#at least none of the other companies’ people know it was possibly delayed by me… small mercies iggggggg | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bubble-tea-bunny · 3 years

Text

i could make you care

[saiki kusuo x reader]

author’s note: i tried to incorporate as many characters into this as possible to make it feel like an actual episode and i got overwhelmed so fast lol i haven’t written this many characters in a story in a long time. in any case hope i did them justice and that you enjoy :’)

word count: 3,029

Today’s morning is bright, and Saiki’s walk is quiet. Typically this would be no cause for concern. A quiet walk to school is few and far between, difficult to come by given the company he keeps. (He’d much prefer a calmer bunch, if he were granted the chance to choose, but that is neither here nor there.) Don’t misunderstand: he’d bask in this brief peace, guaranteed to be broken the moment he passes through the gates of PK Academy, if the reason for this uncharacteristic period of silence comes about because of the absence of one particular person—someone who, if one could hardly believe it, Saiki actually prefers to have around more often than not.

He walks past the street which leads to your home, his pace never slowing because he expects you’ll join him, as you do every morning. You’ll wait for him on the corner and smile widely like you haven’t seen him in weeks then skip towards him, falling in step easily. He’ll remain nonplussed as you hug his arm, give it a brief squeeze as you greet him—Good morning, Kusuo!—and then promptly let go because you understand he likes his space but you just can’t help but indulge a little bit.

However, none of the aforementioned events play out this Friday. You’re not on the street corner, not there to smile and fall in step with him. There’s no arm hugging or a bubbly greeting Saiki pretends he isn’t affected by. But the truth is that he is, the routine coming somewhat as a comfort, even at the price of sacrificing some of his beloved personal space. So when you’re nowhere to be found his brows furrow and he wonders where you are.

His steps slow until he comes to a complete stop. He wants to check up on you, sooner rather than later. There isn’t much time to delay if he wants to make it to school before the first bell, but this won’t take long. He crosses his eyes, activating his clairvoyance, and he centers in on you immediately. You’re still at home. You’re at home, and you’re sick.

A box of tissues rests on your nightstand and you’ve pulled your small trash can right next to it from where it usually stands by your door. You toss used tissues into it before nestling beneath your blankets, pulling it up to just below your chin and hugging it close in order to retain heat. Your breath evens out quickly and he can tell you’re asleep. Your body must be exhausted dealing with your cold, and he’s confident this is the way you will be the rest of the day—drifting in and out of sleep, dealing with the sniffles and congestion.

He blinks and loses sight of you and now he’s staring once more down the road. Readjusting his bag on his shoulder with a sigh, he resumes walking and thinks about his plans for the day. As it was the last day of the school week, he’d planned to go to Cafe Mami for coffee jelly to celebrate. But now that he’s learned you’re sick in bed, he’d have to make adjustments. Momentarily he debates if that’s really necessary. You probably wouldn’t want visitors in the state you’re in, and knowing you, you’d tell him to go to the cafe without you to enjoy himself anyway. The thought is tempting, truly, yet he can’t shake the urge to check on you.

It feels less like an obligation and more like a simple desire of his own to make sure you’re okay. Saiki shakes his head, more amused than frustrated. There’s no one else for whom he would so willingly do this, or much else, for, and he doesn’t think he’d ever tell you because you’ll tease him the way you are wont to do whenever his facade cracks and he’ll let you have your fun because when you ask if you’re really so different as to make him act this way, the answer is, well, yes. You are.

He imagines this scenario and the corner of his lips lifts in a small smile. Good grief. You could be quite the handful.

“Hey, Saiki!”

Nendo’s voice is entirely too loud for the morning and Saiki heaves another sigh, one that sounds as though it belongs at the end of the day and not the beginning. Nendo is joined close behind by Kaidou and Kuboyasu, and they easily fill the silence with discussions about going to get ramen after class and the latest movements of the Dark Reunion. Saiki really only picks up words here and there that allude to the topic of conversation but it doesn’t require his full attention. It’s the same song and dance every morning.

The commotion once he arrives at school is much the same. During lectures he is afforded the temporary reprieve from having his ears talked off, since the only one speaking is the teacher, but at breaks, the noise resumes, and though he always stays sitting at his desk, in hopes the others will get the hint that he’s uninterested in chatting, they inevitably crowd themselves around it, until he is right in the middle.

Hairo has outlined a new workout regimen and in his louder than normal volume of speaking he shares it. He’s going to start it today, and if anyone wants to join, they’re more than welcome. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to take the offer, which is expected. Hairo’s exercise routines were… a little extreme.

In any case, Hairo is nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from everyone else and remarks he can’t wait for the end of the school day.

“I think I’ve been losing muscle tone,” he laments, and he complements this statement with a casual flex of his arm, more so to point out the specific areas he thinks are getting soft rather than to show off, but even if he isn’t trying, his biceps are bulging and if his sleeves hadn’t been rolled up, they would have torn.

