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orange-waterfalls · 4 years

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Just Dance for the Nintendo Wii

Yancy x gn!reader

ty anon for the request!

A/N: Shit was so fun to write I swear. Just Dance was my childhood. I had a thing about memorizing all the dances in all the songs in all the games I got. I also didn’t actually look at the moves in the corner I just watched the dancer lmao. And when I found out other people didn’t do that I just ???it’s so much easier???? I might’ve projected onto Yancy a lil bit. It’s a fun fic! It is a fun and light-hearted fic, I promise. Couple curse words. TW mention of smoking and cigarettes. That’s about it. I think it could be seen as platonic or romantic. Reader does call him “babe” at one point but I call my friends darling and sweetie so I think it’s fine. Might be a few typos since I never read through my fics lmao. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.9k

Lunch ended and you immediately shot up out of your chair, making your way down the hall. Your friends stared after you, slightly offended you didn’t even bother saying goodbye. You would have any other day, but this was important.

You stomped your way to the warden's office, pushing past the guards who mostly just gave you confused looks. You would have made your way around them, asking them to make some room, but this was important.

You kicked the door open and stomped up to the desk. The warden jumped and put a hand over his heart. You were not an aggressive person. Really, you weren’t. But this. This was important. This was the most important thing you ever came up with.

“Jesus, child, you ever heard of knocking?” He breathed, exasperated. He looked like he was gonna keep talking, so you slammed your hands on his desk. A few months before, he probably would have had you thrown in solitary for even walking in there. But you’re a good person, and you behave for the most part. So he raised an eyebrow and waited for you to make whatever point you wanted to make.

“Wii,” you said, simply. He blinked a couple times.

“Beg pardon?” He laughed. You were on a bit of a power trip and wanted to respond with “then beg”, but the conversation probably would have ended there. You made it this far without breaking down, you couldn’t stop now.

“I want a Wii,” you said, slowly. The warden squinted at you before chuckling a little. You glared daggers at him. Laugh at you, will he?!

“Now, kiddo, that ain’t--”

“Shut up. I don’t care. I just need you to listen.” He gave you a look and leaned back in his chair. You quieted for a moment, thinking about exactly what you were gonna say. You honestly hadn’t thought you’d make it this far.

“Go ahead, I’m a busy man,” He shook you out of your thoughts. You squared your shoulders.

“Yancy likes to dance,” you stated. You stared at each other in silence for a moment as you prepared your words in your head. He waved his hand, telling you to keep going. You cleared your throat, “Yancy likes to dance… and we don’t have access to the internet.”

“And you’re not going to.” He warned.

“Yeah, yeah, I figured…” You sighed. “But that’s not what I’m here for.” He knitted his eyebrows together in intrigue.

“Alright…” He leaned forward, arms on his desk.

“Yancy can’t keep coming up with songs and dances when he gets bored. It takes a long time, and he’s getting burned out. I think that if we had another- if we had access to prepared dances and songs, it’d be better.” You stuttered. That’s okay. As long as he was listening. “I think if we had a… a game, a dancing game. Like Just Dance on the Wii or something, then we’d be better. Happier? I mean, we’re happy, but… more-more happy. There’s never… too much… happy…” You lost yourself towards the end there. You started shaking a little as the whole situation hit you like a train. What the hell were you doing? This is a PRISON, not a middle school. Why would they want you to be happy? Oh, this was a stupid idea… no. You made it this far. Sure this was stupid, but you were NOT going to back down. Not until you got a-

“Ok.”

“Huh?” You asked, dumbfounded. You stared at Mr. Murder-Slaughter, and he stared right back. “What’d you say?” He stood up from his desk and walked over to you. You fought the urge to book it and stood your ground. You puffed up your chest a little to look intimidating. From the smirk he got on his face, it wasn’t working.

“I said, ok.” Your shoulders dropped and you let out a shaky breath.

“Really? I mean… really?”

“Sure, why not. Boosts morale, stops people from wanting to escape.” He shrugged. You stood there, mouth agape, probably looking like a moron.

“Thanks.” You murmured. He smiled at you, and you smiled right back. He took your shoulders and spun you around towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah, now get outta here! You’ve got dishes to do!” He pushed you out, and you gave him one last smile before running down to the kitchen. He watched you trip over your own feet and shook his head. You ran past a guard, who heard the noise and got confused.

“What the hell was all that?”

“Fuck around and find out!”

---

You startled awake to the sound of talking coming from outside your cell. You rubbed your eyes and looked around, not seeing your cellmate. You sighed and managed to lift yourself up out of the bed. You stretched and heard your back crack in several places. That sounded… worrying to say the least, but you had other things on your mind. For example: where was everyone?

You made your way through the prison, eventually ending up in the common room where everyone was talking over each other excitedly.

“Sorry, forgot to set the alarm!” A guard apologized. You nodded at him. You turned and saw Tiny and slid over next to her.

“What’re we doing? Is it Thursday already?” You whispered.

“Nah, warden bought a game system,” she answered. You stared at her, mouth open slightly. “Keep staring at me we’re gonna fight.”

“Uh, sorry.” You blinked and looked forward, standing on the tips of your toes to try and get a better look. “What gaming system?”

“A Wii. Warden said we each get 30 minutes per week.” She explained. She then waited for you to respond. You didn’t.

“Dude, you alright?” She gently reached out and shook your arm.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m good.” You mumbled. “He buy any games yet?”

“Uhhhhh Super Mario Bros, Kirby’s Epic Yarn, Animal Crossing, Smash…”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm, as he should.”

“I think those Wii Sports games…”

“Just Dance?”

“Don’t know. Said to talk to him if there’s a game you want.” You nodded and gave her a small fistbump before walking over to the warden, who stood away from the group. You leaned over and saw BamBam and Sparkles in a heated game of Smash Bros. You stood next to the warden and watched.

“So, you actually listened to my request?” You looked up at him in slight disbelief.

“Course I did. Why not? Like I said, boosts morale.” He smiled. You nodded and you both looked forward again.

“How much was it?” You inquired.

“$100 on eBay.”

“Deadass?!”

“Absolutely. Great condition, too. Been used before, but not necessarily broken.”

“Come with the games?” “Some. Had to tell the guy I was buying it for my foster kids for him to give them to me. Them along with the Wii is what made it $100.” He explained

“So, we’re your kids now?” You snickered.

He only answered with a hum. You looked at him, blinking rapidly.

“What?” He said in a defensive tone.

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it!” You waved him off. He crossed his arms in a huff but dropped it.

“Buy Just Dance?”

“In the back. Saving it for when Yancy shows up.”

“Shows up? He’s not here?” “No. He went to the yard when everyone gathered here.” You hummed and looked down, thinking.

Why did Yancy leave? Did he not care about it? Did he not want to play? That would complicate things a little…

“Instead of speculating, why don’t you go ask him?” He scoffed. You looked at the warden, scandalized.

“You’re an easy person to read, child.” He set a hand on your shoulder. “He might be out in the yard.” You sighed and walked away from the cheering crowd as BamBam pumped his fists triumphantly and Sparkles fell to his knees.

---

You opened the door to the yard, peeking out to see if anyone was there. Lo and behold, there he was, Yancy, sitting on the grass having a smoke. You walked over to where he was and plopped down next to him. He jumped a little, but breathed harshly once he saw it was you.

“Whatcha doin’ out here?” You queried, softly.

“Hm.” He grunted in response.

“Everyone’s inside… having some fun…”

“Hm…”

“I think Jimmy might play Animal Crossing…”

“Hm.”

“Yancy, what’s wrong?” You sighed and turned your body towards him a little.

“Nothin’, nothin’s wrong.” He lied. “C’mon, man, we both know that’s a lie.” You tilted your head to look at him. He avoided your eyes.

“Yancy.” You said sternly. He faltered a little hearing your concern. He glanced at you. Your eyes softened. “What’s wrong?”

“Is just… I never really gots to play games when I was young… and… I dunno… don’t know… how to...” He mumbled. You nodded in understanding, shifting until your shoulders were touching his. You stared at the fence while Yancy kept smoking. You tried not to cough when he exhaled his smoke, but you couldn’t help it. He looked at you apologetically before putting the cigarette out on the grass. You both sat there for a little, enjoying each other’s company.

“So…” you breathed out after a little while. He turned to you with an eyebrow raised. “You’re upset because you don’t know how to play the games?”

“‘N I’ll look stupid while playing ‘em, yeah.” He finished with a scoff. A smile grew on your face.

“I know a game that’ll be really easy for you…” you sang. He furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“...what is it?” He hesitated. You bit your lip to keep from giggling as he looked at you worriedly.

---

“Wait, so… the hell is Just Dance?” Yancy scratched his head as you led him back to the common room. It was late, and everybody else was back in their cells. You convinced a guard to let you out by pretending you were gonna cry.

“It’s a game where you dance,” You said in a condescending tone. “Come on, Yance, use deductive reasoning.”

“I’on even know what that means,” He argued playfully. You brought him to the small TV, handing him a remote as you turned it on.

“It just… There are songs with dances prepared, and you have to do the dances as you see them on screen. Got it?” You looked up at Yancy, who was busy staring at the glowing screen of the tv. It was on the Wii home menu, so there wasn’t much to see. However, to Yancy, it was one of the coolest things he’d ever seen.

“Whoa whoa whoa, wassat?” He pointed at the screen and jumped a bit when he saw the cursor move as he moved the remote. He shifted it over until it was on the Mii Channel.

“Uh… that’s the place where you can make a little avatar of yourself. It works on some of the games, but not Just Dance.” You explained. “...you wanna make a Mii?” He pouted and gave you puppy dog eyes. You rolled your eyes and stood up, bringing your Player One cursor on the screen and clicking the channel.

You told Yancy the mechanics, how to change everything, and what to do once he was done. You made your own Mii, explaining everything along the way, and told him to make his once you were done. Yancy, being the creative boy he is, spent half an hour on his Mii, trying to get everything perfect. You just stood next to him, trying not to yawn. Like I said, it was late. Eventually, he finished and you both got to see your Mii’s next to each other, along with some other people’s. He kept dragging his over next to you, trying to force them to interact. He got very upset when you told him they couldn’t hug or anything. He let you exit out of the channel and go into Just Dance.

“Any particular song?” You scrolled through the songs, letting them play for a couple seconds so he could know what each was like.

“Stop!” He called. “Go back.” You scrolled back to the last song you let play.

“Britney Spears? Serious?” You teased. It was all in good fun, you loved her too. Who wouldn’t?

He grumbled a little to himself. It sounded a little like “not my fault her songs bop”. You breathed out a chuckle and clicked the song, whisper-singing the lyrics as you did.

“My loneliness is killin’ me… Blue, green, orange, or pink?” You asked. After not getting an answer, you looked at Yancy to see the problem. He was frowning at the screen. “Yance?”

“Why’re they all girls?”

“Because it’s a traditionally girl-ish song.”

“I’m not a girl.”

“I know you’re not. Just pick a color.”

“Why are they cheerleaders?”

“Because they can be. Yancy, pick a color.”

“But why-”

“Yancy I swear to God pick a fucking color.” He hummed and then picked blue. You picked green.

You got into the same stance as the girl on the screen, and Yancy copied you. The music started up, and you started dancing. Yancy seemed a bit startled as he hurried to copy you. He wheezed out a little laugh, flailing his arms a little, trying to figure out what move you were on. You bit your lip to not laugh at him. You both kept going, and Yancy eventually got into the rhythm. He stuck his tongue out in concentration and you stared for a moment, not believing how adorable he was. Then you remembered that there was a winner in this game so you shook your head and kept dancing.

Eventually the song ended, and you both breathed a little harder than normal. You looked at your scores, and found that you'd won. You clapped your hands and cheered. Yancy crossed his arms.

"Whatever, this is my first time!" He scoffed. But you could see the smile on his face. You stretched your arms and yawned, turning the Wii off and leaving the remote.

"Welp, we should get back--" you turned to head towards your cell.

"No!" Yancy stood in front of you. You tried to go around him, but he kept blocking your way. He grabbed your shoulders and held you in place.

"I want a rematch."

"Yancy, it's late…" you whined.

"Just one more! Please?" He pleaded. He, again, gave you those puppy dog eyes you could never say no to. You sighed loudly, grabbing the remote again and turning the Wii back on.

"I don't understand why you can't do this yourself…" you mumbled, clicking on Just Dance again.

"I… like spending time with you," he said softly. You squinted at him.

"You'd feel awkward dancing alone, huh?"

"Yeah…"

"Fine."

"Ooh! Let's do--"

"Nah, nah, nah. You're keeping me up. I get to pick the song."

"...'This is Halloween'?"

"Bet your ass."

"But that--"

"Shut it, Yancy, I'll leave."

"Okay! Sorry…

"..."

"...can I be the pumpkin?"

"Of course you can be the pumpkin, babe."

---

You woke up really tired in the morning. You didn't know when you got back to bed, but the guard that let you out was asleep by the door when you arrived. You didn't even consider escaping, you were so tired. You just entered the cell and shut the door behind you.

In the morning, you got up and dragged yourself into the common room again. Everyone was playing the Wii again. You rubbed your eyes and stood next to Tiny.

"Fuck happened to you?" She scoffed.

"Yancy happened…" you yawned

"Ah. Long night, huh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Ye-no. Wait, what? No, gross. We played Just Dance."

"Oh, was it fun?"

"For the first couple. The rest I was way too tired to be happy about…"

"Aw, did wittle baby need theiw nap?" She teased.

"I'm not wi-little! I'm not-I'm not little! Shut up!" You complained as she laughed.

"Well, Jimmy played Wii tennis against a guard. Now he's playing the warden."

"Seriously? Oh my God."

"He's currently the reigning champion."

"Who's going against him next?" You hear a thud, like someone fell.

"Got-dang it!" Mr. Murder-Slaughter yelled.

“That’d be me,” She patted you on the back before walking up next to Jimmy. Mr. Murder-Slaughter passed her as she walked, limping. He stood by you.

“You seem to be having fun.” You teased.

“Ah, shut it…” He growled and rubbed his arm. “How’s Yancy?”

“He’s good. He likes the game a lot.” You explained.

“I’d hope so, otherwise there was no reason to buy this thing.” He scoffed.

“Eh… I dunno about that…” You listened to Tiny laugh loudly from where she stood in front and smiled. You turned your head a little and saw Yancy leaning against the opposite wall. You caught each other’s eyes. He nodded his head to the Wii. You shrugged and walked up. He did the same.

Once Tiny and Jimmy were done with their match, Jimmy keeping his title as champion, you and Yancy walked up to the wii, taking the remotes and clicking Just Dance.

“What song should we do?” You scrolled through the list.

“Avril Lavigne!” Someone yelled from the back of the room. You had a sneaking suspicion of who it was, but kept it to yourself.

“Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne it is!” You clicked the song.

“Uh… I don’t know this song, bud,” He whispered to you. You clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh you’re gonna love it.”

“I’m not sure I like that look.”

“Calm down, it’ll be great.”

“Okay… can i be the punk girl?”

“I wanna be the punk girl…”

Cue the puppy eyes…

“...fine, you can be the punk girl.”

#yancy iplier #yancy markiplier #ahwm yancy #yancy x reader #yancy x y/n #yancy x you #yancy x gn!reader #yancy x male!reader #yancy x female!reader #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x male!reader #x female!reader #x gender neutral reader #ahwm x reader #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier ego fanfic

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draconic-distress · 3 years

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I’m not allowed to have an Ao3 account which sucks, so I’m posting the fic here. Now sit back, maybe don’t read this if it’s night in your time zone but I doubt it’d actually be scary because I’m not good at that kinda stuff tbh as I present to you:

Five Nights of Absolute Hell: Act 1 Episode 1

Dave settled into the worn-out chair at his desk, the ceiling lamp above him flickering softly. The poor guy was finally able to land himself a somewhat decently paying job-with a little help from Rupert, who already worked day shifts-but of course he worried he wouldn’t be able to do well enough to keep it.

Dave tried to clear his head and focus on the night ahead; night guard, 12-6. He was the only one in the building, just him and the creepy animatronics that loomed ominously over their youthful, adoring fans. Dave’s never been a fan of the damn things, with their bulky metal bodies, monotone voices and the fact that they towered over Dave despite his stature, and yet here he was—forced to spend six whole hours with them on weekdays, holidays included with very few exceptions. All he had to do was watch the cameras. How hard could it be? The first few hours went surprisingly smooth, but this wouldn’t last as long as Dave hoped it would...

4:37 am. Dave was beginning to feel a bit more confident in his abilities. Nothing had happened yet, and his shift was almost over. ‘Maybe I can do this.’ He thought to himself. ‘Yeah… yeah! I’m not too bad at this job!’ He checked the cameras one more time; nothing in the hallways, the main stage and Pirates’ Cove were fine. Everything was normal. These last two hours would be a breeze!

Since his shift was nearly over, he decided to try and find something to pass the time. He rummaged through one of the drawers of the desk and found an old pen-the kind that had a clicky thing at the top to open the pen. He clicked the pen. The actual pen part didn’t look like it worked, but that didn’t matter. Dave continuously clicked it, snickering to himself a bit; he always liked doing this kind of thing. A few minutes had passed, so Dave thought he might as well check the cameras again. Everything seemed to be in its place-nothing in the hallways, and the main stage was the same as it was before. As for Pirates’ Cove…

Nothing. The animatronic for that area was just… gone. “What the…?” Dave mumbled to himself, looking closer at the monitor. Then he heard something. Footsteps—and loud ones at that. Dave checked the cameras again. But this time, several of the animatronics were missing from their spots. He swore he saw them moving around. Dave tried to shrug it off as just him being paranoid, but something just didn’t feel right. Then he heard the footsteps again. There were more of them, and they were getting a little louder. Dave tried to calm his nerves by clicking the pen a little bit, but the footsteps grew so loud to the point where the pen wasn’t helping.

Then he saw something at his window; A yellow duck-or maybe a chicken-staring him down, almost with murderous intent. Dave fell out of his chair from fear. He dropped the pen, but he was too afraid to get it. He peeked nervously over the desk, and the animatronic was gone. He checked the doors to make sure it couldn’t get in, and lo and behold, another one was looking at him through the door; a blue bunny. It’s beady, electronic eyes burning right through him. After a time, the bunny left the vicinity, though it didn’t make Dave feel any better.

At this point Dave was still on the floor, too scared to get back in the chair. It was quiet, and hopefully the animatronics wouldn’t come back. All of a sudden, his phone started ringing. It was Rupert. Dave answered reluctantly, still worried that something would hear him.

[‘Oi, Dave! How’s the new jo-‘]

“RUPERT THEY'RE MOVING.” Dave interrupted, a clear sense of distress could be heard in his voice.

[‘What-?’]

“THE ANIMATRONICS ARE MOVING.” The footsteps could be heard again, and they were the loudest Dave had heard all night. “I-I have to call you back!” Dave whispered before hanging up.

He closed the doors again-the damn bunny was back, glaring at him. Dave hid under the desk. At this point he was so scared, he’d started tearing up. He grabbed his necklace-a David’s Star-and started fidgeting with it to distract himself; and it helped a little, but Dave was still too scared to come out from under the desk. Too scared that something would find him and eat him.

5:41 am. Dave looked over the desk and checked the cameras again, still fidgeting with his necklace. All of the animatronics were gone from their spots. Dave knew that they were on the move, but he didn’t know where they were going. He heard the footsteps again, and they were louder than ever. Dave checked all the cameras, but then he stopped at one. It was almost like someone-something-was running in the hallway outside his office.

Oh god, they’re coming back.

Dave heard the footsteps coming closer, growing louder. He closed the door, and something new was there. A fox with an eyepatch, right outside. It started banging on the door with the rusted metal hook that took the place of its hand. The lights started flickering more, and the monitor dimmed.

At this point Dave’s eyes streamed like waterfalls, but he tried his best to keep himself from losing it.

“Just a few more m-minutes… a few more minutes a-and this hell will end…” he mumbled to himself in between sobs. “...r-right?”

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was nearby… one last demon to keep him up.

5:57 am. Dave still didn’t have it in him to come out from under the desk. He held his necklace in his hand and rocked himself slowly, trying not to panic too hard. It was at that moment he heard something. The footsteps were slow and distant, but they got louder and louder with every passing second. Dave was too scared to move, but he’d be a goner if he didn’t.

“N-no… I don’t w-wanna… I-I’m not ready to-to die…” he stuttered quietly to himself, tears running down his face.

Then he heard something else: the clock. Six. Fucking. AM. He made it. He survived the hell

Dave reluctantly crawled out from under the desk, making sure that none of the damn things were around. He grabbed his coat and his keys and booked it out of his office, heading straight for the door. As he walked out of the building, he looked back at the main stage. The animatronics were there, in their usual spots. But Dave feared this wouldn’t be the last time he had to deal with them. He closed the door, locked it behind him, and started speed walking back to the apartment he and Rupert shared. On his way home, Rupert called again.

[So? How’d it go? Hope you weren’t too lonely!] Rupert said jokingly, chuckling a bit at his last statement

“W-well uh… I-I’d say it went well. A-and I h-had plenty of company… heh.” Dave replied nervously. “I’ll be home soon. See you when I get back…!” He hung up and continued on his way.

Dave may have hated this job, but he still needed to pay his bills. Looks like he’d have to suffer through this until he could find someplace better… whenever that would be.

@skittikyu , behold the fruits of my labor that’s been ready for almost a month

#my writing #Henry Stickmin FNAF! AU #fanfic

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

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This Christmas (pt1)

John Wick x Reader. A John Wick AU. (A/n- Just a tiny, five part Au where John is Y/n’s boss.)

Masterlist

Warnings- none

New York Y/n’s desk was probably the most obvious give away that Christmas was her favorite holiday of all time. She had everything; from tinsel running cheerfully around the edges and a tiny tree in one corner, to a little snowman figurine and a decorative jar of striped candy canes. That year, she’d even put out extra to buy a little Santa Claus figurine to greet everyone coming out of the elevator. The rest of the floor hadn’t really caught on though, her boss was never one to get into the holiday spirit anyways. But Y/n didn’t mind, she probably had enough for them both.

That morning, three weeks before the big day, she was sitting at her little station in the waiting room, tapping away on her computer, contentedly working her way through everything John had assigned her as she hummed in time with the Christmas carols wafting through her ear buds, loud enough for her to enjoy it though not so much so as to hamper her from hearing if the phone would ring. A classic had just started up, and like the others, Y/n had committed it to memory and was completely ready to get in tune with Mariah Carey when a knocking on the upper part of her receptionist’s desk roused her attention. It was Robert, the company’s head of marketing, flashing her a winning grin as he leaned forward on the matted grey surface. “I see our Christmas queen strikes again,” he gave her area a once over, his smile not wavering.

“That she has,” Y/n returned, beaming. Robert was a friend, a good one and he never let the vast differences in their positions at the company get in the way of inviting her to drinks with other board members or taking the extra elevator ride to bring her coffee whenever he could. “Do you like it?” Removing her ear buds, Y/n shifted her keyboard to give herself some room to fold her elbows on the desk.

“Like it?” Robert furrowed his brows, “I love it! You should come over and help me decorate,” when Y/n rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion, he clarified, “I’m being serious! You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting, I swear, I’d be grateful for just your direction.”

Giggling, Y/n leaned back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest, “Can’t you pay someone to do all that Rob? What do you need me for?”

“I guess I could,” he shrugged, depositing a colorful gift bag with crepe paper sticking out at the top in front of him, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets, “But it won’t be the same. I’m pretty clueless with…..making sure things flow so perfectly,” he gestured to the way she’d dressed up her station; just enough to show off the spirit, though not in a gaudy, over the top way, “But I like to get involved, you know? Please say you’ll come. I may not be able to decorate like a pro, but my hot cocoa is awesome.”

Leaning in conspiringly, Y/n held her chin in her palm, “Are you trying to bribe me with amazing cocoa that I’ve never tasted?”

“I am,” his voice dropped an octave, and when Robert leaned in towards the desk, he spoke in a whisper, “The secret’s whiskey.”

“Ohh,” Y/n mused, “Very tempting, can you do Saturday?”

“I most definitely can.” just as they continued to make plans, out from the hallway, came their boss, and CEO of the company, John Wick. It was hard to not notice him, considering he seemed to have this air about him that attracted all eyes the minute he walked into a room. He was just…..magnetic. “Y/n,” he teased, “You didn’t tell me the Grinch was in.”

From her usual perch, Y/n stuttered, unlike Robert, she was afraid of what would happen if John felt insulted by a harmless joke. He was an asset to the company, of a high caliber, but her? She was just an assistant. Thankfully though, John didn’t give her a moment to speak before speaking up, shaking his head, “Don’t you have work to do Rob? Things to finalize before the conference.”

“It’s three weeks away,” Robert defended, taking on a bothered expression. He turned to John, leaning against the lip of the desk and crossing one ankle in front of the other. Likewise, John neared the pair, lingering closer to the edge, laying a large palm on the cool top, not yet regarding Y/n.

“Only three weeks,” John emphasized with a heavy sigh, “Did you really just come up here to bother my secretary? Cause if you don’t, Y/n does have work to.”

“I can see that,” Robert nodded towards the thick planner laid out next to her computer, right next to several papers and little notes reminding her of all the things she had to get done. Buy gifts for everyone on John’s very long yet impersonal list, schedule flights to England for the conference, book him a hotel room, organize his calendar and set appointment dates. And that was barely a quarter of it. By the rate things were going, Y/n was beginning to wonder if John was even going to take Christmas day off. “You’ve got her burning the midnight oil.”

“It’s eleven am,” John noted gruffly. In her three years of working under him, Y/n had never once heard the man crack a joke, or laugh for that matter. He was so serious that often, Y/n would wonder if he even smiled. Maybe that's why he looked so good for a man nearing fifty. That, and the real possibility of him having a fancy home gym. “Maybe it’s time to get back to your office Robert.”

“Right,” Robert fought a frown, only to turn back to Y/n as he picked up the gift, “Just one more thing,” as he looked at her, he smiled again, holding the bag out to her, “I got you this Y/n.”

Scoffing a delighted laugh, Y/n retrieved the present, “No fair, you’re early. I haven’t even had time to get your gift yet.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present,” Robert gestured for her to unveil his gift, “Open it, come on.”

“Alright, fine. But if it's not- oh my god!” Gasping loudly, her jaw hung slack and Y/n held up the ceramic mug that had been secured inside. It was rounded and painted to look like a gingerbread man wearing a scarf, and it had even come equipped with a candy cane spoon. “Rob,” standing abruptly, disregarding her boss eyeing their exchange, “I love it,” Y/n walked around to meet him on the other side, immediately pulling him into a warm hug, “Thank you!”

“I knew you would,” he grinned as they pulled apart, “I should probably get back now though. But I’ll call you tonight so we can talk about Saturday.”

“Sounds great!” Waving as Robert retreated towards the elevator, she gave her new mug another look, “I can’t wait to use this,” Y/n noted, more to herself, only catching John staring at her when she looked up once more, “I’m sorry Mr. Wick, is there something you needed? If its about your flight plan, I’m calling the agency this afternoon so-”

“You know we have a no fraternization policy, right?” He cut her off, straightening his back and cutting her a stern look.

“I….uh….You mean…..” Looking between John and her opened present, Y/n furrowed her brows, confused. Of course, Robert was perhaps one of the most eligible bachelors, besides John himself, at the company; he was attractive, charming and quite the gentleman. But Y/n had never even thought of viewing him in a romantic light, they were friends and nothing more. “That was…..that was nothing,” she waved the thought off, “Robert is just a good friend. He probably just saw that while he was shopping or something. We do that kind of thing all the time.”

Humming his response, John kept his head held intimidatingly high. He always seemed so much bigger than her and Y/n could never decide whether or not it was thrilling or frightening. John himself was quite the looker, dark hair, dark eyes and enthrallingly mysterious. Even on a regular day he looked like he belonged on the posters for some high end brand or the other. “I need you in my office,” already, he was walking off and Y/n was left scurrying to match his long strides in her heels.

“What is this about?” Breathless as John shut the heavy door behind them, Y/n tried to right herself as she went before his desk. The large room, with dark porcelain floors and hardwood walls, accented by elegant furniture was familiar territory and Y/n knew it almost as well as she knew her own apartment. Papers on the right of his desk were dealt with, the ones on the left weren’t. There was an integrated mini refrigerator among the cabinets and he kept an extra suit, custom Tom Ford cause he never wore anything but, in the closet where he kept his coat. Come to think of it, Y/n probably knew more about John than anyone else in that entire building,

“Its about the conference,” coolly, he sank into his imposing leather chair, gracefully scooting towards his imported, mahogany desk. “It’s good that you haven’t called the agency yet, cause now you’ll be booking three tickets; you’re coming too.”

Stammering, Y/n’s eyes went wide with surprise. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t right at all. She was supposed to have Christmas week off, so she could fly home to be with her family, but that wasn’t really possible if John would be taking her across the pond for a conference filled with stuffy, middle aged people with too much money and no one to spend it on. “Mr. Wick…..I…..I already applied for that week off.”

“No you didn’t, you never submitted an application,” he didn’t even look at her, firing up his laptop and probably ready to be done with the matter.

“Yes, I did,” frenzied, and panicked, Y/n looked to his desk, where, lo and behold, her application for time off sat on among the smaller pile of paperwork, the one on the left side. But that was impossible, she’d given it to him weeks ago! “It’s right there,” she pointed accusingly to where it had been sticking out from beneath some investment proposal or the other.

Snatching it up, John scanned the pages before swearing under his breath. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so bewildered. “Y/n,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I’m sorry it must have gotten mixed up in the hustle.”

“I….” She wanted to argue, tell him that an apology wouldn’t make up for keeping her away from her family. Y/n wanted to yell that she’d be taking the week off anyway. But she couldn’t. Not just because he was her boss, but because he was John, who despite his very hardened exterior, had earned himself a soft spot in her heart. Y/n cared for him, in a way she probably shouldn’t have and the thought of bailing when he needed her wasn’t one she could entertain. “It’s okay,” forcing a smile and biting back tears, she blinked quickly, “I guess I should get to planning our flights.”

