techniques Oli’s like ‘ah yes i know that how long have you been doing that AND have you tried MIXING THESE TWO MEDIUMS according to *x painter* it gives you *y result* and i think you’d like that”. and liam is like...O.O i didnt know?? you were an artist? and he’s like ‘nah mate im not but Louis’ really invested in some of that so ive sort of absorbed it all’ and Liam is like... “TELL ME MORE” so they *really* start talking and it turns out that Lima is STILL a kid in some ways but hes also crazy and chaotic and kind and trying his best, and i mean REALLY trying his best but ALSO really really hot (loookkkk have you SEEN him in shorts and eyeliner?? Oli needed a cup of ice after one of those face times). BUT ALSO Oli is FUNNY and LOYAL and he never ONCE made fun of the watercolor rat phase, and he WANTED to listen to all of the art (Zayn) related stories from the band that Louis wouldn’t ever listen to and also refused to tell.

So like...the text convos moved to phone calls and the phone calls moved to facetimes and then at some point they realized that they’d had MONTHS worth of conversation (it’s December at this point) without needing ANY adult substances and like their convos are calm lowkey and really lovely so liams like...what if?? and now they have a date planned for when lockdown ends but they arent quite sure how they’re going to explain to Louis what’s been going on. Lucky for them, he’s been quite busy lately (what with the international travel and the writing sessions and the rehersals) so they still have a bit more time to figure it out, but only a bit, because they’ve already decided (unbeknownst to the other) that they’re going to be each other’s new year’s kiss.

#dklfjlkdajf #liam x oli #yep you read that rigth #*right #this is the BEST thing ive ever written EXCUSE YOU #i deserve ALL THE RIGHTS for this #this is what EVERYONE WHO DOUBTED ME GETS #YOU THOUGHT I WOULDNT DO IT HERE IT ISSS #lmao i know nothing about either of these dudes but this is how they can still win #loliconfirmed #ur WELCOME

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Not A Ghost, You're In My Head (Your Move 3/3) (Branjie) - Ortega

a/n: this has had about fifty billion potential titles, but rest assured that finally this is Your Move 3, only a year and a bit late. i really hope u all enjoy the end of the saga, and sorry and thank u to those who have been so patient! i’ll shut up now bc quite frankly uv all waited long enough for this. (title’s from Forever by Charli XCX pls listen to it it’s such a Branjie song)

fic summary: “Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.”

***

The smell of coffee and the warmth of the cafe inside hits Brooke like a ton of bricks as she walks in, blinks a little, and scans the room to find a seat. Eventually her eyes settle on a small booth through the back, away from the clatter and hiss of the coffee machines and probably the closest thing to quiet that they’ll get in a public setting like this. Sliding into it, Brooke shrugs her jacket off, lifts up a menu, puts it down again, drums her nails against the tabletop and takes her phone out. She checks the time, then checks her reflection in her phone’s camera. Briefly she finds it crossing her mind that she’s probably put more effort into her outfit, hair and makeup today than she had for their first date. What had she worn for their first date again? She can’t remember. She supposes it doesn’t matter now.

Putting her phone down, Brooke digs her toes into the soles of her shoes and takes one deep breath that she intends to be calming. Instead it leaves her feeling as if she is trapped under a sheet of ice with a millimetre of air to work with before she sinks underwater. Part of her feels as if she is already sinking. The other part of her feels as if she sank a month-and-a-bit ago and here she is, sitting waiting in a cafe, a living shipwreck. Sometimes her ribs feel like huge, cracked planks of wood, an empty vessel where something once lived. Sometimes it feels as if her heart is a sail, a huge mast broken in two with two long, ragged dagger marks scarring the sheet and rendering it useless. Other times she feels like a huge, heavy propellor is cutting into her stomach and churning it up, though that’s mainly when she makes the mistake of scanning social media (and isn’t madness doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?)

Today, Brooke just feels hollow.

Suddenly her phone buzzes harshly against the table and Brooke’s heart involuntarily leaps as she picks it up, an aftershock of the past seven months that will eventually dissipate with time. At least, she hopes so.

V: i can’t do this today

V: i’m sorry

Brooke feels as if an elastic band inside her has suddenly snapped. She doesn’t know if she feels relieved or if she wants to cry. Feeling a blush prickle against her cheeks and a lump form in her throat, her body seems to make the decision for her.

B: It’s okay don’t worry. Another time x

What does she expect? Brooke isn’t supposed to be the heartbroken one, Brooke isn’t meant to be the one that is sitting crying at a coffee shop table as if she’s the one that’s been broken up with. She wipes below her eyes and dabs lightly at her lashes with her fingers before pulling her jacket back on and walking quickly back through the door of the cafe she’d stepped through not even five minutes ago.

They’ll try again when she’s ready.

***

Brooke sinks on top of her bed, letting out a huge, deep breath of air until her stomach feels as if it is concave. It had been Vanessa that was the cautious one, it had always been Brooke making the big decisions about their relationship- a fact that, she cruelly reminds herself, remained true til its very end. She blinks very slowly. Her eyelids are so fucking heavy and tired. She took the morning off work to accommodate her plans and now she has nothing to do. Sitting and staring at the ceiling until her eyes burn is a nice impromptu plan.

Her phone suddenly hums in the silence of the room. As if she’s been shocked by jump leads, Brooke spins over on her bed and grabs her phone from her bedside table, her heart hammering at an unhealthy rate. She feels the disappointment sink through her whole body when she sees the name on the screen.

“Hey.”

“Hey, boo. Calling to see how you were, but your tone kind of says it all for me.”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. Vanessa never showed.”

“I know. She phoned me.”

The cardiac arrest is back, alive and unwell in Brooke’s ribcage. “What did she say?”

“That she felt like an ass. I asked her what donkeys had to do with anything.”

Brooke shakes her head and laughs in spite of herself. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“I know. How are you doing?”

Brooke frowns deeply. “What, that’s all you said? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

A sigh comes from the end of the line. “Brooke, maybe you have to let her go.”

“No, come on, Yves, that’s not fair. Don’t talk to me like I’m obsessed and still clinging on because that’s not…it’s more complicated than that.”

“I mean. It was you that ended things.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” Brooke sighs, her heart feeling sick and empty.

“Look, just give her some time. You can’t just expect everything to go back to the way things were. Because…” her friend pauses on the end of the line, as if she’s about to deliver something Brooke won’t want to hear. “…well. Things might not.”

“I thought you were phoning to cheer me up,” Brooke says, deadpan. Yvie has the audacity to laugh.

“No, sorry, sorry. I just…you know. Best friends tell you shit you don’t want to hear sometimes. That’s part of the contract I signed back in high school,” Yvie’s affectionate warm laugh comes down the phone and Brooke finds herself smiling. It’s impossible to stay mad at Yvie; she may look fierce on the outside but Brooke knows she’s secretly a Care Bear brought to life via magic spell. Brooke is sincerely happy they’ve been friends for so long. They’ve helped each other and been there for each other through a lot, of course, through situations that are arguably worse than this, but Brooke is glad she has Yvie during this absolutely shit time. Vanessa had loved Yvie too when she’d met all of Brooke’s friends. Sure, she’d got along with Plastique and Nina and had eventually warmed to Bianca (although that had been a struggle after some of Bianca’s snide comments), but Yvie had welcomed her into Brooke’s life with open arms and had treated her as if they had been friends all their lives too. Brooke knows Yvie still speaks to Vanessa just to check in on her. She doesn’t mind.

“Do you wanna go for drinks tonight? Or food, if you feel like drinks will descend into stuff you’ll regret,” Yvie continues down the phone. Brooke exhales slowly.

“…Honestly Yves, it’s fine.”

“I’ll come to the apartment then. I just don’t want you wallowing. Wallowing’s for hippos. You’re not a hippo. You’re a…graceful crane.”

“You’re drunk already.”

“Maybe I am, and what the fuck of it? Right, I’m coming over tonight with lasagne in a tinfoil tray. Preheat your oven now. I’ll be round at 7. Love you, bye.”

“Bye. Love you too,” Brooke raises her eyebrows as she hangs up the phone. She remembers when she used to sign off like that all the time.

***

Brooke remembers those days of being in love with Vanessa, when the sex was passionate and gentle and full of fire and tenderness all at once. She remembers how it felt to look at her for as long as she wanted, taking in each glossy thread of hair, each small speckle of colour in her eyes, each individual and perfectly curled eyelash. Vanessa would always laugh at Brooke when she did that, telling her she was a creep, to stop staring at her. Now Brooke wishes she’d looked just a second longer, because she’s clearly not committed it all to memory.

She decides to go into the office. What else can she do? Yvie is annoying, but she’s right, Brooke can’t just sit and wallow. Or she could, but there’s case files that need updating and Brooke can either be sad at home lying in bed or sad at work doing something productive. Sad is the wrong emotion, she supposes. Empty is maybe more accurate. She is past the point of sad. Sad had happened when they’d had that argument and Brooke had played her trump card, best card in the pack at the time. Now she knows it had been a tarot card in disguise, the fool, and Brooke hadn’t at all known what her future would hold. She still doesn’t.

She walks into her office, past people that used to fear her, respect her. Perhaps they still do, but Brooke can still see the glint of sympathy in their eyes, hear the note of pity their voices hold. Brooke says good morning to Nicky, her new secretary. She hasn’t fired her yet, probably won’t ever fire a secretary again no matter how horrendous they are. Vanessa never came back after that day and Brooke doesn’t blame her, but she hopes she’s found another job. Nicky, she supposes, isn’t horrendous. She’s efficient and calm and obedient. Brooke knows she’s attractive too, and for a moment she allows herself to wonder if there is a parallel universe where she’s sought out a relationship with Nicky instead. Maybe a bit of random fucking with a pretty girl could take her mind off everything. Brooke laughs to herself in her office. She’s clearly losing it.

Detox comes in around half an hour later. Brooke’s done no work, simply staring at an excel spreadsheet and feeling her eyes glaze over but being unable to work up the motivation needed to blink. Detox puts a cup of coffee down on her desk and Brooke lets out a laugh.

“Jesus Christ, D. I’m not dying.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Seen happier faces at a fucking wake,” Detox jibes softly, pushes the cup closer to Brooke. “How are you today?”

Brooke leans back in her chair, swears she catches the scent of Vanessa’s perfume. It is gone almost as quickly as it had appeared and all Brooke is left with is approximately 45,000 memories, none of which she wants. “I’m shit. But I think that might be my new normal, I’ve felt like shit for so long. So I guess shit is the new fine. Therefore I’m fine.”

Detox exhales through her nose, the hint of a humoured smile playing on her lips. “The old you would be beating you up and taking your lunch money if she heard you talking like that.”

“Believe me, I’ve already beaten myself up enough.”

Detox gives a heavy sigh of frustration, shifts from one foot to the other. “You need to sort your shit out, Brooke.”

“What are you, my Mom?” Brooke snaps back, now as frustrated as her friend. She wants to be left alone to stew in her own lack of emotions. Detox doesn’t relent.

“Look, I’m gonna give you two choices. Number one, you accept that everything’s over with Vanessa, that you fucked it, that you’ve made your bed and now you need to lie in it. But from what I can see of how you’re acting just now, you don’t want to do that.”

“No, I’m not fucking doing that,” Brooke sighs, tearing her hands down her face and wishing Detox would leave.

“Second option is, you start a constant campaign of non-stop attempts to win V back. Flowers, texts, cards, we’re talking borderline Joe from You.”

“Of course you watch that trash.”

“But you get the point?” Detox persists, annoying incarnate. “Brooke, you can’t…you can’t go on living like this. It’s been over a month, it feels like I’ve lost this bitch that used to be my friend.”

Brooke supposes she has lost her sense of self. She goes through her days without showing a single emotion, instead preferring to let them all out in the courtroom, raining down upon witnesses relentlessly as if every case has been a personal experience. She’s won her past six in a row and she puts it down to the fact that she now focuses every single fibre of being that she possesses into her career and job and work and anything that doesn’t have to involve emotions whatsoever.

“Look, I’ll..I’ll think about it, alright?” Brooke waves her away, rubs her forehead long-sufferingly. The whole thing is annoying her, becoming less of a heartbreak and more of a headache.

Detox smiles and punches the air. “That’s my girl. Have a think. Right, I’ll leave you alone. See you later.”

Have a think. Brooke wants to laugh. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking since the day Vanessa left.

***

Brooke misses her.

She misses the way Vanessa just got her humour like no-one else did. When she’d have a client waiting for her and Vanessa would send her her first impression or opinion of them in advance, and then Brooke would have to hold in her laughter for the duration of her meeting because holy fuck yes, the woman’s hat did make her look like a bat and combined with her cloak it did make her look like the villain in a superhero movie.

She misses the way that Vanessa had sort-of-not-quite-not-officially moved in with her. Some of her clothes are still strewn around the apartment: a pair of black heels left by the door that she’d worn out to dinner with her, an emerald green lace underwear set that had fallen underneath the bed and Brooke had stuck in her washer-dryer, the cosy pyjamas that lived under one of Brooke’s pillows folded not-quite-neatly and covered in creases, and a white silk shirt that Vanessa had worn to work and Brooke had peeled off her when they’d arrived home, pressing kisses to her bare collarbones, chest and stomach. Vanessa used to crash her way through the apartment and often Brooke wondered if it was her mission to make as much noise as possible as she loaded the dishwasher, hoovered the living room, sang off-key in the shower. Brooke’s apartment has been so deathly quiet since she left, a funeral sort of quiet. Mournful and still and ghostly and cold.

Sometimes Brooke is sure she sees in black and white.

She remembers the day when they told each other they loved each other for the first time. There had been no ceremony, no grand gestures. In fact the pair of them were watching a film on Brooke’s couch- The Little Mermaid 2, Vanessa eager to force her love of Disney sequels onto her girlfriend. Brooke had looked away from the TV just for a moment, just to see Vanessa’s reaction to whatever was happening on screen, and when she lay her eyes on her she felt that familiar feeling of falling hit her like a wave all over again. It had happened quite a few times that fortnight or so, and the urge to tell her grew with every moment they shared together. Brooke watched her smile like a dork at the TV, the light in her eyes shining and the good in her heart visible just by looking at her. Brooke had laced their hands together, Vanessa taken by surprise and meeting her gaze with a funny sort of smile on her face. Her nose had crinkled up as she’d laughed at her.

“What?”

Brooke had pulled her close and kissed her without saying a word, trying to tell Vanessa without actually telling her anything. She was scared to say it first. She was scared to say it at all.

When Vanessa broke away, she gave Brooke a look that seemed to reach into her soul. Then she looked down at the blanket they’d thrown over them and gave a shy laugh.

“I wanna say something but I’m scared.”

Brooke still remembers the way her heart had beaten right out of her chest. If she tries she can still feel it.

“Say it. Say it, because I want to say it too.”

Vanessa had made eye contact again, her face nervous and hesitant, and Brooke wanted to kiss her fears away but that would have stopped her from saying what she wanted so desperately to hear.

“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Almost as quickly as they’d said it they were pulling each other in, their lips meeting desperately as they melted into each other. And Brooke hadn’t taken her to bed and they hadn’t had passionate, lovestruck sex on the couch. They had sat and kissed on the sofa with the film playing in the background like teenagers, the feeling of being in love communicated without even having to say anything else.

Brooke had finally understood why people in musicals randomly burst into song.

She wishes she had known the last time she’d said it to her would be the final time. She wishes she could say it to Vanessa again. It’s still true. She’s still in love with her. She had fallen so hard.

The trouble with falling is that she had to hit the concrete eventually.

***

Another day goes by and a new one begins. Nicky comes in at half past nine with Brooke’s coffee. Vanessa always used to have it sitting out for her when Brooke arrived, a little heart drawn in the foam with caramel syrup making the coffee too sweet, just like her. Brooke can forgive Nicky, though. She suffered through another sleepless night and she needs the coffee more than she needs a lot of things. Doing her makeup this morning had been like painting a corpse, and Brooke tries not to feel embarrassed as she takes in Nicky’s perfectly painted face in contrast to her own. She thanks her, takes the cup and assumes Nicky will leave.

“Ms. Hytes,” Nicky says, surprising her. She stands in front of her desk, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re hurting.”

Brooke almost drops her coffee cup in surprise. In days of old she would’ve fired a secretary on the spot for having the audacity to address her in such a way, make such an assumption, but Brooke is tired. She can’t be bothered to deny it, it would take more energy than to simply admit it. She deals in facts, and it is a fact after all. “Yes, Nicky, I am.”

Nicky pouts a little sympathetically. There is a pause in which Brooke assumes she’ll leave. She doesn’t. Instead she speaks again. “Who was the girl that broke your heart?”

Brooke can only blink back at her, her eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. She could tell Nicky to go back to her desk, she supposes, to get on with her work. But she’s in a rare mood to talk about things, so Brooke cracks a small, indulgent smile. “And how do you know it was a girl?”

“Men can’t break hearts like women can,” Nicky says softly, philosophically. Brooke isn’t sure she’s right but she supposes she’s never had any experience with men to disprove the theory. She sighs, nodding.

“Yeah, it was a girl. Her name was Vanessa,” Brooke says, the name feeling too clunky and odd in her mouth where once it had felt like a prayer. “I guess she didn’t break my heart. I broke hers and then by proxy I broke my own. It was a stupid mistake, we had a fight and…things were said that I regret but she still won’t talk to me. And fair enough, why the fuck would she?”

Nicky nods slowly, wraps her arms around herself to give herself a hug. “I have the same. Uh, I am escaping a girl who broke my heart. But even though she hurt me, I still love her. How does that work?”

“Because emotions are stupid and they don’t work in a logical way,” Brooke shrugs instantly. She’s had a lot of time to think about the subject. Looking at Nicky, she can see the pain behind her eyes, the hurt behind the calm facade of her perfect makeup. “Who was your girl?”

Nicky smiles sadly, nostalgia getting the better of her. “She was named Jaida. She was a model, like I used to be. I don’t wish to talk about her much. It’s still sore."

"Yeah. It’s still sore for me too.”

“You say you broke Vanessa’s heart?” Nicky asks shyly. The words are like a stab through Brooke’s chest, confirming the whole thing, validating it. Brooke nods wordlessly. Nicky gives a small laugh. “Then probably she still loves you too. Like me for Jaida.”

Brooke laughs, disbelieving even though she’d be lying if she said Nicky’s words don’t strike even the tiniest bit of hope into her heart. “No, I think that ship has sailed, Nicky.”

Nicky raises her eyebrows, shrugs. “You should call her.”

“Tried that.”

“Well, call her again,” Nicky persists, her voice calm and relaxed despite her insisting. “I wait for my call from Jaida every day."

Brooke feels sad for the young girl. She’s clearly lived so much of her life already at such a young age- she’s from France, but her CV stated that she moved to America to work in the modelling industry, which clearly didn’t work out if she’s making coffee for Brooke. "You should go back into modelling. You’re wasted here.”