Saiki’s brow raises. Yeah… I don’t think that’s an issue for you, Hairo.

“I’ve just finished installing an indoor gym at my home, you know.”

Everyone turns to find Saiko has entered into the circle, a smug smirk on his face. When had he gotten here? Really it’s only Hairo who has any sort of reaction to this, eyes practically sparkling imagining the machines and equipment (or maybe that’s just the glare from the fluorescent classroom lights). All the same, Saiko relishes the attention, boasting of the privacy and space and how really, it’s so much easier to be productive if there’s no one else there but Saiki can only wonder if Saiko even works out at all. He doesn’t remember that being mentioned, and Saiki is nothing if not detail oriented.

Saiki doesn’t have long to ponder over this (not that it would’ve continued much longer because he doesn’t actually care about whether Saiko exercises or just set up a gym in his house to brag) before Nendo asks where you are.

Had he just noticed? You always join them on their walk in the morning. But Saiki can’t say he’s surprised it took this long. What he is surprised about is that Nendo had noticed in the first place.

“Oh that’s right,” Kuboyasu adds. “I thought she just went ahead of us today.”

Yumehara informs them of your whereabouts before Saiki does. “She texted me this morning she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home.” Her phone dings with a new message and she glances at it, then looks back up. “But she says she’s a little more awake now!”

“It’s the Dark Reunion.” Kaidou’s sudden interjection draws everyone’s attention. He clenches his right fist, staring at the bandages wrapped around it. “They’re trying to get to me by going after my friends!”

Saiki remains expressionless but if he didn’t have such good control he would’ve rolled his eyes. Or maybe she just has a cold.

Upon Kaidou’s claim that a secret society is responsible for your illness, Saiki picks up Yumehara’s thoughts: I wish I was the one Kaidou was so worried about! Maybe if I got sick he’d worry about me too! Getting sick to grab Kaidou’s attention? That’s… going overboard, but Saiki can’t find it in him to be shocked, considering from whose mind this speculation has sprung.

“Poor [Name],” Teruhashi says, kind as always. She sets an index finger on her chin, gaze momentarily aimed upwards as she thinks. “I was about to suggest we all go to the cafe after school today and I wish she could join.”

This gives Saiki pause. Wait. The cafe?

“That sounds like a great idea!” Yumehara declares. Again Saiki hears her thoughts: If we go, I need to do my best sit next to Kaidou!

Whether a visit to Cafe Mami comes across as a good idea because it’s a fun way to celebrate the end of the school week or simply because Teruhashi suggested it, Saiki doesn’t know, but one by one the murmurs of assent resound through the group and he barely contains a relieved huff. He’d already changed his own plans from visiting the cafe to seeing you instead, and it’s a good thing too since it’s apparent his alone time would’ve been ruined. Now he has an excuse not to stick around.

Once the final bell rings, they begin their walk into town towards the cafe. The sidewalk feels crowded with all of them on it, and they have to split into pairs to keep the opposite side of the sidewalk free for people going the other way. Among comments from everyone else about how hungry they are, Saiki makes known his intention to just pick up food before leaving. There’s somewhere he needs to be.

“You’re going to go make sure [Name] is doing okay!” Teruhashi exclaims. It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s sweet of you.”

Saiki shrugs. “Sweet” is not the first word he would associate with his actions. It just seems like common sense to check on you. You’d looked miserable this morning, but he takes your message to Yumehara earlier as a good sign that you’re improving, slowly and surely. Still, he’d be more comfortable seeing you himself. He hadn’t gotten any other chances today to use his clairvoyance, but at least it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be heading to your house.

Chisato is working today and she seats everyone. Saiki goes directly to the counter to place his order—coffee jelly for him and strawberry mochi for you—and he stands off to the side while waiting for the treats to be packed. The others are sitting on the far side of the cafe (in his peripherals he sees Yumehara has taken a seat right next to Kaidou) but he can hear them clear as day discussing what food they should order. Yes, he’s certainly glad he won’t be sticking around. Spending Friday in the midst of that noise is far from ideal.

Holding the bag of coffee jelly and mochi in one hand, Saiki uses the other to push open the door, the bell jingling gently, and someone, Nendo it sounds like, raises their voice to shout across the room: Seeya later, Saiki! Then the door closes behind him, and all he can hear is the footsteps of other pedestrians and the low whoosh of cars.

He exhales slowly. Peace at last. He proceeds in the direction of your home, and when he thinks to himself that any longer and his ears might’ve begun to bleed, he’s only half joking.

In the neighborhood it’s much quieter, the only person he passes being someone walking their dog, and only a couple of cars drive past. He knocks on the door and he assumes you’re in your room and so it will take some time for you to open it, but you’re there faster than he expects. You open it just wide enough to stand in the gap, and immediately he notices the fatigue in your eyes. When you realize it’s him, they light up, and the fatigue fails to take away from the brightness of your smile as you open the door wider.