“Y/n-” he began, but it was too late, Y/n had already turned on her heel and was moving towards the door, swiping hastily at her eyes before she could listen to him say anything else.

Three Weeks Later Despite being separated merely by six inches in the car ride to the airport, Y/n swore that she could feel John's heat radiating, seeping through her thick layers. It was both an exciting and uncomfortable experience. On one hand, being that close to him almost had her giddy; feeding the school girl crush she'd developed on her boss. While on the other, things felt clumsy and tense; he didn't seem interested in talking, she didn't know what they could possibly talk about besides work and sharing an hour long car ride and six am was plain out awkward. Still, they’d made it through in almost complete silence.

Even at the airport, whilst walking to where they had agreed to meet Robert at the waiting area in anticipation of their flight, John had stayed silent and Y/n felt something of a dead limb walking beside him. He was always quiet and, like clockwork, as the year dwindled down, he seemed to grow even colder, as New York’s winter resided inside him. Usually, Y/n tried to not to let it get to her, but they were going to spend the week together; she’d given up family time for work and his silence was making her feel a bit lonely. Her only glimmer of hope for some good, warm company had been in Robert, even if Y/n got the feeling that John wouldn’t be giving them too much time together.

The chill between them lingered all the way through, though, when they all met up, things were uncharacteristically different. Immediately upon greeting each other, Y/n had instinctively pulled Robert into a hug, standing on the tip toes of her suede knee-highs so she could loop her arms around his neck, staying like that until John cleared his throat. When Y/n pulled away, she rubbed her gloved hands together, glancing at John, not really knowing what to feel when she looked at him and consequently looking away quickly. “ Uh…” checking her phone, Y/n exhaled shakily; there was still quite a bit of time left and the thought of having to spend it with both Robert and John was unnerving. She knew he wasn’t exactly a fan of their friendship, though, she could never tell why and without having to ponder on it, Y/n had already known that they were in for a long morning.

“Why don’t we head over to the lounge, get some drinks?” John filled the silence, causing Y/n to snap her head up and look directly at them. John wanted to grab drinks, with them? When she finally gathered the courage to face him, she found that John was looking directly at her, as if he were really only seeking her response.

Staring back at him, as she always did, Y/n found it hard to not lose herself in those dark pools, so endless that she might have drowned if she wasn’t too careful. The request was simple and impersonal, but still very unlike the John she’d grown to know. “Okay,” forcing herself to nod and simultaneously shifting her gaze back to Robert who now stood beside her, Y/n agreed, “We can do that. But it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“It’s the airport, Y/n,” Robert teased lightly as he nudged her shoulder, “Besides, it's already noon in London, so technically, you’re just…….pre-assimilating.”

Battling an amused grin, Y/n rolled her eyes, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she prepared to start moving towards the lounge, “That’s not a real thing.”

“Technically it is, I mean, Hardy made up words all the time and no one did anything about that. You,” he emphasized pointedly, “Love Hardy.”

“Hardy is a timeless, literary genius. You are a marketer from New York, it’s clearly not the same,” she laughed. She could tell that Robert was about to add something more, though, when John interrupted them, sternly urging them to move along, he dropped the matter, instead insisting that he take one of her bigger bags. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” he said, claiming one of her carry ons before she could protest any further. “We should get going, before Scrooge over here loses it.”

“You’ve gotta stop that,” Y/n admonished before they set off, “You’re gonna get fired or something.”

“I’m not gonna get fired, relax-”

“If you kids are finished,” they both looked to John immediately as he scolded them, and Y/n shuddered at the way his tell tale signs of irritation shone through; a quirked brow, an evident scowl and a hardness in his jaw that screamed that he was at his rope’s end with their banter.

“We are,” she spoke up without giving Robert the opportunity to come up with another questionable joke directed at their very unamused boss. Then, not offering anything further, she followed John’s lead as he walked off, not paying any mind to how far they were behind him.

Though, the peace was short lived when Y/n tripped as they reached the bottom of one of those short lived staircases that had been placed purely for aesthetic purposes, accidently dropping her rolling suitcase as she stumbled forward. With reflexes faster than she could have registered, John spun, barely sparing a moment to set aside his own suitcase before catching her at the shoulders. By the time he’d helped her right herself, Y/n’s chest was barely a hair away from his and with the way he was bent, his face wasn’t much further from hers. Swallowing thickly, for the first time Y/n didn’t feel small under his bottomless stare, instead, she felt like he was seeing into her; trying to speak into her. It was hard to decipher it, and it could have very well been her own unspoken affections blurring things, but Y/n could have sworn that he was seeing her in a different light.

Everything around them seemed to slow down, like the universe was letting her savor the proximity that she’d never experience again. “Are you okay?” John’s inquiry pierced their fragile moment, and all of a sudden, it was as if someone had hit play on a remote so reality would resume.

“I…..I’m fine, thanks,” she smiled weakly, her expression faltering when John pulled away. Then, simultaneously remembering her fallen suitcase, they both bent over to get it, leaving John’s hand to unconsciously fall over Y/n’s. For a split second, they stared at their hands, together, on the black plastic handle, looking very suggestive with the way they were positioned. “I uh, I got it,” flustered, Y/n gave the bag a gentle tug.

John didn’t let up immediately though, instead sparing her a peculiar stare, “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” she exhaled shakily. Y/n couldn't let him take it, else she’d read too much into it, and no good would come from reading too much into an innocent though rare act of inconsequential kindness from John Wick. He didn’t feel the same, they weren’t even friends, it wasn’t worth it. “Thanks though.”

They stood and John immediately put some distance between them. “Good,” he scoffed coldly, walking off before they could exchange anything else.

“Hey,” Robert touched her shoulder, causing Y/n to jump. She’d been looking on as John walked off, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or think. “You okay? That could have been a nasty fall, especially in those shoes.”

“Yeah,” finally tearing her gaze away from John’s slowly shrinking form so she could greet Robert’s concern with her own bewilderment, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Vaguely, she heard his response, though it sounded far off as she inevitably succumbed to letting thoughts of the past five minds swim around in her head; caught between wishing it meant something and thinking that it more than likely didn’t.

****** Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x y/n #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #ff #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick au #christmas au #this christmas #this christmas part 1

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dulce-pjm · 3 years

Text

clean up on aisle seven!

word count: 3.3k

genre: casual fluff :)

summary: you really didn’t want to go on this grocery trip. and now you’re stuck trying to track down that last thing your mom needs while the clock is ticking before she checks out. but something (or someone) might just make you lose track of time.

This is your worst nightmare. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths were shallow and staggered, and you could feel droplets of sweat quickly accumulating on your forehead. You’d just suffered finals week and you could definitely say this was the most stressful situation you’d experienced in your life.

This might be where you die.

Actually, if you died now, your mother would drag you back from the grave and kill you again for being so dramatic.

You were standing helpless in the middle of the produce section of your hometown’s grocery store, desperately looking for the red potatoes. And while you frantically scanned for the vegetable- Are potatoes vegetables? Maybe they’re starches. Or a root. It isn’t important. What is important is that you have no clue where they are and your mom is currently in the checkout line, wondering what’s taking so long.

Onions, leeks, asparagus, radishes, cabbage. . .

Maybe you were looking in the wrong place. You circle the aisle, hoping you don’t look like a madwoman as you wring your hands and tug at your hair.

You were a STEM major, for god’s sake! You just crushed your sophomore finals (maybe. probably. you completed them, it’s all that matters), you were not going to let some stupid red potatoes and a fear of abandonment you’ve harbored since childhood distress you in this way.

Spinach, lettuce, carrots, celery. . .

You know, you never should have agreed to go on this grocery trip. Just an hour before now, you’d been comfortable in bed, sleeping in to your heart’s content. But it’s the holidays and you know your mom likes to run her errands with someone and the guilt was just too much. So you let her drag you out of bed and you barely got to brush your teeth before she was dragging you out of the house, too. You probably looked like a wreck. You sure felt like one.

Tomatoes, avocadoes, peppers. . .

Normally by now you’d suck it up and ask an employee for help like the adult you were supposed to be, but, just your luck, the entire section is void of any workers. Honestly, good for them. You’re sure they’re tired of dealing with hopeless idiots like you, anyway.

Garlic, strawberries, blueberries. . .

Who puts garlic next to strawberries? And how did you end up in the fruit section? Even you could do a better job organizing this place. Or maybe you have poor observational skills. You decide not to dwell on which thought is more correct.

You rush back to where you started, begging your eyes to actually work and help you with this one task.

And then: a miracle. Yellow potatoes! You scan the vicinity and...

No red potatoes to be found. Maybe there’s no such thing as red potatoes. Maybe your mom just wanted you to go away for a while. Well, no, that can’t be it. You’re certain you’ve had red potatoes before.

The stress was getting to you. By now, your mom was probably loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, annoyed at your slow pace and mind.

You know, in many other situations you’d actually consider yourself good under pressure. Put you in a lab coat and in front of a titration and you were a goddamn genius, if you did say so yourself. But once you weren’t poring over textbooks or analyzing data, you felt completely useless. Ask you to cook and you’ll set the kitchen ablaze. Anything more athletic than a casual jog is off the table. Your friends often joke that you can’t even be trusted with a microwave. For good reason. How were you supposed to know those chicken sandwich bags can’t go in the microwave? They’re made of paper.

Other shoppers bristle past you to grab their own groceries, but all you can do is reply with a few murmured “sorries” and stand in the middle of the place looking like a lost puppy. To them, you look utterly distressed. A few shoppers consider asking if you’re okay, but little do they know there’s only one question plaguing your mind.

“Where are the motherfucking red potatoes?!”

You didn’t mean for it to slip out, but at least there’s no one close enough to hear-

A giggle rings from the other side of the waist-high aisle you’ve been staring at. Your eyes slide up to meet the gaze of a boy not too much taller than you- kind of cute too- but the important thing is that he’s staring right at you. Very obviously trying (and failing) to fight an uncontrollable grin on his face.

Your cheeks heat like a furnace. All you can do is stand and stare, caught red-handed cursing over produce at the corner grocery store.

The boy with full, boyish cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a very cute smile that you might consider infectious in any other scenario leans forward on the tips of his toes and peers at the side the aisle you’ve been intently gazing at for the past several minutes. To your horror, he lifts his finger and points just inches from where you were just looking.

“Maybe right there?” It isn’t said sarcastically or with even a hint of ridicule, but despite his genuine nature you only grow more sheepish. You wish you could shrink into your sweatshirt and never come back out.

You lower your eyes to the direction he’s pointing and lo and behold, there are several bags of red potatoes just under your nose.

“Oh. . uh. . Thanks.” You tentatively reach and grab a bag, your eyes not leaving the boy’s face. You can’t help but notice the line forming between his eyebrows and the way he cocks his head to the side. Now, that you think about it, there’s something distinctly familiar about him.

“Wait, Y/N?” Your eyebrows raise, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs to know that you somewhat recognize him too. “I’m Jimin!” He continues when you don’t respond. “We were best friends when we were, what, six or seven?”

The memories immediately begin rushing back. Though many of your memories from back then have faded, you can remember very distinctly the elementary days full of you and a younger version of the boy across from you causing mischief. More specifically, the two of you thought up increasingly risky pranks to play on your parents and friends until one or both of you got the scolding of a lifetime. You’d nearly completely forgotten about him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you finally manage. “It’s been a while.” Jimin circles to your side of the aisle.

“Oh my god! When was the last time I saw you?” Jimin thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t it your birthday party? When we hid in the bathroom cabinet and it took them hours to find us!” The memory has the both of you giggling.

“Yeah! My mom would have grounded me for scaring her so badly if it wasn’t my birthday.” The atmosphere is comfortable. Almost as if it had been no time at all.

“I think if anyone was scared, it was you. Weren’t you terrified of the dark?” You blush despite the ridiculousness of his teasing.

“Hey! I talk to you for two minutes after all this time and you’re already back to making fun of me?” Despite their legitimacy, the words carry no malice and you’re grinning from ear to ear. A smirk plays on Jimin’s cheeks and you catch yourself studying his features. It should seem normal, but you’re slightly struck by how much he’s grown up. His baby fat is long gone, replaced with a striking and defined look despite his sweet and boyish features. His brunette locks are neatly cut, his bangs complimenting his cheeks and forming a slight heart shape on his forehead. He’s cute.

If you weren’t so caught up in your own embarrassment, you might have noticed the endeared look he’s giving you as he studies your face at the same time.

“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “You’ve always been easy to tease.” You scoff, shifting the bag of potatoes in your arms.

“Speak for yourself, crayon-eater.” Jimin’s giggle is infectious, drawing a snort or two out of you, though you desperately try to play it off as just a cough.

“Where did you end up going? I never saw you after that.”

“Ahh, we moved to the other side of the city. It was pretty sudden.” Jimin nods in understanding.

“I guess you moved again for college, too?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to your sweatshirt. You glance down at the university logo before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah, I’m just back for the holidays. You?”

“I go to university in the city. Just picking up some groceries for my family. I tend to do our grocery shopping on weekday mornings anyway, since most of my classes are in the afternoon.” You learn that Jimin is a communications major, which you think suits his personality spectacularly. Jimin is not even close to surprised to find out you’ve dedicated yourself in chemistry.

“And to think, just yesterday we were making potions from mud in your backyard. You’re practically a prodigy. Can I get your autograph? You know, for when you become a famous scientist saving the world and all that?” You shake your head, noting that Jimin is just as ridiculous as you remember him.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you muse. “But I’m leaning more towards education. I’d like to teach high schoolers one day, maybe college students too.” Now that strikes Jimin as a surprise, evident by his shocked expression. You can’t help staring at the way his lips puff out in an unintentional pout.

“Really? You want to deal with those brats? We just left high school and you already want back?” If your mom thought you were a drama queen, Jimin had you beat tenfold. He’d always been a bit of a class clown, always supplying exaggerated expressions and stupid jokes to garner as many laughs as possible. You roll your eyes.

“They’re not that bad.” You pause. “Well, they are pretty bad but I think I could get through it if I knew I could make at least one kid excited about science, you know?” You inwardly cringe at your mini-spiel. Normally once you get talking about your love for chemistry, your friends zone out or casually change the subject to avoid massive boredom. But to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed at your sappy, nerd-ish outlook on your career. Instead, he’s nodding with you, attentive and interested.

“That’s. . . really nice.” You blush, stopping yourself from going on a further tangent, sure he has much better things to be doing than listening to you go on and on.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You twiddle your thumbs and Jimin tugs on the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Do you still have that cat? What did you name him... Snuggles?”

“Chubbles!” he nearly shouts with a massive smile. “And yeah, I do. He’s still overweight as ever. And old as hell. But I love the grumpy thing to pieces.”

“He was so cute! I remember cuddling with him while watching cartoons together.”

“Oh my god, yeah! That was the only time my mom would let me eat in the living room. I swear those waffles tasted better in front of the tv screen.” The story sparks a memory in your mind.

“Hey, wanna know a secret?” Jimin leans in slightly, confused but definitely interested. You pause for effect. “My mom didn’t let us eat in the living room either. I only said that because you wanted to and I thought it’d convince your mom.” Jimin feigns a gasp, putting a hand on his chest.

“Are you serious? I was jealous of you for years after that and it wasn’t even true? You said your family always ate in the living room.”

“I may have exaggerated a lot of things back then in order to impress you.”

“No way. Then do I really know you at all? Was everything a lie?” You find yourself laughing again. Talking with him is easy, like being kids again.

You shrug. “I like to maintain an aura of mystery.” Now Jimin’s the one rolling his eyes at your antics.

“Hey, speaking of Chubbles, do you want to see a picture of him? My mom posted the best picture of him on Facebook the other day.” Jimin whips out his phone. While others might find a college student doting on his cat and his mom’s Facebook a bit dorky, you find it all too endearing.

“Um, of course!” You step towards him to peer at his phone. But instead of cat pictures, all the two of you see is an endless loading screen.

“Shit. My service sucks out here. I’m sorry.” He gives an apologetic look, but you’re quick to brush it off.

“No, it’s okay. You can just send it to me later.” The connotation of your words hit you like a freight train and you’re about to not-so-eloquently take them back, but Jimin beats you, a smile is plastered across his face. A part of you wants to reach up and squish his cheeks together, but you don’t need to create any more reason for the other shoppers to think you’re unhinged. Also, personal space.

“Oh, great. I’ll just get your number-”

“Y/N.” You freeze, your head whipping around behind you to where your mother stands. She glares at you with her hands set on her hips, no groceries in sight.

“Oh, um, oops.” You muster the best smile you can but your mother is anything but amused. “I found the red potatoes!” You hold up the bag that’s been making your arms ache, as if that would magically fix the situation. She scoffs.

“And while you did, I checked out, paid, put the groceries in the car, and realized that we’d already gotten red potatoes. They were just piled under all that sugary cereal you insist on-” Her eyes flicker to the boy standing awkwardly behind you when she lets out a scream of joy. “Park Jimin!” She nearly shoves you aside to wrap him in a hug, instantly recognizing him despite years of not seeing him. Though if Jimin’s mom is active on Facebook, you guess your mom has seen plenty of Jimin via social media. While you stare incredulously at your mother, Jimin is staring at you, internally laughing at your expression.

“How’s your mother? Is she well? Healthy?” Jimin nods with a charming smile.

“Yes, she’s great.” Your mom is clutching Jimin’s hands as if she’s in her seventies and not her forties. Jimin awkwardly shifts his grocery basket to his elbow, but your mom pays no mind to the uncomfortable position he’s in.

“Oh, you’ve grown so much! I can still remember the days when you two were taking baths together!” Your face blanches while Jimin chokes. Knowing the volume of your mom’s voice, you’re sure the entire grocery store knows your and Jimin’s history now. “You know, I was just thinking about your mother the other day. When we were pregnant with the two of you, we-”

“Hey, Mom.” You place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you think we should get going? The groceries are in the car...”

“Oh! You’re right, sweetie,” she smiles. It seems that all it took was Jimin’s charm (and by charm, you mean standing there with that grin of his) for her to completely forget about your previous transgression. She turns back to Jimin. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Please tell your mother I said hello. We really should have a get-together over the holidays, don’t you think?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. L/N,” Jimin says, his eyes trailing to you. “Sorry for keeping your daughter. We were reconnecting and lost track of time.”

“You’re too sweet. I’m sure my daughter was the one babbling on about whatever popped into her head next. It’s no wonder she got lost looking for potatoes, she’s so easily distracted. You know, we had to put her on a leash as a child.” Your cheeks flush red while you get the sense that Jimin is enjoying this a little too much, despite his awkward smile.

“Oh...” You can tell he’s doing his best to spare you the mortification, but if anything his efforts to conceal his laughter only make you more eager to end the conversation.

“Uh... Mom... Groceries...”

“Fine, fine. You didn’t seem to care that much when you were flirting in the produce aisle.” Now that is the final straw.

“Mom! Oh my god, let’s just go.” You feel like a teenager again, embarrassed and at your mother’s mercy. “Bye, Jimin! It was nice seeing you!” You grab your mother by the elbow and nearly drag her out of the store, tossing the red potatoes back onto the aisle as you go. You barely catch Jimin’s weak wave as you storm out.

“He really is such a sweet boy, I’ll have to give his mother a call.” Call. That’s right. You forgot to give him your number.

On pure instinct alone, you spring around, abandoning your mother in the parking lot to sprint back inside.

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back! Start the car!” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. You imagine she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering how her child still acts like a seven-year-old chasing after butterflies.

You find Jimin not far from where you left him, skimming through the juices. You do your best not to show how heavy you’re breathing or how you’ve nearly broken a sweat. And you curse yourself for not using the university gym more often. Upon seeing you reappear, Jimin’s face lights up, albeit somewhat confused.

“Oh, hey.” He holds up two jugs of orange juice. “Pulp or no pulp?” You freeze for a moment.

“Pulp. Obviously.” Jimin nods in agreement, putting the jug in his basket. He looks at you expectantly. “And I forgot to give you my number.” You quickly catch yourself. “For that Chubbles pictures.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jimin’s hand rises to the back of his neck nervously as you punch the digits into his phone, making a contact for yourself. If your friends saw you now, they’d think you’d been replaced by aliens or finally gone over the edge. But something in you just had to do it.

“Send me that picture, yeah?” You hand him back his phone.

“Of course.” Jimin gives you a salute, making you giggle shamelessly again. With nothing more to say, you spin on your heel and speed walk out of the store to be mercilessly interrogated by your mother.

Jimin shakes his head and smiles to himself as he watches your retreating form. He makes a mental note to go through his mom’s scrapbooks to find a childhood photo of you two to use as your profile picture.

While your mom is berating you for wasting time and questioning your intentions with Jimin, you couldn’t be happier, grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t Jimin say he did the grocery shopping on weekday mornings?

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” You nod vigorously, which is enough for her when she switches to ranting about gas prices nowadays.

But in reality, you’re not listening at all. You’re planning your next grocery trip.

At least next time you’ll know where to find the motherfucking red potatoes. Though you doubt you’ll need to remember. Something tells you Jimin will remember this for a long time too.

#bts #jimin #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts scenario #jimin scenario #bts fluff #kind of boring but short and sweet (i hope)

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

An impassioned debate

Pairing: Giles x Spike (”platonic” but they’re arguing lol)

Request: Spike & Giles bicker fest a la missing moments from when they were housemates, please?

Requested by: @staycalmandbeafan

Warning: Sex references.

A/N: Sometimes when I write I assume the attitude of one of the characters. Therefore, Spike doesn’t always appear in a good light lol (It was fun to write though and I got a little carried away sorry) 💜🖤

Giles liked to live alone.

He had grown up living with his parents. He had roommates in university. He even flat-shared in the communal house him and the friends he hung around at the time broke into and claimed as their own in his early twenties.

And that, is exactly how Giles knew he liked to live alone. Some days he could barely tolerate the young people that no matter how fond of them he was, would go on about pointless and often arbitrary nonsense in his presence.

His home then, became his sanctuary. A place where he could shut out the world.

That was until one fateful day in the all-too recent past. Thanksgiving day. A day where the Americans gave thanks for the parts of their lives they are grateful for. He thought he ought to partake in tradition and suggested how grateful he was for Buffy and the others.

A silent, more self-indulgent thanks was to the peace and quiet he would get at the end of the day. His house to himself, not shackled by parents. Kept up all hours by housemates or forced into copious amounts of overly emotional performance at the hands of the well-intentioned Americans.

This silent thought was shattered as a thud at the door announced an unwelcome visitor.

That’s how Giles ended up with a new houseguest. The vampire chained to his tub. A tub he had been very fond of until Spike had come in and ruined with his stench. He was probably the only person that smelt this bad after spending this amount of time in the bathtub.

It would be fair to say that Giles hadn’t been a very welcoming host, but to put it in context, despite being ‘harmless’ Spike had tried to bite Giles not once, but twice. Upon the first attempt being a near-miss and the second ending in blinding pain for the corpse-faced lunatic, he had the gall to tell Giles that he would taste like a dried up old prune anyway.

There was also the incident on Thanksgiving day itself where he managed to eat half a plate of cookies before anyone had the chance to stop him. A miraculous feat when you note that his hands and feet were bound tight.

These were, for the most part issues that Giles could look past. Especially now he was sure that Spike was unable to actually harm him. But what he couldn’t get past were, well, every other area that involved living with Spike.

The issues could be divided as such: Eating habits; sleeping habits; general depravity and what one could only describe as ‘The Passions debate’.

We should probably begin with the sleeping habits:

Or lack thereof. Spike was cat-like in the sense that he didn’t usually get a full night’s, or days, sleep. He tended to sleep a couple hours here or there seemingly whenever he pleased. Which meant that when he was tied up after dark, the vampire had a whole lot of thoughts and nowhere else to go so he seemingly spoke them out loud.

Giles tossed and turned in his bed desperately clinging to sleep, able for the most part to ignore the constant babbling of Spike’s innermost thoughts. Which actually amounted to shagged someone, shagged someone oh I drank some blood, shagged someone.

It was utterly mind numbing and Giles was beginning to feel that should he ever get out of this arrangement alive he would look into finding a house in the middle of a deserted island. Never to return to civilisation.

Giles managed to mostly ignore the fanged menace. Until the singing started. Or, what Giles would only call tuneless hollering. He butchered every punk song known to man and some surprisingly sugary pop ballads that Giles wouldn’t dare comment on, less he revealed that he himself knew the songs lyrics too.

He actually started singing to pass the time, it was lyrical to begin with but as the night wore on he started to shout the words, the tune lost. Sacrificed to a greater goal. Irritation.

He grinned when Giles padded downstairs to try to silence the din.

“Alright, Rupert? Here for dinner and a show?”

“I’m going to gag you” Giles warned. Something they had already had numerous arguments over.

“Well, you’re really gonna have to take me out to that dinner then” Spike smirked at Giles’ disdain for his words, moving his head slightly at the man’s reaction.

“Will you shut up! For God’s sake, man, be quiet!” Giles shouted, sleep-deprivation and living with someone that had more fangs than brains made him more and more irate. It made Spike smile even further, his next words making Giles about three seconds from throttling him (which, wouldn’t have killed him but it would have been very satisfying for Giles).

“Well, seein’ as you’re awake and all and got nothing better to do, be a love and get me some blood?” Spike cackled. Giles stopped himself from going near Spike and instead trailed to the kitchen, hoping it would at least shut him up for five minutes.

Which brings us nicely along to eating habits:

“I like a bit of texture in it!” Spike had shouted one morning. His blood was steaming but Giles had returned back into the kitchen with it to add something to try and get a moment’s peace.

He had been playing a very enjoyable game of see how many times he can send the same mug of blood back before Giles realised he was only doing it to annoy him. The highest score had been 3 times and only, in Giles’ defence, because the man hadn’t been properly awake that morning.

Giles had hit Spike twice (which was very tame considering the horror that was a feral vampire that wasn’t used to being in a domestic setting). Once because of the aforementioned incident and the second time after a particularly heated debate that we will discuss later.

Spike had been lounging on the sofa again, getting crumbs all over his chair. Giles swung his feet and made him sit up as he spoke.

“Will you bloody-”

“Oh don’t start conjuring those sweet massacres in my mind, Rupes, makes a fella’s hunger unbearable” He rubbed his stomach that did in fact appear to be gurgling at the mere mention of the word.

Spike, when he was allowed out of his restraints and Giles saw it was too much like hard work to be waiting on Spike all of the time, began to make his own meals. Which, really, just created more of a mess. And a distinct lack of Weetabix around the house.

He created the worst combinations known to man, sometimes to annoy Giles and other times to just see how it went. He sprayed cans of whipped cream in his mouth left over from Thanksgiving, ate crackers with every topping he found in the house and made sure to use the least amount of manners as possible whilst doing so.

Which brings us onto the section Giles would entitle, Spike’s ‘generally depraved character’:

Giles was still in the habit of tying Spike up at night, but he had subsequently allowed him to walk around in the day after a while.

There had been one evening where Spike ran through the entire house, struggling at every turn so that Giles couldn’t tie him up again. He was bored and it was fun making the human chase him. Eventually he was cuffed and tied to his chair and left there through the day so that it didn’t happen again.

Luckily, Spike had gotten bored of that game and just let Giles tie him up at night again now. Not without comment, of course.

“Call that a knot? I’ve had tighter curls, mate” Spike rolled his eyes as Giles looked over the glasses perching on the end of his nose. He then reached and tightened the knot by a lot making Spike yelp and scowl at him.

“Hey! You can’t just leave me like this – I’m getting’ rope burn here!” he shouted as he struggled, thus giving himself worse rope burn.

“Ah, yes and what’re you going to do about it, Spike, hm? Serenade me to death?” Giles rolled his eyes in disdain. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his position with a scowl stamped on his face.

He watched Giles get back to reading his paper. He let him get a few lines in before he interrupted him this time.

“Not exactly the five star digs I’m used to” Spike said which made Giles scoff. He had seen many of the places Spike had called home and none of them were fit for burying a corpse in let alone housing a living one.

“I can untie you and you can just leave, Spike, I’m sure burning to a crisp would really show me what for” Giles muttered, focusing on the paper he had been trying to read.

“Oh, I see you. Thinking you’re better than me – smarter. Anyone can read books, they don’t make it their whole sodding personality. You’re a good ol’ British stereotype, Rupes,”

“Ah, yes, well, many people can read Spike but it takes a particularly impervious individual to be so oblivious to their own misgivings that they result in insulting themselves in the same breath as their foe”

Spike rolled his eyes at the use of the word ‘foe’ but kept silent for a while. It was a rare silence and Giles made the most of it. Savoured it. He wasn’t sure if it was the big words that had evaded him or just the fact that his insult had resonated. But he didn’t say these thoughts out loud, less he would have to listen to Spike’s sparkling wit.

However, lo and behold, Spike suddenly spoke up again.

“You know what I miss?” Spike asked, leaving Giles sighing audibly and putting his unread book back down. He had tried several times to read the same line.

“No, but I assume that you’re about to enlighten me”

“Civil wars”

“What?!” Giles asked incredulously, taking his glasses from his face just so he didn’t have to look at the vampire who appeared to be staring up at the ceiling and reminiscing.

“Yeah” No nodded, “There’s just something about a civil war… could be the fear. Aphrodisiac, it is”

“I’m not sure I agree-”

“Probably ‘cause you’d be the one doing the fearing you great ponce”

“Now-” Giles was ready to launch into a barrage of insults, using all of his wit to ground Spike into the pile of dust and ash he was destined to be. But then, he took a breath. He decided to hit Spike where it hurt, “That’s it! No more television”

“What?!” Spike shouted, his eyes bulging in horror, “You can’t do that, I’m dyin’ here gramps-!”