Nicky frowns. “I am a waste…of space?”

Brooke laughs at the misunderstanding, waving her hands and shaking her head in protest. It’s the first genuine laugh she’s had in a long time. “No, no, no, no, God no! Wrong expression. Um…you’re too good at modelling to be working as a secretary. You have too nice a face.”

Nicky blushes, making Brooke’s face hot too. She hopes her compliment didn’t come out wrong. Nicky is smiling again, the regret plain on her face. “I would love to, but I would risk meeting her again and I am not ready for that.”

Brooke’s face contorted. “But you want her to call you?”

Nicky sighs, scuffs her foot. “It’s different when you have her in front of you and she’s beautiful."

Brooke shrugs in agreement. "That’s fair enough.”

Nicky lingers, tilts her head thoughtfully. “Can I do anything to help, Ms. Hytes?”

The Parisian lilt to Nicky’s voice makes everything sound like a proposition, even though Brooke doesn’t think she means it. She knows that she could probably have Nicky in her bed by the end of the day if she wanted to- they’re both hurting and broken hearted and yearning to be needed and wanted again, and Nicky is gorgeous but it’s not Nicky she wants. Her porcelain skin just reminds Brooke of Vanessa’s in contrast, her neat blonde hair brushed carefully into its bun reminds her of how wild and loose Vanessa’s used to be, her blue eyes remind her of Vanessa’s dark ones. Brooke shakes her head, gives a tight smile of gratitude. “No, Nicky. Thank you for this, but I think we’d both better get back to work.”

Nicky smiles in agreement, giving a little nod as she exits Brooke’s office and takes a seat back at her desk. Brooke looks at her phone in its place on her desk, reaches out to take it. She scrolls to Vanessa’s name in her contacts and hovers her finger over it, millimetres separating her from potentially hearing her voice again.

She discards her phone onto her desk and opens an email.

***

They had been the best months of Brooke’s life. She couldn’t stop telling Vanessa how much she loved her once she’d started and Vanessa couldn’t seem to either. They were the worst kind of honeymoon phase couple, or perhaps the best. Detox had cooed over them like a mother hen and Brooke had let her guard down a bit at work. Well, a lot. She’d loved being able to show Vanessa off as her girlfriend, she’d loved being able to kiss her throughout the day, squeeze her hand as she showed a new client into her office. They would exchange ridiculously soppy emails during meetings. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Brooke has spent so long blaming the business trip, blaming Priyanka, blaming Vanessa, blaming her work, blaming the distance. It was none of them. It was her fault. She did all of it.

Brooke had flown out to Florida for the weekend. There was a conference that her law firm had to attend there, Detox was speaking. Brooke had been looking forward to it as she knew one of her old friends from her Law degree would be there. She hadn’t seen Priyanka in ages; she was still based in Canada and practising there, but they still texted and when they’d found out they were both going Brooke had been excited. Priyanka is one of those rare exes that’s still a friend, their breakup back in their early twenties being a mutual decision, and Brooke knows there’s no attraction there anymore.

But of course, Vanessa didn’t.

Brooke should’ve done more to reassure her, she knows this. If she looks back she can see how agitated Vanessa had been during the leadup to the conference for a full week- biting her perfectly manicured nails, a small frown on her face without her knowing, moments where she’d stare off into space. Vanessa knew about Priyanka (they’d both talked about their exes) but Brooke had told her it had been amicable and mutual. Besides, she told Vanessa how much she loved her every single day. It wasn’t as if Brooke had hidden the fact that Priyanka was going to be there that weekend, or shielded her phone when they’d been texting each other. She’d had nothing to hide.

Brooke almost wishes she had been more secretive now. Maybe it would’ve changed things.

The conference had been fun, even though Brooke now holds it in the same regard as the beginning of a horror movie, the calm before the cyclone. She’d phoned Vanessa when she had arrived, eager to reassure her but she could still hear the worry in her tone, the anxiety. Still, it hadn’t stopped her meeting up for drinks with Priyanka that evening in the hotel bar, laughing and chatting like they’d always used to and doing silly Boomerangs with the cocktails they’d ordered. Brooke told her all about Vanessa and Priyanka was thrilled for her, saying how excited she was to one day meet her. Brooke had got her phone out to show her some photos when Priyanka had looked at her own and gave a little exclamation of surprise.

“Oh! Is her nickname Vanjie?”

Brooke had narrowed her eyes, watching as Priyanka scrolled. “Yeah, why?”

“She’s watched my Insta story already. Doesn’t follow me though. Probably just doesn’t want to be weird,” Priyanka had shrugged. Brooke had shrugged back, offhandedly agreeing but internally embarrassed. She’d known why Vanessa had watched her story- she’d been checking up on her. Brooke hadn’t liked that.

When she’d arrived home, everything gradually came crumbling down, the pair of them slowly removing the Jenga blocks of their relationship one at a time. Their hug had been off when they’d seen each other again, their conversation had been the small talk of strangers. And then it had happened. Vanessa had brought up Priyanka, Brooke had brought up the Instagram stalking. Vanessa had brought up how weird she found it that she still wanted to hang out with an ex, Brooke had defended herself and told her they were only friends. Vanessa had expressed how worried she’d been, Brooke had been hurt.

“When have I ever given you reason to be worried?”

“Well shit, when you met up with your ex for drinks?”

Brooke had hit out, called Vanessa out on her jealousy.

“Well maybe I do get jealous! But it’s only ‘cuz I don’t ever want to lose you, fuck, I just don’t want to think about you with anybody else, that’s all!”

“But you don’t have to! Priyanka is my friend, that’s it, that’s all there is to it!” Brooke remembers how irritated she’d been, how exasperated. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you! Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust her,” Vanessa had sighed frustratedly, pulled another block out.

“Well I’m not going to just not see one of my friends for the rest of our relationship, V!”

“So you’re choosing her over me? That it?” Vanessa had questioned. Brooke still remembers the tears in her eyes. She’d known Vanessa hadn’t meant to say that, she knew Vanessa knew she was being unreasonable. But Brooke had reacted instantly, thinking in absolutes, or perhaps not thinking entirely.

“Fuck, Vanessa, well if it’s that black and fucking white to you then what the hell are we doing anyway?” she’d yelled, the finality still hurting her if she thinks about it. The raised tensions in the room had come to a boiling point. Vanessa had gone quiet.

“What are you saying?”

Brooke had committed and she was still angry, still frustrated. She’d doubled down. “Why the hell are we doing this if there’s no trust in our relationship?”

The realisation had dawned slowly and sickly like tar over Vanessa’s face. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Brooke hadn’t replied, only stared at the floor. Vanessa had taken it as an answer.

She’d left.

Brooke had regretted it, but she’d known they would make amends. It had just been a silly argument, and things had been said that neither of them meant. She still loved her. They still loved each other. Brooke had given it an hour, waited for her to cool off before she called her to apologise.

Vanessa hadn’t picked up.

Brooke’s still waiting on her to call back.

***

Brooke is ten minutes away from a firm meeting when she gets the text.

V: i’ll be at Rialtos for the next hour

V: your move i guess

She doesn’t even think about the decision, simply acts. She asks Nicky to send her apologies, tell the director that she’s had to go home with stomach pains. If she gets a disciplinary it’ll be worth the risk. She crashes out of her office like a tsunami, her bag and her coat swinging wildly from the crook of her arm. Rialto’s is a five minute walk from her office but she makes it in three even in her stilettos. It’s only when she sees it on the corner on the sidewalk opposite that an overwhelming feeling of panic and sickness hits her like a gut punch. She’s been waiting for this moment for the past month-and-twelve-days (she’s counted), but now that it’s here she almost doesn’t know what to do. She’s never felt nerves like this- all of her nerve endings are buzzing like broken strobe lights and every time her heart beats her whole body feels it. It had been different the first time they were supposed to meet up and talk things out because Brooke had been there first, she could sit for a while and psych herself up. But this time Brooke knows that Vanessa is sitting at a table in the bar just across the street, and all that’s separating them is a busy road, a door and a few steps. Brooke steels herself, forces herself to take a few deep breaths as she checks her reflection in the shop window beside her. She looks a fright: no makeup, sleep-deprived bags under her eyes, the only thing remotely presentable about her is her hair which she threw into a low ponytail that morning. Then again, she supposes that Vanessa’s seen her without makeup before. Brooke thinks Vanessa’s seen every possible version of her, apart from of course this one. She takes another deep breath, turns around and stares the bar down as if she’s going to war.

It’s time.

Brooke dashes across the road and it crosses her mind that perhaps it would be better to just let fate take its course and get hit by a yellow taxi, but that’s the coward’s way out so she reaches the bar entranceway, pushes the door open with a huge, held-in breath. Rialto’s is dark inside with dim red lighting, and so even at four in the afternoon it seems as if it’s midnight. There’s red booths with black lacquered tables that shine under the crimson of the lamps positioned above them and the walls are covered in framed pictures, none of which Brooke takes in because she’s searching, slowly yet frantically as if she’s attempting to both prolong and speed up this whole situation. One booth near to her to her right holds a cheerful couple, another on her far left houses an old man drinking a cup of coffee.

And then she sees her.

She’s got her back to the door but Brooke recognises the wave of her blonde hair, the tie-dye of the oversized hoodie she’s wearing. She recognises the acrylic nails and the chunky rings that pattern the hand that’s curled around what looks like a French martini on the table. A searing, painful memory of their first date at Le Bernardin wrenches Brooke’s heart. She takes another deep breath and walks forward even though she feels like she’s going to be sick. She stops just at the table and the breath is knocked out of her lungs.

Vanessa looks up at her, her face impassive. Her makeup is perfect, but then Brooke wouldn’t have expected anything else. There’s dark roots at her side parting but Brooke thinks she somehow suits them. Apart from that she looks exactly the same, just how Brooke remembers her.

“Hi,” Brooke greets her feebly. Vanessa somehow communicates a shrug through a blink.

“Hey,” she says, taking her hand off her glass to gesture to the seat opposite her. “Sit.”

Brooke nods as she sits down in the red leather seat, and it’s only then that she notices there’s a second cocktail opposite Vanessa. It looks like a pornstar martini, it’s one of Brooke’s favourites.

“I ordered you one. Figured it might make this easier,” Vanessa explains. Her expression doesn’t break. Brooke is touched by the gesture.

“Thanks,” she says. Her hands shake as she reaches out to take the glass, sips at it and feels the sweetness of the vanilla vodka and the tang of the passionfruit coat her dry mouth. Her stomach’s still churning as Vanessa sits regarding her for a moment. Brooke wants to say something. She wants to immediately apologise for it all, even though she’s left twelve voicemails and twenty texts saying the same thing. She wants to ask how Vanessa is, even though that would be the most idiotic of things to say. Eventually she decides to lead with a compliment.

“You look great.”

Vanessa sniffs. “You don’t.”

Brooke takes the hit, supposes she deserves it. “I’ve not been sleeping great.”

“Yeah. Yvie’s mentioned,” Vanessa looks down at her lap, blinks. When she looks up again she’s clearly ready to speak, and Brooke’s heart is in her mouth. “So, we need to talk properly.”

“Yes.”

Vanessa looks down at the table, then into Brooke’s eyes. Brooke can tell she’s having a hard time doing so. “Uh, first off I wanna say sorry.”

The apology knocks Brooke for six. She feels herself frown involuntarily. “For what?”

“Well, it was wrong of me to try an’ make you choose between me and your friend. I knew it was wrong the moment I said it but I was jealous, an’ I was hurt. But that don’t excuse it, so I’m sorry.”

Brooke shakes her head. She’d been annoyed at Vanessa for that at the time, and she’d have maybe appreciated an apology a month ago, but just now it only seems trivial in the grand scheme of things. “Vanessa, you don’t…you don’t need to apologise for this situation.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes at her and there’s a warning look in her gaze, so Brooke drops her protests and shrugs a little. “But I accept your apology.”

Vanessa nods, clearly following some internal script. Brooke is happy to go along with it, to play her part and say her lines, whatever they’re meant to be. She’s so used to immediately taking control of every situation she finds herself in, and even though her stomach feels sick and she feels as if she’s in an interrogation room she doesn’t mind playing the role of the witness and letting Vanessa be the lawyer for a change. She supposes she is on trial in some way.

“Now…I know that you’re sorry, you’ve made that pretty clear, so I don’t want another apology from you,” Vanessa begins, and part of Brooke doesn’t like that because she does want to say sorry, but maybe that’s just for her own benefit and not Vanessa’s. Vanessa sighs as she continues, looks down at her drink and this time doesn’t break eye contact. “But I need you to know how much you hurt me.”

Brooke winces. She realises Vanessa’s waiting for confirmation. “Okay.”

Vanessa pauses, and the breath she takes is shaky before she speaks again. “I…loved you so much, Brooke Lynn.”

The past tense slices Brooke in half.

“I never loved anyone like that before in my life. An’ I always thought you were too good to be true, like somehow one day I’d wake up and our whole relationship would be a dream. I never stopped tellin’ you how lucky I was or how much I appreciated you or how much I loved you. An’ you never stopped tellin’ me either. You made me feel so loved, an’ so precious, an’ so…fuck, sorry.”

Vanessa’s tone grows frustrated, anger layering with the tears Brooke can see in her eyes as she tips her head up, swipes at them like a tiger to wipe them away. Brooke thinks her heart might be breaking again, halves into quarters.

“An’ so that day, when we had that fight,” Vanessa continues, staring steadfastly at Brooke. “All of that, everything we had…it was like it didn’t matter anymore? Like everything we’d shared an’ everything I’d told you an’ everything you’d told me…like, what, that was all for nothing?”

“It wa-”

“Just lemme get this out, please,” Vanessa puts a hand up, stops her. “It was like everything I knew about you was just…nothing. I didn’t know you anymore. An’ I know it was a stupid fight and we shoulda been able to work that shit out, but…I was hurt. I’m still hurting. You hurt me.”

Vanessa stops. She’s done. Brooke wants to cry. She swallows the feeling down before she speaks.

“I behaved like a dick. And I said stupid things, but by the time they were out I couldn’t take them back. I didn’t mean any of it, Vanessa, I just…opened my mouth and said whatever got there first. That’s my fault, I know that. And I know I’ve apologised before but I haven’t had the chance to do it in person, so I’m honestly so sorry for hurting you. For making it seem like our relationship meant nothing to me. Like you meant nothing to me. You mean the world to me, you still do,” Brooke sighs, trying to make the deep breath she takes to stave off her tears subtle. She can’t meet Vanessa’s eyes when there’s tears in her own so she fixes her gaze on the passionfruit half floating in her drink as she continues. “And you don’t have to accept it, just as long as you hear it.”

“I know,” Vanessa says instantly. She looks calmer now she’s said her piece and heard Brooke’s, and she takes a sip from the two little black straws sticking out of the martini glass. She suddenly rolls her eyes, a bitter smile spreading across her face. “Fuck you, Brooke Lynn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean…fuck you for making me still love you. Fuck me for still loving you,” Vanessa sighs, resigned. The words make Brooke’s heart give a leap and she can’t help the smile she instantly tries to suppress and fails. Vanessa narrows her eyes at her, her expression turning serious. “But that don’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know. You don’t have to,” Brooke says guiltily. She thinks about saying it, wonders if it’ll guilt-trip Vanessa and she doesn’t want that, but indulgently and selfishly she says it anyway. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

Vanessa winces as if she’s been shot, her expression instantly turning into one of discomfort and her eyes squeezing shut. Brooke frowns. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Christ. You’re so fuckin’ Canadian,” Vanessa sighs exasperatedly as she puts her head in her hands, and Brooke probably would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been trying to repair the most important relationship of her life so far. Brooke feels awkward and she’s in this conversation without a map, unsure which direction it’s going in.

“Where do we go from here?”

Vanessa drains her glass, foam and syrup all that’s left. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over. There’s a tiny smile that’s back on her face, and it makes Brooke’s hopes start to climb.

“Well,” she shrugs a little, her guard still up but ever so slightly lowered. “You can start by buyin’ me another drink an’ we can take it from there.”

Brooke nods, grabs her purse and almost sprints to the bar. She orders another French martini and another pornstar- she thinks she’ll be needing it. As she waits for their drinks and the sound of ice in a cocktail shaker cuts through the air, Brooke sneaks a look at Vanessa in the booth. She’s so gorgeous. Brooke’s happy to see her again, despite the circumstances. Just as she makes to turn back around, Vanessa’s head snaps up from the phone in her hand and their eyes meet.

Vanessa’s gaze is soft and the small smile on her face is warm.

Maybe they’re going to be okay.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #not a ghost you're in my head #your move #branjie #angst #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #detox #nicky doll #yvie oddly #priyanka

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doc-pickles · 4 years

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i won’t hesitate (for you) ch. 9

Jo is happy, at least she feels like she is. When someone from her past shows up, will her and her daughter’s world ever go back to normal? Or will things change for good?

Me? Updating? It's more likely than you think apparently. I struggled, s t r u g g l e d. through this chapter but I think the rest will come a bit easier. S/O to Ren for proofing the first half of this and to Nat for demanding the second half hahaha. Also I know that the plot for this whole child support thing is totally out of left field, but I'm going with the Grey's motto of "enough logic to be believable but probably not real world" so there's that. Anyways enjoy! PS: In the interest of me not sending myself to an early grave, there's no flashback in the beginning of this chapter!

“Can’t believe we have to go to court, this is a waste of my time and my good suit,” Alex grumbled as he tightened this tie. “I had to pull it out of the boxes and then get it dry cleaned, I should freaking bill her for this.”

“This’ll be over with in a few days and we can go back to our normal lives, well as normal as living in a loft overrun with cardboard boxes is,” Jo exited the bathroom and navigated around a stack of boxes before finally making it over to Alex, moving his hands and helping with his tie. “You look so handsome, if we didn’t have somewhere to be I would drag you back to bed.”

“Well our bed isn’t even here for you to drag me to,” Alex moved his lips to kiss along Jo’s neck, a soft giggle coming from her as he did so. “Movers are coming in 45 minutes and we have to be out the door in 15.”

“That’s enough time for a quickie in the bathroom,” Jo’s proposition caused Alex to pull back and look her up and down with an amused expression. “What? I’m seriously horny all the time and you look good in a suit. I can’t help all the hormones running through my body. In fact! It’s your fault for getting me pregnant!”

Alex rolled his eyes, pressing one last kiss to Jo’s lips before pulling back from her.

“If I remember correctly, there were two of us in that elevator,” grabbing his keys and coat, Alex held his hand out for Jo to grab. “And I wasn’t the one gasping and moaning and practically begging the whole time.”

“If you keep using verbs like that you’re gonna make us late,” Jo swatted at Alex’s ass before grabbing his outstretched hand, following him out of the loft.