“You’re already dead”

“Yeah, well, now I’m rotting away here with the living. I mean, you’ve aged – I saw your graduation photo in the hall. It’s like lookin’ in a particularly haunting mirror when I see you” Spike spoke smugly of the way his face hadn’t aged despite being older than Giles.

There was a stony silence for a while. Giles went quiet. When Giles went quiet, he was mad. The kind that could become insidious. His fists curled and his mind raced. Blood pumping hot around his body.

But, after a moment, he resolved himself. Spike wasn’t worth Ripper making an appearance. No, Spike wasn’t worth anything.

“Why don’t you read something, or perhaps figure out how to count past two?” Giles offered, stepping away from where the tv was now staying off. Spike’s face turned sour at the prospect of another afternoon with his thoughts.

“How about four?” Spike asked, flipping the v’s with both arms raised at the man who looked like he was about to thump his guest yet again.

“You’re a piece of work, Spike”

“Thanks” Spike nodded, still looking at Giles expectantly, waiting for the television to be turned back on. But when he turned way and started to look busy Spike’s mood changed.

“Come on, it’s telly time!” Spike shouted but Giles just took his jacket and left the house for the rest of the day. Leaving Spike bored and trying to avoid the patches of sunlight where Giles had ‘accidentally’ opened some of the curtains on different levels of the house.

When Giles eventually began to turn the television back on for Spike, it leads us on to ‘The Passions debate’:

“Are you blind willingly or are you truly this ignorant?!” Giles shouted, his words directed at Spike but his eyes were glued to the screen. No matter how much he had fought it, Giles had been well and truly sucked into the fictional world.

“Don’t be a bloody idiot! It’s clear as sodding day that they’re meant to be together” Spike gestured wildly at the screen.

“Their relationship is forced – there is no real meaning there!” Giles insisted, much like most shows on television in his opinion.

“You got it all wrong - it’s fate, destiny or any of that bollocks”

“Ah, yes, that would be the latter”

“Don’t be daft, Ripper – have you seen them?! Pure chemistry. Nobody can act that good either, they’re shagging behind the scenes – mark my words”

“You really are as perceptive as a wooden spoon, Spike” Giles berated him.

“That’s rot, that is! They’re shagging no two ways about it”

“Two people can have chemistry and maintain a platonic relationship” Spike raised an eyebrow at him and Giles had become heated in the debate, “They are not bloody shagging!”

“Aw, does it bother you that fictional characters are getting more action than you?” Spike mock-pouted. Trying to rile the man up further. This was where it descended into chaos.

“Ah, fortunately I’m satisfied in the knowledge that there will always be someone that is worse-off than myself” Giles paused before asking, “Is Drusilla well?”

“Bugger off! That was low for an ex-watcher who gets all his happy feelings from a group of school children” Spike pounced on him, going for the jugular, “You spend an embarrassing amount of time with dear Buffy. I wonder, what could you be doin’ behind closed-”

Spike was cut off by a blow to his face. It sent him flying backwards and splintered the wooden chair he had been sat on into pieces.

“Out!” Giles demanded, face like thunder, “Out before I do something I wouldn’t regret!”

Both Spike and Giles eyed the weapons chest that was on the floor between them before looking back at the other. Both were trying to calculate how long it would take the other to get there. After a moment, Spike got to his feet and just slinked off to a different corner of the house until he got hungry and Giles went to walk off his anger.

That had been the last straw. Soon after this particular incident, Spike was shipped off the Xander’s basement. Giles finally got his house back. His wooden chair however, unfortunately never recovered.

#Spike btvs #Spike #Giles #Rupert Giles #Spike x Giles #Spike fic #Giles fic #Rupert Giles fic #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs imagine #btvs #buffyverse #buffyverse fic #Spike btvs x Rupert Giles

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shadow-assassin-blix · 3 years

Text

Something in Your Mouth

Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader

A/N: A song fic has been done. This is a Nickelback song (don’t @ me they are my favorite rockband). Warnings: Sex (allusions and some descriptions), BJ, shitty ex. Um. I think that’s it? Maybe some self-esteem issues

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

Oscar/Triple Frontier tag: @m-123 @artsymaddie @mcrmarvelloki

Got to meet the hottie with the million dollar body

They say it's over budget, but you'd pay her just to touch it, come on!

Santiago Garcia was not a shy man. If a woman was willing, he’d do anything she was comfortable with. Sex in a public bathroom? Done it. Fingering under the table? Yes ma’am. Vibrating panties with him having the remote control? Hell yes.

However, this is the first time he’s ever been with a girl that was so shy. He met her at a local coffee shop that he had become a regular to. She happened to come in one day, needing some long-winded concoction that he wasn’t even sure was actually coffee, for her boss.

When she got it, she had the misfortune of some asshole running into her and spilling the coffee all over her. Santi after yelling at the dude who dared to get in her face about it, bought her a replacement coffee, and strolled out to his truck to grab an old army t-shirt he kept in there.

“It’s clean I swear, it’s a bit a good luck charm I guess,” He awkwardly explained as he handed it to her.

She took it from him running into the bathroom to change. She had to tuck in the bottom of it into her pants since it was bit big.

She stepped back out and quietly asked, “How can I return this to you? Or better yet, repay?”

“If it’s not too bold, may I take you out on a date? And you can give it back to me then?” He questioned hoping she would say yes.

She smiled shyly, nodding her head, as she unlocked her phone for him to give her his number. He quickly typed it in, sending himself a text as he saved it.

She grabbed the replacement coffee and left a moment later. He texted her that evening and that was the beginning of it all.

Needs to hit the big screen and shoot a little love scene

If Hollywood had called her she'd be gone before you holler, come on!

She worked for a fashion company, currently working as a secretary to the CEO, hoping to one day be able to present her ideas as a creator. She loved to draw; it was one of her biggest passions as a kid. As she got older, she realized she loved fashion as well, and combined the two loves.

She had finished up her degree some months ago and got a job working for a local fashion industry. It wasn’t nearly as famous Prada, Gucci, or Hermes, but the name was recognized as a steppingstone for those companies.

Granted, she thought she would be working in design when she applied for the job, not as secretary number 2. A job was a job, however. She decided that she would grin and bear it until she had her chance.

Running into Santi was strange to say the least. She was sure, so sure, that he was just joking when he asked her out. But lo and behold… that night when he texted her details, she was pleasantly surprised.

They had gone out on a few dates, and while he was always respectful of her boundaries, she could tell he was used to more… provocative women. It’s not that she wasn’t interested in exploring his ideas, it was that… he was the first guy she had dated in a long while that seemed interested in seeing her naked.

She was used to guys getting bored with her after the first date, or when they found out she worked in fashion, they mocked her.

Santi, however, thought it was interesting. He would actually listen to her when she would rant about fabrics or colors. He at one point told her he thought it was adorable.

“It shows your passion. I think it’s cute as hell,” He told one day after a rant in which she cut herself off thinking she was being annoying.

She did eventually open up to him that she wasn’t used to having a man be attracted to her for more than 5 minutes.

He was shocked to say the least, “Who the hell were you dating honey?”

She shrugged, “Jerks. So. I mean… I want to do all those things with you… I just… worry I won’t be good at it? I guess?”

Crafty little lip tricks, tattoos on her left hip

She's bending as you're spending, there's no end to it, so baby come on!

When she said that, his jaw dropped. He wanted to beat up whoever had made her feel this way. He found her shyness refreshing, but not at the expense that she worried that he would think she was inadequate.

“We’ll move at your pace, baby. I like you, for you. I’m not going to drop you like your yesterday’s news just because we aren’t having sex every time we see each other,” Santi assured her, with a kiss.

She gave him a look of appreciation and kissed back more firmly. He grinned at that, cupping her cheek as they kissed.

Dressed up like a princess, betting that her skin smells

Better than the scent of every flower in the desert, come on!

It took several months before she was ready to sleep with him, in a more intimate way. By that point, she had met his friends and their significant others. The girls were all too willing to help her when she asked for advice on what to do or wear.

Frankie’s girl was the calmest and took her shopping to get some nice lacey lingerie. While she appreciated the advice from Emma and Maura (Will’s, and Benny’s girlfriends respectively), she wasn’t quite sure she was up for the risqué ideas they came up with.

Valeria was the one who said to keep it simple. “You two have all the time in the world to explore kinks and such. You do not have to jump into that on your first night together.”

So, the two of them shopped, deciding on a dark blue number that Valeria said would make Santi drool at the sight of her.

That night, she had spent a good two hours shaving and primping before slipping on the barely there thong, and matching corset.

She tossed on a silk robe and waited for Santi to come home. She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the door open and close, Santi’s voice calling out for her.

“Hey babe, where ya at?” She heard him ask.

“Bedroom!” She answered waiting.

She could hear him walk down the hallway before opening the door. He stared at her curiously, taking in her robe.

“What’s happening sweetie?” Santi asked as he stepped further in.

She bit her lip slightly, as she undid the robe and let it slide off of her. His jaw drop as he gazed at her.

He sauntered up to her, his hands hovering hesitantly over her waist.

“Does this mean… what I think it does?” He questioned quietly, not wanting to assume anything.

She nodded with a small giggle, as she stood on tiptoes to kiss him. He deepened the kiss after a moment of hesitation.

The two of them crawled onto the bed, not breaking the kiss.

They spent the night, getting to know one another’s bodies. Learning about each scar, each spot that drove them crazy. It was night that fueled the fire in her; she knew right then… no other could ever compare.

She loves the night scene, bar queen, just living for the fun

Taking over every dance floor like she's the only one

After that night, the two of them were far more open about affection than they once were. It used to be she would shy away when he would kiss her in public. Now, she was used to it, and welcomed it far more. She still wasn’t quite used to the idea of doing anything sexual in public, which he was okay with.

He was just thrilled to know that she enjoyed his attention.

The two spent more time talking about previous experiences, mostly to learn about each other.

“In college I was definitely a bit more… wild child. I went barhopping with friends almost every weekend. Had a few one-night stands, if you can believe that. It was during one of my more serious relationships when I kind of lost apart of myself. He… he wasn’t like… physically aggressive or anything. He just… knew how to destroy every bit of my self-confidence,” She had told him one night while they were having pizza on his couch.

“I am sorry that happened to you. If I ever saw him, I would beat the shit out of him. No one deserves to be treated like that,” Santi said to her kissing her cheek softly.

“Hopefully you’ll never have to meet him. He was… the worst I dated. The others were… just… unsatisfactory. Then you come along… rescuing me from that jerk and giving me that shirt… that honestly kinda smelled,” She teased him slightly.

“Sorry, I was… just trying to help,” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like… I appreciated it, I truly did. It was better than having iced coffee on me all day. By the way… do you want that shirt back? I just realized I never returned it,” She said realizing that it was in her laundry.

“Nah. Keep it. I enjoy catching you wearing it randomly,” He flirted back.

She turned her head away, scrunching her nose up in slight embarrassment.

He turned her head back toward him to pull her into a short but passionate kiss.

In the spotlight, all night, kissing everyone

And trying to look so innocent while sucking on her thumb

They had been together for almost a year now. She had begun to feel a lot more like her old self. Felt more confident in her stride, and her work. In fact, her boss had informed her that a position had opened up in design and that she had sent her portfolio down to the lead supervisor to review.

She had just gotten off the phone with him and was super excited. She had gotten the job. She ran to Santi’s place and animatedly told him the news. He congratulated her and said that they should celebrate.

That night, the two of them plus the rest of the gang met at their favorite local pub for drinks and greasy foods. They were happily talking when she noticed someone come up to the table.

“Well, well. If it isn’t little Mouse?” She froze as she heard her ex’s voice speak.

“Rob. What do you want?” She asked not bothering to look at him, as she tried to control herself.

She could feel her hands shaking and it was getting a little hard to breathe.

“Not even going to look at me? Now, that’s just rude, Mousy,” His tone was a vicious tease.

“Get away from her. Now,” Santi’s voice cut in, cold.

“Who the hell are you? Her new squeeze?” He questioned with a scoff.

“Yeah. I am. You have exactly 10 seconds to walk away,” Santi warned him as he stood up.

“Or else what?” He dared.

Santi simply moved to stand between them, waiting a moment.

Rob started to laugh, thinking Santi was just all talk.

Santi punched him so hard in the face that he passed out before he hit the floor. Rob’s friends came over quietly to pick him up and carrying him out, not bothering to try and fight.

Santi breathed heavily through his nose once, trying to calm down before he turned back around.

“Hey, my little Lioness, you okay?” He asked her softly as he leaned closer to her.

She had started fidgeting with her fingers, a nervous tick he had picked up on early on.

He sat back down, pulling her hands into his, rubbing his thumb softly over her knuckles.

Conversation between everyone slowly picked back up, and she soon felt comfortable enough to join in again. She wasn’t as excited, but she tried to push past it.

When he eventually took her home, she collapsed into his arms. Her breathing was shaking as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to escape her.

He whispered to her, “Let it out, my heart.”

She found herself sobbing into his chest.

When you never pull it out

(So much cuter)

He wished he had done more as he held her. Wished he had strangled the bastard. Here was this beautiful woman, whose confidence he had seen bloom over the past few months, crumble because of 2 sentences.

He whispered sweetly to her, telling her how much he loved her.

The tears eventually stopped, and as she pulled away, she apologized for the mess she made on his shirt.

“My shirts have seen worse things than tears. It’s fine honey. How about we get ready for bed?” He proposed as he led her to the bedroom and started strip down to his boxers.

She nodded, walking into the bathroom briefly to wash her face. She came out wearing his army shirt, joining him on the bed with a sigh.

The two of them fell asleep together, within minutes.

When she woke up, she realized it was one of the rare times, she was awake before Santi. She stared at him for a moment. She wanted to thank him for last night and an idea popped in her head.

She slipped her hand down under the covers, playing with the edge of his boxers briefly. When she had built up the nerve to do so, she slid her hand under his boxers, quicky finding his half-stiffened length. She ran her hand up and down it, enjoying the smoothness she felt as it quickly stiffened further. She slowly pulled it out from his boxers, moving under the covers as she did so.

This was something she had only slightly explored with Santi before. It had been a brief act, him claiming he didn’t want to cum in her mouth.

She gently ran her tongue around the head, savoring the slight salty taste of his precum that had beaded. She slowly took him into her mouth, breathing through her nose, to prevent her gag reflex from enacting. She bobbed her head up and down, her hands massaging what she couldn’t fit.

She heard him moan above her, and felt his hips jerk up slightly. The covers were pushed off her head as Santi woke up, looking down. He groaned at the sight before him; it was super sexy to see her like that.

She continued with her actions until he finally exploded in her mouth; she swallowed a couple times as she pulled away. She wiped the corner of her mouth, as she crawled back up him.

“What was that for honey?” Santi eventually asked as his senses came back to him.

“Last night. I wanted to show my appreciation for you being there for me and defending my honor,” She whispered to him.

He simply kissed her in response.

“I’ll always be there for you and defend your honor against assholes. You’re mine, my lioness,” He murmured against her lips.

With something in your mouth!

You're ripping up the dance floor honey

(You naughty woman)

It took a full month before she was able to shake off the experience. Santi was there for her every step of the way. Santi had taken to calling her Lioness, every chance he got. The nickname made her smile each time she heard it, especially when he was the only one who used it.

“Hey Lioness, we going or you goin’ to continue checkin’ yourself out,” Santi asked as he stepped into the bedroom, wondering why she was taking so long.

She had been staring at herself in the mirror making sure everything looked okay for their date.

“I don’t know. I think I look pretty hot, don’t you?” She complimented herself jokingly, twirling a bit.

He hummed as he stepped forward and checked her out in an exaggerated manner, circling her.

“Yeah. You’re pretty sexy Lioness. Now, shall we?” He offered his arm to her, giving her a flirty smile.

The two of them were going to go eat dinner and then go dancing.

Their meal passed by quickly and soon they were entering a club, music blasting.

Santi led her out on the dancefloor and brought her in close, his hands firmly on her hips. The two of them danced and grinded against one another. She occasionally showed off, twirling around him, bending over backwards, and dropping down low.

He laughed a little at first but soon his laughter turned to choked groans as he tried to smother his arousal as she showed off her moves, purposefully grinding against his crotch.

She was having fun, enjoying teasing him and hearing his grunts. They had been dancing for about an hour before he had enough. He took her hand and dragged her outside into the alleyway.

The cool air felt nice on her heated skin, but she wasn’t able to enjoy it for long as Santi pinned her to the wall in a deep kiss. She giggled softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands burying into his hair.

His hand snuck under her skirt, massaging her thigh, hooking it around his hip.

“Been drivin’ me nuts all night darlin’. Where exactly did you learn all that?” He asked as he kissed her neck.

“Told you. I went clubbing a lot. Had to learn some moves, to snag a guy,” She said with a soft moan as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

“Good to know,” He murmured his hips rocking into hers.

She could feel his hard on that she had caused and tried to hide her grin by biting her lip.

She heard him undo his pants slightly and felt her body tremble with anticipation. He shoved her underwear out of the way as he buried his length into her. The two of them both moaned at the sensation.

Their movements were hurried, neither of them wanting to be caught.

All too soon, the both of them were reaching their peaks with happy sighs. The two of them quickly sorted their clothes out, a moment before a group of people walked out into the alley to smoke.

Her and Santi quickly left before the group could notice anything off with them. Santi took her home, joining her upstairs for a much more thorough appreciation of her.

You shake your ass around for everyone!

I love the way you dance with anybody

(The way you swing)

Another couple of months had passed, and they had taken the next steps and she had moved into his place. The two of them having been together for almost 2 years now.

The only thing she really had to adjust to was just how often the gang come over to hang out. At first, it wasn’t a problem, but it had begun to feel like she never got any alone time with Santi when she wasn’t at work.

Today, she had gotten off early, and was texting Santi to let him know, hoping to have a late lunch with him or just watch something together. She had picked up their favorite orders from a local sandwich shop, drinks, and all.

She stepped into the apartment, freezing slightly when she heard multiple voices coming from the living room.

She walked over to the living room, raising an eyebrow. The guys had arrived early that morning, disturbing the happy mood she was in. Santi and she had woken up early, and she was feeling frisky and wanted some attention from him. Before they could get very far, the front door opened and in came Benny with no hesitation.

Frankie and Will had the decency to look apologetic for barging when they greeted her that morning.

“Still… here… I see. Don’t yall… I don’t know… have your own homes to go to… girlfriends, fiancés that sort of thing?” She asked not particularly happy to see them.

Santi winced as he answered, “Hey, sorry, we have a mission coming up. We have been strategizing.”

She nodded, unimpressed.

“Okay. Well. When you remember you have a girlfriend who wanted to have lunch with her boyfriend, alone, I’ll be in our bedroom….” She said annoyed, tossing his sandwich onto the table with his drink as she muttered. “Making no noise and pretending I don’t exist.”

She strolled into their bedroom, closing the door firmly. She changed into some cotton shorts and his old army shirt, before making herself comfortable on the bed and turning the TV on.

She had taken an aggressive bite out of her sandwich when the door opened to reveal Santi who looked a bit confused.

“Hey… what was that?” He asked her.

She didn’t answer, just pointedly stare at the TV, flicking through Netflix.

He slowly approached her, taking a seat on the bed.

“I understand that they are your friends. Hell, they are basically your brothers. I get it. However, do they have to be here…. everyday at all hours of the day? They came here at 6am and have yet to leave,” She began feeling herself getting frustrated.

She took a breath as she also felt guilty for complaining and shook her head.

“Forget it. Just… go finish your strategizing. Clearly, it’s important,” She stopped, taking another bite as she chose some random animal documentary.

Santi opened his mouth to speak but stopped, sighing heavily.

“It should only be an hour more,” He estimated, as he got up and slowly walked back out.

She made a noncommittal noise in response, focusing on the soothing sound of David Attenborough’s narration.

About halfway through the documentary, Santi had returned, a bag in hand. He took a seat near her again, and quietly unloaded the bag one item at a time. He placed each item in front of her: her favorite candy, chips, drinks. He also placed some flowers and a random plush.

She glanced down at it noticing it was one of those reversible octopus plushie with a smiley face on one side and a frown on the other. The frown side was facing her.

“The guys left. It’s just us. Mind telling me what’s going on in that mind of yours, honey,” He spoke softly.

“I don’t mind the guys being here. I do mind when they just waltz in without knocking. Or are here several days in a row. I get… I get that this is your apartment and I’ve only been living here 2 months but… I feel like I am just… your roommate. Not… your girlfriend,” She explained, pausing the documentary beforehand.

Santi nodded in understanding, “I see… yeah… This place has been… a bachelor pad of sorts for a long while even after we began to date. I will… talk to the guys. You’re right. This should be OUR place.”

“I feel stupid for getting short with you about this,” She whispered softly looking down at the plush, playing with it.

Santi scooted forward, sitting next to her, putting his arm around her.

“Don’t. I… I was excited to see your texts and was trying to hurry up our meeting so we could be alone, just wasn’t going as planned. You are perfectly allowed to be annoyed. Just gotta talk to me baby,” He told her pressing a kiss to her shoulder and her cheeks.

She nodded somewhat shyly.

“Did you really go out and get all of this?” She asked him, motioning to the pile of junk food before her.

“Yep. I did. Now then shall we finish this documentary, and I’ll make dinner to make up for missing our lunch date?” Santi offered kissing her hand.

She nodded once, “Can we watch the next one in the series too?”

Santi chuckled and said, “Yeah. We can watch the next one too. We can watch whatever you want.”

The two of them watched the rest of the one she began, and the next one. As they watched it, she slowly reverted the octopus to the happy side causing a small smile to appear on Santi’s face.

When the second documentary ended, Santi got up to go make dinner. She followed him wanting to help him prep food. He turned on the radio, which made her smile. As the two of them cooked, she danced around him, shaking her hips.

He laughed at her, as she convinced him to dance a little between stirs. Santi slowly realized it had been a while since they had spent time together, just relaxing. He had recognized that she had a point, since she moved in, they hadn’t really spent time together as a couple.

When a slow song came on, he turned the fire on low, and pulled her in close. He swayed softly with her, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like a roommate and not my girlfriend. That wasn’t my intention,” He whispered to her as they danced.

“Apology accepted. I just… I love you and I was excited to spend the day with you and was disappointed,” She admitted quietly.

“I love you too. Promise me you’ll tell me if something’s bothering you next time?” He pleaded as the song ended.

“I promise. As long as you do the same,” She said back, as they pulled apart and finished up making dinner.

They made their plates and ate, catching up on what’s been going on with work.

Afterwards, they cuddled on the bed, and ate her 20 snacks together. She slowly fell asleep in his arms as they watched another documentary. In the morning, he was planning to talk to the guys about everything. He knew they wouldn’t care too much about setting some rules and would be understanding once her reaction from early was explained.

And tease them all by sucking on your thumb

You're so much cooler when you never pull it out

It took some time but after that, the guys made more conscious efforts to knock and not be there every day. She had apologized to them for her attitude when she saw them again. The three of them waved it off, ruffling her hair.

“We were being annoying. It’s not a big deal,” Frankie said with a shrug.

The boys with their girls plus baby Isabella were over for to watch a football game, a few days later.

“Yeah. We are not upset,” Will chimed in with a half-smile.

Benny bounded over and gave a loud exaggerated kiss to her head, “MWAH. You’re fine, Prada.”

She shook her head at the nickname that the boys had taken to calling her.

The boys piled in the living room to watch the game with beers. Emma, Valeria, and Maura joined her in the kitchen, wine glasses all around as they gossiped.

“So… Prada… have you ever designed a wedding dress?” Valeria asked her.

“Not yet. Why?” She questioned curiously.

“Well. I have everything else decided, but I cannot find a dress that I absolutely love you know? I’ve been to 4 different boutiques. Think you can help me out?” Valeria explained, with a tired sigh.

She held up a finger, telling her to wait a moment. She ran over to the desk in the living room that had her sketchbook, fabric swatches, and pencils. She grabbed all three items, rushing back over to the island.

“Alright. Describe to me what style you want, and then we will work on material,” She stated as she got comfortable with her sketchbook and pencils.

Valeria spent an hour describing the dress she was looking for, including fabrics. Once it was finished, she revealed what she came up with. Valeria gasped then squealed excitedly.

“That’s it! Oh… Now the real question… can it be made?” Valeria asked worriedly.

Prada took a photo of it and sent it to one of the designers, who made dresses as a side job, asking if this could be done. A minute later, she got a response telling her yes.

“Yes. It can be done. I’ll set up a meet so you can get measured and get it started,” She tells Valeria who tackles her in a hug.

“Think they can also do bridesmaid dresses?” Valeria asked hesitantly.

“Probably. I’ll talk with him,” She said with a nod.

The four of them continued to talk about wedding plans while the boys continued to watch the game. When the game ended, they had made their way into the kitchen to collect their wine drunk ladies who had been reduced to giggles.

Santi and she said their goodbyes with everyone and collapsed on to the couch together. She had made cinnamon rolls earlier and they snagged the last one. They shared it, not bothering with silverware, ripping off pieces randomly.

As they ate, she noticed that he had some icing on his thumb and she teasingly licked it off. He raised an eyebrow at the sudden intimate moment she created.

“Darling. You are going to be the death of me one of these days,” He said somewhat seriously as he kissed her, abandoning the last of the cinnamon roll.

“Hmm. Yes. But you see… I had a more nefarious plan…” She said ominously.

He looked at her confused watching as she suddenly shoved the last of the cinnamon roll into her mouth and running away.

“Mine!” She called out, her mouth full.

She heard him chase after her, she chewed quickly, swallowing as she reached the bedroom. She coughed a moment when it got caught slightly in her throat. Santi caught up to her, staring at her incredulously.

“Rude. Very rude. Distracting me to catch me off guard and steal our cinnamon roll? That deserves a punishment of some sort,” Santi teased, shaking his head.

She cleared her throat and asked, “Promise?”

He growled a bit, picking her up and tossing her on the bed, her giggles followed by her moans, filling the air.

Life was full of surprises. Santi wasn’t expecting his Lioness to come into his life, but he wouldn’t trade her for the world.

'Cause you look so much cuter with something in your

#santi x reader #santiago pope garcia #Triple Frontier #song fic

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badsext · 3 years

Note

I wish you would write a Leon fic.. that's it. That's the message 😅

Scene Partners: Leon X Reader

Thank you for the request @misskittysmagicportal. I love Leon. I hope I’m doing him justice.

Summary: After Leon’s ill fated role as Neil Armstrong in the fake moon landing, he decided that fancy acting classes would be just the thing to launch (pun intended) his career as a serious actor.

Warning: Very irresponsible and spontaneous smut (Please use protection IRL) 18+ and suggested assault of a character within a play. I hid the smut under the ‘read more’. These warnings make it sound heavier than it is...it’s actually super light and fun.

________________________________________________________

Johnny looked at Leon incredulously. “Where are you going at 10:00 AM on a Thursday morning?”

Leon looked his best mate in the eye and lied. “The pub, of course.”

In fact, this was the first day in months he wasn’t drunk or high...Alright, maybe just a toke or two to take the edge off. He even washed his hair and put on a turtleneck because that is what serious actors wore. Leon had lied and stumbled his way into a local university Theatre School, financing his tuition with a fraudulent cheque.

It was only an introductory scene workshop for beginners, but after watching the real Neil Armstrong walk on the Moon, Leon aspired to do great things. He arrived at the theatre more or less on time and with an inflated sense of purpose. It smelled like dust and leather and old wood. Framed photographs of former students lined the hallowed halls. Nervousness began to set in. He felt like an imposter, just like he did when Johnny had asked him to impersonate Stanley Kubrick some months ago. Accept this time, the only thing he had to impersonate was a man with confidence. After a brief internal struggle, Leon decided that he would go to the pub after all. There was always next Thursday.

As he reached for the door, a young woman had just entered, shaking the rain off her umbrella. Seeing how cute she was, Leon immediately changed course.

“Are you here for the workshop?,” she asked politely.

“Yes, I am,” he replied with a bashful smile. “I’m Leon.”

When she took off her coat, he saw how she wore a very similar black turtleneck.

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you, Leon.” She paused, looking up from her cat eye glasses. “I think we might be late!,” she added urgently. He followed her onto the workshop, sitting beside her in the back row of chairs. His interest in y/n distracted him from the enormity of the theatre and his growing stage fright.

The professor explained the warm up exercises, but Leon learned nothing. He was watching y/n chew on her fountain pen. They started with a series of vocalizations and deep breathing. Leon watched y/n’s chest and diaphragm expand and contract with each concentrated breath. Once she caught him staring, he would look up to the rafters or down at his shoes, thoughtfully scratching his beard. She smiled at his lack of subtlety.

The professor distributed scenes to the students at random. Leon looked down at his script. His stage fright resurfaced as he read the words at the top of the page. ‘Macbeth: Act 4, Scene 1.’ The ‘Second Witch’ part had been highlighted.

The students were given fifteen minutes to rehearse their scenes wherein Leon mumbled and stumbled through his lines. The actresses playing the other witches were good-natured about it, but everyone knew the scene would be shit.

He broke into a sweat as the actors were called to the stage. His mind was nothing but static at that point. He watched the actresses move their lips, hunched in crone-like fashion and wiggling their fingers over an imaginary cauldron. They chanted in unison:

“Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

When they stopped, everyone looked at Leon. This was his line. The last ‘bubble’ just hung in the air while the silence took over. He gave it his best effort, though his voice was weak and his hands were shaking.

“Fillet of a fanny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of twat and tongue of hog.”

His hands shook with such force that he dropped the script.

“Oh, bollocks - It’s gone in the soup!” He improvised rolling up his sleeve and fishing it out of the hot cauldron.

“Leon...Leon!” It took the professor several tries to rouse him from his panic. “That’s enough, Leon. We mustn't paraphrase Shakespeare.” The students giggled. The professor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Let’s try something else, shall we?”