As they locked the doors and headed downstairs, Alex let his hands fall to Jo’s growing bump, showcased by her form fitting black dress. At almost 18 weeks pregnant now, Jo couldn’t attempt to hide her bump anymore. She’d been nervous that her pregnancy would impact the court case one way or another, but Alex had reassured her that he just wanted her there with him, consequence be damned. Things had moved quickly though, and in the end, Jo had been called to testify as a character witness so her protests didn’t matter.

The speed of the case making it to court probably had something to do with the fact that Izzie hadn’t bothered to fly back home to file a claim, instead calling the first paternity lawyer she could find on google and starting up the legal process in Washington. While it was a minor relief that Alex wouldn’t have to split time between Seattle and Kansas, both he and Jo were worried about how seriously Izzie had taken things.

Getting into the car and pulling on her seatbelt, Jo begins to ramble nervously. “How’s this going to work? I mean… they’re not yours, right? How is Izzie even allowed to do this?”

A loud groan left Alex as he settled into the driver's seat of his car. He’d wondered the same thing, but he knew that him signing all those papers when he moved to Kansas three years ago had definitely helped Izzie’s case. Even back then, he’d thought in the back of his mind that he should have asked more questions, demanded a paternity test, but he hadn’t. All he could focus on were these two perfect children standing in front of him, children that he now knew weren’t even his. Alex’s blood began to boil with anger at the thought of Izzie lying to him for so long, but he let out a deep breath and began to drive towards the courthouse instead.

“I don’t know, but I saw those blood test results myself and there’s no damn way those kids are mine,” Jo’s fingers rubbed against Alex’s arm, calming him slightly. He looked to her briefly before speaking again. “I’m sorry you had to get dragged into this, I wish I could protect you from it all.”

He could feel Jo’s gaze on him as his eyes stayed on the road. Alex could almost hear her thinking of how much she wanted to make Izzie pay for what she’d done to him. He was almost certain that pregnant or not, she’d fight Izzie if she came at her again. As if reading his mind Jo let out a chuckle and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“I’m a big girl, I can stand up to bullies on the playground,” Jo squeezed Alex’s arm once more before bringing her hand to rest on her growing bump. “Let’s just get through today, this isn’t going to go longer than a day once they figure out you’re not those kids dad.”

But it did end up lasting longer… Once they got to the courthouse, Alex realized with a sense of horror that Izzie wasn’t messing around. She had two lawyers and was wearing a dress that looked like it cost more than his paycheck. And she wasn’t holding back anything, her lawyers showed that loud and clear.

“My client went through multiple rounds of chemotherapy, there’s no possible way that she could conceive without the help of artificial insemination and the sample that Doctor Karev provided,” Izzie’s lawyer was a short, pudgy man whose voice echoed through the courtroom unforgivingly. “We’re asking for Doctor Karev to back pay child support for the three years he knew about and took parental responsibility for both children as well as therapy for the children in the wake of his sudden departure.”

“Your Honor, these claims are absurd! Doctors Karev and Stevens performed a blood test that showed that one of the children has a genetic disorder that neither of them have, meaning that if Doctor Stevens did indeed give birth to both children, that Doctor Karev could not be their biological father,” Alex’s lawyer fought back, eyeing Izzie and her lawyers as she spoke. “All we’re asking for is Doctor Karev to be released of all parental responsibility for both children and for Doctor Stevens to repay him the legal fees for these proceedings, as well as cover any other expenses he’s incurred while being involved in this trial.”

A quick and calculated silence followed the statement, Alex’s eyes flitting nervously from Izzie to her lawyer to Jo, who sat behind him with her hands nervously running over her bump. He’d seen Izzie watching her with a venomous expression earlier, Alex’s grip around her waist tightening as they’d shuffled into the courtroom.

“Your Honor, we’d like to call Doctor Josephine Brooke Karev to the stand before we proceed,” Izzie’s other lawyer, a tall woman named Eleanor Krause, stood and gestured towards the witness stand. She wore an almost permanent scowl on her thin face, her dark eyes staring menacingly around the courtroom. “I have a few questions for the other Doctor Karev.”

Jo rose and quietly made her way towards the stand, eyes meeting Alex’s briefly before swearing in and turning to face Miss Krause.

“Doctor Karev, are you and Doctor Alexander Michael Karev still married?”

“No we are currently divorced,” Jo’s voice was clear and stoic as she answered, staring directly at the lawyer questioning her. “We’ve been divorced for almost three years now.”

“And the dissolution of your marriage occurred when separated he moved to Kansas to be with Doctor Stevens?”

“Correct…,” then quickly adding, “after learning of their existence, Alex determined he needed to sever all ties with Seattle to be there completely for his children. At least who he thought were his children.”

Krause’s eyes lit up suddenly, a wicked smile appearing on her face as she stared down Jo. Alex could feel his stomach drop, knowing that whatever the woman was going to say next would not be friendly or civil.

“And you also have a child fathered by Doctor Alexander Michael Karev, is that right?”

“Yes, my daughter Harper Josephine Karev, who is two, and the child I’m carrying now are both Alex’s,” Jo’s brow furrowed, hand settling onto her abdomen as she watched the woman take a step closer to her. “I don’t see what that has to do with the case at hand though.”

“I just want to know if the other Doctor Karev paid you child support during your first pregnancy and the two years of your daughter’s life that he wasn’t present,” Krause’s voice was practically dripping with malice as she stared Jo down. “I mean, we are here to make sure that he’s doing his duty as a father, whether he’s in the same state as his children or not, right? So, has he been paying child support to you, Doctor Karev?”

Jo’s eyes flitted to Alex nervously, his own telling her that it was okay to tell the truth. To be honest, he was scared what Jo’s answer would affect in the case, but he knew that at the end of the day he wouldn’t have to pay a dime to Izzie because her kids were not his.

“No he hasn’t, but he didn’t know he had a daughter until four months ago,” Jo argued, turning momentarily to the judge. “He’s been a present and wonderful father since he’s known about Harper.”

“Doctor Karev, are you sure beyond a reasonable doubt that both of your children are indeed Alex’s children? Did you not have your daughter shortly after your now ex husband left you?”

“What’s the relevance here,” Alex’s lawyer finally stood and challenged the woman accosting Jo. “Doctor Josephine Karev’s children shouldn’t have any effect on her ex husband's child support case! It’s cruel and malicious to be questioning her like this on the stand.”

Alex turned to glare at Izzie, angered that she wore the same expression as her shifty lawyer. She knew about what Krause was plotting, he would put money on the fact that she’d planted the seed of whatever cruel idea it was in her head.

“I’m just questioning Doctor Alexander Karev’s intentions when it comes to his children, however many that may be,” Krause shrugged, eyes narrowing in Jo’s direction. “You’ve filed papers to move forward with adding Alexander to your daughter’s legal paperwork, is that correct?”

That all too familiar feeling of horror flooded Alex’s senses again, overtaking everything as he watched Jo answer affirmatively, her eyes moving to him again. There were tears welling up in them now, the fear he felt in the room spreading to her as well. His breathing hitched as he listened to Izzie’s lawyer prattle on once more, her biting voice breaking through his mental fog.

“I’d like to request a hold on any formal paternity proclamations concerning Doctor Alexander Michael Karev’s alleged children until their paternity can be confirmed via DNA testing,” Krause moved her line of sight to Jo once more, a sharp note ringing through the courtroom as she delivered her final, jarring blow. “I’d like to request that all four of Doctor Karev’s alleged children are tested, I believe that Josephine here is still well within the window to have an amniocentesis performed.”

“No, hell no!” Alex stood from his chair, eyes blazing as he stared down Krause. “I am not letting you poke and prod my wife just for a damn child support case, especially one she’s not directly involved in.”

Both Alex and his lawyer turned pleadingly towards the judge, who was eyeing both Izzie and Alex warily. He was never one to feel anxious, but he couldn’t help the worry mounting in his chest. Finally, the judge spoke, his words directed towards Izzie’s lawyers.

“How long would this process take?”

“If we proceeded with the amniocentesis, we’d have results in as soon as three weeks,” Krause’s eyes moved to Alex, a sick look of delight glowing in them. “If you’re uncomfortable with that though, we can draw this case out until the baby is born.”

“I’ll do it,” Jo’s voice rang out before anyone else could answer, making all eyes in the courtroom turn to her. Alex felt his heart constrict as he watched her speak. “I’ll do the amnio, I don’t mind.”

“With Doctor Josephine Karev’s confirmation, I’m adjourning this case until the DNA results for Alexis Isobel Stevens, Eli George Stevens, Harper Josephine Karev, and Doctor Josephine Karev’s unborn child come back. Court adjourned, you may leave now,” the judge rose and left the courtroom quickly, not bothering to witness the pure mayhem that descended upon the room.

“You did this on purpose,” Alex was up and out of his seat before anyone could stop him, feet heading towards Izzie who wore a smug expression as she looked him over. “You disgust me, you’ve weaponized your own children against me and now you’re trying to jeopardize the health of my unborn child and wife?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Alex,” Izzie batted her eyelashes in Alex’s direction, her self satisfied smirk growing as she watched him become more angry. “Looking forward to seeing you again!”

Before he could respond to Izzie, a gentle hand pressed into Alex’s back and ushered him towards the exit. Jo’s presence, even if he hadn’t looked into her eyes yet, was an instant calming effect over him.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Jo and Alex were in each other’s embrace, steadying breaths matching the others as they tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Her face pressed against his chest, Alex could feel the slow shuddering breaths that left Jo as he held her. He knew the questions Izzie's lawyer had posed were ones that were a sore spot for Jo, ones she’d begged him not to believe as she’d cried into his arms just a few weeks earlier.

“Just one punch,” Jo mumbled the words against Alex’s chest, looking up to make sure he heard her. “Please? I just wanna punch her one time.”

Alex chuckled, looking down at Jo with a glint in his eye, “You know I can’t let you do that, even though it would make me happier than I care to admit.”

“You kept calling me your wife in there,” Jo pressed her hands against the lapels of Alex’s suit, avoiding his stare as she fixed her gaze on her hands. “I don’t hate hearing you say that again.”

The words made Alex’s heart stutter under Jo’s gentle touch, his mind racing as he took in fully what she was saying. Did she really want to be his wife again? After years of him being away, of her raising their daughter on her own? After he had all but abandoned her and told her via letter?

Watching Jo for another moment, Alex brought his fingers under her chin and met her eyes, “You wanna marry me again? After all the shit we’ve been through?”

“For some reason I do, you make me better,” Jo finally lifted her gaze back to Alex’s face, eyes welling with tears as she spoke. “You’ve given me the best things in my life, you’ve made me a better person. And if we can get through some of the things that have been thrown at us, then I truly think we can get through everything. I love you Alex, more than I can ever say to you. I know you think you’ve fucked up, but through the past few months you’ve shown me how much you’ve grown.”

Not knowing what to say, Alex leaned down and captured Jo’s lips with his own. If there was one thing that was almost always blaringly clear for him, it was that he didn’t deserve the woman in his arms. He couldn’t begin to fathom how much it had taken to forgive him, to even trust him again after what he’d done. But just as she’d always done, Jo saw him for who he really was underneath all of his layers of bullshit.

“We can go right now, we are in the courthouse,” Alex joked, prompting Jo to roll her eyes and gently slap his chest before walking towards the exit. “What? Not a funny joke? We had fun last time and the SUV has a bigger backseat than the Audi did.” “Mmm yeah, you know we made a baby that night, right?,” Jo raised her eyebrows, a mischievous grin lighting up her face as she took in Alex’s shocked expression. “You have really good luck, you know? You made one baby in the backseat of a car and another on the floor of an elevator.”

A peel of laughter escaped Jo as she tried to unsuccessfully move away from Alex’s grip on her hips, instead falling back into his arms as his lips grazed her neck.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” Alex whispered the words as he turned Jo around in his arms. “Weren’t you just trying to jump me in the bathroom a few hours ago? Is the car not up to your standards?”

“No, I’m just thinking that Link is keeping Harper overnight and our bed probably got to the new house already,” Jo smirked in satisfaction at the dark look that fell over Alex’s eyes at her suggestion. “Now's as good a time as any to start christening the place. Unless you can’t keep up with a younger woman?”

“Josephine Karev, you know I can keep up with you any day of the week,” Alex’s lips ghosted Jo’s ear as he lowered his voice, pressing her closer to him and making his aroused state perfectly clear for her. “Let’s go, before we have no choice but to finish things up in the car.”

Twenty four hours after leaving the courthouse, Alex and Jo find themselves in an exam room on the OB floor. With the amniocentesis being court ordered and both of them wanting to get things over as quickly as possible, they’d booked the first appointment that was available.

“How are you not nervous,” Alex sat beside Jo, her hand in his as Carina ran an ultrasound wand over Jo’s stomach. “I mean I’m not trying to make you nervous, but you know what happens here!”

“Can’t be any worse than a 15 hour unmedicated labor that ended with a 9 pound baby making its way out of your vagina,” Jo shrugged, Carina chuckling quietly next to her. “I came up with some very interesting curse words that day.”

Alex and Jo both watched the ultrasound screen intently, their baby reaching one leg up to kick at the probe. Carina furrowed her brow, watching the baby move languidly on the screen, “You’re going to have to get them to calm down, I cannot go in while they’re kicking all around like that.”

“Talk to them, they always calm down when you talk to them,” Jo turned to Alex and raised her eyebrows. “Go on! I don’t have all day to lay here Alex.” Alex looked between Jo and Carina before leaning down and speaking in the same mellow tone that Jo had become so used to hearing while they laid in bed at night, “Hey kiddo, you gotta slow down in there. Your mom and I are tangled up in this stupid ass thing-”

“Alex!”

“And we’d really appreciate it if you cooperated so we could get this done,” Alex glanced to the ultrasound screen, noticing that the erratic movements had lessened and the baby had calmed. “See, that’s more like it. You know your sister is very excited to meet you, she keeps running around talking about how she’s gonna be a ‘big shitser’ which is super adorable if not the most inappropriate thing to come out of a two year olds mouth.

“She wants to name you Elsa or Hei Hei, those are the options I was presented with a few nights ago anyways. I don’t think she really gets it, but she’s gonna be great,” Jo’s eyes closed quickly as Carina pulled out the needle, her hand squeezing Alex’s. “Okay you gotta be super still now, mom’s got a big needle in her-”

“You are not helping me, Alex.” “And she’s all done! Look at that, easy peasy,” Alex pressed a kiss to Jo’s forehead, following the once again active baby on the screen. “Hey look at that, baby’s flashing us!”

Jo sat up quickly, eyes scanning the screen as well with a laugh, “Well that’s one way to do a gender reveal.”

Alex leaned up to kiss Jo, laughter bubbling from both of them as they let the realization sink in. They had a house, they had two healthy kids, they had the promise of a great big future ahead of them. Court case be damned, they were happy and things were going right between them for once.

#jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic #nina writes #hesitate

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jaehyun-eclipsed · 3 years

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Before I Met You | Twenty-Two: Part One

Next Update: ~February 15, 2021 **2/13/21 update: The next update may be delayed until the second week of March. I apologize for the delay -- school has been quite busy this semester, so I’m working a lot slower than anticipated. Thanks for your patience! **3/27/21 Update: My sincerest apologies. I didn’t plan very well with scheduling... I’m finishing up a big project with school and am hoping to release the next chapter next weekend!

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: Hello! This is a slightly shorter update. Things are getting busy for me again, so I’m going to try to do updates once a month or so rather than going MIA for a few months. Thanks for being patient and don’t be afraid to say hello or send any feedback!

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

My eyes slowly open and I blink a few times to adjust to the stream of light coming through the blinds. Sitting up, I look around. This is my room. This is my bed. My blanket. My dog. I give the plush a squeeze. Everything is here and I’m okay.

My breath hitches upon seeing the packages of pistachios and cookies on my desk. Johnny left them here and now everything is more clear as to why I feel so dreary upon waking up. I was hoping last night didn’t play out the way it actually had, but I’m a bit too smart for my own good to trick myself.

I imagine he probably won’t miss them if I didn’t return them to him, but I don’t want them to go stale in my room. Plus, I would like to say goodbye.

Slowly, I place my feet into my slippers and wash up in the bathroom. My grandma wanted to take my dad and me out to lunch to celebrate the end of the semester. I’m looking forward to the meal, but I seem to have lost my appetite. There’s sort of this nerve wracking feeling inside me despite my calm demeanor. Like an overwhelming amount of cortisol is being pumped through my body and I’m working on autopilot to move around and pack up my belongings without feeling any depletion of energy.

Is this what it’s like to have a crush on a boy and to know he returns your affections?

I thought I’d be happier. More giddy.

But really, I’m just nervous. And perhaps it’s because I know there’s a bit of a complication: Johnny still needs to break up with his girlfriend.

All of those corny movie plots with the assholes are brought to my head. The guy never breaks up with his old girlfriend before he gets with the new one. Even in real life, it’s always messy.

“I’ll do it soon,” he says.

“When the time is right,” he says.

But then he never does.

I wanted to hope that this wouldn’t be the case. Which is why I didn’t want anything to go too far last night. And so, I firmly decide that I’m not getting together with him until things are cleared up.

But I really want this to work out. I really do.

Everything will be fine.

I take a deep breath. Smile to myself.

Everything will be just fine.

I receive a text that my dad will be here to pick me up in a half hour. So I grab the snack bags and run upstairs. When Johnny answers the door, he looks surprised to see me, almost as if he had been afraid he scared me off last night and I wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

My gaze falls. “Um, you left these in my room,” I say and hold out the snacks.

It takes him a moment before he takes the packages from me, apparently careful not to brush his hands against mine.

“You don’t want any?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m going to lunch soon.”

We linger in the doorway for several more moments in silence. I’m gnawing on my lip and shifting my gaze to different points on the floor. I think Johnny’s watching me, but I still can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Have a good break,” he says, his statement coming out as more of a question due to an uncertainty of what to say.

“Yeah, you too.” I smile lightly and as if out of reflex, I perch up onto my tiptoes and throw my right arm around Johnny’s neck, pulling him close for a hug goodbye. He jumps slightly at my sudden contact, but wraps one arm around my waist. Quickly, I release him, take one last glance, offer a smile, and turn around to walk back to my room.

When I return to my room, I check my phone and see a text from Johnny.

J: do u need help carrying your bags downstairs?

Me: No, that’s okay. I only have a couple bags. I can get them myself

Me: Thanks though

J: np

There’s a pause.

J: I’ll call u tonite?

I nod to myself before typing back a response.

Me: Yeah

Me: Talk to you later

J: :3

“You’re not eating very much,” Dad remarks.

I push a dumpling around on my plate with my chopsticks. “I don’t feel that hungry… even though I do want to eat this.”

“What happened last night?”

I proceed to tell my dad all of the events of last night—Hendery’s unawareness, lunch, the bookstore, the movie, Minji, the confession. I really liked Johnny, but I had no idea how this was going to work out—or even if it would work out.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Things always work themselves out,” he says.

I know what this means. Implicitly, he’s saying that if it’s meant to work out, it will. And if not… then I guess that’s just the way it is and I’ll have to accept that too. It’s just hard when feelings are messy. You want it to work out, but you expect the worse as a defense mechanism in case it doesn’t end up working out.

That evening, Johnny calls me just before he’s about to go to sleep.

“Hii,” he sings into the phone. “How was your day?”

I smile upon hearing his voice. “Hey, it was all right. How was yours?”

“It was good,” he responds. “Was thinking about you a lot.”

“Aww,” I coo. “Really?”

“Yeah, I know I saw you earlier, but I miss you.” He sighs. “And now I have to wait an entire month before I get to see you again.”

I press my lips together. I let out a sigh of disappointment. “Yeah, a whole month. But we can still talk on the phone!”

“Yeah!”

There’s a brief silence as I deliberate over whether or not I want to ask my next question. The answer is of no real consequence, but I’m curious.

“Hey, I wanna ask you something,” I say. “When did you start to like me?”

Johnny chuckles. “I knew you were gonna ask that,” he says. “I don’t know. Sometime during dead week.”

“Did you know that I liked you?”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you did. That’s why I decided to tell you.” I hear him let out a breath and picture him shrugging. “You kept wanting to hang out with me so I thought you had to have some feelings for me.”

Nodding to myself, I bite my lip in thinking about last night. “You know,” I begin. “I did want you to hold me last night…”

“I know,” he says simply. “We’ll just have to wait until after break. And then we can have sleepovers!”

“How are we going to have sleepovers if Jia is in my room and Hendery is in your room?”

“Hendery never sleeps in his room. He’s always with Yeeun and sleeps in her room.”

My face scrunches into an expression of confusion. “Are they… are they dating?”

“Yeah.”

Despite the fact that I’m looking forward to going home and telling Hana and Hyojin everything that’s happened, I really want to skip over a month to be back with Johnny.

Hopefully by that time, he’ll be single.

“Hey, so,” he begins hesitantly. I hear him shifting around in bed, the shuffling of his blankets echoes through the phone. “I probably won’t be able to talk to you much tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the day he’s meeting Minji.

Tomorrow is the day he’s supposed to break up with Minji.

Johnny is supposed to go into the city, meet Minji, break up with her, and then go home in the evening. There are a ton of questions running through my head. Is Johnny going to meet up with her and break up with her right then and there? Why doesn’t he just call her to tell her it’s off? Isn’t it kind of inconsiderate to go out with your girlfriend the entire day, knowing in the back of your head that you’re going to break up with her, but go about the day like nothing’s wrong?

It’s not really any of my business and the more I think about it, the more unsettled I become.

“Okay…” I say finally.

“I’ll send you pictures throughout the day though! To let you know what I’m doing!” he says cheerfully.

It’s clearly an attempt to make me feel better about the situation. Though, I find it strange that he’s so casual about the whole thing. Like sending pictures to me while on an outing with his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend is totally fine. Wouldn’t she get suspicious? And won’t I feel… envious? Why do I want to know what he’s doing on a date?

Like Dad said: everything will work itself out.

“You okay?” he suddenly asks.

It takes me a few moments to respond, but I say, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, I’m going to go to bed now. Goodnight! I miss you!”

“Goodnight.”

“He’s really cute, Y/N,” Hana says excitedly.

“I know, right?!” I respond with an equal amount of enthusiasm. “I’m just wondering what’s going on today with him. He may not break up with her.” I sigh. “In which case, I’ll just have to let it go… and continue to be single. Almost twenty-one years strong!”

I pump my fist into the air even though Hana can’t see it over the phone. She chuckles lightly and murmurs some general words of encouragement for me not to give up yet.

“I’d just be careful, Y/N,” she says hesitantly. “He sounds like a nice guy, but you never know.”

The weight on my shoulders returns as I take her words to heart. I know she’s right… even before this I was weary of the whole thing. But I think it should work out. I really like him and I enjoy talking to him. Just take it slow and things will be fine.

“So what about your love life, Hana? Did you meet anyone during the semester?”

There’s a silence before I finally hear Hana release the breath she’s been holding followed by a click of her tongue. “I want to ask your opinion on something, but I’m afraid you’ll judge me for it.”

I frown, slightly upset that she would be so afraid of my opinion. “What’s up?”

“Well, I kinda like one of my housemates…”

I blink several times. “Okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re in the same boat—”

“No, we’re not,” she says quickly. “See, so, his name is Jinhyung… we had a class together and he asked if I wanted to study with him in his room. We have another roommate named Joon and I think Joon has had a crush on me and he gets upset whenever he sees me hanging out with Jinhyung. Joon has a whiteboard and he wrote some house rules on it. The first was ‘clean your own dishes’ and the second is ‘no fucking your housemates.’”

I begin laughing. “Wait, so obviously he doesn’t want you and Jinhyung getting together… but what if you said you would sleep with him?”

“I—I don’t know! I guess it doesn’t apply to him!”

“That’s hypocritical. Anyway, continue…”

“Well, Jinhyung made a joke that he and I already broke one of those rules and Joon got really upset. But uh, one day, I texted him to ask if he wanted to study and he actually thought I meant real studying and then realized what I meant. So we talked about it and—oh my gosh I’m so scared to tell you.”

I remain silent, patiently waiting for her to continue. Though, I think I know where this is going.

“I slept with him,” she finally admits.

“So… what? Was it good?”

“Uh—I—I, yeah, I guess so.” She sounds shocked. “You don’t—you don’t think it’s bad?”

I shrug. “No, you guys talked about it, right? Like you discussed what both of you wanted out of this?”

“Yeah, basically. Like we’re just doing this for fun. No strings attached.”

“So you’re basically friends with benefits,” I say more as a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Gosh, I was so scared you would disapprove.”

“You two talked about it and it was consensual. So as long as both of you are on the same page, I don’t see anything wrong with it. I think you need to be careful because feelings can get complicated, but right now it seems fine.”

Right then, my phone vibrates and I see a text from Johnny.

J: Hey! I hope ur day went well!

J: Uh I can’t really talk right now, but long story short it got late so Minji is spending the night

J: I’m going home in the morning I’ll talk to u tmrw! 😘

I guess I unknowingly let out a sound of disappointment because Hana proceeds to ask me what’s wrong.

“His girlfriend is spending the night and he’s going to go home tomorrow.”

“What?!” she exclaims in disbelief.

“I mean”—I bite my lip and then frown— “I didn’t ask how this was going to go down, but I didn’t think it would lead to this.”

Hana and I are both quiet for a minute. There’s something I’m wondering about and my guess is that Hana’s silence means she’s thinking the same thing. Neither of us want to ask it though because I think we both know the answer. What else would you do if your long distance girlfriend came to visit and she ended up spending the night with you and both of you are alone since your roommate has gone home for break?

But if you’re going to break up, would you still do it?

Or is it a simple decision because you’d view it as a “last pleasure goodbye”?

“Are you okay?” she asks, her tone full of concern.

I bite my lip as I stare at the message, responding a quick “Okay” and leaving it at that.

“Not really,” I say honestly.

“I think you should just go to sleep and wait and see what happens tomorrow.”

And this is what I was afraid of… that Johnny would go meet his girlfriend and tell me he was going to break up with her and then just… not be able to go through with it. Which is exactly why I wanted to be careful about getting my hopes up.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “No good overthinking the whole thing. Thanks.”

“Of course. Goodnight, friend!”

“Goodnight.”

I clutch my phone in both of my hands and let them rest on top of the blankets as I lie staring at the ceiling. I know I need to be careful. I usually am. Just take it slow. See what happens tomorrow.

“Do you want oatmeal with pumpkin?” my grandma asks.

“Okay.”

It’s nearly noon as I watch my grandma spoon some oatmeal into a bowl and then bring over a jar of cane sugar for me to sprinkle on top. We’re staying here for a few days before driving back to Oregon. Normally, I’d have distractions because I’d have to study, but since I’m on break, I slept in and there isn’t much to do besides watch movies and wait.

Surprisingly, scrolling through today’s headlines is rather boring. I answer a few messages from Chaeyoung and feel my heart leap as soon as I see a text from Johnny.

J: Everything’s all good!

I purse my lips. Everything’s all good? What does that mean? He broke up with her? Things are good?

“Dad?” I call as he walks into the living room.

“Yes?”

“Johnny just texted me saying, ‘Everything’s all good,’” I say. “What does that mean?”

“I guess… Everything’s been cleared up?” There’s a tone of slight uncertainty in his answer.

I look down at my phone again and read a second message.

J: Do u want to call soon? Im almost home

“He wants to call soon,” I say aloud. “You think he’ll tell me what happened?”

“Probably.”

Me: Okay!

Slowly, I eat my oatmeal. The ticking of the clock makes me anxious and impatient. What happened? He told her and it was all good? Did he sleep with her last night and then dump her—that’s kinda rough. Wouldn’t it have been better to dump her before going out?

His voice is like warm honey when he greets me, like there’s a renewed happiness and joy in his tone. It almost sounds like there was nothing ever wrong to begin with. Like today is just a normal day and he’s calling his girlfriend like usual.

“How has your day been?” he asks.

“Uh, well, I woke up at like eleven and had some oatmeal.” I hold my phone between my ear and shoulder and place my laptop onto the nightstand next to the bed. Gripping the phone to my ear again, I continue. “I was just browsing through YouTube, but I couldn’t find anything to watch.”

“Well, you can talk to me now!”

“How’s your day been?” I ask immediately.

“Oh, it was fine. I got home like an hour ago and my mom made me lunch,” he says. “And now I’m talking to you!”

His lack of disclosure is quite evident. He’s keeping it to a minimum and only directly answering what he’s asked.

“So how’d everything go?”

“Oh.” He says it like he wasn’t expecting me to ask. “It was okay.”

I wait a few moments before asking him what happened.

“She spent the night and in the morning we took BART back and got off and I told her at the last stop,” he says.

“What—what did you tell her?”

“I told her that there was someone else and she said she sort of figured that’s what happened,” he responds. “It also turns out that she was sort of cheating on me with someone at school.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so, whatever.” I catch him let out a sharp breath before his voice changes to a more positive tone. “But everything is all clear and good now!”

Assuming this is all true, it’s interesting that Minji was also being unfaithful. I don’t ask for the details, but at the very least, it seems like both of them were emotionally cheating. Seems a bit sad though that they’d rather keep the other person around rather than break up with them. Clearly they had both lost interest in each other. Why continue? Complacency? Security? Fear of being alone? All of the above?

“I’m kinda sad that we have to wait until break before we can see each other again,” he says.

“Yeah, but it’s only a month!” I respond, attempting to be optimistic.

“But aren’t you graduating in a year?”

“Yes.”

I can tell he’s pouting a bit from his tone. “That’s not very long. We’ll have to have lots of sleepovers!”

“Johnny, we have school and studying.”

“Be prepared not to sleep!”

My face grows hot as I realize the implications. There was nothing preventing us from becoming a couple other than my own hesitance. And then there were things like holding hands, first kiss, and all that—things I’ve never done with anyone before and I wasn’t quite sure if he knew or suspected.

Sex. I’ve never had sex.

I didn’t want to give the impression that I had never experienced it before, but when it came down to it, he’d figure it out pretty quickly.

“But I have morning classes!” I argue.

“Hmph. Weekends then!”

I’m at a loss of what to say when he continues.

“Don’t worry. I’m responsible! We support each other!”

A smile makes its way onto my lips. “Yes,” I reply simply.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

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Before I Met You Masterlist

Masterlist

#nct #nct 127 #jung jaehyun #na jaemin #mark lee #lucas wong #nct dream #nct u #superm #before I met you

8 notes · View notes

just-my-sickly-pride · 5 years

Text

Debut || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

summary || you’re twenty years old, a full-time uni student, and you’re living out of home. money is tight. so, naturally, you decide to sell your virginity to the highest bidder. when you get an offer from some guy in his mid-thirties, you put on your nicest dress and head on over. but there’s a problem: he has no idea who you are, or why you’ve turned up at his house at nine o’clock at night. maybe things aren’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped. modern day au.

rating || explicit, with fluff dotted throughout. 18+ only. do not read if you are under eighteen. the age gap between reader and roger is sixteen years.

word count || about 17.7k.

author’s notes || welcome one and all to my very first fic on this blog! i pictured roger circa ‘85 (specifically live aid) for this fic. this fic is also dedicated to my friend and fellow mid-thirties-Roger enthusiast Jennifer @mrfahrenhcit (i couldn’t find a way to work in everything you asked, but i’ve saved some of them for the next roger fic that’s in the works). fun fact: this is the first reader fic where i’ve used ‘Y/N’. some people have said they’d had issues with this post being extremely slow to load, or the app has crashed - i think it’s just bc it’s so long, and i apologise for the inconvenience. [i am a proud member of the anti-cross-tagging club.]

masterlist

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more nervous before in your entire life. You’ve wiped your sweaty palms on your dress ten times in the past two minutes, and your heart hasn’t stopped racing from the moment you woke up this morning.

What are you doing? Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?

Well, that’s the thing. You know exactly what the fuck you’re doing.

You aren’t doing it out of embarrassment, or anything to do with pride. You don’t feel pressured, not by anyone, not even by society, fuck society, but you saw some dumb article about it – it was hardly even an article, just gossip – and it gave you the idea, and then you were doing some research about it, just for the money, it’s just for the money, you’ve been living out of home for two years now and life’s still kicking you in the ass, so why wouldn’t you do it for money, if you could? And you can. So you went onto some website and snooped around to check for at least some sign of legitimacy, and then, well, you were making an account, and you made an account, and uploaded some photos that you never thought you’d upload to the Internet, and, a couple weeks later, you found out that someone had chosen you. Chosen you.

And now here you are.

On your way to a strange man’s house.

To lose your virginity to him.

Because he’s paid for it.

Well, he’s paid half. The other half comes… after.

And you’re not nervous about the actual sex part, you suppose, but more about the fact that you’re going to a stranger’s house for sex. Does that make you a sex worker? Could you call someone who played guitar in one gig and got paid for it, but never got paid for it again, a musician?

Probably. But maybe that isn’t the best comparison.

You don’t know much about this guy. Just his address, his name, his age – thirty-six, could be worse, to be fair – and that he’s obviously got plenty of cash to spare. And he’s definitely not the sort of guy you want to have around. Seeing as, y’know, he’s paid a twenty-year-old virgin to have sex with him.

The Uber pulls up to a stop in front of a house. It’s dark outside, almost nine in the evening, so the house is hard to make out, but it’s quite a nice place, very white-picket-fence. Something out of a magazine catalogue about the suburbs. You thank your Uber driver and grab your oversized handbag, climbing out of the car.

You close the door behind you.

The Uber drives off.

And you’re alone on the sidewalk.

You hoist the handbag onto your shoulder. It’s got a couple of things you think you’ll need – condoms, lube, two change of clothes depending on what this guy is after. You think you look more than nice enough in your heels and tight, black dress, but just in case.

You glance at your phone, double-checking the address. You send a quick message to your best friend Justine: at the house. will keep u updated.

She’s the only one who knows; and she only knows because you figured that at least someone should know, if something goes wrong.

Good God, you’re hoping nothing goes wrong. Not in that way. Not in any way, really.

And again, you’re back to asking yourself what the fuck you’re doing.

You take a deep breath, and start heading up the front path.

Your hands are shaking by the time you reach the front step, but you force yourself to raise a fist and rap your knuckles on the door. The automatic porch light is yellow, and you can’t help but feel irked by how unflattering it is.

You can hear movement inside the house. A part of you is searching for the sound of kids, although God forbid there’s any to be heard. But a guy like this… Well, your first conclusion is that he’s looking for an affair.

You really don’t want to be some kind of mistress. But, you suppose, this is really just a business transaction, so you’re free of at least most of the guilt, right? All of it, if you actually have no idea if he’s married.

Please don’t mention your wife, you pray. Don’t implicate me or whatever.

Finally, the door opens, and you feel like you’re about to throw up your heart onto your feet. But you push it down, and drink in the man in front of you.

If you weren’t sure before if he was a dad, now it’s unmistakable. He’s slim, and reasonably tall – not remarkably so, but still tall – and he’s dressed in loose jeans and a blue flannel that he has rolled up to his elbows. His hair is blond, sort of shaggy, sort of spiky, like he spends his time running his hands through it. You idly wonder what it’d feel like in your hands. Guess you’ll find out soon enough.

But the thing that really knocks your socks off is the big blue eyes that blink at you, framed by eyelashes that you’d kill to have yourself. Those eyes flash down to your outfit, and then back up at your face.

Okay. Maybe this whole thing won’t be that bad at all.

You give him your most winning smile. “Hi,” you say in a way that you hope is both alluring and professional.

He blinks at you again. “Hi,” he says, his eyes wide. His gaze flits up and down your body, like he’s trying to compute what he’s seeing in front of him. “Um, hello. What, uh– Can I help you?”

His voice is soft, softer than you were expecting. Gentle, almost.

You lick your lips and shift your feet. “I’m, ah, Mandy. Are you Roger? Taylor?” Your name is fake, of course. You’re not sure about his. Not that it matters.

“Yes, that’s me,” Roger says. He scratches the back of his head. “Uh, I’m sorry, you’re, um, lovely, but I don’t think I know you.”

Huh. Odd. Is this a foreplay thing? “We have an appointment. You booked me two weeks ago, and you gave me this date and this time,” you prompt unsurely.

Roger’s brow crumples. “An… appointment?”

You feel your face starting to heat up. You almost ask if you have the right address, but no, you already know that he’s Roger Taylor, he’s the one who booked, so you must have it right. “Yeah,” you say. “You, um…” You lower your voice a touch. “You already paid in advance. This is pretty much a done deal, but I’m just here to fulfil my end of the bargain. And then, of course, you’ll have to pay me the other half.”

Roger’s starting to look a little pale now, and you’re not quite sure what to do with that. His eyes dart down to your outfit and back up to your face. “Pay you?” he says. “I’ve– what? I’ve paid you? What did I pay you? When?”

Now you’re both embarrassed, and confused, and well, this isn’t something you’d pictured going wrong.

You suddenly feel very exposed in your tight dress and heels.

“Uh.” You scratch behind your ear. “Like, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ve booked me, and I’m here. And it wasn’t a small sum of money, so I doubt you’d want to…”

Roger’s mouth opens, and then closes, and opens again. “Oh, shit, hang on,” he says, his voice flat, “did I… Was this all booked and arranged two weeks ago on the Friday night?”

“Yes,” you say. “Why?”

Roger sighs heavily, and rubs his eyes. “Oh, shit,” he moans. “For God’s…” He raises his head, and sighs again. “Look, um, Mandy, there’s been a big misunderstanding. I, um, went through a divorce, er, relatively recently, a few months ago, and I’ve been doing a bit of wallowing, I guess you could say, and my friends tried to cheer me up a fortnight ago on Friday by bringing round a few bottles of very nice whiskey and gin. I don’t remember a lot of that night, but, now that you mention it, I have some vague memory of my friends trying to get me to, you know, ‘move on’, and, um, I think they might have looked up… people online.”