He turned and pulled two scripts from his briefcase, handing one to Leon. “We need something to build your confidence. You will play Stanley Kawalski. He’s a proud, domineering brute.” He beat his chest for emphasis. “And you...y/n, you will play Blanche, the jealous, simmering sexpot,” he said, casually handing her the other script.

“A Streetcar Named Desire? Wasn’t that a film with Marlon Brando?,” Leon muttered nervously.

The professor put a hand on each of their backs. “I’ll read the stage directions. Don’t think, just use your instincts.”

Leon read the lines with as much bravado as he could muster. “I've been on to you from the start! Not once did you pull any wool over this boy's eyes! You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and spray perfume and cover the light bulb with a paper lantern, and lo and behold the place has turned into Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile! Sitting on your throne and swilling down my liquor! I say--Ha!--Ha! Do you hear me? Ha--Ha--ha!”

“Okay, now he walks into the bedroom.”

Y/N cried out a warning as Blanche, “Don't come in here!”

“That was quite good,” Leon whispered, eliciting a small smile.

“Stanley goes into the bathroom and Blanche picks up the phone.”

Blanche: “Operator, operator! Give me long-distance, please.... I want to get in touch with Mr. Shep Huntleigh of Dallas. He's so well-known he doesn't require any address. Just ask anybody who--Wait! I--No, I couldn't find it right now.... Please understand, I--No! No, wait! ... One moment! Someone is--Nothing! Hold on, please!”

Leon grinned out of character, so impressed by y/n’s acting.

“Blanch is going mad now, pacing back and forth.”

Blanche: “Operator! Operator! Never mind long-distance. Get Western Union. There isn't time to be--Western--Western Union! Western Union? Yes! I--want to--Take down this message! "In desperate, desperate circumstances! Help me! Caught in a trap. Caught in--" Oh!

Stanley: “You left th' phone off th' hook.”

“Now he blocks her from the door.”

Blanche: “Let me--let me get by you!”

Stanley: “Get by me! Sure. Go ahead”

“But he only gives her an inch.”

Blanche: “You--you stand over there!”

Stanley: “You got plenty of room to walk by me now.”

Blanche: “Not with you there! But I've got to get out somehow!”

Stanley: “You think I'll interfere with you? Ha-ha!”

Blanche: “I warn you, don't, I'm in danger!”

“He takes another step and she smashes the bottle breaking it.”

Stanley: “What did you do that for?”

Blanche: “So I could twist the broken end in your face!”

Stanley: “I bet you would do that!”

Blanch: “I would! I will if you--”

Leon’s reading becomes increasingly stilted and awkward. “Oh! So you want some rough-house! All right, let's have some rough-house!”

“He springs out at her. She swipes the bottle at him, but he captures her wrist and overpowers her.”

The professor read the stage directions, but Leon wouldn’t move, delivering the next bit of dialogue with a sigh of regret. “Tiger--tiger! Drop the bottle top! Drop it! We've had this date with each other from the beginning!”

“Overpower her, Leon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t like to do that, Professor.”

“It’s acting, Leon...It’s pretend.”

“I don’t even want to pretend. Stanley is horrid and I hate him.”

The professor rolled his eyes, disregarding Leon’s protest. Then he clapped his hands together addressing the other students. “Okay, everybody, that’s it for today. I want you off book by next week.”

The students started getting up from their chairs and shuffling their things. Y/N approached Leon who was staring down at the stage with his arms folded. He looked up anxiously as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. Meet me in the ladies room in five minutes.

Leon was at first confused, then his eyes widened with surprise when he realized what she meant. She laughed and swaggered away.

Y/N spotted Leon lurking by the door. “Leon, that was three minutes, at most. Luckily everybody left after class. At least I think so,” she added with a cheeky grin. “Come here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the cubicle. Do you want to shag?

Leon nodded his head. “Y-yes.”

“I liked what you did today,” she said, removing her knickers. “It was very chivalrous of you.”

Y/N tilted her head and kissed him. He inhaled at the contact of her lips.

She pulled back and looked him in his glistening green eyes. “Go on then.”

“What ‘d ya mean?

“Fuck me, Leon.”

“Shouldn’t I, you know...foreplay?”

“Leon, I’m already soaked. Get your cock out and fuck me.”

Leon quickly unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall down around his ankles. She turned with her back against the partition wall and one foot on the toilet seat. He lifted her tartan skirt and drove up inside her, groaning at the tight wet sensation. She inhaled through her teeth, clutching at his shoulders, then wrapping her arms around his neck. Leon closed the gap between them, his pelvic bone at the base of his cock creating a throbbing pressure on her clit as he thrust. The hard bouncing rhythm made her glasses fall askew. She whimpered and moaned as the orgasm pulsed through her, overwhelming her senses.

“Was that?...Did you?”

Her eyelids drooped peacefully. “Um hm.”

He smiled, encouraged and continued thrusting. His eyes shined like Christmas trees. She pet his curls, watching the pleasure wash over his face.

“I’m gonna…”

“Don’t stop, sweetie.”

He plowed into her, releasing his warm seed with a hearty grunt.

“Bravo, Leon,” she smirked.

@bubblyani @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley @helena-way07 @chipster-21 @punknatch @slutforrobbiebro

#Leon x reader #leon x reader smut #Robert Sheehan character fic #Robert Sheehan fanfic #Robert sheehan request #moonwalkers #moonwalkers fanfic #robert sheehan imagine #smut

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cmi-miu · 3 years

Text

Ya’aburnee - Chapter 7 (Seventeen Soulmate AU)

Soulmate AU: The last words your soulmate says to you are the words tattooed on your wrist.

Pairing: SoonWoo, JiHan, SeokHao

Title: Ya'aburnee (arabic): yak-BER-nee (n.) lit. "you bury me"; the hope that your lover or beloved will outlive you as to spare yourself the pain of living beyond that person.

Chapter Summary: This is a JiHan chapter so obviously it’s plain and simple fluff sprinkled with a little bit of Hosh and Josh sibling love.

Jisoo eyes the Skype icon that keeps vibrating as he curses the day Soonyoung was born. He had clearly told his brother he’d come online today and lo and behold! Soonyoung was nowhere to be seen. He’s this close to disowning the man when the great Mr Kwon Soonyoung finally decides to answer the call.

“I know I am late but please understand I couldn’t find my laptop charger!” Soonyoung speaks a mile a minute to avoid Jisoo’s chiding. When he sees the man’s frown only double in size, he brings out his hands in front of him and waves them about exclaiming, “I’m sorry im sorry im sorry!”

At brother’s pleading expression and pouting lips, Jisoo doesn’t stand a chance. And it seems Soonyoung knows because he’s part snickering as he apologises. “Urgh!” Jisoo screams, pulling at his hair comically and had Soonyoung not been begging the man for forgiveness, he would’ve guffawed at his expression. “I hate when you make that face!”

Soonyoung knows now that he’s in the clear so he snickers and exclaims, “love you too, Josh!” He shakes his head when Jisoo mock glares at him and raises an eye cheekily as he asks, “so? Where’s Jeonghan? I wanna meet him! Show me! Show me! Show me!”

Rolling his eyes and sighing Jisoo places his elbow on the table and his face in his palm, grouching, “he just went to the bathroom. We’d been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung whines, “I just got back from work. I’m exhausted.” The younger slams his head into his pillow making his tablet fall down. Propping it up by its side, Soonyoung continues looking at Jisoo with a wonky smile. It’s a different colour of Soonyoung and Jisoo can’t put a finger on it but something seems to have changed.

The elder chooses to voice his suspicious out with a tiny grin, “you seem content. Not happy, but content” Soonyoung laughs at his brother’s comment. The same old, crinkled eyes, hands on his mouth laughter. “Is it safe to assume you have a crush? Who is it? Your boss?”

Soonyoung’s expression sours at the words and he crinkles his nose funnyly, “my Boss is an old man, old man. And no,” Soonyoung shakes his head, his hair flopping, “I’m not crushing on anyone lately. I just had a good time last weekend with Wonwoo.”

Now Jisoo is very curious. Soonyoung having a good time is, in itself, a miracle ever since he forced himself into this marriage with Wonwoo. And to think that he’s had a good time with said husband? Jisoo absolutely has to know what’s that all about.

“Why? What’d you guys do?” Jisoo asks nonchalantly. Trying very hard to hide his curiosity about the matter.

“Nothing much,” Soonyoung shrugs, a small smile on his lips, “we watched some anime. Ate some ice cream. Talked a little.” Looking back into the tablet camera, Soonyoung continues to smile as he says, “we just had a good time.”

“Well,” the elder begins, “I’m glad you two are getting along.”

The man of the other end of the call coughs a little and his expression turns uncomfortable, as he tries to steal his gaze from his brother. “I wouldn’t exactly call it getting along…” Soonyoung licks his lips uneasily and tries to think of how to continue, “we’re back to ignoring each other again but I feel like I at least know something we have in common now. Besides being unhappy with our marriage.”

“Soonyoung…” Jisoo begins already at a loss for what to say next. He wants to comfort his brother somehow, but he already knows he can’t. “Soonyoung, I know you’re scared to try but sometimes, you have to be the one to initiate any kind of friction between each other. It’s frustrating, I know.” The elder huffs a sigh and shakes his head as he continues, “I know it’s frustrating to not know if you’ll make it. It’s infuriating when you have to start all the conversations. When you don’t have a choice. But Wonwoo is a very nice guy. He’s just a little shy.”

“I know, Josh,” Soonyoung mumbles, turning on his side to stare up at the ceiling. “it’s just… after Mingyu… I’m not ready. In fact, I don’t want to. I’m happy with us just being friendly strangers. I don’t want to lose the one thing that is set in stone for me. He’s not… he’s not Mingyu.”

And the elder knows that’s not all of Soonyoung’s worries. No one would know better than him how much Soonyoung has suffered at the hands of fate just to end up in an unhappy marriage with a heartbroken man. From being rejected to having to reject so many.

To having to hear those dreaded words before saying goodbye to his soulmate.

Soonyoung has suffered so many heartbreaks in his small twenty-seven years of life that Jisoo can’t even fathom how the man smiles at him every time they speak.

He remembers that one time when Soonyoung was sixteen and had confessed to a girl that he liked her, only to be rudely rejected because she was already in love with someone else.

When Soonyoung was eighteen and had gone out with another for two days before he was dumped because the words on his wrist scared her (as if it was Soonyoung that would cause her death).

And that time when Soonyoung was twenty-one, his boyfriend had dumped him because he was so sure he had found his soulmate.

Or when Soonyoung was only twenty-five when his third boyfriend died after saying goodbye. When the words on Soonyoung’s left hand wrist glowed golden as his soulmate boarded the plane.

Yep. Life didn’t deal Soonyoung the best cards and Jisoo was no stranger to this. But, seeing his brother smiling quietly, despite his worried eyes staring back at him, he couldn’t help but wonder if Soonyoung had finally found a person to call his own now.

“I think Wonwoo’s the one, Soonyoung,” Jisoo mutters, smiling quietly at his brother. “Try and get to know him. Try and be the sixteen-year-old who randomly confessed to a girl because he liked her stockings.”

Soonyoung laughs out loud at the mention of Minyeo, his high school crush, and relishes in his attempt at a proper confession. He’d always been a little too impulsive when it came to feelings and even, he found it disturbing sometimes.

“Let’s keep sixteen-year-old me out of the conversation,” Soonyoung sniggers, “and talk about Mr Yoon Jeonghan. Where is he?”

“Oh! Right!” Jisoo grins, turning his head to the bathroom and screaming, “Jeonghan! Come out now or I’m bringing the phone into the shower!”

Soonyoung sniggers at his dramatic brother and watches Jisoo smile when the sound of the bathroom door opening makes him look up.

“Soonyoung?” Wonwoo calls him then. Soonyoung turns to find him peeping into the room as if unsure if he’s allowed to enter his home office. Soonyoung smiles at his husband, lazily waving him over as he points at his tablet.

“Jisoo’s online!” He exclaims, smirking giddily when Wonwoo rushes over to his side and pushes him out of the screen to say hello to his brother.

“Josh!” Wonwoo waves at him, smiling happily. “How’s LA?”

“Wonwoo! LA is amazing! The weather here is to die for! You two should’ve been here!”

“Maybe next time,” Wonwoo smiles, shooting a glance at Soonyoung who looks just as baffled by the declaration as Jisoo does. “Where’s that mysterious boyfriend of yours that Soonyoung’s always talking about?”

Jisoo starts speaking but before he can even get a word out the camera shakes violently and his voice turns staticky.

“Is he out now?” Soonyoung yells into his headphones, but he can't make out anything his brother is saying. Annoyance discolours Jisoo’s face and then the camera turns to show a handsome young man waving at Soonyoung and Wonwoo.

They laugh at the goofy smile on the man’s face. They already know it’s Jeonghan, Jisoo’s boyfriend, acting cheeky in the video call, completely ignoring his angry boyfriend in the background.

The camera shakes a little and Jeonghan’s face comes into view. There are soap suds under his chin, and he looks every bit of that goof Jisoo had said he was. And Soonyoung giggles at the man waving a soapy hand at him, supposedly speaking. But the audio is lost.

Jisoo jumps up behind his boyfriend and seems to be yelling at the man, pointing at the phone and Soonyoung is severely confused but everything that’s going on screen is hilarious. Even without the audio, both Soonyoung and Wonwoo can tell that Jeonghan probably did something while picking up the phone that made the audio cut and now Jisoo was yelling at the taller man. Hands on his hips and a full-on mommy expression of his face.

Jeonghan pouting like a little boy with his head down is the cherry on top and Soonyoung finds himself laughing till his cheeks hurt.

But that’s not even the best part of the call. It’s when Wonwoo carelessly leans on his shoulder while laughing like a madman at his brother.

It’s the pleasant weight on his shoulders that Wonwoo is generous enough to grace him with that makes the night wonderful.

Soonyoung cuts the call after a while when Jisoo texts him that Jeonghan got water into the speakers and now the audio doesn’t work anymore.

They end up laughing for another hour at his brother’s obvious annoyance.

#caratwritersclub #carats #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic rec #seventeen soulmate au #svt #svt fanfic #svt otp #svt soulmate au #svt angst #jihan #jihan fluff #jihan boyfriends #ya'aburnee #dunyazatde

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snowyseba · 4 years

Text

Miles Away

Summary: A Rockstar!Steve AU. Steve Rogers was known to most people as the lead guitarist for the Howling Commandos, but to you, he was also your boyfriend, or at least you thought he was. Lately, though, you weren’t so sure. He was barely around anymore and seemed to want nothing to do with you. Wrapped up in his own emotions, Steve won’t even hear you out, choosing to ignore you rather than confront his own failings. An unexpected phone call during the Howling Commando’s tour brings everything crashing down around him. How is he supposed to fix this mess?

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: angst, swearing, Steve is kind asshole, pregnancy & injury during pregnancy, fluff

Posted 12/18/19

Well fuck. The little plus sign on the stick in front of you changed everything. You and Steve had been together for just over three years now, living together for two of those years, but you’d never really talked about kids. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them eventually, but the subject just never came up, especially with his career taking off rapidly. Hell, you’d never really talked about your future. If you did talk about the future, it was always about his plans and his band, The Howling Commandos. You didn’t regret dating a musician; you had known what you were signing up for when you started the relationship. Hell, the fact that he was a guitarist was part of the appeal in the first place.

Lately, though, things weren’t great. Steve was busy, which was nothing new given his crazy schedule, but there seemed to be less and less time for you. Despite living together, it felt like you saw him less than ever. Most mornings, he was still sleeping when you left for work, not bothering to get up or say goodbye, and he’d stumble home well after you had fallen asleep each night. You might have been living together, but your lives had never felt more separate. He used to make time for you, or at least text you to let you know that he was running late. Not anymore, though. You were lucky if you got a few messages a day.

Maybe that’s why you started clinging to him. The more distant he got, the harder you tried. And the harder you tried, the more you seemed to drive him away. You felt like you were annoying him, but you shouldn’t have to beg for even the smallest bit of attention, not to mention affection, from your own partner. The more he pushed you away, the harder you held on.

Something was broken between the two of you, but you couldn’t fix it if he wouldn’t talk to you, and lately, that seemed like the last thing he wanted to do. You were running out of time. Steve was leaving for tour tomorrow, and you still hadn’t found a time to tell him you’re pregnant. You had been trying for a week now, but every time you tried to talk to him, he’d make some excuse about running late for a meeting, or having to go meet the guys to rehearse. Tonight was your last chance, and then he’d be gone for three months. You’d be showing by the time he got back. Sooner or later, the truth would come out.

So there you were, perched on the ledge of the bathtub, staring down at the positive pregnancy test, wondering just how the hell you were going to tell Steve. You’d wait up for him, you decided, no matter how late he was. The positive test was just confirmation; you had suspected that you were pregnant for a while now but had been too scared to buy a test. It would have been easier if you could have told Steve your suspicions, but your main form of communication lately was texts. This deserved an in-person discussion.

Four hours later, it was just past midnight. You were exhausted, but you were determined to stay awake. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait much longer; Steve returned minutes later. The second you heard the door open, you felt the familiar pit in your stomach. Dread. That was the only word you could think of.

“Oh, uh, hey babe...I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“Well, I’m up,” you tried to sound playful, but you barely managed to conceal how shaky your voice was. “I was actually hoping to talk to you.”

“Not now, babe.” Steve shook his head, waving dismissively. “I’m tired and tour starts tomorrow. We can talk in the morning.”

You sighed in frustration, shaking your head. “No. We’re talking right now. I’ve been waiting for you all night. I barely see you anymore. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. This is really important, Steve.”

“Jesus, Y/N. I’m fuckin’ exhausted can you just drop it? I said we’ll talk tomorrow. Fuck, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

“Well,” you huffed, still keeping your hand on his wrist, certain that he’d walk away the second you let go. “I’ve been trying to explain what’s gotten into me but you won’t even give me the chance! Fuck, Steve, I’m just asking for some goddamn time. We don’t talk. Hell, we don’t even see each other awake anymore!”

Steve tugged his arm away from you at that. “You know what, fuck you, Y/N. I’m gonna crash with Bucky for the night. I’ll see you after tour. I can’t do this right now.”

“Steve! Don’t walk away from me! I’m trying to tell you something really important!”

He retreated up the stairs and all you could do was stare after him in stunned silence, a shaky hand pressed against your stomach as you slowly sank to the ground, body shaking with silent tears. Fuck. What were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t just blurt out that you’re pregnant. Who knows how Steve would have taken that.

Steve didn’t even give you a second glance as he stalked through the front door, weekender bag overstuffed with clothes slung over his shoulder. He paused at the door, turning, looking at you silently for a few moments. His brow furrowed and his fists were clenched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I...look, we’ll talk after tour, babe. But...I need a break. I can’t do this clingy shit. That’s not what I signed up for. I don’t know what’s up with you, but maybe some time apart will be good for us. I think that maybe we shouldn’t talk until I get back, though. Whatever it is you needed to tell me, it can wait until I get back.”

Ouch. Okay. “Fine,” you struggled to keep your voice calm, failing to prevent it from shaking and giving your emotions away.

And then he was gone without so much as a goodbye. Maybe you should have argued with him. Maybe you should have told him you’re pregnant despite his insistence that the news could wait, but you were tired. Tired of being the one who cared more, tired of being the person trying to fix everything when it was clear that Steve didn’t care. Steve had made up his mind, and it seemed like he was going to give you no choice but to accept it.

There was a huge part of you that wanted to fall apart completely, to close the curtains and curl up in bed for days, but you couldn’t do that. You had another life to think about now, and you had to try to take care of yourself. From now on, you’d focus your energy on your baby. Your baby. That brought a smile to your face despite everything, your hand still gently cradling your stomach. From the moment you found out, you knew you were going to keep this baby. No matter what happened with Steve, you’d always have your baby. You’d give them all the love in the world. With or without Steve, you were going to make sure that this baby had the best life possible.

Ten Weeks Along.

Today was your first ultrasound appointment. The doctor said you were measuring a bit bigger than expected given the date of conception, so she had ordered an ultrasound to confirm your due date. You had desperately tried to get ahold of Steve, leaving him several texts and a voicemail, but so far there was no word from him. You were still conflicted about telling him that he was going to be a father over the phone, but you could have really used his support. All of this was so new and unfamiliar.

Nat, a longtime friend of Steve’s who you’d quickly come to consider one of your closest friends, offered to come and was meeting you at the clinic. Nat was over the moon and eagerly agreed to go with you. You were glad that you wouldn’t be alone, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it should be Steve by your side, sharing in the incredible experience of seeing the little life you had created for the first time. The Howling Commandos’ tour had barely begun, but he was already missing so much. In the short amount of time that Steve had been gone, you noticed a small bump was forming. To most people, it would probably just look like you’d overindulged at your last meal, but you knew better. Still, you were surprised. You figured that you were fairly early in your pregnancy, so why were you starting to show already? Then again, that was why you were here.

Next to you, Nat was practically bouncing in her seat as the doctor applied the gel to your bump, and she was the first one to spot the second baby, your second baby.

“Oh!” Nat squealed, gripping your hand tightly in her own, pointing at the screen. “Is that...are those...two?”

As it would turn out, the reason for your measurements was that you were currently carrying not one but two babies inside you. Lo and behold, there were two little blips on the screen. Baby A and Baby B.

“You’ve got a good eye!” your OB/GYN grinned. “See that, momma? Looks like you’re going to have your hands full.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Being called ‘momma’ and seeing your babies growing safely within you was incredible, but there was something, someone missing. Fuck. Now you really had to tell Steve. One baby, you might be able to handle on your own, but after hearing all the potential complications and concerns that came with having two babies, you weren’t so sure that you could do this on your own.

Nat fixed you with a knowing gaze before glancing up at the other woman. “Could you give us a moment?”

She nodded, stepping around the examination table and excusing herself. “I’ll be right out here when you’re ready.”

As soon as the door closed, the dam burst and you couldn’t help the sob that left your lips as you pressed a hand against your stomach.

“Oh honey, c’mere” Nat wrapped her arms around you in an instant, rubbing gentle circles over your back as she held you. It was the most intimacy you had felt since Steve left, and it made you cry all the harder. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Not that I’m not thrilled to be here, but...shouldn’t Steve...I mean, wouldn’t he want to be here for this?”

You pulled back from her, avoiding her gaze as you whispered dejectedly. “I wouldn’t know,” you paused. “He doesn’t know.”

“Y/N?” Nat’s voice was even, but you could tell she was trying hard to keep it that way. “What do you mean he doesn’t know?”

And so you told her. You told Nat everything - how distant Steve had been, how he had told you that he wanted space, how he was ignoring you texts and calls, how he had walked out on you that night without so much as a second glance. By the end of your story, Nat was fuming. She had stopped rubbing soothing circles over your back, now just gripping you tightly against her. Coming to sit on the exam table in front of you, she took your hands in her own, squeezing reassuringly. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back home, and we’re going to call him. I’m going to be with you, and we’re not going to give up until he actually picks up. This is too important for him to ignore.”

“You have reached Steve Rogers. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

That was the tenth time in a row you were sent straight to voicemail after a single ring. This was just getting childish. Steve was now actively ignoring you. He wouldn’t even give you the chance to try to have a conversation with him. You didn’t want to tell him about something this important via text, but he really wasn’t giving you much of a choice at this point.

“What an asshole,” Nat’s voice did little to mask her resentment towards Steve. “Has it been like this the whole time?”

You nodded, trying not to fixate on the pitying look Nat gave you.”Haven’t heard from him since he left. He said he wanted a break. Fuck, Nat, I told him I had something important to tell him and he...he just told me it could wait. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”

Panic was rapidly bubbling deep in the pit of your stomach. Tears pricked at your eyes, quickly spilling over, your breath catching in your throat as you paced the length of your living room, wringing your hands. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore? What if he doesn’t want us? What am I supposed to do, Nat? I don’t know if I can do this by myself. I can’t have two babies on my own. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.”

“Y/N, you’ve gotta breathe. Can you do that for me? Take a deep breath, you’re starting to hyperventilate.”

Although you registered her words, you couldn’t stop. Thoughts were racing, and it felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest. What on earth were you supposed to do now? You weren’t sure if you were prepared to face the very possible reality of doing this without Steve. You were too wrapped up in your thoughts to even notice that you were about to walk right into the coffee table.

Nat shrieked your name, and you looked up at her in a panic, but it was too late, your foot caught on the leg of the table, and you went tumbling forward. Nat sprung into action, propelling herself towards you in a frantic attempt to catch you, but she was too late. You had already fallen.

Steve snuck away from the rest of the band to tune his guitar. As much as he loved his bandmates, he needed some space after traveling in such close quarters and spending most of time each day with them, some time to clear his head. The way he had left things with you didn’t sit well with him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. If he could just keep himself busy, maybe he wouldn’t have to think about it.

“Steve! Fuck, man, I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you!” Bucky’s voice reverberated through the empty arena. It wouldn’t be that way for too much longer, though. Only a little while left before that night’s show, and it was sold out. Soon, the fans would start filing in, the anticipation building until that magical moment when Steve and the band stepped out onto the stage. Those were the moments he lived for, when the worries and stresses of life washed away and he was able to truly live in the moment, sharing what he loved with these people who had made time in their lives just to hear him perform. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Still, Bucky sounded worried, so Steve set his guitar down on its stand and turned to his friend. “What’s up?”

Out of every possible imagined scenario, Steve never expected the words that next left Bucky’s mouth. “I’m so sorry, Steve, you’ve gotta go. Now. Y/N had a fall. They’re worried it could have hurt the babies. You’ve gotta go. They won’t tell Nat anything since she’s not family. Get your ass to the hospital, man, and you can explain why you kept your unborn children a secret from your best friend later.”

He stared at Bucky for a few seconds, trying to process the information he had just been told. Babies? Fuck. Holy fuck. You were pregnant, with more than one baby, and you had fallen. You were being taken to the hospital. He stared at Bucky, uncomprehending, but suddenly finding extremely difficult to swallow, his chest constricting tightly as the realization set in, rapidly followed by guilt, then sheer panic.

Steve had messed up. More than messed up. He was pretty sure he might have just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, something he didn’t even know about because of his own pride and stupid inability to talk about his emotions. If he got to you and those babies...Bucky hadn’t said how many, but why would he? He had obviously assumed Steve had already known. Was it twins? triplets?? Oh god... if those babies were gone, if you were hurt, he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself. He wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave him either. He had been such an asshole to you. All he could do now was hope that it wasn’t too late to fix all the damage he had done.

It was like a flip switched and before he even realized what he was doing, he had grabbed his phone booked a ticket for the next flight home. It would be tight, but if he left now, he’d make it on time to catch the flight. Meanwhile, Bucky called a cab, ushering Steve into the back seat as soon as it arrived, telling him to call as soon as he had news.

Once en route to the airport, Steve’s thoughts drifted to the night he left. He muttered vague responses to the driver’s small talk, but all his thoughts were centered around you. Something hadn’t felt right when he left you, he knew that, and yet he did so anyway. Even when you had said you had something important to tell him that night. When you had begged him to let her you out. All of a sudden, it was like everything fell into place. Of course. You were pregnant. That’s what you had been trying to tell him. That was the crucial news, and he had just walked out on you like you meant nothing to him. Worse, he told you not to contact him. He ignored your texts and calls. Oh god. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

Steve knew he had to fix this. He had no idea how, but he was going to try, and trying started with getting himself on that flight. Tour could wait. His family was in danger.

By the time Steve reached the hospital, he felt like he had run a marathon. His chest was tight, and breathing was getting harder and harder. He was exhausted, and yet on high alert. All he knew was that he needed to get to you. He was out of the Uber before it had even come to a full stop, mumbling a thank-you to the driver. Quickly shutting the door, he strode straight to the front desk, desperate to find out what room you were in. He needed to get to you as soon as he could. He only hoped it wasn’t already too late.

Thankfully, a sympathetic nurse took pity on him, “Follow me,” she’d offered with a kind smile. “She’s in room 103, at the end of the hall on your right. She’s asleep and under observation, but she’s stable so you can wait until she wakes up.”

Now here he stood, at the door to your hospital room as if some invisible forcefield were keeping him out, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. The pallid white walls emphasizing the sterile and cold environment did nothing to make him feel better. He wanted nothing more than to fall at his feet by your side, begging you to forgive him, but his feet were rooted to the spot. Did he even deserve that? He had abandoned you completely when you needed him the most. He hadn’t even given you the chance to tell him about the babies, his babies. At that moment, he was pretty sure he was the world’s biggest asshole and he was going to spend the rest of this pregnancy, if not the rest of his life, making up for it.

Taking a shaky breath, he approached your bed, carefully sitting in the adjacent chair so as not to wake you. You looked exhausted, even asleep, and he felt his heart constrict with shame and guilt. His fingertips brushed over your hair gently, whether to reassure you or himself he wasn’t sure.

Steve remained silent for a while, listening to your breathing, his eyes fixed on the slight swell of your stomach that definitely hadn’t been there when he left for tour, the swell that currently housed his babies. You could have easily fallen on your stomach when you tripped. The thought ignited a spark of guilt deep within him that soon felt like it was consuming him completely. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head and looking away for the first time since arriving. If he had been there, he could have caught you. He could have been there if he had known. Maybe he could have even prevented this. Things were going to have to change, moving forward.

Finally, he found the courage to speak. He took your hand in his, giving it a hesitant squeeze. “Hey, princess. I don’t know if you can hear me or not but I’m so sorry. I was an asshole. I was so beyond out of line, and I should never have left you the way I did. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been a horrible dad so far, but I promise I’ll do better.”

Your eyes fluttered slightly, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t imagining it. “Y/N?” Instinctively, his grip on your hand tightened as he waited with bated breath, searching for any sign that you had heard him.

He was almost about to give up hope, turning his attention to your belly and the babies within, when he heard you utter a small, groggy “Stevie?”