Your ears are really burning now. “Oh,” you say.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Roger adds. “You’re a…”

“Not really,” you blurt. “Kind of. It– oh, man.” You bite your bottom lip, hesitating, not quite sure how much to reveal about the situation. “Okay, I’ll be honest. Yes, I’m… from a website. But I’m not – this isn’t a living, or a side gig, or whatever. Not that it would matter if I was, because there’s nothing wrong with…” You shake your head. Stay on track. “It’s just a one-off. You paid me to… to take my virginity.”

You swear you can see Roger’s soul leaving his body in that moment. “You– I what?”

You shrug helplessly.

Roger takes a step back, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry for the confusion,” you say, and your stomach sinks further when a realisation comes to you. “I…” You swallow. Your mouth is dry. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t – The money you gave me. I’ve done this to help pay bills and rent and everything, and it’s already been used. A chunk of it, anyway. I can’t refund you. I’m really sorry.”

“No, God, don’t apologise,” Roger says. “You weren’t to know.” He shakes his head. “Fucking dickheads, the lot of them.” He looks to you, and warily inspects your face. “How old did you say you were?” His voice is small, like he’s scared of the answer.

“Twenty,” you reply, and his shoulders sag in relief.

“Thank God,” he says. “I mean, still, you’re so young, but at least you’re…”

“An adult?”

He nods, grimacing sheepishly. “I really am being honest when I say I don’t remember much of that night. My mates aren’t those sorts of people, but, well, who knows what they’d try to pull when they’re pissed.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say. “I look young for my age. But I am twenty.”

“No, I believe you,” Roger says quickly. “I’m not… No.”

You wipe your palms on your dress again. What now? Do you just go home? That wasn’t the cheapest Uber ride you’ve ever had. You were kind of relying on that extra money.

Roger seems equally at loss. “You– Did you have to travel far?”

“Not that far,” you say. “Forty minutes-ish.”

“Fuck,” Roger says. He puts his hands on his hips, and then drops them again. “What time is it? It’s nearly nine, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, about nine.”

“It’s late. You should be getting home.”

Your heart sinks. Wow. Okay. This is really just over like that. “Um, yeah, I guess,” you say. You take half a step back. “I’m really sorry about the– the, um, whole mix-up thing. And sorry about your divorce.”

Great. Real smooth.

“Thanks,” Roger says. He hesitates, and you’re about to turn and head back down the driveway, when he says, “How are you getting home? Did you drive?”

“Uh, no,” you say. “Uber.”

“Uber? God, no, sod that,” Roger says. “Let me…” He fumbles for something in his back pocket, but comes up empty. “Let me pay for it. I don’t– Can I pay you for it?”

“It’s all right,” you reassure him. “You’ve already given me– it’s okay.”

“No, please, I insist,” he says. “Should I– cash? I can give you cash. Or… transfer…” He rolls his eyes at himself, those pretty blue eyes that shouldn’t belong to a man his age, but somehow suit him perfectly. “God,” he mutters. “I usually have things more together than this, I promise. I’ve just been caught beyond off-guard.”

“Sorry,” you say again.

“It’s not your fault, really, I don’t– How could I blame you? You had no idea. I am going to murder my friends.” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Um. Okay. I’ve paid you before, haven’t I, if you got the deposit? How did I do it? I can just do it that way again.”

“You transferred it to me,” you say. You shift in your heels. Your feet are starting to ache.

“Let’s do it that way again, then,” Roger says. “I’ll just get my phone, sorry.”

“It’s okay, really,” you say yet again, stopping him. “Don’t bother. I’ll– It’ll take me two minutes and then I can be on my way home.”

Roger hovers, and then says, “Can I– Did you want to wait inside? Or out on the steps? Could I get you some water, at least?”

You hesitate. “Um–”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Roger blurts, and then he shakes his head. “Now it sounds like I am trying to do something. I’m not. Really. If you want, you can just wait here and I’ll go inside and leave you alone.”

You glance at your phone. You haven’t ordered the Uber yet, but you are pretty thirsty. You look back up to Roger. “Well, I already had it in my head that I was coming here to sleep with you, so I’m not really concerned about you trying anything,” you say. “Some water sounds nice, actually.”

Roger laughs. Like his voice, it’s unexpectedly soft, and it makes you smile.

“Um. Yes,” he says, glancing at his feet. “Well. Um, come on in, then.”

You head back up the path, and Roger steps aside to let you in.

You slip past him. He smells good.

His house, on the inside, is just as white-picket-fence as it is on the outside. Not the tidiest, but you suppose he wasn’t expecting company.

He seems to notice the slight mess the same moment you do, and he hurriedly darts forward to tidy up.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you say.

He bends down to grab an empty beer bottle from where it sits on the floor next to the couch. Nice ass.

Not that it matters. You aren’t sleeping with him anymore. But, to be fair, you are only human. Just because you’re no longer ordering doesn’t mean you can’t admire the menu.

“I, uh, wasn’t expecting any guests, obviously,” Roger adds, half-jokingly.

You chuckle, and adjust your dress. Roger’s eyes flash down to your hands, then to your chest where you’ve pulled the dress down a little further in your adjustment, and then he quickly looks away, running his hand along his jaw.

“Uh, um,” he says. “Water? Um– take a seat, by the way. Feel free to sit…” He gestures vaguely around him. “Sit anywhere. Anywhere you like.”

“Um, okay,” you say, and hesitate, before awkwardly perching on his couch.

“Sorry, did you say you wanted water?” Roger says.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” you say.

“Yeah, of course,” Roger says, and then disappears into the kitchen.

You breathe in a lungful of air and slowly let it out. Wow. Talk about an unexpected evening.

You take out your phone and message Justine. boy do I have a story to tell u.

She’s online, and she replies immediately. fuck what’s happened?? everything alright??

You bite your lip, considering how to reply. yeah I’m fine. the guy is super easy on the eyes, but there’s been a mix up and basically I am remaining firmly in the virgin zone for the foreseeable future lol.

You backspace and try again. yeah I’m fine. long story short I’m coming home. tell u about it when I get there.

is he ugly?? Justine replies, and you can’t help but smile in amusement.

oh no, that’s not the issue even a little bit, you reply.

“I’m assuming tap water is fine?” Roger says, reappearing with a glass of water, making you jump slightly and flip your phone face-down on your leg, as if he could somehow see the screen from across the room. “Sorry, I should’ve asked. I don’t really have anything else.”

“No, no, tap water is fine, thank you,” you say, and he hands the glass to you.

You take a sip.

Roger glances away, seemingly looking for something to do or something to say, as if the answer is written in the walls. He chews on his thumbnail.

Your mind scrambles to find something to say, but it feels like trying to eat soup with a fork.

“Is everything all right?” Roger asks suddenly, looking to you. “I know this is probably completely inappropriate, but… Well, paying for someone to…”

Your stomach sinks with embarrassment. “Oh,” you say. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Just – could do with the money.”

“Of course, yeah,” Roger says hurriedly, nodding. “You’re at uni?”

“Yeah. And living out of home, so.”

“Right. Yeah, of course, I should’ve guessed. Sorry, that was…”

“No, it’s fine,” you say with a reassuring smile. You chuckle. “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening like this.”

“No, no, it…” Roger smiles, and you feel every trace of oxygen leave your lungs, because wow, he’s attractive. “It’s a welcomed interruption, actually.”

“It is?”

“Well, all I had planned was to watch something shit on Netflix and drink beer,” Roger says, screwing up his nose. “Not exactly exciting.”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” you say. “Sounds like they were big plans.”

Roger laughs, and your heart thuds against your ribcage. “The sort of plans that sound much nicer when you have company, I think.” He pauses. “Not that– not that I’m expecting you to–” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Really, I’m not usually this… awkward.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say, shaking your head.

“I used to be a real ladies’ man, you know,” Roger says. “Back in the day. Before my wi– my ex-wife. And the kids.”

“Sure,” you say, drawling sarcastically.

Roger laughs again, a little surprised, but amused. “I was!” he insists. “I was picking up women left and right.”

“I believe you,” you say lightly.

Roger grins, and you have to take a steadying breath. “You’ve got a tongue on you, haven’t you?” he says delightedly.

“So it’s been said.”

It comes out more suggestive than you’d intended. Roger takes a moment to drink you in, and then he bites his bottom lip, looking away, one hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, the other one slipping under his shirt, massaging his shoulder.

Your stomach flips and jumps. You take a sip of water.

“You sure you’ve never been with anyone before?” Roger says.

You snort. “That’s a pretty rude question, don’t you think?”

Roger smiles sheepishly. “You’re right. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

You take another sip of water, and then say, “I haven’t slept with anyone, no. I think I’d know if I had.”

“Right,” Roger says mildly, nodding.

You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking very loudly. Is there something wrong with me not having slept with anyone?”

“No,” Roger says, his eyes widening. “No, shit, that’s not what I was trying to say. It– you just seem… I’m just surprised. That someone like you…”

You adjust your dress again. Roger’s eyes drop to your breasts again, and back up to your face. “What do you mean by that?” you ask, trying not to preen.

Roger ponders over his answer for a while. “You just seem to… know what you want.”

“Oh, you think so?”

“Yeah,” Roger says noncommittally.

His eyes find yours, and they stay there. Your heart is racing in your chest now, making your blood feel warm. You’ve been attracted to plenty of people before, but this is really something else.

Roger clears his throat, breaking away, and you surreptitiously squeeze your thighs together.

Your phone buzzes on your thigh. It’s Justine. so he’s hot?

“Is that your Uber?” Roger asks. If you aren’t mistaken, he sounds almost disappointed.

Your cheeks grow hot. “Oh, um, I haven’t actually… I forgot to call it.”

“Oh,” Roger says. A tinge of relief? “Well, no rush.”

“It’s just my friend checking up on me,” you add.

“That’s good of them.”

“Yeah. Well, actually, she was checking up on me before. Now she’s just–” You open and close your mouth a few times, but decide to be honest. “Uh, she’s just, um, asking about you.”

Roger quirks an eyebrow, and it’s so hot that you have to look away. “About me?”

Your phone buzzes again. are you on ur way home now?

“Uh,” you say, and quickly type out, not yet.

“What have you told her?” Roger asks, playfully curious.

You put your phone down, and take a breath, smoothing your hands down your legs, thinking carefully of how to answer. “Just that you seem nice.”

“Nice?” Roger says.

“And you’re… Well.” You smirk. “I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in the mirror. No point in boosting your ego too much.”

Roger steps forward, drawn to you by an invisible string. “I don’t think I understand,” he says faux-innocently.

“I’m sorry, weren’t you just saying a minute ago that you were pulling girls left and right?” you say, cocking your head.

“Oh, yeah, when I was twenty,” Roger says. “Not talking about now.”

“Have you tried?”

Roger pauses, slightly taken aback by this, and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks, blowing hair out of his cheeks. “You may have a point there.”

“And I suppose that’s why these friends of yours contacted me?”

“You… may have a point there,” Roger says again.

You nod to yourself. “I don’t see why they couldn’t have just taken you to a pub and set you up with someone there. It’d have been a lot cheaper.”

“They’ve, um…” Roger cards his hand through his hair. “They’ve tried that, actually.” He hesitates, and then walks over to you, sitting down on the armchair near you. “They’ve taken me out a couple of times.”

“And you’ve struck out?” you ask.

Roger chuckles. “No. I – well, like you said, I suppose I haven’t really tried. I didn’t want to.”

“Too soon?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Roger pulls a face. “I don��t know. Haven’t felt like it, really. Maybe it was too soon. Or maybe the thought of having to try to chat someone up just seemed like so much effort.”

“Surely it wouldn’t be much effort for you.”

Roger meets your eyes again, and he smiles slowly, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh yeah?”

Your phone vibrates. The way Roger’s looking at you makes you wish it was something else vibrating that you could put to good use alone in your room.

Roger’s eyes flick down to the phone, and back up to your face. “That your friend again?”

You hesitate, and then flip the phone over. hellooooo????? wtf is going on????

“Yeah,” you say, and put the phone down beside you.

“You going to answer it?”

“In a minute.”

You smooth your hands down your thighs. Roger watches like a hawk.

Your hands slide back up your thighs.

He swallows.

You smile.

“You, um, you ever…” Roger tears his eyes away from your thighs to look at your face. “Have– have you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you say casually. “Not for a long while, though. And nothing too serious. Nothing as full-on as marriage.”

Roger laughs, but it comes out sounding a bit strangled. “Yeah. That’s all right, though. That doesn’t matter.”

Your phone buzzes.

You ignore it.

“I never got around to… all of that,” you explain. “Y’know. Fucking.”

Roger’s face goes slack. “Uh–”

“I wasn’t waiting for anyone special,” you continue. Your blood feels electrified under his gaze. “Just never quite got there.”

“Never quite–?”

You hum. “That’s misleading. I’ve made out with plenty of people, but that’s all. Some over-the-clothes action. Basically nothing, really.”

Roger looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “Uh-huh.”

“You probably find that hard to imagine,” you say with a wry smile. “Having kids and all. How old were you your first time?”

Roger blinks, and takes a moment to reply. “Uh, I was sixteen.”

You laugh. “God, I can’t even picture…” You frown, and shake your head. “It’s hard to picture what it’d be like, you know? The reality of it? You can watch as much porn as you like – and I’ve watched plenty, mind you – but, like, I know that it’s not real. Not realistic, anyway. I’ve spent what feels like ages just trying to picture what is actually is like, but it’s impossible for me to know.”

“It’s good,” Roger says, and it comes out in a rush, and he looks surprised at himself.

You feel a thrill go through you. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Roger says. “Everyone says your first time isn’t good, but that’s only if your partner doesn’t know what they’re doing. And it’s nice when you have an idea of what you’re doing, too, but that comes with time. And if you have a good teacher.” He rakes his hand through his hair again. “But when the chemistry is right, and the mood is right, it’s… good.”

“That’s descriptive,” you murmur sarcastically.

Roger huffs a laugh. “What do you want, a detailed explanation? Graphs and illustrations?”

“A demonstration would be nice.”

Shit. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. Why the fuck did you say that?

Your eyes are wide, and you open and close your mouth a few times. “Uh.” Roger looks as surprised as you feel. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Wow. Is– is this part of the…”

You blink. “Part of the…?”

“The whole…” He gestures vaguely. “…thing. You being paid to…”

“Did I just make a complete idiot of myself as part of my attempt to woo you as a kind-of sex worker?” you ask. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Nope. No. That was all me. Just being a dumbass.” You groan, covering your face. “I’m sorry,” you say from behind your hands. “This is so embarrassing.” This whole night has been nothing but a huge embarrassment. You can’t wait to go home and forget about it, thanks to an unhealthy dose of alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” Roger says.

You lower your hands. “For what?”

“For – I don’t know. I just felt I needed to apologise.”

You snort. “You don’t have to apologise for me very clumsily and awkwardly and horribly trying to flirt with you, Roger.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “You’re probably used to seeing that all the time.”

“Again, not for a very long time,” Roger says. “But I know what horrible and awkward flirting looks like, and… that wasn’t it.”

“But clumsy, though, right?” you say, screwing up your nose.

Roger chuckles. “Maybe. But that’s all right.” He shifts in his seat. “I was just as clumsy.”

You wave a hand, and reach for your phone. It’s high time you called your Uber. And reply to Justine. “You weren’t flirting with me.”

You re-read the messages from Justine you’re yet to reply to.

so hes hot?

are you on ur way home now?

hellooooo????? wtf is going on????

Then the new one, from a few minutes ago: for the love of god can u please reply to me. something. anything. I’ll take a solid thumbs-up.

So you send a thumbs-up.

When you look up, Roger is staring at you, and you realise he hasn’t spoken since you did.

You’ve well and truly crossed a line somewhere. You can’t blame him for wanting you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m just – my friend. I’ll get the Uber now. Sorry it’s taken me so long.”

“Don’t,” Roger says.

You pause. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t order the Uber.”

Your stomach bubbles. “Wh– No?”

“Not yet, at least,” Roger says. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think I wasn’t flirting with you?”

“Why would you be?” you respond automatically.

“Why would…” Roger shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’m a random twenty-year-old woman who’s just shown up at your door on a Tuesday night dressed like this talking about how you paid to take my virginity,” you say bluntly. “Which is more than a little off-putting.”

“Well, all right, I’ll give you that,” Roger says. “But here I am, still trying to clumsily flirt with you nonetheless.”

You break out into a smile, a bashful one, and duck your head. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Roger repeats, a touch playfully.

You glance up at him. He’s smiling at you, pleased with your reaction, and the thought of kissing him flashes through your mind, and you’ve suddenly never wanted anything more. You purse your lips, looking at your hands again, fiddling with your phone, flipping it around and around in your grip.

“Mandy,” he says gently, and you’re puzzled for a moment before you remember –

“That’s, um, not my real name,” you tell him with an awkward chuckle. But you really like how he said it all the same.

Roger looks so embarrassed that you can’t help but laugh. “Here I was, trying to be all suave, and now I look like an idiot,” he says.

You shake your head. “You don’t. You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve guessed you weren’t using your real name.”

“No, it’s fine,” you giggle.

“Well, am I allowed to know your real name? So I can try again?”

You hesitate.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Roger says quickly. “That’s fine. Security, and all. Stranger danger.”

You laugh again. “Stranger danger? I’m in your house.”

“I could be a stalker. You don’t know that.”

Fuck, you’re attracted to him. “Dork,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

Roger chuckles, his eyes sparkling.

“It’s [Y/N],” you add.

“[Y/N],” he repeats, and your breath catches ever so slightly. He pauses, and then comes to sit beside you on the couch, and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, [Y/N],” he says. “I’m Roger.”

You giggle, and take his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Roger.”

He’s so close now. He smells amazing, and his hand is warm, and his eyes are so blue, and his lips–

You realise you’ve been staring at his mouth, your hand still in his, and you glance back up at his eyes before quickly taking your hand back, looking away.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, clearing your throat. You’re barely aware of your own body – only his, and how close it is to yours. Like there’s a force between the two of you, connecting you. When he swallows and moves his hand back to his own lap, you can feel it as if it’s your own.

“Do you, um…” Roger takes a breath in, and you feel your chest, your lungs, buzz. “Tell me about yourself a bit.”

“Me?” you say, looking to him. Oh, wow, he really is close. Fucking hell, you want him.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “What do you do for fun? Stuff like that?”

You lick your lips, and his eyes dart to the movement. “Um, well, I…” You absentmindedly adjust your dress, and it catches his eye again. “I’m at uni, in my second year. It’s all right. Pretty stressful, obviously, but I like it well enough. I live with two of my friends. I, um… I like… dogs.”

Roger laughs.

This is so stupid, you realise. You both clearly want each other.

You shake your head. “Stupid,” you mutter.

Roger frowns. “What’s stupid?”

“This,” you say. You gesture between the two of you for emphasis. “This.”

“Oh,” Roger says. He shifts away from you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You huff. “You’re not.”

“Then what–”

“Kiss me,” you cut in.

Roger stops. “Kiss you?”

“Yes,” you say, keeping your gaze steady on his. “You’re too damn difficult to resist. So kiss me.”

Roger hesitates.

You raise your eyebrows. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“No, I – I do,” he says. “I just…”

“What?”

“I feel like the circumstances… I don’t want you to think I’m just doing this because I’ve paid you to…”

“I don’t think that,” you say. “And I don’t want your money; this is way beyond that now. I’m not trying to trick you into sleeping with me so I can force you to pay me. I just know chemistry when I see it.”

Roger chuckles. “I was right,” he says. “You know exactly what you want.”

You steel your nerves. “Yeah,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “And I want you.”

Roger swallows. “But you don’t even know me.”

“Nope.”

“And you’re in my house.”

“Yep.”

“And I’m so much older than you.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re…”

“I’m a virgin,” you finish, nodding. “I know. But for the love of God, Roger, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to scream.”

Roger exhales, shakes his head minutely, and then says, “God fucking damn it,” and leans in to kiss you.

You immediately shift to press closer towards him, one hand coming to rest against his chest. He kisses you earnestly, but gently, like he’s nervous. Nervous about making you feel pressured, you can safely assume.

But that’s not what you’re about. You pull back, and, before he can say anything, you climb on top of him, straddling his waist, and kiss him again, more deeply than before. He breaks away just far enough to whisper, “Holy shit,” and then ducks his head to kiss down your throat. You tilt your head to give him more room, one hand against his chest and the other raking through his hair. His hands, rough and warm, smooth up your thighs, and your breath catches. They stop just under the hem of the dress, and a soft whine slips from your throat.

Roger moans in response. “Jesus Christ.”

You reach down and grab at his wrists, urging his hands to go further up the dress. “Touch me,” you pant.

He draws back, and you look down at him, at his slightly flushed cheeks and his ruffled hair, and you want him naked, right now. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “We can just make out, that’s absolutely fine. Just because of… the whole… arrangement…”

“Roger,” you say slowly, “I’m only going to say this once, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

He nods, swallowing.

You cup his face in your hands, boring your eyes into his. “I want you to fuck me. Tonight. Right now.”

Roger takes a shaky breath. “Are you–”

“What did I just say?” you cut in. “Not repeating it.”

Roger smiles, laughing breathlessly. “Bloody hell.”

You smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it most certainly is one, believe me.”

You lean in to kiss him, and his hands, thank the Lord, slide further up your thighs. You start unbuttoning his shirt, blindly, fumbling a little, and your kisses grow more eager.

You’ve kissed a number of people in your time. Not a whole lot, but a few. And Roger really takes the damn cake.

When his shirt is fully unbuttoned, untucked from his jeans, you move your lips down his neck, and he moans, letting his head roll back, his hands shifting to grab your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel the tent in his jeans, and, beyond thrilled, you grind against it, loving how a bolt of arousal shoots through you. Roger’s grip on you tightens, and when you nip at his skin, he spits out, “Fuck.”

You rock your hips against him again, and he laughs again. “God, it’s been too long.”

You hum, nipping his throat again and soothing it with your tongue. “How long is too long?”

“Months. Lost count. Ah, fuck.”

You pull back, giving him a look, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Try twenty years,” you say dryly.

Roger shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine.” He kisses you, just once, and then murmurs against your lips, “I promise I’ll make this good for you.”

You shiver. “I’m sure you will.”

“I mean it.” He kisses you again, and then sits back, his hands sliding back to your thighs and squeezing them gently. “I want this to be good for you. If I’m going to be your first, I want you to enjoy it. So you have to tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I don’t care what it is we’re doing – you can tell me to stop at literally any point, and I will, no questions asked.”

You nod. “I know, I know.”

Roger chuckles. “You just really want to get things going, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You press your lips to his, and, now that you both know where things lie between you, you’re both eager to get to the next step. The kisses quickly become more feverish, hotter, deeper. Roger’s hands go to the back of your dress, working the zipper down your spine, and you shudder at the feeling of it. When he’s done, you sit back to yank it over your head, dropping it the floor behind you.

Roger’s eyes drink you in, his mouth hanging open. “Whoa.”

You flush under his gaze. You know you look good – you’d worn your push-up bra and matching lace underwear for a reason – but it’s still a rush to get a reaction like that.

“Bedroom?” Roger says, his voice a touch weak, and you nod, leaning in to steal one last kiss before climbing off him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. He groans slightly as he does so, and you giggle.

“I know, I know, I’m old,” he says.

“No, I like it,” you say, tugging him closer to you and hooking a finger of your other hand through a belt loop on his jeans. “Dad noises.”

Roger shakes his head, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you lean into the touch. “Don’t say that,” he grumbles. “Makes me feel even older.”

“You’re not old,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even forty.”

Roger laughs. “Ah, yes, a real spring chicken.”

“Can you stop whining and fuck me already? I’m gonna be forty by the time we get to it.”

Roger snorts. “Cheeky.” He leans in to kiss you, and you curl your arms around his neck, pressing into him.

When you break apart, you take Roger’s hand again, and he leads you to his bedroom, both of you stumbling slightly in the dark house. You’re only in your underwear, but you’re still wearing your heels, and you feel like you’re in some kind of Victoria Secret ad.

Roger keeps glancing back at you, his eyes sweeping your body, and he’s so distracted he almost runs into a wall at one point, and you have to tug on his arm to pull him out of the way, laughing as you do so. He retaliates by pushing you up against the wall and kissing you senseless, his thigh slotted between yours. You’re lightheaded and unbelievably turned on by the time he breaks away again, and it feels like a lifetime before you reach his bedroom.

Roger switches on the light.

The double bed is unmade, but the room itself is fairly tidy, just a pair of shoes and a shirt on the floor. The whole room screams tax-paying adult, and you’re reminded again that the man you’re about to sleep with is, in fact, a proper adult. Not like you, an adult by the loosest terms imaginable, but a fully-grown man with children and a mortgage and a career, probably. A completely different world to yours.

But none of that will matter when you’re both naked.

He closes the door behind him, and then you’re pouncing on him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and all but tearing his belt off. His hands are tight on your hips, and when you undo his belt and the button and fly on his jeans, he pants, “Bed, bed, go sit on the bed.”

You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing one knee over the other, taking the opportunity to quickly tie your hair back out of your face while and Roger fumbles with the rest of his clothes, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks and jeans. You can tell that he would’ve been thin as a twig back in the day, and you’d easily call him slender even now, but his body is soft, the sign of a father who’s spent more time taking care of the kids and having a beer in the evenings to wind down than going to the gym. It suits him, looks good on him. You’re certainly a big fan.

Soon, he’s down to nothing but his boxer-briefs. His boxer-briefs, which are neon green.

You break out into a grin, and Roger looks down at them, sighing. “Of all the fucking pairs I could’ve put on today,” he mutters.

“They’re pretty great,” you say, and you make sure you have Roger’s full attention before you uncross your legs, spreading your knees wide, leaning back on your hands, “but I’m more interested in what’s underneath them.”

From the look on Roger’s face, you’d guess his legs are about to give out from under him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he huffs, and he hurries over.

Grinning, you scramble backwards on the bed, lying down, and he crawls after you, over you, and his kiss is bruising.

Your hands are shaking now – with excitement and with nerves, a lot of nerves – but you ignore that, and worm your fingers inside his underwear, wrapping your hand around him and giving him a tug.

He jerks, and you have a moment of panic where you think you’ve done the wrong thing, but then he kisses you with more fervour, so you do it again. This time, his hand finds yours, gently guiding you away.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

Roger looks confused for a moment, and then says, “God, no. I just don’t want to get too worked up before we get to, y’know, the main event.”

“Oh,” you say, smiling in relief.

“You really have no experience at all, do you?” Roger says, sounding almost disbelieving.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” you say. “It hasn’t all been some elaborate ruse to get into your pants. Literally all I have is some vague, theoretical ideas on how this works. And I know the mechanics. But that’s it. So you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

“That’s fine by me,” Roger says. He chuckles. “It’ll make everything I do seem much more magical than it really is.”

“Sure,” you say mock-condescendingly.

Roger laughs, and he looks so wonderful when he’s laughing that you can’t help but smile, your hand reaching up to comb through his hair.

He notices the look in your eye, your smile, and he smiles back in a way that makes your stomach squirm and your fingers and toes tingle.

He kisses you, and the squirming in your stomach grows into full-blown butterflies, big Amazonian ones, and you begin to have an inkling that, oh no, this could be bad. This could be very bad indeed.

It’s probably nothing. He’s just hot, and nice, and funny, so you’re excited to have sex with him. That’s it. You’re a duckling that’s imprinted on its mother. Except you’re a human, and Roger’s the first person you’re having sex with, not your mother.

Not the best analogy you’ve come up with. You can’t blame yourself, though – the way Roger’s kissing you is turning your brain into mush.

He presses a kiss to just under your ear, and then kisses all the way down your throat, and you tilt your head back. “Feels so good,” you murmur.

You can feel Roger smile against your skin.

He keeps going, kissing the hollow at the base of your throat, further down still, and you bite your bottom lip. He presses a kiss to the top of your right breast, and then looks up at you. “Can I take your bra off?”

You nod eagerly, and he moves back so you can sit up. “Oh, I’ve still got my shoes on,” you said.

“I’ve noticed,” Roger says, and you chuckle.

“As super sexy as they are, I do wanna take them off,” you say.

Roger ducks forward to drop a kiss to your neck, and the butterflies are back, and you can feel your cheeks going pink. You want to hide your face, but Roger’s right there, and you can’t look away from his eyes. “How about you take your bra off,” he says, “and I’ll get your shoes.”

“You don’t have to take my shoes off for me,” you say.

“Well, I want to,” he says simply, and shuffles down, climbing off the bed. He gestures for you to shift forward, and you do, until your feet are hanging off the bed, your knees hooked over the edge. Roger gets onto his knees – he makes a dad noise as he does so, and you giggle again – and fiddles with the buckle on one of your shoes.

You take a moment to watch him, biting your lip, smiling, and then reach behind you and unhook your bra, slipping it from your shoulders.

He doesn’t look up right away, and you’re thankful for a moment to get your head around the fact that you’ve never been completely topless in front of anyone before. You’re self-conscious about the grooves the bra has dug into your skin, about the way your breasts look without the aid of the push-up, and you almost go to cross your arms over yourself, but then Roger glances up, and his hands go still. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice, unsure how else to respond.

Roger shakes his head, and focuses back on the shoe, making quick work of it and easing it off your foot, setting it down beside him. He moves onto the other shoe. “Talk about winning the fuckin’ lottery,” he says.

“I could say the same,” you say.

Roger stops again, looking to you, and then smiles, looking back to the shoe. His ears have gone red.

He takes the second shoe off and places it beside the first, then presses light kisses to the inside of your knee. He moves further up your leg, up your thigh, and you realise you’re holding your breath. His arms are curled around underneath your legs.

Roger looks up at you, his thick eyelashes making him look almost angelic. “Is this all right?” he says. “If I…?”

He’s asking if he can eat you out. Oh, God, he’s asking if he can eat you out. He wants to put his mouth and tongue there, and maybe his fingers, too, and no one’s ever done that before.

You nod eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly, as Roger laughs.

You feel your stomach cave in on itself in embarrassment. “Actually, no thanks,” you say, trying to pull your legs back. “Changed my mind.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” Roger says, still chuckling. He coaxes your legs back to where they were, and kisses your thigh. “It was just the look on your face.”

“You’re doing a terrible job of wooing me,” you say, aiming for resolute and chastising, but it comes out sounding more weedy and humiliated.

“I’m sorry,” Roger says again, and his hands stroke your legs soothingly. “I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed.” He smiles, a glint in his eye, and you’re momentarily left breathless. “Can I… make it up to you?”

You can’t help but smile back, rolling your eyes. “Wow. Cheesy.”

“Thank you,” Roger says. “I’m going to be honest, as fun as this banter is, my knees aren’t going to last forever.”

You splutter a laugh. “Yes, yes, okay, yes please.”

Roger surges up off the floor to press a firm kiss to your lips, and you take a moment to wonder just how dodgy his knees really are if he can do something like that, or whether he was just looking for a convenient segue into getting your underwear off. You’re not fussed either way.

Roger kisses your collarbone, and then pulls back, hooking his fingers into your underwear. “Lift your hips up for me, love?”

The pet name makes heat pool between your legs. Oh, Jesus.

“Mm-hm,” you say, hoping it sounds more nonchalant to him than it does to your own ears, and lie back to lift your hips, and he slides your underwear down your legs and drops them near your shoes.

You expect him to go back to his knees straight away, but he holds himself above you, kissing you, deep and slow, making you whimper into his mouth. One hand holds himself up, and the other one massages your hip, his thumb kneading your skin. Relaxing you, you realise. You let yourself get lost in the kiss, and you’re only partially aware when Roger’s hand moves from your hip to your thigh, brushing over your skin.

You’re extremely aware, however, when his fingers stroke through your folds for the first time.

Despite yourself, you jump, and Roger murmurs, “Sorry,” but you shake your head to dismiss his concerns, and pull him in again.

For a few moments it’s strange, feeling someone’s else hand there, and you’re very conscious of how wet you are, and you wonder if it’s something you should be embarrassed about, but then Roger circles your clit, and suddenly all your worries seem very far away.

It feels… good. Really fucking good. Roger’s fingers are rougher than yours, but they’re clearly experienced in how they move.

You push your hips up against Roger’s hand, wanting more, and Roger complies, his fingers moving just a touch more roughly, and he ducks his head to nuzzle at your throat, kissing it, nipping lightly.

“Oh, God,” you moan to the ceiling, overwhelmed already, and you almost laugh at how surprised you sound. Your hand grips Roger’s hair, and you hope it’s not too hard, but you couldn’t let go if you tried.

Then Roger’s hand is gone, and you let out a choked sound at the sudden stop. You try to gather your thoughts to ask why, but then Roger is kissing down your body. Oh, man, you think, unable to conjure up anything else, and Roger chuckles, and you realise you said it out loud, but you don’t have time to be embarrassed, as Roger takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth tugging at it, and you gasp.

“I’ve never… That’s new,” you say weakly, hissing when Roger runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple.

Roger pulls off to ask, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

“Good.” He goes back to his task, and you arch off the bed slightly.

“So good,” you breathe. Roger switches to the other nipple, and you moan appreciatively.

Eventually, both to your dismay and your excitement, he draws away, and presses a single kiss to the space between your breasts. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says, and then he moves back to climb off the bed, setting himself between your thighs.

You struggle to wrap your head around it. How he could be making you feel this good, and then still compliment you, as if you’ve done anything to deserve it?

Roger doesn’t waste time talking now. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and then he dives straight in, his tongue nudging your clit as it pushes through your folds. You suck in a sharp gasp, your hand gripping his hair tightly. Your other hand flails, grappling at the sheets as he starts to find a rhythm. You wind up pressing the back of it to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds you’re making, trying to gather some sort of control, because right now you feel like you’re falling head-first off a cliff, and Roger has complete power over how you land.

He does something with his mouth – you couldn’t tell for the life of you what it is – and your hips buck against your will. “Sorry,” you blurt out, and it comes out broken and breathless.

Roger just adjusts one of his arms, bracing it across your hips, holding you down, and you moan. His other hand joins his mouth, sliding a finger into you. “Oh, fuck,” you whisper, and then your hand returns to its position, keeping you somewhat quieter.

It doesn’t take long before Roger’s working in a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, and the sound of it is so obscene that it makes your face go bright red. You’re climbing towards an orgasm, frighteningly quickly, and when a third finger squeezes in beside the first two, you very nearly come, but the sting of the stretch is enough to keep it at bay.

But then your body relaxes around the three fingers, and Roger crooks them just so and sucks on your clit, and you move your hand away from your mouth to say in a rush, “I’m– I’m so close, I’m gonna come, fuck, ah, shit,” and then–

Then Roger is gone, his fingers and mouth are gone, and you’re left teetering on the brink of an orgasm, feeling like the air has been punched out of you.

“Wh– Roger?” you say, your head a mess. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see Roger still between your legs, but instead he’s massaging your thighs with his thumbs, dropping light kisses to your soft skin.

He smiles up at you, his nose and chin glistening. “Thought we could try something.”

You shake your head to try to clear it. “But I was just about to…”

You can still feel the urge. Another minute, and you’ll be there. But the longer you wait, the more the feeling fades. It makes you want to punch a wall.

Roger hums. “I know. That’s the point.”

You frown, trying to wrap your head around it. “You… don’t want me to?”

“Not yet.”

It finally clicks. “You’re gonna do that to me a couple more times before you make me come, aren’t you?”

Roger’s smile widens into a grin. “That’s the plan. If you’re on board.”

“I’m on board,” you say. “As long as when I do come, it blows my fucking mind.”

“That’s really the point of it, love.” Roger keeps eye contact with you as he leans forward to press a kiss to your core, and you shudder. “And move your hand away from your mouth. You don’t have to be quiet. The more sounds you make, the better.”

“When am I gonna get my hands on you?” you ask. “I’ve barely even touched your dick yet.”

Roger huffs a laugh, and you can feel his breath against you. “We’re getting there,” he says easily. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” you bemoan, lying back down.

Roger laughs again, and then his mouth and hands return to where you so desperately need them. You suck in air through your teeth. “Fuck, Roger.”

Roger moans, and you jerk at the sensation.

He brings you to the edge once more, and, even though you don’t tell him when you’re about to come, he knows, and leaves you hanging once again. So close, so close, but not close enough.

You feel like crying. Or kicking him in the face.

You moan helplessly, slinging an arm over your eyes, your legs trembling as Roger smiles against your thigh – you can feel it. A smug smile that makes your blood boil and your core throb even more than it already is.

Then his fingers push into you for a third time, and his tongue licks through you, but this time it’s slow, painfully slow, not enough to make you come but enough to keep your head lost in the clouds, enough to make your stomach clench and twist, desperately searching for something. It’s enough to make you grind your teeth together. “God, fuck, I need to come,” you sob against the palm of your hand, your thighs trying to clench around Roger’s ears, but his arm is in the way, keeping your hips still.

His tongue drags against your clit, steady and unhurried, and the gasping whine that rips itself from your throat is piercing to your ears. Not even your hand could muffle it.

“There we go,” Roger says, and does it again.

You squirm. “Roger, fuck, please, I wanna come so bad.”

Roger’s fingers still move in and out of you at a leisurely pace, but he uses his mouth to say, “You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you say miserably. “Please, I need to.”