A sharp inhale left the man beside you as his eyes suddenly flicked from your belly to your face, searching for confirmation that he wasn’t making this up. When he saw your eyes open, looking at him with an albeit confused expression of love and gratefulness that he wasn’t entirely sure he deserved, he could barely stop himself from crying. “Oh, sweetheart...I’m so sorry, I -”

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Steve and alerting you to the doctor’s presence. “Ah, Mr. Rogers, it’s a good thing you’re here. Do you have a moment to discuss your results?”

“Of course,” Steve answered automatically, his grip on your hand tightening. His hand was clammy, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Now, the good news is, your results looking within the normal levels for a twin pregnancy, but you did fell, which can cause some problems. You haven’t had any contractions, and there’s no sign of blood or amniotic fluid loss. Everything is looking okay so far, but I’d still like to do an ultrasound just to make sure. You’ll need to make sure she’s taking it easy. Dad,” she looked at Steve, who’s somber expression suddenly brightened as the name sunk in, “you’ll want to make sure she’s resting enough. Make sure you’re staying hydrated and eating enough as well. Let’s make sure we try to avoid any future falls as well. Now, let’s take a peek at these babies.”

The moment Steve saw the two little blobs on the screen, when he heard the rapid thump thump thump of the twins’ hearts, it was like his whole world shifted. Suddenly, all he wanted was to stay here with you and his family. This was where he truly belonged, and he was an idiot for jeopardizing it in the first place.

How was he supposed to just go back out on tour, spend weeks and months on end away from you, all while knowing that you were at home, alone, carrying his babies? He didn’t want to miss another minute. The Howling Commandos would be okay without him for the rest of this tour. They could get a temporary replacement guitarist for him. He was okay with stepping out of the limelight for a while. Being able to be here for you and experience this together was better than all the applause in the world. The beating of his babies’ hearts was more captivating than any music he had ever heard.

After the doctor left, cautioning you again to make sure not to overdo it, you and Steve sat together in silence. He was still gripping your hand in his, his eyes glossy. Even though it wasn’t your first ultrasound, you still couldn’t help but tear up when you saw your little ones. Although Steve had stayed silent, fixated on the screen, you didn’t mind. If anything, you were moved by how he was completely captivated by the two little lives inside you, and you didn’t miss the way his hand tightened around yours when their heartbeats filled the silence.

“Y/N...” he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “fuck, baby, I’m so sorry. I know sorry doesn’t cover it, but I swear, I’m gonna make this up to you. When Bucky told me you were in the hospital, that our babies were in danger, shit, I was terrified. I had everything I ever wanted and I was too much of an asshole to even let you tell me.”

As much as you wanted to forgive him, to comfort him, now that you were over the shock of him actually being here, part of you was still apprehensive. “You walked out on me, Steve. You walked out without even looking back. How am I supposed to trust you? You’ll be on tour for months after this. Honestly, I don’t know that I can handle the stress, and you heard what the doctor said. What, are you going to fly home for every appointment? You’d have to leave right afterward, and I don’t know if I can manage that. What about all the time in between? I miss you enough as it is, and having you here playing house for a couple hours every few weeks...that’s not what I imagined for us.”

Once you started talking, it was like all your fears were coming out at once. Everything that you had bottled up inside since the night Steve left was being unleashed upon him. “What if you miss the first kick? What if I go into labor while you’re still on tour? What if you can’t get home in time?” Your breath was coming in short gasps now, your chest tight as tears stung your eyes.

“Hey, hey, baby please take a deep breath for me, okay? Can you do that for me, sweetheart? We’ll talk about everything, I promise, but first I need you to calm down - doctor’s orders, right?” He moved to sit on the edge of your bed, facing you. His hands cupped your cheeks, his eyes locked on yours.

You tried to focus on his face, the feeling of his rough calloused fingers, a physical sign of his dedication to his craft, against your cheeks. How could you ask him to give up his dream? You needed him, but you knew just how important the Howling Commandos’ music was to their fans. Some of them saved up for months just to afford tickets to a show. And you also knew just how important music was to Steve. Still, you did as he asked, and tried to steady your breathing.

“That’s my girl.” The corners of his lips twitched up in the slightest smile. His hands dropped from your face to hold your own. “Now, let me start by saying that I was so incredibly wrong to leave like I did. I should have let you finish what you were saying. I missed out on finding out about the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. It was unforgivable, and you have every right to hate me for it, but --”

You cut him off before he could continue. “Why did you do it? What did I do to deserve that? If I was being too clingy, you could have talked to me about it, Steve. But you didn’t. You just shut me out.”

“Y/N,” he pleaded. “You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. Look, honestly...I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to skip the tour and just stay with you. I miss you when I’m gone. I hate the time differences, the missed calls, sporadic texts. I hate that I don’t get to go to sleep and wake up with you by my side. I didn’t want to give that up. But then I thought about everything I have, and how so many people dream of being where I am, and I felt guilty that I wanted to give it all up. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I don’t want to stop, but sometimes I just...wish I could have a normal life. I worried that I’d be letting everyone down if I asked for a break...so I pushed you away.”

His bright blue eyes were glassy, his deep voice taking on a gravelly, unsteady edge. “And then when Buck came running out on to stage, telling me you were being taken to the hospital, that you fell and they’re worried about the babies...doll, I...” he shook his head, clenched fist pressed against his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Without thinking, you reached out to squeeze his shoulder, tracing soothing patterns over his arm. Once he had collected himself, he began speaking again. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more afraid, sick, or loathed myself more. I almost lost everything, Y/N.”

“But you didn’t lose everything, Stevie. We’re all okay.”

“I could have, though.” He shook his head, looking down at his feet. He was struggling with what to say next. “I’m not taking any more chances. I’m not taking any of this for granted. I’m going to talk to the guys and work something out. I’m going to be here every step of the way, okay? If you’ll have me, that is.”

You’re silent for a few moments. You’re still not entirely sure you can trust him, but you’ll never know unless you try. “All I’ve ever wanted you, Stevie, only you.”

“Hmm, only me? That might be a bit of a problem, sweetheart considering it’s going to be the four of us in a few more months.”

“The four of us? Are you really sure you’ll be around.”

If he was offended by your question, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling your body against his. “I can’t change the past but I can promise that I’m going to spend the future making up for it and showing you just how much I want this.”

Thirty-Six Weeks Along

The universe was trying to kill him, Steve decided, as he accelerated out of the studio’s parking lot, merging onto the highway shortly after. You weren’t due for at least another week. The midwife had cleared you, and both of you had assured Steve that it would be fine to head into LA for the day to do an interview with the band. Tour was over, and the Howling Commandos were working on their next album, allowing Steve plenty of time to be there for you and your growing family for at least the next year.

But of course, the universe had other plans for him. Halfway through the interview, the band’s assistant was making frantic motions from the side of the set. When Steve finally caught on, his heart sunk. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had stood and was quickly making his way over to her. All he processed were the words ‘Y/N,’ and ‘in labor,’ and he was out the door, taking the stairs two at a time rather than waiting around for the elevator. He’d be damned if he was going to miss this.

Every minute that ticked by as he was stuck in LA traffic was excruciating. All he could think about is that yet again, he wasn’t there when you needed him. Rationally, he knew you wouldn’t be angry; you had been the one to push him to go to the interview in the first place, despite his protestations, but his residual guilt over his behavior made him feel as though he was letting you down by not being there with you right now. Steve had felt anxious all day, and the last thing he had wanted that morning was to leave your side, but he tried to quell his anxiety as you blamed it on the first-time dad-to-be jitters. He should have listened to his gut. If he had, he would have been there for you.

Steve did make it, though, and he was right by your side as you delivered two healthy babies, a boy, born at 11:42 PM, and a girl who arrived only 16 minutes after her brother. The moment he held his son, and then his daughter in his arms, he broke down into tears. He had managed to keep calm throughout your labor and their birth, focusing on supporting and encouraging you, but when he felt the weight of the babies, felt their impossibly soft skin against their own, watched the steady rise and fall of their chests, it suddenly hit him that this was real.

The next few hours were spent cuddled on the bed, the two of you marveling over your twins, both of you still trying to register that they were really here. Steve noticed your attempts to stifle your yawns, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Steve murmured, kissing your forehead as he scooped your daughter from your arms, moving her to rest by her brother in the crib by your bedside. “You’ve had a long day.”

You would have protested, but a yawn beat you to it, and Steve fixed you with a stern look. “Okay, okay.”

“That’s my girl. Don’t worry, momma, I’ll keep an eye on them while you sleep,” Steve brushed your hair back, looking at you in pure adoration.

“Mmm, thanks daddy,” you replied cheekily, smiling up at him. You were beyond tired, but not too tired that you were going to give up the opportunity to tease him. He just rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head in pretend exasperation. “What? You are a daddy now.”

“Yeah...yeah, I am. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you gave me this chance,” his gaze focused back on the twins.

“We’ve been over this, Stevie,” you replied sternly. “You’ve more than proved that you’re sorry. It’s okay to move on, to forgive yourself for what happened. I have.”

His back was still turned to you as he wiped a few tears from his eyes. It was something he had struggled with ever since that day at the hospital, and you weren’t sure if he was ever fully going to allow himself to stop feeling guilty over it.

“You keep saying that but--”

“No buts, Stevie, unless its your butt that we’re talking about, okay?” That earned you a chuckle, and he turned to face you again.

“Alright. Alright,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand tracing your cheekbone. “But only if you agree to get some sleep.”

“I guess I can live with that,” you agreed.

“That’s my girl,” he pressed another kiss to your forehead, then turned his attention to the crib and its brand new occupants.

Confident that they were going to be well looked after by their father, you finally gave in and let sleep take you. You’d only end up getting a couple hours of rest before the twins woke you, demanding to be fed. You’d take whatever rest you could.

Once he was sure you were asleep, Steve’s attention returned to his children. He took a moment to send photos of the sleeping newborns to his bandmates. They were fast asleep only moments after you. As much as Steve wanted to hold them, he was afraid of waking them up, so he settled for sitting between you and the babies, keeping watch over his family as he allowed himself to wonder how the hell he got so lucky. Bucky, naturally, responded almost immediately, congratulating Steve and asking when he could see his niece and nephew. He’d respond to that later, Steve decided. He wanted a little more time to exist in the haze, completely overwhelmed with exhaustion, fear, and so very much in love with his new family.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve x you #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #avengers imagine #steve rogers AU #dad!steve

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ieatmypizzawithaforkandknife · 3 years

Text

MAG 016 - Arachnophobia

Summary: Jonathan reads the statement of Carlos Vittery, regarding “his arachnophobia and its manifestations.”

Carlos: “I. Hate. Spiders.” Me: “Cheers, I’ll drink to that bro, guess this is gonna be one of those episodes, huh.” Lo and behold, halfway through listening to this I had a mini heart attack when I thought I saw a spider in the corner of my room closest to my desk. (Spoiler alert: It was a piece of dust. I live for the scares, but I think that, like Icarus, I fly too close to the sun sometimes.)

Anyway, from here on I’ll be formatting the titles of these posts closer to how they’re written on the podcast and, from what little I’ve seen, what’s recognized by the fandom. I still feel like an outsider, being so late to things, but at least my posts won’t look as weird now.

So obviously this episode was about spiders. Well, one spider in particular - and I’ll come back to that. But first I’d like to point out that spiders have come up twice before at this point. The first (and more notable) is in episode 8, when hundreds of spiders burst out of the rotten apple that was inside the box at the base of the uprooted tree at the house on Hill Top Rd. The second was only a mention, and it was in episode 9 (the serial killer episode) when the narrator said, of the shed in her back yard, “As far as I was concerned, the sturdy wooden structure was just the home of spiders’ nests and the rusted garden tools my parents would use once a year to attack the overgrown wilderness that was our back garden.” I almost didn’t include this second one, since it’s so fleeting and seemingly innocuous, but it could indicate some kind of connection between the spiders and the creepy ritualistic murder that was being committed in that shed, which is...disturbing, to say the least.

I find it interesting that the first appearance of spiders had them coming out of a rotten apple though. In this episode, Carlos tries giving Major Tom (the cat) food, but he just sniffs at it and walks away, which Carlos points out is unusual (and any cat owner knows is unusual). At the very end, Jonathan tells us that the coroner’s report said that Carlos had “foreign organic material” blocking his throat (though we don’t have confirmation of what the “material” was) and that “his body was completely encased in web.” But spiders typically wrap their prey in silk prior to eating them. Are all of these things related to that recurring theme of bad/rotten food? I’m not sure yet.

As a sometimes-writer, I appreciated the subtle but definite escalation in the threat of the spider. First, it’s on his kitchen wall - unfortunate, since that’s the room where you go to get food, but fairly avoidable. Carlos shuts Major Tom in there for 2 hours and is none the worse for it. The second time, it’s on his TV screen. Its body was physically between him and something he was going to use, and if he wanted to watch TV he was going to be seeing that spider the whole time. And then finally it’s on the ceiling above the head of his bed. A person’s bed should be a safe and comforting place, a place where you can go to rest and rejuvenate - and this marks the end of the last remaining “safe space” for Carlos, as this thing threatens to descend on him as he sleeps. Excellent writing as always.

Building off of the idea of an escalation in the threat is the idea that there’s some kind of malicious intent in this spider’s presence. “I hate spiders, as I have said,” Carlos says at one point, “but I would have sworn that this one hated me back.” He describes it several times as staring at him, and one time describes its “mandibles twitching with anticipation”. Spiders shouldn’t be malicious, no matter how much a person might fear them or not like them. But this one is. Just like caves shouldn’t be malicious either (episode 15). The world of TMA is a scary place and I’m just glad I don’t live there lol.

Especially scary is the idea that this was all caused by an accident Carlos had when he was a child. He says that he tripped and fell into that spider and its egg sac when he was 6 - and nearly 25 years later it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. But I wonder - was there always something supernatural going on with that spider, even when he was a kid? The story he tells doesn’t have any obvious supernatural elements that I can see, and the “ghost spider” (as Jonathan calls it at the end) only appears after the Jane Prentiss worms. My first instinct would be to say that there’s nothing supernatural at all about the spider itself, and that the spider was somehow...activated, I guess?...by Jane’s presence. But I know spiders are important in the series, so right now the whole thing is a big question mark for me. Which came first, the spider or the worms?

This post is part of a series where I write my thoughts about each episode and obsessively connect dots in an effort to figure out The Big Mysteries of the series. All posts in this series are tagged “is this liveblogging?” Comments and messages are welcome but I have only listened to season 1, so I ask that you not spoil me for anything beyond episode 40. In the words of Jonny Sims…thanks for listening!

(Spoilers for the remainder of season 1 under the cut.)

So I’d like to take a moment to share with you a story about just how much of an Absolute Dumbass I am. Here we go.

I’ve been keeping an ear out for familiar names (of people and of places), so when Carlos mentions his apartment is on Boothby Rd, I did a quick mental check and, nope, don’t believe I’ve ever heard that name before. But wait, it’s in Archway? At that point I hit pause. I thought to myself, I know I’ve heard that somewhere before... Cue me looking back and seeing that’s where Harriett Lee lived in episode 6 (specifically, on Elthorne Rd), and the last known location of Jane Prentiss! Hmm...well, just how big is Archway, anyway? Are those two streets even close to each other? So I pull out a map - and would you look at that, the two roads intersect! I do a little happy dance from putting that together. Unpause. Carlos’ next words were “While nearby Elthorne Road was full of houses and gardens-”. OK, a little disappointing since they “gave” the connection away right there...but it would still take a really good memory (or in my case, really good notes) to remember Elthorne Rd being mentioned in passing 10 episodes ago, right? I no longer feel great, but I still feel pretty good about making the connection. Some 30 seconds later: “Our building had acquired something of an infestation of some sort of insect I didn’t recognize - small, silvery worms, almost like maggots, but slightly longer, and I assume that they provided a good meal for the eight-legged little monsters.” Friends...I cannot describe to you the deep, deep disappointment I felt in myself at this point. Not only had I paused the podcast and done actual research when the answers were literally in the next minute of the podcast, but I had completely forgotten the worms made an appearance at all in this episode. SMH.

#personal #liveblogging #is this liveblogging?#The Magnus Archives

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searchingforenadi · 4 years

Text

bleeding on the floor is a safety hazard

can i interest you in a secondPOV!OC, KHR fic in these trying times?

i woke up in the middle of the night and vomited this out - i have never been so terrified of my own lack of brain cells.

a brief summary: Your customers won’t stop bleeding in your shop. You realize this might be a problem. (second person!OC, TYL).

You try your best not to stare at the knife in the man’s side.

“Um,” you say, passing over the packaged box of cake. “Here you go.”

He smiles brightly and hands you several bills. There is a sword strapped to his back and you are terrified to even allow the thought that he might be foreign. “Thanks! Keep the change.”

You nod minutely. Then, the actual number of those bills catches up to you like a freight train off the rails. “Wait - ”

But it’s too late - the man, the cake, and his accompanying knife are gone. You look down to find that he’s left behind a puddle of blood.

You breathe in deeply, count to ten, count backwards from ten, and march back to the kitchens to grab some towels and soap.

The cake had been paid twice over - you’ll take a little bit of blood for that any day.

ii.

It’s hard to imagine that something as exciting as a bleeding man would eventually fade into your memories, but that’s exactly what happens.

A week goes by and you’re hauling over a new delivery of flour. It’s tough work but you’ve done this for years - eventually, the shop’s ready for another day.

You reach the front entrance. And stop.

The same man from last week, Knife Man, waves through the glass door. He has a new companion - not a knife - who scowls under a crown of silver hair.

You consider taking the day off.

But no, your bills won’t pay themselves, and if they pay as well as last time, you might even be able to buy a new electric mixer.

Decision made, you flip over the sign and open the door.

“Hi again,” Knife Man says, a smile still on his face. “Sorry about last time.”

“That’s okay,” you say politely, because returning customers are golden. Your regulars are your saving grace. “Nice to see you again.”

“Same to you,” he says, tugging his friend over to the counter. His fingers trail eagerly over the sweets on display as he turns to the man. “Come on, pick one!”

You move behind the register and wait patiently.

“I don’t like sweets!” Knife Man’s friend snaps. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you today.”

Ever the business owner, you pipe in, “We also have drinks, if that’s more to your taste.”

That gets the man’s attention.

“I’ll just have a coffee then,” he grumbles, fishing out his wallet.

Knife Man joins his friend and grins. “Then I’ll have a slice of tiramisu.”

“This early in the morning?” Knife Man’s friend hisses.

Pointedly avoiding any conversational traps, you say, “Coffee and tiramisu. Together?”

The friend huffs. “Sure, fine. Here, keep the change. For the idiot’s blood.”

You blink at the money shoved into your face. If you had been any other person, you might protest at the clear extortion - it’s just blood.

But you had been raised pragmatically and so, with a smile, you accept the bills.

“Please wait a moment,” you tell them, and get started on the coffee.

In a few minutes, you pack the cake neatly into a little box and hand it over with a cup of espresso.

“Thanks,” Knife Man’s friend grumbles, taking a sip of his drink before glancing back down at the cup. “Huh.”

You don’t challenge any strange noises made over your products, you remind yourself, and smile pleasantly instead.

They leave quickly after, with Knife Man waving once again, and you release a sigh.

“Electric mixer, electric mixer,” you hum, sweeping the floor with a broom. “So very soon, electric mixer - ”

iii.

A few days later, the front door opens and, lo and behold, it’s Knife Man’s friend, silver hair tied behind his head.

You smile in greeting and ponder the possibility that you just might be cursed.

“Two coffees,” he says, with nary a greeting.

You’ve met worse, so you take the money handed to you and make quick work of the order.

It’s clear he’s not interested in making any small talk and, if you’re honest, you’re not really eager to start any yourself.

Soon enough, you hand over two steaming cups over the counter.

“Thanks,” the man says, proving that he’s not yet a lost cause. Under his breath, he mutters, “That damn machine better be fixed by now.”

Technological difficulties - you can sympathize. You wave off the man and get started on your next order.

iv.

You don’t encounter any issues involving blood until a month later, after several more visits from your strangest regulars.

“The usual,” Knife Man says brightly, seemingly oblivious to the cut above his eye and the blood trickling down his face.

Knife Man’s friend casually tucks his clearly burned fingers into his sleeves. “The same for me.”

There is a moment of silence.

How, you wonder, is he going to carry his coffee with burned fingers? You know how that feels. Intimately, in fact - you’re a baker.

But that’s none of your business and so, very politely, you accept the money - stained with suspicious black dots - before getting started on the order.

You hand over the food and coffee and say, “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Knife Man says, gingerly accepting both the cake and coffee. He stops for a moment before studying you curiously. He smiles broadly. “I’m Yamamoto, by the way. And this is Gokudera!”

Japanese names, you note, even as the newly named Gokudera barks at the man.

“ - the hell are you thinking, you idiot?”

Yamamoto shrugs, somehow unhindered by the food, coffee, sword and blood on his face. “I think we’ve been here often enough.”

You very clearly ignore the incredibly suspicious conversation continuing on before you.

“Good to know,” you say instead, because as nice as it is, having bleeding customers is not the best reputation for any business. “I’ll see you next time, Yamamoto, Gokudera.”

“Same here,” Yamamoto says - his Italian is impeccable, you notice.

Gokudera grunts, eyes boring into you suspiciously.

“You say our names very naturally,” he says slowly, eyes narrowing.

You can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a threat.

“I’m half?” you offer, not sure why it should matter. “I’m not fluent though.”

Yamamoto looks incredibly pleased. “Wow! That makes a lot of sense.”

You… still can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a threat.

“Thanks,” you say, because what else can you say? Your mom’s genes are strong in your veins, so it’s not really surprising.

They leave not long after, Yamamoto calling out goodbye and Gokudera squinting right at you.

You lean over the counter and check the floor, just in case. It’s nearly safe, until you notice several specks of blood all over the counter itself.

“... damn.”

One morning, Yamamato enters the shop with a new companion.

“Hey!” he greets, the early hour not bothering him in the slightest.

It’s suspicious because at this point, you are very aware that Yamamoto does not drink any sort of caffeine.

Very suspicious, you think, staring almost enviously at his non-existent dark circles.

His friend, however, seems appropriately more miserable.

“One cappuccino, please,” the man says, chestnut hair all over the place. His hazel eyes droop slightly.

You smile in sympathy. “Got it.”

“Oh, also,” Yamamoto pipes in, leaning onto the counter. “We’ll be staying here for a while - that okay?”

You blink at the change.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the few seating arrangements you have. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

You cut up a larger slice of tiramisu and set it on a plate. As the milk boils, you wonder what’s so different now - Yamamoto always orders to-go.

Pouring the foam over a cup of espresso, you decide it’s none of your business. You didn’t build up your customer base by being nosy.

“Here,” you say, sliding over the cake first. Yamamoto grins in thanks. “And the cappuccino…?”

You watch as Yamamoto’s friend stares blankly into the distance.

“Um,” You say. You look back at Yamamoto. “Is he okay?”

Yamamoto lets out a long laugh.

“He’s fine,” he says, waving a hand. “We just had a long night. Hey, Tsuna. Tsuna!”

The aforementioned Tsuna startles, dark eyes blinking rapidly. “Wha - ?”

You wait patiently as he looks blearily up at you. Raising the drink in your hands, you try again. “Your cappuccino?”

Face flushing slightly, Tsuna moves to grab the drink. “Right! Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” you start to say, about to let the cup go, but something slips along Tsuna’s grip.

You catch the cup right as it's about to tilt.

“Careful there,” you say wryly, deciding to skip the dangerous part and setting down the cup on the table. Patiently, you tell him, “It’s hot.”

For some reason, Tsuna’s face darkens even further. “O-Okay, sorry.”

“Not a problem,” you say, shrugging because a missed accident is as good as no accident. “Enjoy your stay.”

They stay for another half hour before departing, and you wave back when Yamamoto says goodbye. Appearing more awake than before, Tsuna gives a half-hearted wave as well.

All in a day’s work, you think, cleaning down their table and moving on to help another customer.

vi.

Two weeks later, Yamamoto’s friend, Tsuna, walks in with the look of someone ready to jump the bridge at any moment’s notice.

Yikes, you think, and put on your best customer smile. “Can I help you?”

The frazzled look in his eyes does not go away.

“I need a drink?” he asks, which is not the strangest way someone has ordered from your shop, but it’s still pretty up there. Rubbing his eyes, he tries again. “Sorry - usually Hayato’s the one to grab them. He never told me the name.”

“Hayato?” you ask, already filing through the people Tsuna might know (it’s a short list, you only have two regulars that dress in suits like those).

Tsuna groans into his hands. “Right. His last name is Gokudera?”

“Ah,” you say, already getting started on the coffee. You try to offer some help. “It’s usually just coffee. Nothing special.”

And just like that, Tsuna’s face transforms from someone wanting to die into someone wanting to die.

It’s not polite to laugh at your customers, you remind yourself, turning back to the coffee. You swallow the bark of laughter in your throat.

By the time you face him again, your face is at its most polite.

“Just one, right?” you ask, ever the professional. Remembering last time, you very carefully pass over the drink.

Tsuna nods silently and slides over some cash.

“Thanks,” he says, before practically flying out the shop.

The moment the door closes shut, you crouch down and let out a loud ha!

Then, you stand up, features settled back to normal, and pocket the cash into the register.

-o-o-o-o-o-

the terrifying part is that there is more to this and it’s not stopping. i imagine MC can be any gender you see them as for now, with a nice amount of respect for local authorities and common sense, and perhaps a dash of great customer service.

this began as an attempt to write some sort of romantic Tsuna/OC fic - which is as big of a joke as I am, because it’s clear MC is too pragmatic for anything like that. at this point, anything is up for grabs.

#why do i even bother #i am so bad at outright romance #when will the day come #katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi #yamamoto takeshi #gokudera hayato #tsuna #fanfic #searchingforenadi #enjoy this subpar late night fic

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inarichi · 3 years

Text

🎃Happy Halloween!!🎃

1.3k w.

His head throbbed with the cadence of a beating drum. Strong and piercing pulses of pain ricocheted around his temples as if he’d suffered a jarring concussion. Kyungsoo struggled to open his eyes, every flutter came with an elevating sense of dread.

“Ah,” he winced, hands flying to rub the pulsating spots. It was almost unbearable.

Why did he have to go through such tribulations on his day off from the firm? Sure, he had a late night with his friends, television and blanket, but Kyungsoo didn’t remember drinking to the point of warranting such an insufferable hangover. If he drank at all, because no one would consider wine coolers to be real alcohol. But lo and behold the damage it had dealt, and he vowed to himself that he would never drink Seagrams again.

He could hurl, but the thought of moving an inch from this very spot made his head ache even more.

However, in spite of the glaring pain, it was oddly very quiet. The type of quiet which allowed one to drown inside their thoughts but Kyungsoo’s mind was ultimately blank. He slowly lifted and turned his head to read the time on the clock. It was 11 AM.

Getting up at such a time was a very unique experience. Even on his days off, his body would naturally wake up at dawn, conditioned and routine. He’d make breakfast, find an outfit to wear, and do something else…

“Ack,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. Why can’t I remember?

He didn’t think much of his lack of recollection and brushed it off as a side effect from the ongoing migraine, which he definitely should do something about.

With much effort, he rose from the bed dazed and groggy, trying not to fall with every step.

“Morning, had a rough night?” An all too familiar voice chimed in with a light question, and Kyungsoo snapped his head toward the door, regretting it seconds later when a wave of pain surged through his head. “It’s a bit late for you to be getting up, isn’t it?” Jongin teased with a cross of his arms and a wicked grin.

However, Kyungsoo didn’t have the leisure to rebut his teasing right now. “Fuck.” he grimaced. This stabbing ache could rival a blow to the head from a shovel. He had never experienced something like this and wanted to lay back down. “Jongin, can you please get me some medicine for the headache. It’s really killing me.”

“Alright, I’ll look for something.” Jongin gently smiled before turning and leaving the room.

Kyungsoo sat on the mattress and briefly thought to search the night stand beside the bed, hoping something to remedy this headache would be inside. But to his dismay, there was nothing there but a few books and a diary. He could only rely on his husband and wait for him to return.

Which took more time than he could tolerate. After several long and painful minutes of waiting, he decided to try and find some medicine on his own.

“Jongin!” he called, only to be met with silence.

He shuffled his toes inside his slippers and walked into the living room of the apartment. Jongin was not there. When he turned to enter the kitchen, his husband stood before the counter, staring at the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo asked, his eyes squinting from the fluorescent bulbs.

“I was just about to return, I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find anything...I’ll have to go to the store.” He appeared apologetic and hopeless, so Kyungsoo let his impending complaints go.

It would be just his luck that they didn’t have anything. “Okay.” he resigned the notion of getting this pain under control any time soon, and was about to trudge back to the bedroom before the doorbell rang, halting his motions.

With a wearied sigh, he went to the door and swung it open without looking through the peephole.

“Hey.” Chanyeol’s eyes were tinged with red as if he had been crying all night. “You good?” Kyungsoo almost felt that question was ironic, as bad as Chanyeol looked right now, maybe he should be the one asking that question. “Did you need anything?” Chanyeol feebly smiled.

At first, Kyungsoo’s mind blanked. How would his neighbor know if he needed anything? It was quite odd.

“Hey...um, actually, yes...” he enunciated slowly and with uncertainty. “Do you have anything for a migraine?”

“Sure thing,” He sniffed and brushed his nose, “But the next time you need something, don’t knock on my door and then leave.”

Before Kyungsoo could reply, Chanyeol turned and walked into his apartment to fetch him some pain relievers.

An uncomfortable emotion settled in and Kyungsoo couldn’t make sense of what this feeling was. He turned to Jongin and asked, “Did you knock on his door?”

Jongin shook his head. “It’s probably those kids up the hall playing around. You know it’s Halloween and everything.”

While nodding, he contemplated over Jongin’s words, but soon agreed. Though, why they would play tricks in the daytime was beyond his level of comprehension. Before these thoughts became even more muddled, Chanyeol returned, with the grace of God, and gave him a small bottle of prescription pain relievers of the opioid class.

“If you don’t tell the doctors, then we should be good.” He slapped a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, “If you ever need anything, I’m just next door alright, don’t forget.”

“Thanks, Chan...and um, are you alright?” There was an attempt to smile but it came off as a grimace with a twinge of pain on his features.

Chanyeol chuckled, “I’m doing better now that I’ve seen that you’re okay. We’ll talk soon.” And his friend left just like that, leaving a question residing inside Kyungsoo’s mind. Yet, he didn’t have the energy to pursue it and wasted no time downing the pills with a generous glass of water. The day was approaching lunch time but he wasn’t hungry, he simply wanted to go back to bed.

“Jongin, I’m going back to sleep.” he waved a lazy hand as he headed to the bedroom.

“Okay, I’ll be in there shortly.”

Kyungsoo hummed an incoherent reply and shuffled toward the bathroom to relieve himself.

While returning to his room, he heard a low thud from inside the closet. The sound was just loud enough for him to hear, he assumed that some clothes fell from their hangers.

He opened the closet door and found it was a small shoebox that fell. The box was satin black, and Kyungsoo’s eyebrows knitted as he tried to remember ever having such a shoebox in the closet. He grabbed it from the floor and stood up preparing to place it on the top shelf, but stopped.

This box was quite strange to him and curiosity sprung forth like an uncontrollable impulse. He flipped open the top and rummaged around the box. Its contents only consisted of papers that he didn’t even attempt to read. He despondently leafed through them before something caught his eye.

His motions stopped instantly and he snatched the paper from the box which fell to the floor, now long forgotten as the words jumped from the page.

Kyungsoo’s breath quickened, his vision blurred in and out as he attempted to read the words before him over and over again. It was as if the letters were moving in waves of water, and the room began to spin.

He wobbled out the closet on shaky legs while clenching the paper tight, his hands trembling violently as his eyes bulged to twice the size of saucers.

“I wish you hadn’t seen that.” Jongin’s voice shattered and cut through his thoughts, and Kyungsoo nearly sprung out his skin, throwing the paper up in the air and falling to the floor on his bottom. He looked up at Jongin, every word caught inside his throat, every thought blank and discombobulated. However, it was his eyes, those rounded eyes spoke of his pure and utter disbelief...and fear.

The paper floated to the ground and landed face up, the words on the page read:

In loving Memory of Kim Jongin. January 14 - October 30, 2020

#kaisoo #kai #jongin #kyungsoo #drabble #mine oneshot #halloween

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clansayeed · 3 years

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 32: The Circumstances (Epilogue)

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby,

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The winds of change blow down the eastern seaboard all the way to New Orleans. While on date night, Taylor and Ryder join Katherine in finding out just how bad things are for their friends abroad.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Several days earlier...

By the time Taylor takes his fourth lap around the perimeter of their floor, Ryder decides enough is enough. Reaching out to catch his wrist before he can get too far — he pulls the halfling back into the booth and practically on top of his lap. It’s about the only place he doesn’t get any resistance these days.

Not-spoken too soon. Immediately the hunter has his arms full of squirming anxiety with blond hair and, upon closer inspection, a few scraps of skin missing from his bottom lip. Worn away by teeth picking relentlessly.

“Not right now, Nik,” mumbles Taylor restlessly, “I’ve just — I’ve gotta move. Too much energy, you know?”

“Oh, I know. You’ve been doin’ laps in bed all week.”

Taylor’s nose crinkles at that. Not because he feels bad about it or anything, but he knows how little sleep Nik gets as it is and the thought of being yet another thing keeping him awake just drops a cherry on top of his worries.

“… Sorry.”

For both their sakes it’s shrugged off; forgotten. For a lot more than that, too. They can’t afford to get into any argument tonight, no matter how fickle.

“I would’a thought a world-class actor like yourself would be better at playin’ it cool.”

Taylor blinks in surprise. It’s enough to still him for the moment. “I’m totally playing it cool.”

“Sure — and I’m a pixie.” Ryder jerks his chin up and out, motioning for Taylor to give a (subtle) look at the booths around them. Most notably how his constant round-and-round-and-round has them on edge too; shifting weights and too many drinks ordered to quell the jitters even for a crowd as uppity as Persephone’s.

Of course, being Taylor, he’s about as subtle as a freight train, but the point gets got.

“Sorry,” force of habit, “I’m just…”

“Hey, I get it. An’ I know it’s been a bit since you’ve been on a job with me but you’ve got to relax or it’ll all be for nothin’.”

A job; the way he says it so casually. Taylor scoffs.

“This isn’t just any old job Nik — and you know it.”

“Sure I do. But if we don’t treat it like any old payday things tend to go wrong. The pressure…” resting broad, scarred hands on his boyfriend’s trembling shoulders — thumbs pressing deep to try and relieve some of that tension, “will keep ya from makin’ the right calls when and where they need made.”

A few moments of silence and circles of pressure at the young man’s collarbone and eventually—finally—Taylor relaxes. Enough that Ryder can let him sit all on his own, even.

“We’re exactly where we need to be,” the man continues lowly, “nothin’ more we can do but watch and wait.”

But that’s all they’ve been doing; and Taylor has to physically bite his tongue to keep the words from being said. Ryder’s well aware just as Taylor’s well aware and pointing it out doesn’t do either of them any good. If it did then something big would have happened by now.

No word from Cadence. No word from Nadya — or any of them. Just a month of watching the news reports out of New York City getting weirder and more dangerous. A month… and tonight.

Come to Persephone. Just after sunset. Make yourself seen, and whatever you do, under no circumstances are you to approach me. Stay away. For your own good.

Doesn’t exactly take a spy-criminal-mastermind to figure out what has Isadora de la Rosa reaching out for the first time since the Council meeting Cadence had called. Something’s going on, something she can’t say to them in person or via letter or messenger. Something that made her shut down Flechette for ‘temporary renovations’ that definitely weren’t needed at the beginning of the week and kept her from responding to any of the fancy-pants official missives Vera had sent on their behalf under the title of the Smoke.

Ryder reaches for his glass and downs the last dregs of his bourbon with a sigh. “Still think we should’a brought backup.”

“Yeah and I’m still kinda disturbed by that.” It’s not an unreasonable reaction in Taylor’s honest opinion. Since when did Nik Ryder ask for backup?

Since recently, apparently. “I take risks but I know when they’re worth taking. And there’s not a damn thing that could ever be worth takin’ on vampires. Especially ones like Smith was goin’ on about.”

Old, bloodthirsty, powerful and power-craven vampires, to be more specific.

“Ask me nicely and I’ll think about it.”

Together Taylor and Nik whip their heads around so fast they nearly collide — and wouldn’t that have been something. But really, in retrospect, neither man is surprised that the booth behind them is occupied by a familiar cheeky voice.

Katherine slings her arm around the back of her booth, turning to face them with an eyebrow raised and less mirth in her smile than normal; which isn’t saying much. Unlike everyone else around the club (Taylor and Nik excluded; only because they spent their ‘Fancy Party Threads’ budget on more important things this month — like groceries, and Garrus’ rent) she’s kept her leathers on for tonight. Hair tightly woven in a long violet braid kept out of her eyes and with her muddy boots carelessly kicked on top of the shiny chrome table in front of her.

He’s honestly never been so happy to see her in his life.

Well… unless that time… nevermind.

“What,” she glances between them with mild amusement, “don’t tell me you two idiots are surprised. You’re like Tweedledee and Tweedledum without an adult to make sure you don’t burn the place down.”

Ryder groans with the effort of his eye-roll. “You accidentally let one fuckin’ elemental loose on an abandoned warehouse and never hear the end of it.”

“You couldn’t stop a fire elemental on a harbor pi— you know what, no, we’re not doing this right now.”

“You started it!”

“And I’m ending it —” Katherine swings her legs down and stands, cracking her neck side to side, “— especially since you can’t seem to banter and pay attention at the same time.”

They follow the path of her eyes down below, through the iron-wrought ornamental railing to the level below. Between the gambling tables, bar, and dance floor it takes Taylor’s senses a second to adjust and focus on sight over everything else — just one of those not-at-all-cute quirks that came with developing his fae heritage.

Lo and behold — and like she didn’t vanish off the face of the earth for a brief period of time — Isadora de la Rosa crosses the main floor of the club with the same confident stride she does anything. She doesn’t weave in and through the crowd; they part for her because they know it’s their job to. And those who don’t learn. Fast.

Even from this distance he can feel the nervous energy billowing out from her; thick like fog and just as unsettling. It makes Taylor give a full-body shudder. “She’s freaking out,” not that her impassive nonchalance would betray it, but this is Izzy de la Rosa they’re talking about, “like… heart-going-a-mile-a-minute you-know-what-I-mean freaking out.”

Ryder gives his fellow Nighthunter a quick jab with his elbow without looking away. “You get a personal not-invite too?”

“No,” she elbows him back—harder, “but I’ve been keeping tabs on her. Shiny Bentley picked her up outside Flechette about an hour ago… I must’ve beat her here.”

“Not like it’s a long drive.”

“So what’s she been up to for an hour?” asks Taylor, mostly to himself. It earns him two deadpan stares and a flush of shame. Because what else would the city’s most important vampire be doing before a social evening where the club offered everything but blood donors?

“Got it. Carry on.”

Katherine sweeps another look about the floor, focusing on the path Isadora leaves in her wake. “Weird not to see her tailed by… anyone. No guards, not even her daughters.” And her daughters go with her everywhere. That’s just one of those things, you know — facts.

“I’m more interested in who Izzy’s got at her hip, myself.” Ryder comments; and a second look proves him right. It’s hard to catch pairs in the fast-paced movement of dancers, gamblers, drinkers and already-drunks, but she isn’t alone. Whoever keeps up beside her, face obscured from this angle by a wave of dark brown hair, does so easily. A little too easily.

“Can’t get a good look at her…” He trails off. Suddenly, Taylor feels the burning question in his boyfriend’s eyes without fail.

A twitch of his nose — focusing as best he can… but it’s always harder with someone he doesn’t know. Harder still when they aren’t human, or alive for that matter. Finally Taylor exhales, face red from strain while he shakes his head. “I can’t get a read on her.”

Not even when the woman throws back her head in a laugh a little too loud; the kind of laughter that comes from the want—or need—to be seen. To demand it of anyone within earshot. Lilting and sweet and just enough to be heard over the club band.

Her fangs catch in the light of a chandelier overhead. As if they needed confirmation of what she was.

Beside them Katherine’s breath hitches; caught in her throat with an icy grip. Taylor tears away from their target long enough to catch a glimpse, to see if she’s okay, and holy shit she is not okay. “Nik—” She’s white as a sheet, just as fragile too. He can feel her from here, the terror that clings to every bead of sweat on her forehead, then on his own.

Ryder doesn’t even open his mouth before it’s all bottled back up. Kathy’s always been good at that. Even for an empath, Taylor can’t quite understand how she does it. It’s frightening, honestly.

“You know her then.” Ryder isn’t asking. Katherine’s hands tighten on the railing as she nods.

“That’s… fuck…” her shudder cuts her off, makes her start over, “that’s, uh, Priya. Priya Lacroix.”

Wait. “The fashion designer?” Just when Taylor thought he was getting a hang of keeping up with them, too.

“The former member of the Council of New York,” she corrects, “leader of Clan Lacroix.”

Oh. He’s caught up now.

Ryder’s frown deepens. “Didn’t Smith say she was one of the ones who…” He trails off; doesn’t finish the thought — or maybe he can’t.

It’s okay though. They were all there. They know how it would have ended.

The woman Isadora coaxes through a roped-off doorway, a friendly hand resting on her lower back, is in league with the King of Vampires. She sold out Adrian, and Nadya, and Nadya’s girlfriend, and Cadence and all the rest of them; a traitor in the name of power.

Not… the greatest look Isadora’s ever had. But surely there’s a reason… right?

Before the fae attendant can close off access to their private reservation, the woman herself stops and allows herself to take in the opulence of the club for the first time tonight. Not that it looks any different than normal… but everything makes a little more sense when part of her reverent moment includes looking directly up and right at them.

Taylor’s heart catches in his throat. He waits, and watches…

Isadora gives a tiny nod, barely a twitch, before sliding the mask of a smile back in place and joining her guest out of sight.

Like a gunshot Katherine’s up and starting off towards their level’s interior rooms. “Come on,” she snaps at them over her shoulder, “we can cross them if we take the back stairs.”

Taylor and Ryder scramble up to join her. But before he gets too far the hunter doubles back, swallows the rest of his drink in one large gulp, and jogs to catch up.

The back stairwell is usually restricted to attendants and other staff. Tonight is no different, other than the fact that they have need of it, so restrictions don’t really apply. They approach the locked door and Ryder manages to coax Katherine back, both of them giving the halfling a wide berth to do his work. Sparks at his fingertips, cool to the touch like a glass of water on a hot summer day, iridescent with no-name colors as they fall on the handle and lock. The metal sizzles where they make contact, a thin stream of smoke makes his eyes water.

But he’s been practicing quite a lot recently, and it doesn’t take long before his fae magic overloads any other; cancels it out and allows the door to swing open of its own accord.

“You’re gettin’ better at that,” comments Ryder; and Taylor flushes at the compliment. He takes the lead — always the first to run into danger. Taylor and Kathy keep close behind.

“Lessons with Elric have really been paying off. It’s not all giant black pyres and feeling your horniness before you do.”

“Was that a hint?”

“Surprisingly not this time.”

Beside him Katherine pretends to gag.

It’s a mad rush to the ground level. Hunters stepping back automatically this time, and maybe it’s just Taylor but the second lock doesn’t take nearly as long. He blows the smoke from his index finger like an imaginary blowtorch snuffed out.

Pushing past them both, Kathy pokes her head out first. There’s a stake in her fist that wasn’t there a second ago, aimed and ready, but the tension doesn’t last long before she steps aside. “Now we’re fucked…”

When they join her in the corridor it makes sense. Stretching out from their doorway left and right — it looks almost endless in the dark. He can’t even see the distant lights from the gambling floor. Just another of the illustrious wonders this place is known so well for — and so not the thing they need right now.

“How are we supposed to know where they went?” Taylor looks at each of the closed cherry-wood doors with growing dismay. “We don’t have time for this.”

“No fae magic trick up your sleeve?”

“I don’t have one for everything.”

“You had one for opening the pickle jar.”

Taylor scoffs indignantly. “That—That was a serious issue!”

“Can you two try and take one thing seriously?” snaps Kathy, hissing between clenched teeth. “Lacroix skins her houseboys for fun. This isn’t a dinner date going down.”

Nik really doesn’t like being scolded though.

“Then what is it, All-Knowing Kathy?”

“What the fuck do you think?” When she doesn’t get an answer; “Isadora’s part of the bloodline, don’t you see? Made by Carlo, who was made by someone… I couldn’t find a name in Cade’s research. But Carlo’s Maker was definitely one of the Augustine progeny.”

Butterflies flutter in Taylor’s gut as he thinks over her words. “So… what, Izzy’s on his side because of parents or something?”

Kathy hesitates to answer. Never a good sign. “I don’t know. I don’t — that’s why we need to find out what they’re up to. Now.”

The three of them keep close, in case the hallway is really as magical as it seems, and scour for any sign of… anything. Nik beats them out, pulling them back to him with a whispered “There—” as he points to the only light source around — was that even there before?

Ye olde gas lamp flickers a soft orange glow up ahead. A beacon in the fabricated night. And in front of one door no different than any other door, but for the waves of emotion—cruelty—bitterness—amusement—boredom—hunger—that definitely means they’re in the right place.

The trio hesitates several paces back, using the darkness as a cover while Ryder gives the door a more detailed look-over. “No guards posted,” —odd for a place like this, even Taylor knows that— “but the door doesn’t seem bewitched. If I get us close enough, Taylor, think you could use some of that empathy to hear what’s on the other side?”

If he can’t they’re sorta screwed, so better to try than not. The hunters slip across the hall with practiced stealth and ease; Katherine’s silent steps and Nik’s pretty epic (and definitely show-off-y) barrel roll.

They flank the door and wait—listen—before gesturing at Taylor to join. He just… tip toes over. No parkour needed. Joins Nik on his side and takes a moment to steady his breathing and focus with his eyes closed. They really don’t have a second chance at this.

Slowly the world around him begins to fade. The musty carpeting no longer tickling his nose; unable to taste the dryness of his own mouth. He drowns out three heartbeats all out of sync, the whistle of the air in a vent overhead, the hiss of the lamp above.

“Hey, Rook.”

“I’m kinda focusing.”

“I know. Look at me.”

All the sounds come rushing back like a tidal wave and Taylor opens his eyes a little nauseous for his troubles. He’s glad he did, though. Because for all their banter and mockery and how Ryder refuses to ever ever open a pickle jar for him, there’s just something about the trust, honest and open, that makes the man’s eyes light up from the tiny flame overhead.

“You can do this.”

The sincerity makes his cheeks burn all the way down to his toes. Taylor has to look away for fear of drowning in the combined emotion of them. “Was that ever in doubt?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

Attempt number two. Closed eyes, heartbeats—whistles—hisses all reduced to something less than white noise. Pushed back until he can force whatever’s left of his senses both inside and out through the door like it’s a sheer curtain instead of solid wood.

Slow, steadily the room comes into view behind his eyelids.

Isadora sets her drink on the arm of her chair. One leg crossed over the other and the liquor in her glass jostles, ice clinking softly, but never spills.

“What your King — and you by association — seem to have a hard time grasping is that down here things are simply done differently. There are rules of decorum. Legalities; traditions of respect that are followed to ensure everyone lives… calmly at the very least.”

“Why would His Majesty give a damn about anyone else’s lives here in this miserable mosquito net of a town?” The woman’s voice pitches with unsung laughter as she speaks. Her fingernails tap-tap-taptaping repetitive on the side table where her martini rests.

To her credit, Isadora remains cool and level-headed.

“As I’m to understand it, all of the traditions carried out by our cousins overseas are of his making, are they not?”

“I guess so. I don’t bother slumming it with those gutter rats. If I’m in Europe, I’m launching a new line.”

“Then your Council, we’ll use that as a perfect example.”

“The Council is gone, Izzy darling. The Clans are disbanded, those idiots hiding in the tunnels have been smoked out. There’s only the King’s Realm, now.”

Every word seems to jab into Isadora like an individual knife. The glass in her hand creaks dangerously as she grips it tighter.

“Bully for him then. My point stands.”

“Oh you poor thing… I don’t think you actually get why I’m here, Lady de la Rosa. Which is sad, really, and totally on you for thinking you could get out of choosing sides.”

The other woman shifts, switches her crossed legs and looks down her nose at Isadora; there’s a first time for everything. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the way you want things done. Because that’s not how they’re going to stay.”

Isadora’s eyes flash dangerously. “Then enough of your placations. Why are you here, Priya?”

“That’s Princess to you, hag.”

“Ha, don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not here with a request. I’m here with a command.”

“This is America, if you’ve forgotten. We don’t take kindly to kings here.”

“No, you don’t,” sneers Priya in reply, “but that’s only because you’ve been waiting for the real one and didn’t even know it. The throne is clear and the butt it was made for is finally seated and ready. His Majesty isn’t totally disgusted with the way you’ve been running things down in the South. You’re lucrative, profitable, and your family name inspires loyalty.”

“A concept you aren’t quite acquainted with, as I’m to understand it.”

Priya grinds her teeth together, lips pursed into a thin line.

“You don’t know shit. But since you think you do… let’s make one thing clear. My loyalty is to power. Whoever’s got the most gets my vote.”

“Kings aren’t voted in.”

“It’s a fucking figure of speech. I’m on the winning team, whatever. The more you pull this shit, the less likely that option becomes for you.”

A smart woman; always in control — Isadora leans forward and sets her glass down on the table before them before she plucks her response out of careful words.

“Continue then.”

Priya “hmmphs,” sounds for a moment like she won’t out of pure spite. But she’s here for one reason, and she won’t risk that careful affair she has with the new power in charge.

“The King is choosing to graciously overlook the fact that you should have already come to his Court to swear fealty to him. He likes your family line, or whatever. But it’s a one-time kindness.

“You, Isadora de la Rosa, are duty-bound by blood to serve Gaius Augustine. He’s the founder of your line — of all our lines actually — and when you took over the family business you took on the family oaths with it. You’ll come back with me, to New York, and take a pretty knee. Everything you do will be in his name, for his benefit, and in return you get to keep your weird little… playpen with the mortals until he decides otherwise.”

Ryder’s hand, heavy and warm against the ice in his veins, drags Taylor out of the room and back with the hunters. The man’s face is etched with worry; his expression grim.

“What’s the matter? What are they saying?”

He doesn’t waste time shushing — just focuses back on the vampires with a lump in his throat.

Isadora raises her chin slightly. “And if I do not agree to the King’s… generous offer?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

Don’t do it Izzy. He wants to scream; burst in there with Katherine’s stake and just do the thing. But he’s frozen in place. At the mercy of the undecided future of not just the city’s vampires, but New Orleans herself.

“Well,” Priya snaps with impatience, “what’s it gonna be?”

Isadora closes her eyes.

#bloodbound fanfiction #nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #katherine nightbound #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oc: isadora de la rosa #priya lacroix #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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sugaxjpg · 5 years

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paradise 17; m

⤷ “Welcome to Paradise 17, the immersive virtual reality of your most private fantasies. Please, to begin your pleasurable experience, click ‘proceed’ and pick your partner.”

✓ Couple: Taehyung x Reader | VirtualReality!AU

✓ Filed under: smut

✓ Look out for: dom!tae; overstimulation; praising; voyeurism; cock worship; spanking; vibrators... there’s also a mirror on the ceiling because science

✓ Words: 15,217

Author’s Note: Do you ever feel a feeling that doesn’t exist? That was my entire experience writing this fic. Hope you guys like it, because I even made a gif-cover for it.

The first time you heard about Immersive Virtual Reality, you thought that it could be the biggest breakthrough of the century. It was something straight out of a futuristic movie; an invention that even the most intelligent of programers could only aspire to achieve; or perhaps a trope that had been worn-out by repetitive anime remakes and hollywood producers. It was too good — too complex — to be true, and that was precisely why it worked so well.

There had been a huge fuss amongst online communities much longer before the devices hit the common sphere of customers. Forums whispered of a secret project of a big gaming company, supposedly a helmet that could induce a dream-like state, in which the individual was completely absorbed in an artificial, parallel world. Lo and behold: one of the most predominant tech names in the world — Idol — came out with their almighty IMVIT helmet soon after, and the promise of an “overwhelming new experience” for gamers worldwide.

Of course, it didn’t take long for humans do what they do best: turn something innocent into porn. In less than a year after Idol’s IMVIT helmet had hit the markets, the so-called Paradise 17 — with its embarassing slogan: the future has come — was already one of the top five most sold platforms, rapidly climbing up towards the first position. From what you had gathered, it worked as a hotel-like interface, in which you could mold an insubstantial partner into your perfect sexual fantasy, and then be taken into a personalized room, where the magic would take place. There were supposedly a lot of steps involved, for the system wished to reach as close as possible to perfection, while making sure that the entire experience was both pleasurable and safe — words from its website, not your own.

You told yourself that you wouldn’t succumb into the temptation that the program offered, but, of course, those had been mere superficial rationalizations. You lasted precisely three months — quite a long time, if you were to be completely honest — before you purchased the simulation. To your defense, it was one hell of a deal: since they had been getting ready to launch a new version of it, you managed to get it for 75% off in a stock clearing. Besides, it was only a five minute wait for the download.

The future had, indeed, come.

“Simulation fully downloaded. Connect your IMVIT helmet to your computer.”

Obediently, you did as the program requested, and watched as your system gradually recognized the device. From an outsider’s perspective, you probably looked like a lunatic — completely wrapped up by the adumbration of your bedroom, with only the phantasmagoric light of your computer to illuminate your expectant features; the rapid movement of your fingers against the keyboard, and your eyes over the lines on the screen. To be fair, you didn’t feel much different, and your position only worsened as the connection was concluded.

Next to you, your helmet — you always thought it looked like a motorcyclist's apparatus — lit up in pallid shades of emerald and yellow. Your computer, asymmetrically, turned off for an instant, and the sound of the fans started vibrating within its structure. Once it illuminated again, you were greeted with the logo of Paradise 17 in beautiful, golden cursive letters.

“Welcome to Paradise 17, the immersive virtual reality of your most private fantasies.” Could be read underneath it — bright pink characters against an alabastrine background. Through your speakers, came a robotic female voice, which you quickly turned off. Even her automatic timbre sounded a bit judgemental, but perhaps you were just paranoid. “Please, to begin your pleasurable experience, click ‘proceed’ and pick your partner.”

You did as it said, and watched as the screen morphed into a completely different image. Unanticipatedly hesitant, you swallowed dry, feeling as expectancy started to burn like wildfire at the bottom of your stomach.

With cautious movements, you leaned in and started to read. A second later, your eyes were growing wide as you saw the endless selection of categories. The “partners”, as they were called, were separated in criteria that went from race and gender, and all the way to a five-page quiz about your kinks and sexual preferences, rating them from “not hot” to “super hot” in a very cringe-worthy scale.

The answering section of Paradise 17 had been overlooked by other users, and the internet forums had forgotten to comment on how long and obnoxiously detailed the inquiries could be. You scrolled through those quizzes and randomized sections for what appeared to be hours — when, it reality, it was probably around fifteen minutes — until, at last, you found yourself facing the final page. On the screen, it could be read: these are your three finalists, sorted by your answers and preferences. Please, think about your choice, for there will be no possibility to switch during the simulation.

That page was much cleaner than the previous ones, and presented exactly what it had promised: on it, three pastel-colored pictures and, underneath each one, the specifics about the guy, and how he would behave in the simulation — from a quick look, you could see that they had all been classified under “strictly dominant” in bold crimson letters, which had been one of the first choices you had to make. With a subdued hum of interest, you stared at the options, and started to read what they had to offer.

Firstly, Seokjin. The primordial thought that crossed your mind once you met his picture was that they must have based it off a real life model, because there was no way that a computer program could come up with that level of handsomeness by its own devices. Just like the other two photographies, the image was quite simple — against a anemic blue background, he stood, disheveled black hair and semi-parted lips, his mouth vaguely stained by a shade of pink. Under his picture, it claimed that he was especially fond of voyeurism and bondage. Interesting — but the second wasn’t really your cup of tea.

Then, Taehyung. One thing that made him stand out had been the shirt he was wearing — black as midnight, while the others used white ones. The choice of wardrobe contrasted against the clear strands of his blonde hair, which fell down his face like golden cascades; mingling harmoniously with the lackluster blush that dwelled upon his cheeks. Under, his interests listed spanking and overstimulation. That was something you could deal with. Gladly.

At last, Jimin. His features were somewhat softer than the other options, but his gaze was even more piercing, sending electrical charges through your veins the second that you met the profoundness of his irises. You could not tell how a computer-generated man could look so good, but, then again, that was the kind of awe-inspiring perfection you would face in that simulation, so you should probably prepare yourself for it. It said that he was a fan of praising and cock worship. Which was nice… very nice.

Still, there was a decision to be made, and three fantastic options standing right before you — so, you did what you had to do, and went straight for the superficial desires of the flesh prison that you called a body. You would never admit that to anyone else, but the only element that pushed you towards a choice had been the... size difference. If your simulated body was going to have some fun, you might as well go out out.

With another deep, tremulous breath, you selected your partner.

How should TAEHYUNG call you? We advise not to use real names, or share any sort of personal information.

Several fake names crossed your mind, but none of them seemed to be a good pick for the circumstances presented to you. Your eyes trailed off onto the details of your room, attempting to find some sort of inspiration amongst scattered books and random objects, but all that came to you were overly-complex character names, or simply ones that you didn’t feel like would be suited for that pornographic scenario — Cordelia, Constance, Galadriel, Ophelia… Elizabeth Bennet? You didn’t even like Pride and Prejudice. You should pick some new books for a change, that was getting ridiculous.

At last, your gaze paused on a vase at the corner of your cubicle. Many weeks prior to your impulsive decision to purchase Paradise 17, one of your friends had gifted you with a rose for your birthday — before such a burning shade of scarlet, now a despondent tinge of purple, withered and dried up, barely standing in a vase of yellowed water. Gross. It was not in the best condition but, hey, your mental state wasn’t much better. It would have to serve.

Eager to get those steps done with, your fingers quickly typed “Rose”, and clicked to the next page before you could second guess your resolution. It wasn’t as if it was a life or death situation — you were about to have simulated sex, for fuck’s sake, not receive a nobel prize. Your name didn’t really matter.

Finally, pick your context. Paradise 17 is a sexual roleplaying simulator, please play your part accordingly. The storylines compatible with TAEHYUNG ar—

Now, that was a decision you did not expect to face. In an instant of startlement, you ran through your thoughts in a failed attempt to recall anything about that part of the program, but you could not remember anyone in the forums mentioning that Paradise 17 was about roleplaying — but, then again, you did select that kink before, so maybe that was it.

You ended up going for a simple one: you had just come back from a long time away, and Taehyung had booked a hotel room for the two of you. You didn’t believe you’d be capable of roleplaying anything much more complex than that — like the sugar daddy or teacher/student dynamics that the platform had suggested — especially when you were already so nervous about it. It was your first time trying it out, after all, you might want to ease your way in. Kind of.

Anticipation controlled your movements as you clicked for the next step, only to be met with a warning. The letters were white against a black background, quite a striking view when compared to the page’s clear and minimalistic style, and also with everything you had been presented so far.

Curious, you started reading: “Warning: Your session in Paradise 17 will go on for as long as you, the user, decides. Please be aware that prolonged exposure to Immersive Virtual Reality is not advised, and should not exceed five hours at a time. Do you wish to set a time limit, or decide later when to cease the simulation? The program will warn you half an hour before you reach the advised period of immersion.”

You hummed in an instant of thought, then clicked your preference. Decide later.