His thumb presses against your clit, and you bite your bottom lip, your body twisting.

“Christ,” Roger breathes. “That’s a fucking sight.”

“Fuck me,” you beg. “Anything, just please.”

Roger takes his hand away, standing and wiping his face on the back of his hand, and you swear. He kicks off his boxer-briefs. His cock is hard and red, swollen, leaking. You sit up and zero in on it like it’s a four-course meal and you haven’t eaten in days. You scramble off the bed, dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Fucking hell,” he says, clearly not expecting you to do that.

“Can I suck you off?” you ask desperately, resisting the urge to just shove your mouth around his dick without further preamble. “I’ll do a good job, I promise. Just tell me what to do. I’m a fast learner.” You curl your fist around him, sucking the head into your mouth.

Roger makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says quickly, guiding your head away with a hand on your head.

You pull back, but keep your hand where it is. “Just fuck my mouth,” you say, gazing up at him. “I dunno how that works, but I can keep it open.” You do so, sticking your tongue out, silently begging with your eyes.

Roger chuckles softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come just from running your mouth like that.”

You open your mouth wider.

“Or from just doing that,” Roger says. He pries your hand away from his dick, using it to pull you to your feet.

He kisses you, a hungry kiss, a you’re doing so well kiss, and it makes you preen. “But I want to fuck you,” he says. “I’ve had my dick sucked before; you’ve never been fucked.”

“I’ve never sucked a dick before, either, though,” you reason.

“Well, hit me up next time you’re in the neighbourhood,” Roger jokes. Before you can reply, he kisses you again, and you drink him in greedily, palming at his cock until his kisses grow sloppy, messy, more teeth and tongue, and he has to snatch your wrist. “Let me get inside you first,” he growls. “Good God.”

“I like it when you’re bossy,” you say, teasingly.

Roger hums, his eyes dark. “You need that attitude fucked right out of you.”

“Do it,” you say fervently, grinning in delight when he grabs your other wrist as well to stop you from touching him. “Do it, do it, do it. Fuck it right out me. I need it. Never had anyone try to fuck anything out of me before.”

Roger shudders. “Jesus.”

You half-heartedly try to tug your wrists back, but he holds them tightly. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” you say. “Come on.”

Roger takes a breath, and then lets your wrists go. “Bed. Now.”

You scramble to obey, clenching your thighs together at the sight of Roger. He looks wrecked already, his hair a mess, his skin flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips red. He goes to his bedside table and digs out a bottle of lube and some condoms. “Maybe should check the date on these,” he mutters to himself, and squints at the packets in his hands. After a few moments of peering at them, he sighs in frustration, and reaches for the pair of glasses on the table that you hadn’t noticed before. He slips them on, and then nods at the packets. “They’re fine.”

He goes to take the glasses off, but you say, “Wait, show me.”

He turns to you. “Show you what?”

Fuck, he looks gorgeous in those glasses. They’re large, round ones, with delicate silver frames, and you make a soft sound. “Oh, wow.”

“I know, they’re horrendous,” Roger says, taking off the glasses and setting them down. “My eyesight’s always been shite, but I can’t stand wearing the bloody things.”

“No, you look great,” you say. “So great, in fact, that I need you to get the condom on so you can fuck me literally right now.”

Roger raises his eyebrows. “You what?”

“I’m dying here, Roger,” you say loudly, smacking the bed beside you. “You look hot as fuck in those glasses, and I’m so insanely horny that I’m about to explode. I need your dick in me right now.”

Roger grins, and rips open the condom packet. “All right. Jeez.”

“Let me do it,” you say, crawling over to him and taking the condom from him.

“You’ve ever done it before?” he asks.

“Not since we had to at school when I was, like, fifteen.” You do it carefully, to the best of your memory. Your mouth waters being so close to his cock. “Is this right?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Roger says. “You look incredible, by the way.”

You look up at Roger, and the butterflies return. You’re left momentarily speechless, but it doesn’t matter, because Roger leans down and kisses you. His hand rests against your collarbones, and you get another idea in your head. You rise up into a kneel, keeping his lips on yours, and then you take his hand, pressing it against your throat: a silent invitation.

Roger moans into your mouth, and applies some pressure, just a bit, testing the waters.

It makes your core ache, and you kiss him harder, so he presses harder in return. His palm is warm against your throat, and you keep one hand loosely around his wrist, the other hand in his hair, as it is wont to do.

You end up lying back on the bed, Roger pressing his hand against your throat as you gasp and squirm.

“You like this, don’t you?” Roger says, fingers on his other hand dipping into your folds. “Fuck, feel how wet you are.”

You nod desperately. Your mouth is hanging open, and your head is starting to swim.

“Is that all for me, love?”

You whimper, nodding again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

Roger lets go of your throat, and you gasp, your eyes wide. “More,” you say immediately. “More. Fuck me like that.”

Roger smiles, keeping his palm against your throat, but brushes his thumb across your skin. His other hand curls around your knee. “Your enthusiasm is… mind-blowing,” he says with a chuckle, “but just take a moment, yeah? You’re all over the shop. Slow down a bit.”

“I don’t wanna slow down,” you protest, grabbing onto his forearm.

“We’ve got time, love. It doesn’t have to be over so quickly.”

“You can’t tease me like that, almost make me come, like, three times, and then tell me to slow down,” you say. “I need you, Roger. Christ, I need you. Show me what it’s like, show me how good my first time can be.”

Roger’s pupils are blown wide, and he lets out a shaky breath. He swallows. “Spread your legs.”

You grin, and do so. Roger lets go of your throat and leans over you on all fours to kiss you briefly. “I’m not choking you while I fuck you,” he says. “I want you to feel all of it, not have your head somewhere else.”

You nod vigorously.

Roger reaches for the lube. You hold out your hand, and he raises an eyebrow at you, but pours some into your hand. You reach forward and slide your fist up and down his cock, spreading the lube. He groans and shudders, and then he says, “That’s enough, that’s enough, I want to fuck you.”

You take your hand away, wiping the lube on the sheets, Roger surges forward to capture your lips with his, and you feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. A shot of adrenaline explodes within you.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Roger says, and you nod.

Then, slowly, he pushes into you, just an inch or two. You gasp at the stretch, gripping onto his arms, your mouth wide.

Roger stills, and nuzzles at your throat. “You okay?”

“Mm-hm,” you say, biting your lip. “Keep… Keep going.”

He does, rocking in shallowly, just going a little further each time. He’s panting against your neck, and you can feel your sweat pricking your skin. You can’t help but admire Roger’s back, the way the muscles move.

It feels good. Once you get over the initial shock to the system of having something that size inside you, you realise why you were so excited to get to this in the first place.

“I’m good,” you say, nails absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. “It– It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“You sure?” Roger asks, kissing your neck softly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Roger, for the love of all things holy, fuck me.”

He doesn’t need another invitation. He slams into you, and your eyes go wide, a tiny sound of surprise leaping out of you.

“Sorry,” Roger says, raising his head to kiss you in apology.

“Don’t fucking apologise, it feels good,” you say back. “Come on, come on.”

Roger laughs, and kisses you. You can feel his laughter against your lips, feel the way his smile changes the shape of his mouth, and that dangerously warm feeling in the pit of your stomach returns.

You could get used to this. Get used to Roger laughing against your lips as he’s buried inside you. Get used to teasing him, to turning him on, to rolling around in his bed.

As soon as the thoughts creep into your mind, you banish them. That’s not happening, you tell yourself harshly. This is a one-and-done deal. You can’t develop feelings for a man you’ve only met once. A man who is, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten, sixteen years older than you.

Then Roger pulls out halfway and drives back into you, and all you can think about is his dick.

Your hand goes back to your mouth, just like before, keeping yourself quiet as you moan and whimper. Your ankles hook over the small of Roger’s back.

But then Roger pauses, sitting up, and he unwraps your legs from around him and pushes one of your knees flat on the bed, keeping you spread out wide. “Hands away from your mouth, love,” he says. “Let me hear you. It’s okay, you can let go.”

Your face burns, and you cover it with both of your hands. It’s too big of an ask. You’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Roger…”

“[Y/N].”

You lower your hands. He’s watching you, his blue eyes burning with desire, but they’re soft, too. Understanding.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Hold onto the sheets, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You nod, and, with no small amount of effort, let your arms go by your sides, your fists wrapping in the sheets.

Roger smiles. “You’re amazing.”

You turn your head away, overwhelmed.

“Eyes on me. Hey.”

You look back at him. Exposed. You’re exposed, in every sense of the word.

Roger braces himself on the bed beside your ribs, and, keeping one hand on your knee, holding it down, he starts fucking into you again, hard and deep.

The sound you make could best be described as a mewl, and it’s a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. Your hands tighten in the sheets, fighting the urge to cover your face again. Roger’s eyes are still on yours, and it’s too much, you want to look away, but you can’t.

“So good for me,” Roger pants. “Fuck. God, you’re incredible.”

You whine. “Roger.”

“That’s it, love. Say my name.”

He thrusts into you at just the right angle, making your back arch. “Roger.”

Roger groans, and he lets go of your knee to circle his fingers around your clit. You gasp, your eyes finally breaking away from his to look to the ceiling, feeling yourself climbing rapidly for the fourth time that night.

“Let me come, let me come, please,” you beg, your arms straining as your fists pull on the sheets.

Roger leans forward again to kiss you, a mess of heavy breathing and tongues and lips brushing. You let go of the sheets to clutch onto him, pawing at his shoulders and back and hips, unable to settle on where you want to hold him.

One hand inevitably slides into his hair, and you grip onto it, tugging it hard. Roger’s rhythm stutters, and he groans out your name.

His fingers feel so fucking good, and, doubled with the way he’s stretched you out, tripled with how he edged you before, you just know how hard you’re going to come. You can feel it building deeper within you than you’ve ever felt before, like an impending tsunami.

Roger readjusts, sitting back again, his brow furrowed as he searches for just the right spot to hit you.

When he does, you cry out. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

Your hands scrabble for purchase, and one finds your own hair, burying itself, and you don’t pull, but you keep a firm grip on it, the slight pain being the only thing keeping you from losing yourself entirely. Your other hand finds the same spot as before in the sheets, and you sob, screwing your eyes shut.

“You close?” Roger asks, and you nod.

“Say it out loud, love.”

“Yes, I’m so close, I’m so close,” you gasp. You’re almost there, you can feel it, only inches away, moments away.

“Open your eyes, come on.”

You do, and meet his gaze. “Roger,” you whimper.

“You gonna come for me?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I wanna hear it, yeah? Wanna see you. See you come undone on my cock.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. You orgasm pulses through you, so hard that you convulse, and you wail, blurting out Roger’s name, clenching down on him. Your blood roars in your ears, and you’ve never come so hard in your life.

Roger moans out, “Fuck,” and then pumps once, twice more, and then comes, groaning your name, a shudder ripping through him.

When he comes back to himself, blinking his big blue eyes at you, you can’t help but think he looks otherworldly. His face, pink, shines with sweat, as does his whole body. Locks of hair stick to his forehead, his temples. His mouth hangs open, and his chest heaves, and maybe it’s the ten-out-of-ten orgasm you just had, but in that moment, you kinda want to marry him.

He takes the hand you’ve tangled in the sheets, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Your heart just about explodes. “You all right?”

You splutter. “All right? The fuck’s that meant to mean?”

Roger smiles, massaging the palm of your hand with his thumb. “I mean, are you hurting anywhere?”

My heart hurts from you being all hot and perfect and stupidly romantic, you think. “No,” you say. “I’m just fine.”

He pulls out of you, carefully, and it does nothing but reignite a spark of arousal within you. Then he collapses onto the bed beside you with an unmistakable dad noise, and takes off the spent condom, tying it off and tossing it into the rubbish bin beside his bed. When that’s done, he wastes no time in rolling onto his side and pulling you in for a kiss. You hum happily, shifting closer to him, not even caring about the sweat and how wet you are all over your inner thighs.

When he breaks away, he says, “So. How do you feel?”

“Like I just had the biggest orgasm of my life,” you say.

Roger chuckles. “I meant now that you’re, y’know…”

It clicks. “Now I’ve lost my virginity?” you say playfully. “Had my sexual debut? I’ve become a woman?”

“Not that any of it matters, of course,” Roger adds. “But it’s still… It can be a big thing.”

You give him a soft kiss. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” you say. “Virginity is nothing but a social construct and all of that.”

“Of course,” Roger reiterates.

“But I feel… happy.” You hope your grin isn’t as cheesy as it feels. “It’s nice to not have to… worry about it anymore, I suppose? I don’t know if I was really worrying about it before, but it… I don’t know.” You shrug. “I just had a really good time. That’s all that matters.”

“Good.” Roger’s hand goes to your hip, squeezing it. “I’m glad.”

“Did…” You lick your lips. “Did you have a good time?”

“Did I have a good time?” Roger repeats, almost aghast. “Are you joking?”

“Even though I had no idea what I was doing?”

“You’re a natural.”

You laugh. Your stomach squirms – both because of those ridiculous maybe-almost-could-be feelings, and because, even though you know in your mind that the whole sex part of the evening is over, your body certainly isn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

Your thighs clench together, but you do your best to hide how it feels. You don’t want to be greedy.

Roger feels your thighs move under his hand, though, and he looks to you questioningly. “Are you still–”

“No, no, I’m fine,” you say lightly, shaking your head. “I was just moving around.”

Roger pauses, and then says, “All right.” He kisses you, and then takes a moment to gather his energy before he sits up. “I’ll get us some water.” He turns to you, pointing a finger at you, as if something just occurred to him. “You should go pee.”

Your eyes widen, and you nod. “Oh, yes, good thinking.”

“Bathroom’s just there,” he says, gesturing across the room at the closed door.

“You have an en suite?”

“Well, yeah. Much easier when there’s kids around.” His face falls a little. “Not that I’ve had the kids here very often recently, but uh…”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

He shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s fine. Great way to bring down the mood, eh?” He leans down again to kiss you, and then stands up, stretching. “Be back in a mo’.”

You watch him, your gaze hawk-like, as he pulls on his neon-green underwear and disappears out the door, raking his hand through his hair as he goes.

Your thighs clench together again, and you whimper.

You try to push it aside, and slide off the bed to go the bathroom, pulling on your underwear as you go. You don’t exactly feel like putting your push-up bra back on, but you don’t want to just lounge around completely naked. Would it be too presumptuous to put on Roger’s shirt?

You bite your lip, considering, and then decide to just bite the bullet, slipping it on and buttoning it up. It’s comfy, and smells like him; you understand why women in movies do it now. You do have to call bullshit on wearing a man’s shirt like a short, cute dress though – it’s more just like a long shirt, and you’re glad you’ve chosen to put on underwear.

It feels odd to pee in a stranger’s house – even odder that it’s an en suite – but you’re thankful that you get a moment to properly gather yourself in private, instead of while being surrounded by the smell of sex.

It’s when you’re washing your hands that you finally get a look at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth drops open in horror.

You look like a fucking mess. Your foundation is patchy where you get oily and where you’ve sweated it off, and there’s a slight ring of smudged mascara under your eyes – honestly, you’re thankful that it’s not worse, and that your setting spray did at least something. Your hair, though, is the worst of it all. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.

��Oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. What can you do? You don’t have any make-up with you to try to fix the problems, but you can’t exactly take it off, either. You have no way to fix your hair. You untie it from the ponytail it was in and try to smooth it out, but it doesn’t really do much, so you tie it back up again, but it’s a shitty ponytail, so you untie it and try again. Then you try a third time, and give up, settling on the disaster that it is, and grab a tissue, blotting at your make-up.

You sigh, staring at your reflection. Well, fuck. What the fuck are you meant to do? How the hell can you go back into the bedroom, knowing you look like this?

“[Y/N]?” Roger calls. “You all right in there, love?”

You shiver. God, the way he says the word ‘love’. The way he says your name.

You clear your throat. “Um, yeah, I’m– I’m fine. Just…” You can’t say you’re still peeing. Oh, fuck, what if he thinks you’re taking a shit or something? “I’m just fixing up my make-up.”

“I think there might still be some make-up wipes in a drawer somewhere, if you want to have a look,” Roger says. “Maybe they’re no good anymore, I’m not sure.”

You have a dig around, and find a packet. It’s already been opened, quite a while ago by the looks of it. Must be Roger’s ex-wife’s.

The thought of that sits weirdly with you, but you’re not quite sure why. Almost like you feel like you’re intruding, maybe. You certainly don’t feel like you belong here, in this bougie, nice house.

You sigh again, and pull out a handful of make-up wipes, seeing if there’s any that still hold any moisture. One in the middle has a little bit, so you carefully run it under your eyes, and lightly tap it over your forehead and down your neck to soothe your skin, fixing up any problem areas as best you can without it being too obvious that you’ve just wiped off the make-up.

The end result is fine. Not good, and certainly not great, but… yeah. Fine.

You throw the make-up wipes into the bin, take a deep breath, and exit the bathroom.

Roger’s on his phone, and he looks up when he hears the door open. His face goes slack when he sees you. “You’re wearing my shirt?”

“Isn’t that what girls are meant to do after sex?” you joke.

“I just haven’t seen, um, anyone do that in… in a long time,” he says, somewhat stilted, and he glances down at his hands. He quickly turns his eyes back to you. “It looks good. Really good.”

“Thank you,” you say, and pad over to the bedside table near him, where he has two glasses of water waiting. “Which one’s mine?”

“On the left.” Roger sets his phone down and watches you as you take a sip of water.

He’s close to you, and, like before you kissed for the first time, you’re hyperaware of every movement. But he barely moves, just waits for you.

When you put the water down, you hesitate. You want to climb on top of him, kiss him, feeling his arms around you again, but is that too much? Does he want you to go? Are you overstaying your welcome?

“You all right?” he asks gently.

You nod. “Um, yeah,” you say, and take a step back. “You probably, um, have work or something tomorrow, so I should go.”

You don’t miss the way Roger’s face falls a bit. “Oh, you want to go?”

No. “Well, it– I don’t want to impose…”

“If you want to go, then I’ll order an Uber for you,” Roger says. “But don’t feel like you have to go if you don’t want to.”

The Amazonian butterflies are back yet again. “I…”

“Because – and correct me if I’m wrong,” Roger says, reaching out and tugging on his shirt, pulling you closer, and you go without any resistance, “but I think you were telling a bit of a fib before, when you said you were… what did you say? Just moving around?”

You press your lips together as Roger guides you between his legs, and he tilts his head back to gaze up at you. He smiles at the look on your face. “Am I right?”

You can feel your face heating up again. “No,” you mumble unconvincingly, hiding your smile behind your hand.

“No hands over mouths,” Roger murmurs, reaching up and taking yours. “You don’t have to hide.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck. His voice sounds like a warm fireplace feels, and you barely even know him, but you’ve never felt safer, more comfortable, around a man. You can’t pretend now – you’re really starting to like him.