“Please enter your safe word. When spoken, the simulation will cease, and your progress will be saved. We advise you to use a word that would not come up normally during this context.”

Cinnamon. You had no idea why it had been the first one to reach your senses, but it would have to do the job for now — hell, you were winging it so far, there was not much that you had to lose.

“Your safe word is: CINNAMON. Confirm?”

Yes.

“Please, ROSE, review your data before we begin. Thank you for choosing Paradise 17, and we hope you enjoy your experience.”

With a tranquil suspire, you did as the program requested, and looked the list of your preferences. Besides your name, your safe word, and your partner’s data, you received the kinks that had resulted from your long session of quiz-answering — besides a dominating companion, you apparently enjoyed overstimulation, praising, voyeurism, cock worship, spanking and, as the cherry on top, vibrators. That was quite something, and you could tell you were in for a treat.

You chuckled, impressed at the agglomeration of kinks; some of which you had never even considered in depth before. “Seems about right,” you mumbled to yourself, then clicked the next page. Suddenly, you were looking forward to that “overwhelming new experience” a lot more.

“Check-in successfully finished. You may now place your IMVIT helmet.”

Oh. It was done.

Anxiety hit you like a punch in the gut, but you forced yourself to keep your movements under a clear veil of control. Like you did for other simulations, you picked up your IMVIT device, making sure that the long cable that connected it to the computer would not get stuck anywhere, and walked towards your bed. You made yourself comfortable, placing your back against the headboard, and took a look around to see if there were any objects to take care of — it wasn’t common, but sometimes users would report some muscular action in real life, and the last thing you needed was to slap a lamp mid virtual intercourse. When every particularity was revised, you moved your hair behind your ears, and placed the helmet on your head. Your vision went immediately dark, and your fingers promptly started searching for the button on the right side of the large equipment. Once you found it, you pressed it, and the small screen before your eyes turned on. The brightness induced you to blink a few times, making the clear cyan letters almost impossible to read at first.

Initiating program. You will feel a numbness in your limbs as you get into the simulation. Do not turn off your IMVIT helmet during the immersion phasis.

You inhaled profoundly, trying to calm down your nerves. Progressively, you started to be deprived of sensation through your body, almost as if you were starting to fall asleep — starting from your toes, and then working its way up.

The pixelated screen withered into obscurity, and the sound was activated. First, there was only static, then the auditory commands begun to resound inside your head.

“Welcome to Paradise 17,” the previous robotic voice echoed all around you, sending waves of excitability through your figure — or, at least, what hadn��t been numbed by the system. You knew these steps were necessary to fully submerge you in the simulation, but you couldn’t help but feel as if they were a bit more creepy then they should be. Morbid, almost. “You will be taken to your room shortly. Please, enjoy your stay.”

Your eyelids were heavy and, even against your best attempts, they closed. Sensation only lingered in the line above your neck, and it was rapidly diminishing, morphing into a vague trembling against your skin before, at last, disappearing completely. You always compared that part of the process to a bathtub full of anesthesia, in which you gradually slipped down into — submerging your abdomen, shoulders, jaw; and then all the way to the top of your head.

For the last time, you heard the rhythm of your breathing, and then there was only silence. The next inhale you took was already inside the program.

Abruptly, your eyes opened, and you found yourself inside the wonders of Paradise 17. The brusque change of atmosphere was always the most intimidating part of the process — in the breviloquent space between two heartbeats, you went from feeling nothing to absolutely everything. The sensation of your body was as realistic as ever and, if it wasn’t for the change of wardrobe, you could have claimed that you were still out of the virtual world.

Looking down, you noticed you had been wearing a silk robe — nothing beyond a thin, translucent veil of crimson — and, underneath it, a pair of lingerie that probably would’ve coasted your entire salary to acquire in real life. With a quick running of your hands through your hair, you noticed that the makeover had been complete, and you could only guess that your simulated self was also wearing a full-face of makeup. You knew that the system would go the extra mile to make you feel sexier than usual, but that just felt a bit weird to experience, if you were going to be frank.

Then again, it was probably your anxiety speaking.

You had been transported to a long, dimly-lit hallway. The forums were right about something: it felt like every hotel you had ever been to, and that only made the experience much more engaging. From the ugly carpet beneath your feet to the way that the corridor seemed to go on forever, bleeding into the darkness of the night; to the numerous doors that stood shut on either side of the walls — all of them the same: painted in an ivory shade, with beautifully-crafted golden handles — you found yourself in a flawless replication of reality.

The only passage that was accessible to you had been the one in front of your flabbergasted silhouette. From the parted door came a blast of the most profound tinge of magenta you had ever seen, casting its hypnotic, triangle-shaped glow all over the floor; and bathing your flesh with its phosphorescence. You could hear vague shuffles beyond it, and the distant sound of music and cars, many meters beyond your floor. Other than that, absolute silence.

From the other end of the hall, came the exclamation of a bell, signaling that the elevator — that you had barely noticed before — had arrived at your floor. Its golden lambency sliced through the thickness of the stygian atmosphere, and a person entered the hallway with hurried footsteps. Instead of what you expected, the stranger that came from it wasn’t your partner, but a short, middle-aged woman.

In the midst of the corredor’s shadows, you could see that she was wearing a maid’s outfit, and didn’t seem very thrilled about it. She walked hastily towards you, expression neutral — which, for her, made her seem as if she was pissed off at something. Not that you could judge: you, too, suffered from Resting Bitchface Syndrome.

Her voice was high-pitched as slightly nasaled as she spoke out. “Rose?” she asked as she stopped a few meters away from where you stood, placing her hands behind her back. Thin, rectangular-shaped glasses slid from the bridge of her nose, and her image seemed to be the most off-putting fragment of that world.

You didn’t know if she was part of the simulation, or if she was an administrator logged in the system. Either there was a woman like that laying in a dark room and guiding people through their off-putting sexual fantasies, or the programmers had willingly coded that character into a bitter person. Frankly, both options were equally bizarre, and you chose not to dive deeper into that inner debate.

Also, the fact that you were in full-lingerie in the middle of a dark hallway didn’t make you feel any more at ease. “Yes, that’s— That’s me,” you responded, a bit startled. The fake name sounded so off-putting coming from her lips, and you hoped that it would not be constantly used during the simulation.

“At your service.” She nodded. Her movements seemed a bit too unnatural for your taste, so perhaps she wasn’t a real person. You didn’t really want to find out. “Welcome to Paradise 17. Is this your first time using the server?”

“Yes,” you replied, expectant.

Once again, she agreed with a movement of her head. “Understood.” She signaled towards the half-open door. “This is your room, as you might have guessed. Remember: this is a roleplaying simulator, so play your part accordingly. Do you have your safe word in mind?”

Her speech caught you a bit off guard, but you managed to answer rather expeditiously. “Yes, I remember it.”

“Understood,” she repeated, then took a step behind. The purple light did her no good: it only made her eyes seem even more sulken, thin lips being pierced together in an instant of thought. “Your chosen partner, Taehyung, is ready and waiting for you,” she continued, “and you may start whenever you deem comfortable, simply open the door and the simulation will resume. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” you spoke, those two words feeling heavy against your tongue. Not that you had the time to add anything else.

As quickly as the mysterious maid appeared, she vanished into the twilight of the corridor, walking rapidly toward the elevator’s open doors. You stood there, somewhat stupefied at the odd interaction, and watched as the metallic cubicle closed with a low purring of its motor, then moved up to the following floor.

Well, that was... unexpected. Surely not something you wished to think about for any longer than necessary.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the confused thoughts that surrounded your mind, and reached out for the golden handle. The metal was cool beneath your touch, and you had to recognize the perfection that the simulation provided — according to some programmers, the physical sensation of objects was the harder one to evoke, but Paradise 17 seemed to have no issue in regards to that. Which was good, because, honestly, the experiences of the flesh were the majority of its offers.

In a brusque decision, you made the call that you would not allow for your performance anxiety to get the best of your actions — it was just a simulation, and you had nothing to worry about. Paradise 17 was just another parallel universe, and Taehyung was just another pre-programmed character. You were there to have fun, and not have an existential crisis. You’d be okay. You’d live.

You hoped.

So, with that in mind, you opened the door.

Your room was both what you had expected — based on the few preview pictures on the Paradise 17 website — and a bit more. It was by no means ostentatious, but it had enough details that it would feel much fancier than it was; certainly something you would not be able to afford in real life.

In the very centre of it, stood a large, round, king-sized bed and; by each side, white nightstands held the weight of frail lights. Crepuscular silk sheets enveloped the mattress, bathed by the vague lambency of neon; and you could sense the vague aroma of something sweet dancing in the atmosphere.

Nevertheless, those were not the important aspects of that space. You did not care for the deep purple curtains that ornamented the walls, nor for the mirror by your side that made you catch a glimpse of your own barely-covered figure. Your attention had been funneled to the large window that practically covered the wall opposite from where you stood — and the man that looked at the city below.

Behind his figure, the prismatic city lights scintillated like a million constellations. There was a thin line of turquoise phosphorescence that delineated his body, but, other than that, he was pure shadow — a black hole amidst a vivacious galaxy. Many meters beneath your secluded room, the muffled symphony of cars and effervescent conversations attempted to reach for your senses, but barely made through the silence that bloomed within that structure. It was far too perfect to be real and, yet, it immersed you so fully that you forgot, even for an instant, that you were inside an manmade world.

With the pushing of your fingertips, the door closed behind you. The man — Taehyung — appeared to get startled at the clicking noise, for his head quickly snapped away from the image of the kaleidoscopic city, and towards you. Taehyung had his hands deep in the pockets of his cream-colored suit once he turned around, his eyebrows slightly elevated in a muted inquisition, barely visible past the cascades of his soft hair strands. Once you saw his face, you could swear your heart forgot how to beat for an instant — he was absolutely handsome, ethereal almost, and his picture did him no justice.

Nervousness forgotten, you allowed for a dim smile to germinate upon your lips. “Hey,” you almost whispered, voice a lot softer than your usual timbre. You felt a bit stupid saying that, but it wasn’t as if you had a long line of groundbreaking introductions to choose from.

Taehyung’s eyes were wide in a mixture of surprise and nostalgia. “Rose,” he called your fake name with so much fluidity that you wished you could change it to your real one. The system had forgotten to notify you that the man had just enchantingly deep timbre, and that could be a problem — you would not respond for your own actions. “You showed up.”

You nodded, pushing your legs to move in his direction. The atmosphere felt thick, your lungs were barely able to suck the dense air in. “I did, Taehyung.”

The man suspired. “You look beautiful, my love,” he spoke underneath his breath, eyes glued to the movements of your figure. Against the blazing, yet scarce, lights of your room, his blonde strands of hair had decayed into a shade of pallid pink, and you loved it even more. Taehyung looked angelic, in the most demonic of ways. “I didn’t think you’d find me here.” He paused. “I didn’t think you wanted to.”

Dry — your throat felt so damn dry. If you could, you would skip that roleplaying part and jump straight to the action; especially now that you had seen him in “flesh”, and all the eroticism that encompassed his figure had completely asphyxiated you. Next time, you made a mental note to not go for any sort of roleplaying. “I did. I wanted — I want — it,” you responded slowly, walking in his direction. Your thoughts were disorganized, anarchic. “I... want you.”

Talk about being direct. Well, you had never been the most subtle person ever, anyways. It’s not as if you should get self-conscious about a simulation judging your eagerness to get inside his pants.

Taehyung smirked, pleased by your reaction. There was no way that man had been generated by a computer: he was so alluring that you could swear you had seen him somewhere before — perhaps in a renaissance painting, where diaphanous brushstrokes could ever so precisely construct the symmetry of features and actions. “I know that,” he verbalized — and of course he would be cocky too, because that was the essential ingredient when it came to cooking the Ruin-You recipe. “This is all for me, isn’t it?”

And of course, he was talking about your clothing — or lack thereof. “Yes,” you agreed. With a final step, you found yourself standing right before him — so close that, at every new inhale, you thought your chest would hit his. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders, and felt as he placed his own on your hips. His skin was warm and, against yours, it felt like it was burning, setting your soul aflame. “All for you, Taehyung,” you repeated.

Taehyung seemed to take a moment to dwell in your words, caliginous eyes continuously flickering downwards, attempting to catch glimpses of your body; explore the valley between your breasts. “Well, as much as you know I adore to see you like this...” he started, voice barely above a suspire. Beneath the fabric of his suit, you could feel his defined muscles moving as he massaged your body; squeezing your ass lightly. “I prefer when you’re wearing nothing.”

You looked up, meeting his tenebrous irises — vortexes of greed and lust, sucking you into a world you could not comprehend. As the words left you mouth, they did not feel like your own. “We can change that,” you proposed.

He hesitated. Just as you thought that Taehyung would respond, with his reddish lips opening to form a silent syllable, the darkness of his gaze deepened into a level that you could not fully grasp. The man’s eyelashes quivered lightly as his eyes met the delineation of your lips, and there they stayed. He leaned in.

Taehyung’s answer, instead, came in the form of a passionate kiss, and a subdued groan against your mouth.

His large hands departed from your lower body and, subsequently, cupped your cheeks as his lips parted in a warm welcome, a soft sigh coming from his throat once he felt your immediate reciprocation. Air was stuck inside your lungs as Taehyung kissed you with all he had, tasting the nectar of your lips, succumbing into you. His kiss passed a clear, palpable message: I want to have you all for myself. And I don’t want excuses.

And, fuck, you wanted him too.

That was why you didn’t stop him when his hands started trailing towards your clavicles, just to hook around the hem of your robe and pull it down your shoulders — a second later, it was merely a pool of translucent silk around your ankles. The fresh air embraced your figure then, and you could fully feel the asperous sensation of the man’s suit against your body.

Annoyed at the abundance of fabric in between you, you were quick to move your fingers to take off his own clothing. In due time, his suit jacket was already accompanying your robe on the hardwood floor, and your hands were using his blood-red tie to pull him closer to you, silently begging for more.

You knew that the hotel room was fake, but your experiences were very, very real. There was no way to mask the excitement that had taken over your limbs, nor the lewd expectation that had started to accumulate at the bottom of your abdomen. Taehyung knew exactly how to kiss you — he knew which pacing to follow, when to caress your tongue with his own; when to depart from your lips so he could meet the luscious skin of your exposed neck. He had been, quite literally, handmade for you, and you adored every second of it.

The man departed from your mouth, and navigated his lips towards your cheek, kissing the spot with unbearable softness. Taehyung suspired frequently, drowning in his own reverence at your form, as he trailed a path down your neck; biting as sucking your flesh in-between the wet touches of his mouth. “Love,” he called, his hoarse voice sending vibrations through your body, “Let’s be patient, we have the entire night for ourselves.”

Your only response had been a sigh, for you were aware that you could not speak anything else, even less play your part well. Many years before, you had been removed from the theater club for a reason — you could not act to save your life. And, frankly, you were in no position to do so.

As you would soon understand, though, Taehyung was everything but patient.

Sooner than you would admit, his dahlia-colored tie was on the ground, and your hands were fumbling to open the buttons of his white cotton shirt. Taehyung wasted no time either — his slender fingers were quick to undo the clasp of your bra, and throw it somewhere else as they moved to cup your breasts, to press them together. You whined at the contact, feeling as your arousal begun to present itself between your thighs.

In an unexpected action, Taehyung wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body closer to his, grunting in delight as soon as your nude chest met his own, and the hardness of his cock was felt at the bottom of your abdomen; poking against the light fabric of your underwear. The mere sensation was enough to make you sigh, your hands trailing downwards to meet the hem of his trousers in a blind search for his member.

The tingle of his kiss still lingered on your lips when his mouth, once again, came crashing down against yours; taking your breath away and making your legs weaken at the brusque, hunger-filled contact. That kiss was dramatically different, for his movements had turned much harsher, filled with impatience and lasciviousness. You couldn’t say that you disliked it — in fact, you probably liked it a bit more than you should.

The separation of your mouths pushed a frustrated exclamation out of your throat. With firm hands, Taehyung guided you downwards, sitting you on the edge of the spacious bed — your hips bounced as you met the velvety mattress; your eyes darting up to look at him once again.

Whatever complaint that you had started to construct within your mind came crumbling down once you met his expression. The picture the program had presented could never do any justice to the ethereal beauty that stood before you; the redness of his tongue as it came out to wet his plump lips, the thickness of his eyelashes as he lethargically blinked, taking in the desire of your form. His white shirt had been opened halfway through, and you instantly met the outline of his muscles through the thin fabric; his golden-kissed skin shining alongside the colorful phosphorescence of the room.

Taehyung could have been just a product of your digitally-enhanced imagination for all you cared, but, then and there, he was made of flesh and blood; wrapped around the purest curtain of ravenousness. Furthermore, with the new angle, so came the image of his own throbbing member, now much closer to you.

Your eyes fell to his erection, mouth watering— he was already hard, as you had felt aforetime, and the outline of his cock pressed strongly against his pants. As ephemeral as that instant of amazement was, it showed you just how wise you had been to base your decision on the size difference.

Ephemeral because, as you soon noticed, Taehyung seemed to have the same focus as you did, and was quick to cover your view. Before you could even construct a basic thought about what was given to you, the man cupped himself over his clear pants, groaning once he experienced the sensation his hand provided. “You’re making me so horny, baby,” he moaned out, biting down on his lower lip. “I can barely hold myself back.”

With exhausted limbs and parted eyes, you stared up as he started to stroke himself over his cream-colored trousers, hissing at his own neediness. The image was so erotic that you swore you could faint at the spot — luckily, though, your simulated version had a bit more endurance than that. “Then don’t,” you vocalized, your own tone muffled by your concupiscence.

Your actions — from the movement of your fingers to the words that left you — felt alien to you. Not because the simulation was bad, god knows it was amazing, but because you felt as if you had reached for a level of freedom that real life could never give you. Perhaps that was why Paradise 17 was so popular: besides your fantasies, it was also permeated with the possibility of acting out without fear of social consequences. You had full control of the scene, and it molded itself to fit your wishes. It was far too tempting for you to overlook it.

Regardless, those philosophical meditations could wait. There were far more important elements taking shape before you.

Taehyung’s nostrils flared up as his digits started to tease his crown through the fabric, permitting a ponderous exhale to depart from his chest — the sensation was numbed and, yet, it made his eyelids grow heavy as he stared down at your form. “I don’t plan to,” he spoke in a hushed tone, appearing as if he had utilized every ounce of his self-control to do so. “Want to feel it? How hard I am for you?”

The aching between your legs was getting intolerable, at it filled your mind with hazy clouds of craving. As your stare oscillated down to his pants — where you could notice a small wet spot of pre-cum starting to accumulate amongst the material — you swore all the remnants of your apprehension had left you behind. “Yes.” You swallowed dry, sitting up straight. You were out of your senses, but not enough to disregard such tempting proposal, especially when his velvety tone felt so deliciously inviting.

You had to battle against a moan that started to form at the tip of your tongue when your fingers met the textile of his pants — and, right underneath it, the hardness of his cock. Delicately, you started to stroke its sides, feeling as his member twitched in your hands; then the wetness of his pre-cum when you dared to tease his slit. From miles underneath the sea, you heard Taehyung’s breath being caught in his throat, his abs clenching as he drowned in your feather-like movements. “Can I cum in your pretty mouth, baby?” he asked, rather suddenly. You heart almost jumped out of your chest. “Do you want to suck me off?”

“Yes,” you responded just as rapidly. Once again, the proposal was too good to be neglected. “I do.”

Above you, the sound of Taehyung’s chuckle reverberated throughout the consolidated air. He seemed to find some sort of diversion amongst your dissimulated distress, the eagerness you tried to mask as you fumbled to open his buttons. “You love my cock, don’t you?” his voice was dangerously deeper as he asked, clearly amused. And there it was: your first of many kink choices for the night. Cock worship. You could do that. “You can tell me, love, you know how much I like to hear it.”

However, your response did not come so fast. With measured movements, you slided his trousers — and boxers — down his legs, your arousal only increasing as his erection was freed from its confinements. Slightly flabbergasted at the perfection of his form, you observed attentively every particularity that surrounded Taehyung: the shaky breath that left him as his member touched the cool air of the room, already soaked by its own nectar; the flinching of his limbs as you dared to move closer to him, magnetized by the frail neon aura that bathed his flesh. It was a heavenly picture, to say the least, and it was yours to have a taste of.

Still, you reminded yourself that he needed an answer, and your inner conflicts would have to be put on hold, at least for the time being. “Yes, I do…” You trailed off, placing one of your hands around his base. It felt so heavy against your palm, so thick. You bit back a moan once you thought about how good his cock would feel inside you, how amazingly it could fill you up. God bless impromptu decisions, and god bless the cravings of the flesh. “I love it so much.”

Nonchalantly, you tilted your head closer to his center, and your tongue met his crown, flat, then started to draw circular movements against his reddened skin; teasing his opening just enough to earn a muffled cry for more. As you would soon learn, Taehyung was sensitive to even the most timid of caresses, and even his dominating aura could not disguise the need that overruled his mind.

You felt as his fingers intertwined with the strands of your hair, pushing at the top of your head, wordlessly imploring for more. Above you, the boy grunted and cursed, closing his eyes to savor that moment the best he could. “That’s it, baby,” Taehyung eagerly praised, almost as if talking to himself. “Just take it all.”

He didn’t have to ask twice, for every other option was outrageous to even consider.

With a sigh, you placed your lips, rather tenderly, around the head of his cock, and suckled lightly, barely teasing him. You leaned back enough so you could speak, your breath hitting his member in thin clouds of heat. “You’re so hard,” you spoke, angling your head slightly to the right. You licked your path from his base to his top, and heard as a dragged-out grunt broke just behind his clenched teeth. Even the salty taste of his precum felt awfully realistic, you though in a moment of surprise; the texture of his swollen skin was perfect. “So big, Taehyung.”

“All yours, love.” He exhaled. As much as his timbre was somewhat controlled, his actions were not, and the roughness of which he held to your hair only presented his hunger further. “I’m so close already, just looking you is enough to make me cum.”

Now, there were some things that you didn’t precisely think about, but that would appear in the midst of your thoughts regardless. At that instant, the mental depiction of Taehyung coming all over your lips, untouched and trembling at his own release, hit you like a tidal wave, washing away all traces of logic that still lingered inside you. You could see it, in a way, hanging like a sword over his head, reflecting at the bottom of his parted eyes — the man was reaching closer to the edges of his self-control and, between your fingers, his member was painfully enlarged, begging to be caressed.

And that was all you needed to stop teasing him. Go figure, you weren’t that patient either.

Taehyung’s body jolted forward when your mouth wrapped around his cock, and you pushed yourself closer to it, sinking it inside your mouth. He, too, lost the ability to hold back his actions, for the hand that held to your hair closed around your strands with even more force, marking the rhythm of your movements, fighting to pull your head closer to his hips. You hummed at how good it felt, regardless of the sudden rush of pain. You loved it rough, and that had been precisely what you had went for.

“Oh, that’s it. You feel so fucking good,” he cried out in an astounding instant of adoration, every small movement of your tongue against his member made him buckle his lower body towards you; a groan bubbling on his throat. “Take me deeper, baby,” he pleaded.

Obedient, you leaned your body forwards, causing for his cock to hit even deeper inside your mouth. Progressively, you relaxed your throat so you could take even more of his large member in, and grew surprised at how easy it was — apparently your simulated self had no notion of a gag reflex, and that could be used in your favor. All hail the horny programmers that had made that moment possible.

You hummed around his member, taking him whole — or, as much as you could, while your other hand worked massaging his base. Even if it was slightly bothersome the way it ached the back of your throat, you could ignore it; instead focusing on the way his voice resounded around the room; moans and cries echoing around you as he thrusted inside your mouth, delighting in the amazing way you felt around him; chest rising and falling in heavy pants. “Fuck yeah,” Taehyung sobbed, thrusting his hips against your mouth in pure jubilation. “Just like th— shit, your mouth feels so fucking amazing—”

There had been failed attempts to find some sort of relief by slightly thrusting your center against the silky bed sheets, but that was clearly not even close to being sufficient, and it only served to make you even hornier, teasing your clit lightly. You had guessed that such part of the simulation wouldn’t last for long, since your pleasure was the main one to be taken into consideration by the program, and you had completely soaked your underwear by the point that Taehyung’s words were completely lost amongst a tide of broken moans.

Much to your delight, you were correct.

“I'm gonna cum, baby,” Taehyung warned, his member throbbing and twitching between your lips. His every action was a silent bargain for more of your mouth — to take him deeper, faster, to allow him to fuck himself against your soft tongue as you sucked him. Since you weren’t a fan of prolonging his — and by consequence, your — suffering, you did as he expected, and the reaction was instantaneous. “Oh, fuck—”

With a last, breathless whimper, he released inside your mouth; fingers grasping to your hair as you moaned around him, allowing for him to fill you with his cum. Only then, when his amazingly deep voice cried out the shattered syllables of your (fake) name and his thighs begun to tremble underneath the weight of his satisfaction, did you fully notice that you could move away from his cock, for he was already flinching with overstimulation.

After you had swallowed his release, you looked up at him. A dim, fucked-out smirk decorated his lips as his eyes found your own, presenting you with the felicity that had took over him.

Taehyung was still inhaling heavily as he took his thumb to clean one of the corners of your mouth, unhurriedly guiding it to part your red-bitten lips. “You look so pretty like this…” he praised, watching as you sucked on his thumb, swallowing the remnants of his cum. He sighed. “Love, you’re driving me crazy. Lay down for me, let me take care of you.”

You swore you almost cried out in relief as he said so, mind completely focused on the wetness that had pooled in-between your legs. Regardless, your only form of agreement was a long, drawn-out sigh as you moved away from his figure and did as he ever so pleasantly requested.

With fluid movements that did not show your overwhelming craving for his touches, you leaned your torso back, and threw yourself on the mattress, amongst the mountains of the silk sheets, and slightly pushed your body towards the center of the circular bed. As you did so, however, your eyes promptly met… you own.

God have mercy, of course there would be a mirror on the ceiling.

There was a short-lived moment of surprise as you followed the cascade of your hair on the mirror, irradiating around your head; the iridescent lights that contoured your exposed breasts; and the red marks that delineated your mouth. The person on the mirror looked both like yourself and a different version of if, barely a lost phantasm living amongst the shadows of that hotel. It was a paradoxical position: it felt like an hallucination, and yet a vivid part of reality.

Before you could ruminate on that piece of information any further, though, another figure came into focus on the reflection. Taehyung had taken off his last piece of clothing — his shirt — and had kneeled before you, fingertips landing on your thighs and pushing your legs apart. “Keep’em open for me, baby,” he whispered, overtaken by devotion. His voice was husky, enthralling. “Let me see what you’re giving me tonight.”

Your eyes darted away from the mirror, and towards him. “Taehyung,” you called out, shame long forgotten. The flame of carnality that burned at the bottom of your abdomen was overbearing, scorching your skin and turning your contemplations into ashes. There was nothing else that you needed but to feel him. “Please, just hurry.”

He placed his hands on either side of your head, finding support on the malleable fabric, and placing himself between your legs. Taehyung’s figure blocked out the obfuscus luminescence that came from the outside world, and the heat of his skin managed to be overwhelming, as bright as the lambency that shone within his gaze.

Against your expectations, though, the man didn’t laugh at the vocalization of your painful needs. Instead, Taehyung steadily lowered his body to your level, placed a prolonged kiss on your lips, and then moved down to your collarbones, his tongue writing poetry against your skin. He maintained his sluggish path as his large hands caressed your tits, pressing them together and grunting as he felt your nipples hardening underneath his touch.

“Taehyung,” you called out his name like it was a prayer — it was no time to tease you like that. “I want more.”

He hummed and departed from your bosom, kissing and licking down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Pushing your legs apart — which had once again closed in a natural defense against his erotic touches — Taehyung trailed up the invisible course on the inner part of your thigh, moving nearer to where you needed him the most. His lips were soft as feathers, warm as the flames of hell, and his tongue marked ancient spells on your skin.

God, you were doomed.

“Ah, love, you're dripping for me,” the boy complimented in awe, moving his palms towards your oversensitive center. With lustful appetite scintillating behind his eyes, Taehyung took two of his fingers back to your folds; but, instead of entering you, they simply dwelled at your wetness, earning a low groan from him as he pushed them apart.

The heath of his mouth met the cotton of your underwear, his lips circling your covered clit just right. He wanted to tease you further, but he knew you were in no position to endure it. “I just want to have a taste of you, love…” Taehyung trailed off, two of his slender fingers curling around the hem of your panties, pulling them down with umberable patience. The brush of his skin against yours was gentle, but enough to have a sigh leave your mouth — his voice was something you just fucking loved to hear, sweet as honey and deep as the libido the bloomed within your chest. “Fuck, look at you…”

Licking his plump lips in expectation, the boy stared in hidden fascination as he uncovered your soaked center, presenting him with a luscious view of your dripping sex. With a reverberating, satisfied groan, Taehyung placed one of his fingers on your entrance, playing with your wetness, barely teasing his way in. “You're all ready for me, babe,” he praised in a suspire, lowering his head to take a closer look at you. When he spoke, his hot breath hit the skin of your inner thighs. “God, you'll make me go crazy. I can't wait to make you cum around my cock.”

Your pulse quickened at the idea, causing for you to raise your hips against the motions of his expert digits. Through your parted lids, your gaze met his cock — already hard and throbbing against his abdomen, ready for another round. In real life, that would have taken a bit longer than a couple minutes, but, then again, Paradise 17 knew what it was doing.

Taehyung hummed once again, content with your physical response — the whines that broke upon your tongue, and the trembling breaths that got trapped in your fast-beating chest. His nose brushed its path along your thigh, moving dangerously close to your heat, while his fingers moved to rub your clit at a slow pace, coating it with your own moisture. “Will you be a good girl for me?” Taehyung questioned in a mumble — God, that voice was going to be the end of you. “Will you do what I ask you to?”

“Yeah…” you agreed in a whimper, respiration getting heavier by each torturous second. It was awfully annoying the way he grew confident at your distress — Taehyung’s gaze was one of pure cockiness, making you clench your teeth as you attempted to get more friction from his touches; the ghost of his plump lips against your sensitive skin. “Yes, just let me…oh fuck—”

Before you could even prepare yourself for it, Taehyung had moved his hand down, and entered one finger inside you, delighting in the way you clenched around him. “Just let you what?” the boy provoked, raising his head away from your heat, watching as your fingers dug to the sheets by your side. It was no fantastic discovery the fact that Taehyung had deliciously long fingers, but, once he added the second one, you were already starting to lose the terminal remnants of your self-control. “I couldn’t hear you, baby.”

Outside the concupiscent walls of Paradise 17, you would have never seen yourself as much of a submissive person, but Taehyung managed to turn that around rather quickly. And, as his movements grew more frantic, you lost yourself. “Taehyung, please,” you cried out, closing your eyes in absolute bliss. You could feel yourself getting lighter as your orgasm approached, chest rising and falling as you seeked your release. “Please, let me cum.”

Taehyung inhaled sharply at the inflections of your needy speech, groaning once he felt the throbbing of his own hard member against the bed. Around his fingers, you clenched and released, signaling that you weren’t far from your high. “Good girl,” he praised, repositioning himself to get closer to you.

In an action that was a bit too mercurial for your foggy mind to follow, his mouth was working on your clit with an unprecedented hunger, fingers completely sinking inside you. Taehyung grunted as he sucked on your sensitive spot, feeling as your walls tightened around his fingers, your juices soaking the path down his digits, and onto his hand. Hard and heavy, his cock twitched and rubbed against the bed every time you whined out his name, at every new, needy moan that dares to reverberate past your tongue.

When moved back, you could sense his shallow breaths reaching for your clit in small puffs of air. “Will you cum on my tongue? You know I love how you taste.” His charges got a bit faster, reaching deep inside you. Every once in a while, he would part his fingers ever so slightly, which you were sure it was a way to prepare you for his big member.

You could not be in the best state of mind then, but you could remember perfectly how thick he was as he was pressed against you, or as he filled your mouth, and the recalling was more than sufficient to push an answer out of your arid throat.

“Yes, yes, please,” you struggled to speak out, the right words flying away from your grasp. Your mind was already getting overwhelmed by the constant stimulation, the eminent arrival of your release turning your thoughts into absolute pandemonium — something that only worsened once you felt his tongue flat against your clit, losing no time in massaging it in gradual, deliciously circular motions. “Oh my god,” you gasped, hands flying to grip his soft strands of hair.

His digits curved upwards, hitting your sweet spot with no effort. You threw your head back, feeling as your pleasure expanded by the second, “Taehyung,” you called out in a whimper, rolling your hips against his hand. Weak, your knees felt like they were made of jello as he continued his movements, using his fingers to open your entrance wider, hitting you deeper. You were hanging just over the edge, and one last push was all you needed. “Right there, fuck. I’m going to—”

And the last push arrived in the form of a low, guttural moan against your heat. Just like Taehyung had requested, you came on his tongue, and gladly so. As your legs trembled under the hit of your first orgasm, your fingers held tightly to the roots of his hair, riding out your high against the intoxicating movements of his tongue against your clitoris. You cried out what resembled the pieces of his name in an exasperated exhale, drowning in the intercalated waves of heat and iceness that ran up and down your spine.

When Taehyung departed from in-between your legs and sat back on the bed, his roseate tongue came out, licking the remnants of your liquids on his plump lips, and taking his fingers to his mouth to do the same. “You taste so good…” the boy trailed off, the mere image turning into the hottest thing you had ever seen. As he looked at you, however, you observed that his eyes were a bit emptier than before. “Do you want to continue?” he inquired.

As soon as those words left his swollen, wet lips, you noticed that his timbre had decayed into a neutral one, and instantly noticed that it was the simulation asking for your consent. Better safe than sorry, you guessed.

Then again, if you were there, you might as well go all out.

You licked your lips, looking down at his own — his mouth was completely covered by your juices, shining against the dim magenta lights like small diamonds. “Yes,” you responded. That simple sentence took all of your spiritual strength; even the steadiness of your voice was hanging by a thread. “I want more.”

Much to your delight, that appeared to be all that he necessitated to keep your night moving along, for his gaze drew back to the same fathomless expansion that had been ruling over your thoughts. If there were any fragments of his robotic, pre-programming self still living within that hotel room, they soon vanished as he began to speak again.

“Ah, love, you're still dripping for me,” the boy complimented in awe. With lustful appetite scintillating behind his eyes, Taehyung took two of his fingers back to your folds; but, instead of entering you, they simply dwelled at your wetness, earning a low groan from him as he pushed them apart, then trailed softly towards your clit. The contact made you shake, air stuck in your lungs. “Fuck, you're soaking the bed, baby. Is that how much you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, Taehyung, please,” you whined out, trying to move your core against him. However, to your frustration, his other hand moved quicker than your intentions, and it held your hips in place. Such an annoying little tease you had gotten for yourself. “Stop with this and just fuck me.”

Again, so much for being subtle. Then again, as much as Taehyung was playing the dominating part in that piece of virtual heaven, your wishes were the ones to be taken into consideration, especially when they were worded in such urgent manner. Quite literally, it bottomed down to the fact that you wished for him to fuck you, and so he would.

Without warning, as he often liked to act, the boy positioned himself between your legs. Taehyung took his hand away from your core and wrapped it around his member, using it to guide himself past your folds. He started by teasing his head in, making you get used to his size, before, at last, sinking the rest of his length inside; the delicious way of your walls stretched open to accommodate his cock making you to fall back against the mattress in a silent plea.

Taehyung was a quivering mess as he breathed out, fighting back a groan of satisfaction. His hands returned to rest on each side of your head, and his chest lowered, getting closer to your own. “Shit, I could just slip right in,” he told you, slowly pulling his hips back, leaving only the tip of his member in, just to shove himself back inside you. Once again, he repeated the action, starting with a slower rhythm, filling you to the brim. “You feel so fucking good, babe, fuck…”

Your only reply had been a restrained moan, and the wrapping of your legs around his waist. Taehyung was thick, reaching every possible spot inside you and leaving you in a storm of moans and torn supplications; fingers holding to the bed sheets in a shallow, frustrated attempt to hold yourself back to rationality.

With furrowed brows, Taehyung closed his eyes in concentration. Gradually, his hips started to lose precision in their pushes, and his rhythm was a scattered combination of movements; following the symphony of his constant groans and moans, fucking you much faster — rougher — than before. “You like this?” he panted.

“Yeah,” you said. He rolled his hips against you, fucking you so well that you saw stars forming constellations before your eyes. “Go deeper, ple—”

But he had already understood your request, and loud exclamation of delight dropped from your bruised lips, interrupting your sentence. You felt as his member, thick and throbbing, entered you deeper, stretching you wide and hitting all the lovely spots. “Like this?” he whispered in a hoarse voice, unable to hold back his own cries of delectation. His pouty lips wrote your fate on the surface of your soft cheeks, moving towards your neck once again. “Is this okay?”

“Oh fuck, yeah, just like this,” you cried out, closing your eyes in utter ecstasy as he did what you requested. Taehyung made sure to bring his hips back — his tip almost leaving your heat — before slamming himself back in, rolling his hips slightly so he could reach the all the places you loved so much with each feral thrust. The heat of his breaths against your skin was constant, but it could never win against the sensations that spreaded throughout your body. “Don’t stop, oh my god.”

Sooner than you would like, your second orgasm of the night hit you like a tidal wave, making you cry out his name again and again; your previous line of thought forgotten. You closed your eyes in endless, euphoric bliss, dwelling in the way he continued to fuck you through your high; knees shaking and arms far too weak to hold down to the bed.

Still, he fulfilled your request, and didn’t stop even after you had come undone.

“Taehyung,” you called, voice no more than a frail exclamation floating around the air. Your body was thrown up and down as he fucked you hard, the sound of sheets beneath of skin combining perfectly with the deep moans that left the boy. Taehyung was so strong in his thrusts that even the sensation of your boobs bouncing turned into a ocean of jubilation. “I already c-came.”

He inhaled sharply, hands meeting the curvature of your waist. The heat of his palms sent shivers down your spine; the frown of pleasure that overtook his features was enough to erase all your flabbergasted contemplations. “But you feel so perfect,” the boy praised, his storm-like advances becoming more and more inconsistent by the second; fingers holding to your flesh almost possessively. “Do one more for me, baby, come on. Cum for me.”

If it had been in real life, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to pull that off, but, since the context was different, the task did not feel as impossible as it seemed. “O-Okay,” you agreed in a stutter, reality seeming to be eons away. You were too weak to even protest, not that you really wanted to. “For you.”

And bless Paradise 17 for making your simulated body recover faster than your real one ever could, because it didn’t take much longer until your oversensibility gave way to a new wave of euphoria.

You bit your lip then, hard, trapping a whimper behind your teeth as you felt Taehyung maintain his strong actions, his eyes glued to the soft bouncing of your boobs; lips vaguely parted to form a silent syllable. Everything was becoming too much: his moans were too constant, yet so muffled; the pigmentation of the room contrasted with the bright lights from outside. The world was coming to a sudden halt, and your focus could barely hold itself to one single fragment of that room — the buildings that tried to reach the skyline beyond the window glass; then back to the sweat that accumulated between your bodies; then flickering to the clenching of Taehyung’s jaw as he felt your walls tightening around him.

But then, when you started to believe you were going to cum for another time, the man ceased his movements, and drew away from your body.

The absence of his touch — and subsequently, of his member inside you — was like a shock that ran through your limbs, making your eyes immediately dart open. You found your own discombobulated gaze on the mirror above and, besides that, the retrieving of his figure as he moved away from your own.

You pushed yourself to seat up. “Taehyung, what—”

“Hold on, baby, it won’t take long,” he requested, interrupting your ‘what the fuck are you doing?’, and leaning over the bed’s edge, reaching for the crepuscular nightstand. Taehyung opened the drawer in a swift movement and you heard something roll inside it, meeting the wood. “I want you to feel even better. You can lay down.”

Fighting back against your true desires, you did as he requested. Above you, your reflected body was covered in cherry-covered marks — all the way to the deep colors on your neck, to the ghostly pressing of his hands on your breasts and hips. The realization of Taehyung’s true roughness only made your craving reach further, rupturing upon your tongue in the form of a breathless suspire. “Tae, please.”

Taehyung lived up to his promise and, within a second, he was already crawling back towards you. “I’m here, love.” He smirked rather amicably — though, in his eyes, shone the flame of his prolonged self-indulgence. “I have something for you.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about when you saw the small, pink-colored object in his hands, and you understood where he was getting at. Of course: you did select vibrators after all. Cheers for stupid decisions.

And cheers for Taehyung for acting before you could even construct a response.

The contact of the vibrator against your clit made you cry out instantly — your body was unaware of the small period that it had been privated from his touches, for you were right back where you stopped, and lust, once again, ran through your veins.

You clenched around nothing and, in an automatic movement, you looked down at his throbbing member. Promptly, you observed how his cock was swollen, ready to cum once again, begging to be touched, to fill you up just the way you loved it. The mere sight of him made you whimper in expectation, your abdomen flinching as the vibrations continued to spread. “Taehyung, p-please,” you begged again. The pressure inside your core was too intense, you just needed to release it. You couldn’t hold back for much longer. “I’m gonna cum like t-this if you don’t hurry.”

Luckily, Taehyung, as you had noted, wasn’t the biggest fan of holding back either. With the fluid movements of a running river, he moved back in between your legs, and placed them over his thighs, angling you perfectly to receive him once again.

One second later, he had already slipped back inside you, and his rough advances resumed.

Sweat had accumulated at the bottom of your spine, and the world just felt too dense to even breathe properly; even less to construct abstract sentences. You begged for your body to just made you cum at once, because you didn’t know how long you could endure that torture for.

Yet, Taehyung wasn’t completely satisfied with your position. With a strong motion, he took one of your hands and placed it over the vibrator, making you hold it firmly against your sensitive spot. The pressure became more intense, and you felt as if your lungs were on fire. “Keep it there, baby,” Taehyung instructed with a hoarse voice, his hips beginning to take a more violent pace. The vibrations against your clit were becoming too much, and you felt as if you could reach your high again at any time now. “Yeah, that’s right. Feels good?”

You bit down on your lower lip, fingertips trembling against the vibrator. “T-Taehyung,” you called in a whimper, looking up to meet the mirror on the ceiling. You could see the motions of his back muscles with perfection, his hips advancing against yours repetitively; your own, needy eyes staring back at you in an unspoken bargain. God, the man fucked you like a machine and, in a way, he was one. “Taehyung, it’s too much…”

Like a whisper inside your mind, your safe word came in a silent proposal — but you quickly overlooked it. You didn’t want it to stop. Not yet.

“Yes, baby, fuck,” he groaned, making sure to add more and more force to his eager thrusts. Shit, you could feel him throbbing inside you, fucking you raw. You moaned and cried, knees shaking as you pressed down the pink vibratior to your clit, the contact adding to the hypnotic, harsh thrusts of his cock in and out of you. The scorching, frenzied waves in your lower body were becoming unbearable, ready to come crumbling down at any given instant. “Cum on my cock, please, baby…”

And that was the final drop. You didn’t know if it was his stupidly corny pet names or the overwhelming movement of his large member inside you, but, honestly, you didn’t care. It could have been a combination of those factors, or perhaps something entirely different. The point was that you had reached your breaking point, and your body could not take it any longer.

You wanted to beg for him to go on, to fuck you harder, deeper, faster; but you couldn’t find the words to do so. You reached for the stars, and there you stayed. As your lips opened, only a choked moan came out, eyes closing as your climax washed like currents throughout your body — making your knees tremble and your stomach clench up. Your nails dug to the skin of his back as you called out his name, your weak voice coming in fragments because of the force of his thrusts.

He, too, could not take much longer. “I’m gonna cum,” Taehyung said in a groan, hitting impossibly deep inside you. Though your climax, you really felt how big he was, keeping you in your place as you tightened around him. “Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect, so tight, I’m— oh, shit.“

You felt as his cock throbbed inside you as he came undone, his thrusts getting more erratic as his voice was sliced by moans and grunts, your name being thrown in the form of disconnected sounds. He fucked you through his high like he had promised: roughly, giving you no space to recover, and only stopped when you complained at the oversensibility.

Taehyung, at last, let out a final, exhausted curse before he moved away from your body, rolling next to you on that king-sized bed. For an instant, silence filled the space between the two of you. Then, the forsaken inquiry resounded once again. “Do you want to continue?” he asked, his throaty voice navigating the air like disembodied sin.

The vibrator was turned off, and you placed it in between the two of you — quivering fingers and sliced breaths echoing in between your sweaty bodies. You swallowed dry, taking an instant to fully organize your thoughts. The sensation of your orgasm still lingered within your bones, and you could swear your centre still felt the vibrations of the object.

“Yes,” you said in a blunt, reckless decision. “Yes please, I want more. Just one more.”

“Are you sure? There’s no need to be greedy.” Taehyung smirked at the eagerness that lingered behind your lips, barely vocalized within your fragmented syllables. As the man lethargically turned his chest towards you, your gaze followed the movement of his cock — still so deliciously swollen, vaguely coated by the whiteness of his release — as thumped against the softness of the mattress, begging to be caressed once again. “I’ll understand if you want to stop for today, love.”

You licked your lips, attention oscillating between his dark charcoal eyes and the throbbing of his member. There was something terribly hot about the way that Taehyung was still hard, and traces of hornyness could still be found lingering just at the back of his smile.

The man, just like every other computer-generated personality in that simulation, had been perfectly coded to be the best partner you would ever have, and he certainly lived up — and surpassed — your expectations. And, to top all of that, the atmosphere of Paradise 17 was, on itself, aphrodisiac. It consumed you from the inside out, making you base your decisions on the desires of the flesh, and not your rational impulses. Outside the simulation, you would have never agreed to another round of that cardio exercise, but, then and there, any other option seemed far too preposterous to even consider.

So, when your answer left your lips, you were not precisely left surprised.

“I can do one more.”

A deep chuckle reverberated within his chest, and he moved slowly to sit up on the bed, back pressed against the headboard. Manners forgotten, one of his hands curled around his aching cock, fingers teasing his slit as he took in your fucked-out image. Taehyung hissed at the sensitivity of his member, twitching painfully at the absence of your heat; a long, guttural moan breaking upon his lips as he spoke again. “Look what you do to me,” his chest quivered as his spoke, panting breaking his words into breathless pleas. “I’m still so horny.”

The image of him jerking off was just too hot to handle, and certainly not something you had been psychologically ready to endure. Taehyung moaned, his own eyes falling to the rapid movements of his fingers against his pulsating length; droplets of sweat glistening on his forehead, shining over the roseate hue of his cheeks. From the clenching of his abs and the rise and fall of his hips, you could tell that he was working his way past the painful sensitivity of his last two orgasms. You desperately wanted to watch him cum like that, but you knew that he was just teasing you further.

Which, by the way, really fucking worked.

Taehyung grunted as his hand continued its movements, eyes falling shut as the delightful sensation of his actions started to work its way around his body. “I can’t hold myself back when I’m around you, baby, you make me so hard.” He threw his head back against the soft headboard, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard, attempting to hold back a whine. You didn’t even care that you were in a simulation then, you just wanted to have him again. “Will you take me well, babe?”

“So well.” You breathed out, biting your lower lip as his actions increased in speed. Taehyung was starting to lose himself in his own bliss, enchanted by the sinful images you presented him. The view he gifted you — sweaty hair and closed eyes; parted lips coated by your nectar; and constant, needy moans — was driving you insane, eagerness taking over you once again. “Taehyung, please, I need to feel you… I’ll take you well, please…”

“Ah, babe.” Taehyung sighed, opening his eyes just enough so you could notice the way his irises shone in absolute lust — he looked like a piece of inferno wrapped in the ethereality of paradise, from the way his hair was gleaming in droplets sweat to the clenching of his abs. “You’re such a good girl for me, fuck… Get up.”

And that request was all you necessitated. With expeditious movements, you stood up besides the bed and, instantaneously, felt as his cum began to drip in between your legs, running down your thighs. What a fucking mess, you thought. If it hadn't been a simulation, you would have definitely cleaned yourself up before anything else — not that you thought your real body could have endured all of that, plus what was coming, but still.

“Move closer to the window, let me see you.” Taehyung delicately requested, as he leisurely let go of his member and watched it bounce against his abdomen, aching for you. As you did as you were told, you felt the weakness of your legs beneath you, and the unspoken promise that they would give out at any instant.

You didn’t know what it was, but you just loved the way that Taehyung seemed so horny to have you again and again, unable to keep his hands off himself as he watched you — from the movement of your wet thighs to the suave bouncing of your breasts — as you moved towards the kaleidoscopic glass, momentaneously hesitant, waiting for more of his orders.

Soon enough, they came.

Taehyung got up, and ran one hand through his sweaty strands of hair, pushing it back and showing you his furrowed brows. He looked like lucifer then, owner of such enveloping aura that you could lose yourself in the labyrinth of his fathomless gaze. “Love,” he began, “Tell me what you want.”

As he took one step toward you, you took one behind, and your back me the gelid window. Air was trapped within the walls of your throat, both from the contact of the surface and the tension that lingered between the two of you. “I just want to have you,” you spoke out. And that was the pure truth. “I don’t care how.”

He smiled. “Whatever my girl wants, she gets,” Taehyung told you with uncharacteristic kindness, gaze falling to the alluring forms of your body, the vague trembling of your knees. Two of his fingers traced down the path between your breasts, his voice coming out lower as an order came out of his lips. “Turn your back to me.”

Eager, you followed Taehyung’s command immediately. Before you, in his phantasm-like reflection, you saw the way he bit down on his lower lip, groaning as he noticed your growing wetness.

“Ass up for me, love,” Taehyung murmured from behind you, his hoarse timbre sending shivers down your spine. Once again, you did as he said, perking up your hips and finding support with your palms against the window. “That's it, baby.” Lackadaisically, his digits contoured the curvature of your ass, groping at your flesh tightly. He knew about your desire, and took his time to tease you — next time, you would make sure to get the most impatient partner you could find. “Just look at you, all ready for me.”

You whined at the sensation of his big cock bumping against your heat as he stepped even closer, your core clenching around nothing. “Taehyung, please—” Heavy breaths painted pictures of diaphanous clouds against the window, and the polychromatic city lights became foggy underneath it. Outside, you could see the outline of other people passing in front of windows, and something fell at the pit of your stomach — were you on online mode? Were those real people using the system?

Did you even care?

Not really.

Behind you, Taehyung chuckled at your distress, and the sound reverberated through your breastbone. “Look at that,” he provoked. Against your clit, you felt the tip of his cock, and the mere contact made you gasp in anticipation — you felt so empty, you needed him again, just one last time. “All those people are watching you get fucked. Isn’t that lovely?”

Lost amongst your blurred thought, you closed your eyes as you felt the sensation of his member rubbing itself in-between your folds. Taehyung was still vaguely covered by his own pre-cum, and your wetness lubed his way perfectly. If you angled your lower body just enough, you’d be able to feel the slow, dragged-out grinding of his throbbing ache against your entrance and convince yourself, even if for an instant, that his grinding would cease, and he would end your torture by spreading you open.

Nevertheless, that illusion of pleasure was short-lived.

A sharp, burning pain spread across your asscheek as it came in contact with his palm, making you jolt your body forward in a mixture of surprise and delectation. And there it was: spanking. You knew there was something still missing from your checklist of kinks.

“Answer me, love,” Taehyung almost hissed against the skin of your neck. “I asked you a question.”

You took a second to even remember what question he was referring to, and three more to conjure an answer — or something even remotely close to that. “Yes, yes it is,” you said. You had no idea what he wanted you to respond, and the grinding of his cock against your folds didn’t make your mind any less fogged.

Once again, he laughed at your distressed words. This time however, the softness of his deep chuckles was accompanied by the tenderness of his palm against the same area he had hit. “Well.” Taehyung breathed out, pushing your hair away from your neck. He planted a kiss on your skin, and his hands found the curvature of your waist. “We should put on a show, then. Don’t you think so?”

As much as you would adore the idea of him forcing another answer out of you, you pushed your tired vocal chords to formulate the words of your agreement. “I do, yeah.”

He hummed, and took one of his hands to guide himself to your entrance. “Let’s start, then,” Taehyung mumbled. With the heavy breaths that departed from his lips, and the hunger that was reflecting in his eyes, you could tell that he did not want to prolong that instant for longer than necessary.

Taehyung entered you with one long, swift motion, allowing for you to get, once again, used to his size. In the phantasmagorical reflection of the foggy window, you catched glimpses of his own face, contorted by fervorous hunger, as he felt the way you opened himself to him.

You pressed your forehead against the glass as he held tighter to your flesh, gasping at the feeling. This time, he wasn’t really focusing on thrusting inside you, but on pushing and pulling your body against his cock, making you do most of the job. “Taehyung, you’re so big,” you choked out without much thought, back arching as his hips begun to move, sliding in and out of you, then starting to take on a more violent, rapid rhythm. “It feels so good, fuck.”

Mindlessly, your hips perked up, seeking for a new angle. It was probably the amount of times you had come already — two? three? You couldn’t even remember — but you could tell that your body was not going to be able to endure that sensation for much longer. That certainty, however, presented itself once Taehyung moved to pull your ass up, while fucking you deeper, and happened to hit your sweet spot.

“Oh my god, Taehyung, right there. Don’t stop,” you begged. Against the glass, your fingers slid down, leaving behind the marks of your hand. The world outside was nothing but a blur, and you did not care for anyone else that could catch a glimpse of your decay into perdition. “I’m so close already.”

“Me too,” Taehyung responded in a whisper. Inside you, his member throbbed and twisted in need, signaling that the man wouldn’t be able to take it for much longer either. “Fuck, baby, just take me, I know you can do it.”

The tingling in your lower belly was spreading throughout your hips and stomach, traveling to infest your entire body. It felt dangerously good, and you were sure you were about to reach your breaking point — a part of you wished for him to go slower just so you could prolong that sensation, but that was just too much for you to ask. You loved the way he filled you up, his thick cock twitching inside you as he fucked you into oblivion, too harsh, too rough for you to follow.

So, you found your relief for the final time that night, crying out his name as he continued to drill into you, pushing your breasts against the glass, holding to your hips with the same force he has smacked you aforetime. In a way, you didn’t expect to end it any other way. It was almost poetic, if you thought about it.

“That’s right, love,” Taehyung murmured against the skin of your back, closing his eyes. You could tell he was close too, for the his abdomen had started clenching. He was a greek god then, making you his in every right way, his muscles outlined by the neon illumination that came from outside. “You’re such a good girl, aren't you? You just love it when I have you like this, you take my cock so well.”

You felt as if you were about to explode, pleasure overtaking every cell of your body. Trembling, your knees fought to keep you steady as Taehyung used your body to get himself off.

His teeth found the skin of your neck, biting down lightly. Taehyung seemed as if he wanted to claw his way into your body, for even his thrusts got impossibly harder, raising your hips with the impact. “You’re so tight, love, so fucking perfect,” he spoke against your skin, one of his arms wrapping around your waist, and the other seeking support on the window. “I’m… I’m going to cum, baby.”

And, of course, he was a man of his word. Taehyung came inside you with a profound groan against your wet skin, and you could feel as he filled you up with his cum; still thrusting in and out of you as it began to drip in between your legs. You whimpered at the sensitivity, and your legs almost gave out beneath you as he continued to fuck himself through his relief.

Alright, truth be told. You may have exaggerated a bit, but, god, it was worth every second.

He ceased his movements and, for an instant, there was only serenity. Then, for the final time that night, the same question resounded throughout the consolidated room. “Do you want to continue?” Taehyung inquired, his lips mere centimeters away from your ear, and his cock still buried deep inside you.

You sighed at the contact of his warm breath, attempting to organize your ponderations. “No, not anymore,” you answered, a bit sad. “I should go now.”

Frankly, you didn’t want to leave: the sex was too good and, from your glimpse at the clock at the wall, you could tell that you still had two hours before the constant virtual immersion reached the margins of dangerousness. Still, you were fucking exhausted. There was no way that you could endure another round, even if your simulated self already had much more stamina then you would ever achieve in real life. Paradise 17 was, after all, also reaching for the realistic side, and the tragic truth was that you were never the most athletic person around.

On the reflection, you saw that Taehyung pouted at your answer. “I will miss you, love,” he whispered against your neck, his fingertips caressing the curvature of your waist. Oh, you would really fucking miss him, and would make sure to come back as soon as you had your energy back on track. “I’ll be here for you, alright?”

That was a low hit, you thought, but you forced yourself to maintain your call. “Alright,” you mumbled back, closing your eyes in a moment of concentration. That was going to hurt — spiritually, psychologically, perhaps even physically, but it had to be done. “Cinnamon.”

Upon the soft-spoken verbalization of your safe word, the universe came to a sudden halt, and the simulation was paused. On the window before you, a diminutive, square-shaped screen appeared, shining in bright niveous colors. Do you wish to cease the simulation? It inquired.

“Yes.” You breathed out. The most difficult of decisions require the hardest of wills, after all — or at least that was how you thought the saying went.

Before you, the screen flickered into a brand new message. Please hold. You will be unplugged from the online interface, and your progress will be saved.

Increasingly, the hotel morphed into a darker shade of itself, like the flower that withered at the corner of your bedroom. The lights were turned off, and the world succumbed into penumbra. The fabric of the artificial reality shivered then, similar to how a small rock induces waves in a puddle, preparing itself to send you back to the world of the living — away from Paradise 17, and from the hellish magnificence that was Taehyung.

The steps were the same as when you entered the simulation: all physical sensation ceased for a prolonged instant, only to come crashing back as you were transported to a completely different position. Abruptly, you could feel the weight of your IMVIT helmet all around you, and the softness of your mattress was, once again, beneath your thighs — the touch so paradisiacal when compared to the roughness you had just endured.

You blinked a few times, trying to grow used to your body, and the tenebrosity that expanded all around you; your features barely illuminated by the small visor inside the object. On the screen before you, blue, pixelated letters read: Thank you for using Paradise 17. We hope you had a pleasurable experience. Come back soon.

And oh, damn right you would.

You can now remove your IMVIT helmet. Idol thanks you for your preference.

Supiring, you did as it requested.

The muffled atmosphere of your room hit you all at once, in clear dissonance with the sweet, cool air of Paradise 17. You waited a few seconds before your eyesight had adapted to the dim illumination and, with a heavy heart, you placed your helmet by your side, and threw your legs over the bed’s edge. Between your thighs, you could feel the effect of the simulation, for you had completely soaked your underwear.

Within a minute, you had already sat down in front of your computer and closed all open programs, feeling the ponderousness of sleep hanging over your shoulders. Still, there was something you needed to check before you allowed for your slumber to overtake you. For science, of course, just a bit of research.

Without much thought, you opened one of your go-to forums, and typed “Paradise 17” on the search bar. After a few seconds of scrolling through high star reviews and awfully personal descriptions of the user’s experiences, you found the piece of information you were searching for.

“The developers of the infamously popular simulation, Paradise 17, came out this last Sunday with great news for its devoted users. Its newest version, which is expected to hit the markets next month, will have, amongst other updates, the possibility of multiple partners. Oh Sehun, the spokesperson for Idol, told us in an exclusive interview that, so far, the number of participants is limited, ranging from the usual two, all the way up to five. Other than that, Idol promised to add new scenarios to the simulation, while still following the hotel theme — such as a hot tub and a public pool, for the ones who enjoy the thrill of being seen in public (...)”

You elevated one of your eyebrows in clear interest — a threesome? Now, that was something you could look forward to. The new update couldn’t come soon enough.

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