Roger raises his eyebrows at you, just a touch, searching your face. “So? Am I right?”

“It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine, really. You’ve done plenty, I… I can’t ask for more.”

Roger hums, and presses a kiss to your palm before letting your hand go. “All right, okay,” he says. “I was wrong, I see. Can I at least tell you what I’d do to you if I had been right?”

You breathe in shakily, and nod once.

The corner of Roger’s mouth quirks up. “Well,” he says slowly, “first I’d kiss you, of course. And, as hot as you look wearing nothing but my shirt and your knickers, I’d undress you again. Get you lying down on your back, all spread out for me. I’d kiss you some more. Then I think I’d choke you, because you seem to like that a lot, yeah?”

You nod, hypnotised.

Roger nods as well. “Right. And then, while I was holding you down by your throat–”

You gulp.

“–I’d get my other hand, and I’d–”

“Okay, yes, you were right,” you blurt out, and grab his face, ducking down to kiss him desperately. He kisses you with just as much hunger, and nudges you a few steps back, giving him enough room so he can stand up and start unbuttoning the shirt. As soon as he’s done, your shrug it from your shoulders, and Roger pulls you closer by your ass. One hand moves to cup your jaw, his tongue pressing against yours. It doesn’t take long before the hand shifts to your throat, and you whimper softly, urging him to tighten his grip.

He does, and the feeling of it goes straight to your core. Your hands clutch at him frantically.

He lets go of your throat, and you suck in a gasp, then latch onto his neck, kissing and nipping and sucking at his skin, licking off the salty traces of sweat.

“Careful, love, careful,” he says shakily. “I can’t turn up to work looking like I’ve been attacked by a vacuum.”

You huff, but soften your kisses. He moans under his breath, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything hotter.

Soon, you break away, and crawl back onto the bed, and he follows you, positioning himself on all fours above you to kiss you deeply, his knee slotting into between your thighs. He presses it against your core, and you instinctively grind against it, shuddering when it fires an electric shock of arousal through your system. Roger shifts, readjusting his balance so he can bring his hand back to your throat, and you welcome it. You grind against his leg again.

It’s when you have to stop kissing him, your brain going into overdrive trying to force you to focus on breathing, you have to breathe, that Roger sits back, moving his leg out of the way and replacing it with his other hand.

“Fuck, Roger,” you gasp, twitching under his grip, your hands vice-like on his forearm. Your eyes slide closed, revelling in the way your head swims, the way your body fights to suck as much oxygen as it can into your lungs. You’re still so wet from before, still so stretched out, that Roger slides two fingers into you at the same time with ease, and you let out a stuttering moan, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers swirl around your clit, hitting it in just the right way, and within minutes you’re almost there.

“Most people think the best part about getting choked is the actual ‘getting choked’ part,” Roger says out of the blue, and you frown, trying to follow, opening your eyes.

“Hear me out,” Roger says casually, pushing his fingers back into you and flicking your clit with his thumb, and you whine. “Are you close, love?”

You nod.

Roger hums. “You look so good like this. Does it feel good?”

You nod again. “Mm-hm.”

“Yeah, looks like it does. Looks like you enjoy it.”

“Ah, Roger, please.”

“It’s all right, love, I’ve got you.” Roger’s fingers quicken their pace, and you make a sound, squirming.

“As I was saying,” Roger continues, “people think the best part of getting choked is actually getting choked. But it’s not. The best part of it is actually being let go. Do you want to see?”

You nod, barely even listening to what he’s saying. You’re too close to coming to pay attention.

And then Roger lets go of your throat at the same time he brushes your clit, and a rush of oxygen flows into your lungs, a rush of blood flows back to your head, and your orgasm slams into you, and the world seems so much brighter in that moment. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, your back arching, your eyes wide.

It feels like it goes on for a lifetime, although perhaps that’s just your mind trying to sort itself out. When you do finally start to come down from your high, you realise you’re shaking, and Roger is grinning at you. You blink at him owlishly.

“Wh– Huh?” you breathe, your heart racing, and Roger laughs.

“So you’re alive, then,” he teases, and leans down to kiss you.

You grab onto him, kissing him soundly, and roll the both of you over, so you’re straddling him. You just stay like that, just making out, letting the frenzied kisses lull themselves into something slower, something calmer. Just kissing for the sake of it. Roger’s hands stroke up and down your back, and you could almost fall asleep like this.

Speaking of falling asleep – you have to break away, hiding your yawn by tucking your face into his chest. Roger hums, and you can feel it vibrating against your body. You smile. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Can hardly blame you,” Roger says, his voice low. “It’s late.”

You let yourself slump against him, a moment of pure self-indulgence, and then roll to the side, dumping yourself onto the bed. You groan, unable to stop yourself from instinctively shifting into a more comfortable position for sleeping, your arm beneath your head like a pillow, your eyes closing.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, muffled by your arm. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

Roger says nothing, and you feel your stomach coil in guilt. God, he wanted you to leave fifteen minutes ago, didn’t he? He was just too polite to say anything. And then you pressured him into making you come again, because you were too selfish to know when enough was enough. Great, fucking great, you’ve fucked it all up, and you’re a huge piece of shit, and you–

“Did you want to stay the night?” Roger asks tentatively.

Your eyes fly open, and you shift up onto your elbow. “What?” you say. “Stay?”

Roger glances away from you. “It– It was just a suggestion,” he says. “Just an idea, I don’t know. I, um – it’s just late, and I don’t want you travelling all that way on your own. You can, obviously, if you want to, that’s up to you, I just…”

You’re hardly even listening. You’re still struggling to drink in the first thing he said. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

Roger looks to you, and bites his bottom lip. “If– Well, if you want to, then, um, yes, I’d like you to. But only if you want to.”

You beam, and your heart triples in size. “Um, yes. I’d like to.”

Roger smiles back. “Good. Great. That’s–” He clears his throat. “Did you want to have a shower?”

“I think so,” you say with a laugh. “I’m…” You went to say I’m so disgusting right now, but you don’t want to fuck up your now-sleepover before it’s even properly begun. “Yes please.”

“Well, you know where the bathroom is,” Roger says, nodding towards the en suite. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer, if I remember correctly. I’ll get you a towel.”

“You’re not coming into the shower with me?” you ask coyly.

Roger blinks, and you laugh.

“Oh,” he says. “You were joking.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “You just made me laugh.”

Roger swoops down to steal a kiss, and you don’t let him leave, pushing up into him, stealing a few kisses back.

“Let me get you a towel,” he says, and then climbs off the bed and pads out of the room.

You bite on your finger to stop yourself from making some stupid giggle, or maybe a dumb squealing sound like a little girl. He asked you to stay the night. He wants you to stay the night.

Oh, shit, you realise, your finger dropping from your mouth. Justine. You never told her what was happening.

Where’s your phone? In the living room. Spitting out a curse, you pull on your underwear and Roger’s shirt again, and hurry out. You run into Roger, arms full of sheets, in the hallway. “Hey, is everything all right?” he says. “What did you forget?”

“I never told my roommate I wasn’t coming home,” you say. “Last she heard, I was about to book an Uber.”

Roger’s eyes go a little wider. “Shit, whoops. Yeah, go tell her.”

You shoot him a smile, and scurry off to the living room. Your phone is on the couch, and you snatch it up. Wow, shit, it is late. You’re glad you only have an afternoon lecture tomorrow.

Thankfully, just one message from Justine, from about half an hour ago. hey, haven’t heard from u in a while. just send me a message when u get this ok? xx

You respond. fuck sorry, left my phone in the other room. I have SO MUCH to tell u omg, but in a nutshell uhh we ended up sleeping together, it was fucking amazing, and now he’s asked me to stay over, so ill see u at uni tomorrow maybe? if not then at home xx

You keep your phone in hand, and head back to Roger’s room. He’s started cleaning up in the minute you were gone, stripping the bed. Fresh sheets sit on the floor. “What’s this?” you ask.

“I’m making the bed,” Roger says simply, tugging a pillow from its case. “I’m too old to be sleeping on sheets I’ve just had sex on. Let me tell you, it makes a difference. And the sheets were due for a change, anyway.”

You step forward. “Well, let me help.”

“Don’t be silly, jump in the shower.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You set your phone down beside his on the bedside table, and together the two of you help remake his bed.

Roger chases you into the shower then, and says he’s going to tidy up the room a little more before he joins you. “I’m on a roll now,” he says, picking up your shoes from where you kicked them aside during the bed-making. “Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

You take the make-up wipes. The door is about halfway open, and you can hear Roger moving around, hear when he trips over something and hisses out a curse, making you smile.

The make-up wipe freezes in the air near your eye. You can’t very well have a shower and go to bed without taking your make-up off – it does not make even a vague semblance of a pretty picture – but this is… way more intimate than you were expecting. Why didn’t you think of this when you agreed to stay over? Roger’s going to see you without your make-up on, with your hair tied up in a bun. He’s going to see you in the morning, all bleary-eyed and disgusting. Fuck, morning breath. You have the spare clothes you brought that you can change into tomorrow, but no extra underwear. Nothing to wear tonight. It’s a miracle that Roger even has a spare toothbrush. What time does he get up for work? Will he expect you to leave before he wakes up?

Are you a one-night-stand? Is that what this is? Are you asked to stay the night if you’re nothing but a one-night-stand, or does the fact that he asked you mean something else?

“Is your roommate all right?” Roger asks, coming to the door, leaning against the doorjamb. “No freak-outs?”

You lower the make-up wipe. “Um, no. It’s all fine, I think.”

“Have you found the toothbrush?”

“No, I haven’t checked yet.”

Roger moves around you, pulling open the drawer and rummaging through. “Ah, here it is. Still in the packet! How good am I?”

You smile as he presents it to you like it’s a medal of honour. “Thanks.”

“Sorry about the make-up wipes,” Roger says. “They’re not great.” He huffs, and then leans against the edge of the sink, rubbing his hands down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m… I’m actually really nervous.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Nervous?” you repeat. “About what?”

“About… you staying over,” he confesses. “It’s been, I don’t know, ten years since I’ve had anyone new sleep over. My brain is suddenly filled with every annoying thing I do when I sleep. And I look awful in the mornings, let me tell you. If you think I look bad now, just you wait.”

“Who says I think you look bad now?” you say. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I think you’re a hot piece of ass, Roger.”

Roger splutters, flustered, and you grin.

“I move around a lot,” he says. “When I sleep. So be prepared to cop an elbow to the face.”

“Don’t you worry, I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say. “And I move around, too.”

“I run hot,” Roger adds. “I’m like a space heater. And sometimes I talk in my sleep, but only when I’m really stressed about something, like work. I can be really very clingy.”

“I run cold,” you say with a shrug. “So clingy suits me fine.”

Roger pauses, staring at you, like he wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Then he snaps out of it, glancing away. “Sorry,” he says for a third time.

“Don’t apologise,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to. I’m nervous, too. Like, really fucking nervous. I’m– I’m too nervous to even take my make-up off.”

Roger’s eyes search your face. “I won’t care what you look like,” he says gently. “I’m sorry that you feel nervous about taking it off. But it won’t matter, I promise.”

“Just wait and see,” you joke in a sing-song voice.

Roger is silent for a few moments, and then he says, “Well, I hope you’re ready. I’m going to kiss the bloody daylight out of you when you take it off.”

You don’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m going to. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable without make-up on. And if that means I have to keep kissing you all night as a reminder that it doesn’t matter what you look like without make-up, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

You duck your head, making a disgruntled sound. Why does he have to say cute shit like that? Why must he make you suffer?

Roger pushes the packet of make-up wipes a little closer to you, waggles his eyebrows at you, making you giggle, and then reaches across you for his toothbrush.

You start wiping off your make-up.

Roger waits until you’ve finished taking it off, until you’ve brushed your teeth, until you’re well and truly left without anything to do, and then he cups your face in his hands and does exactly what he promised he’d do.

One steamy make-out session and one far-too-long shower later, you’re sitting on the newly-made bed, wrapping in a towel, the strands of hair that slipped loose from your bun sticking to your neck and temples. You’re watching Roger pull on a pair of underwear and rifle through his chest of drawers. He pulls out a huge shirt, clearly worn and well-loved, and turns to you, holding it out. “I went on a day trip once to Brighton,” he says. “We were out to a pub and I spilled red wine all over my shirt. Had to buy a new one. Sent one of my mates to get it for me and he came back with this. Hence why I have a shirt about five sizes too big for me.”

“You didn’t have to explain,” you say with a chuckle, taking it from him.

“I feel like I did,” Roger says. “I, um, usually use it as a sleep shirt when I travel.”

You slip it on, and then stand up, letting your towel drop to the floor. The shirt is long enough to cover everything, but you’re not about to bend down any time soon.

You glance over at your underwear, where they’re in a pile near the door. Should you put them back on?

“Please don’t,” Roger blurts.

You look to him. “Huh?”

His face goes red. “Um. I just– I– You– I saw you look over there, and–” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “I, um…” He looks to the ceiling, and says it in a rush. “I’m sorry this sounds awful but I saw you looking over at your knickers and I don’t want you to put them on because you look really hot wearing my shirt and the thought of you wearing nothing underneath makes my brain explode.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, “standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers like that doesn’t make my brain explode.”

Roger’s eyes flick towards yours, and he breaks out into a smile, and then laughs. “I guess we’re even, then.”

“We’ll be truly even when I see you wearing my clothes,” you say teasingly.

Roger steps in close, his hands coming to your waist. “I don’t think your dress would fit properly, love.”

“I’ll have to come better prepared next time,” you say, and Roger hums, leaning in to give you a kiss.

Next time. Next time. You said ‘next time’. Talk about presumptuous. Christ! What is wrong with you?

You break away. “Not that I think there’ll be a next time,” you say quickly. No. Bad phrasing. “I don’t want to assume there’ll be a next time.” Still bad. “I don’t want you to think that I think there has to be a next time.” Even worse. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to have a next time if you don’t want there to be.” Better. Not great, but passable.

“I want a next time,” Roger says. “If you want one.”

“I do,” you say, God, far too eager. “I’d really like there to be a next time.”

“Me too,” Roger says.

You press into him for another kiss, and then, finally, the two of you make it to bed.

Once you’re under the covers, you almost fall asleep immediately. You didn’t realise how exhausted you are. Roger reaches over and switches off the light, and then wraps an arm around your stomach, his front against your spine. You allow yourself to smile freely in the dark, even as your eyes close and you drift off to sleep.

~~~

“I’m… I’m going to send you the rest of the payment,” Roger says. He’s dressed for work, just in a white dress shirt and black slacks, and you’d been admiring him and enjoying the coffee he’d made you after you’d gotten out of the shower. It’s early – too early, for both of you.

But now your stomach drops, and you lower your mug of coffee from your lips. “You are?”

“Yes,” Roger says.

“You don’t have to,” you say. “I said it last night, I don’t care about the money.”

“I know,” Roger says. “But it’s still right. You started this whole thing to help pay the bills, and it’s not your fault that there was that whole mix-up. You don’t deserve to miss out on getting the money you’ve rightfully earned.”

“You don’t deserve to fork out that much money because of that whole mix-up,” you say. “You’ve already paid half of it. And it’s– it’s quite a fair bit, Roger.”

“I can afford to pay it,” Roger says. “I’m living more than comfortably. Giving you the money you’ve earned would just mean that I can’t, I don’t know, travel overseas this year.” He raises his eyebrows a touch. “Well, now that I might not have to be paying for three kids as well, maybe I’ll still be able to afford to go.” He shakes his head. “That’s beside the… My point is, I can afford it. And you deserve it.”

You don’t know what to say. “Roger…”

“Just let me,” he says earnestly. “Please. I want to.”

You open and close your mouth a few times. God, you’d be mad to turn down the money. But it doesn’t feel right. Does it? You don’t even know what to think.

You glance down at your mug. “All right,” you say quietly, so much so that you’re not even sure if he can hear you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder. “Thank you, Roger.”

“Hey.”

You look up at him, and he smiles. “You can pay me back by letting me take you out to dinner.”

Your face immediately grows hot. “Suave motherfucker,” you say, and he laughs.

“I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says playfully.

Your stomach squeezes. “Sure,” you say. “But I’m paying.”

Roger snorts. “Not bloody likely.”

“I’ll fight you for the cheque, don’t think I won’t.”

“Maybe I’ll just sneakily pay for it before you’ve even realised.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Can we settle on going Dutch?”

Roger sips his coffee. “All right,” he says eventually.

“Good.”

He takes out his phone, holding it out to you. “Text me some time during this week,” he says. “About where you want to go. Or just text me if you want to say hi. Or call me. Y’know, whatever.”

You tilt your head to the side as you take his phone. “That wasn’t quite as suave, I have admit.”

Roger sighs. “Damn.”

You laugh, and send a quick text to yourself, then slide the phone back to him.

He seems extremely pleased, but he takes a casual drink from his coffee like he’s trying to hide it, and you can’t help but think it’s horribly cute.

He shoots a glance at you, and sees you grinning at him, and his cheeks turn pink, and he clears his throat, turning away to the sink to rinse his mug out.

~~~

You’re at uni, half-asleep, shuffling back to the bus stop after your never-ending lecture, when Justine barrels into you, grabbing your elbow so tightly that you yelp. “What the fuck happened last night?” she exclaims.

You don’t know why it hadn’t been awkward this morning. Apart from the money conversation. There had still been some nervousness, on your part anyway, but Roger had been too focused on getting ready for work to let any uncomfortable silences hang. You have to admit that it had been nice to wake up with someone’s arm around you, and you had been quietly delighted to see Roger fussing over the faint bruises on his neck, pulling up his shirt collar and adjusting his tie to try to cover them. After you’d both gotten ready for the day, he’d dropped you at the nearest bus stop. “And I will text you,” he’d said seriously. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Good,” you’d said. “I’ll be waiting for it. Three days is the general rule, right?”

Roger had groaned. “Don’t make me wait three days.”

You had chuckled. “I’m not making you do anything.” You’d hesitated, and then said, “Is it weird if I kiss you before I go?”

Roger had taken a breath. “I… wouldn’t say so, no.”

So you’d leant in and kissed him, and he’d kissed you back, and you’d wanted to keep kissing him, but a car had pulled up behind you and honked, so you’d drawn back, whispered, “Bye,” and gotten out of the car.

Once you’d figured out how to get home, you’d crashed, sleeping until your alarm had woken you up again for your lecture.

“Stuff,” you say to Justine.

“Stuff?” Justine squawks. “Don’t give me that shit. You have to tell me literally everything, or I’m going to kill you. Come on.” She loops her arm through yours, and starts towing you towards the bus stop.

Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out of your pocket.

I know it hasn’t been three days, but it’s been more than three hours. Is that enough time, do you think?

You smile, reply, I think so, yeah, then quickly pocket the phone before Justine can sneak a glance as Amazonian butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

#queen fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #rpf #mine #smut

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