“Kusuo!”

Inside, he sees you’ve moved downstairs to the living room. That’s why you’d answered the door so quickly. There’s a pile of blankets on the couch and a tissue box on the coffee table. The television is on and playing an animation. He doesn’t recognize it, but it must be one of the new ones you mentioned wanting to watch. However, you’re not interested in it now that he's here and you grab the remote to turn down the volume.

“I thought you were going to the cafe today,” you state, head tilting.

Saiki shakes his head. Change of plans. Instead I brought the cafe to us. He holds up the bag of food and doesn’t have to tell you what’s in it. You squeal in delight that he’s come bearing treats, but the sound is a little raspy and awkward due to your sore throat. It’s still easier on Saiki’s ears than the earlier commotion he’d been surrounded with and, if he’s honest, it’s cute.

You plop down on the couch and wait as he joins you. He unties the bag and opens the box, first taking out the packaged pink mochi and handing it to you. Then he grabs his coffee jelly and the plastic spoon it came with before settling back against the cushions.

You sit cross-legged facing him and bite into your soft and squishy treat, humming delightedly. “Thanks, Kusuo.”

Saiki chews a mouthful of coffee jelly and glances at you.

You grin and hold up the mochi. “For the snack and for coming to see me.”

He shrugs because it’s no big deal. Or, well, he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you know him better than that, better than most others do, and don’t brush it off so quickly. You breathe out dramatically and set a hand on your chest.

“What must I have done for Kusuo Saiki to give up his quiet time for me?” Then you giggle, and it’s punctuated at the end by a sniffle.

He tells you there would’ve been no quiet time at the cafe since the others had also decided to go, and that you’re much better company. Even when I’m sneezy? you ask him, and he chuckles. Yes, even when you’re sneezy.

His remark about coming to see you because he’d prefer to be here and not at the cafe with the rest of your friends is merely part of the truth. The rest of it is that he did genuinely want to check on you to make sure you were okay. Though to give this a voice felt like too much for someone typically so reserved in his feelings, but you understand perfectly fine as you smile softly. You’re appreciative of his actions, and it would seem Teruhashi had been right about them, for you murmur that he reminds you of the mochi you’re eating: You’re so sweet!

Grabbing your mug from the coffee table, you frown when you see it’s empty. “I ran out of tea.”

Saiki sets the spoon and now empty container back in the box then holds his hand out. You blink, momentarily confused, but when it registers what he’s doing, you give him the mug. As he stands to make his way into the kitchen, you call after him.

“Thank you!”

Having been to your house a number of times already, he knows where everything is and starts brewing a fresh cup of tea. You’ve turned the volume up on the television again, but you have to rewind to return of the spot you were at before he’d arrived. Once he comes back with a filled mug, instead of allowing it to continue to play, you pause your show.

You’d snuggled beneath the blankets and have to finagle your arms out of the multiple layers to take the mug from him. You say thanks again and blow gently at the tendrils of steam floating from it. The ceramic is warm in the palms of your hands and you sigh contentedly.

“Sorry I’m a little high maintenance today,” you apologize suddenly. “I’d make the tea myself but I just have such little energy…”

Saiki wishes you wouldn’t apologize because there’s nothing to be sorry for. So he tells you as much. Don’t apologize. Besides, he’d offered to make that tea, and if you wanted soup, he’d offer to make that too. He does understand where you come from, however. You tend to be more independent, opting to do things yourself, and you also know his propensity for being alone and needing space. As such, you’re careful not to be overbearing, and the idea of Saiki doing even little tasks like brewing you tea bothers you.

It’s endearing, the level of care you take to make sure he’s comfortable too, but when he says you’re far from high maintenance, he means it. You immediately understand what he’s implying and laugh before scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Okay, point made,” you concede. With a small smile, Saiki grabs the remote you’d tossed down on the couch and presses play.

He would struggle to call you high maintenance on any day considering who your friends are. They’re loud and all over the place, practically bouncing off the walls. Life could hardly be tranquil when around them and their antics. It’s the total opposite of Saiki, who values calm and silence. If they were high maintenance, he was low maintenance. That’s the way he prefers to be, existing in relative quiet and as close to mediocrity as he can muster. But he can't say he’s opposed to the occasional interruption to the otherwise mundane, especially where it concerns you. You’re not to be found on one side or the other, but right in the middle, and to Saiki, you are just right.

#saiki k x reader #saiki k imagine #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki kusuo imagine #saiki k #saiki kusuo #the disastrous life of saiki k.#bubble-tea-bunny #queue

547 notes · View notes

fearlessinger · 2 years

Text

So, a little less than a month year ago (this is all my fault, I take sole responsibility for this loooong delay), I got roped into reading The Trials Of Apollo by @flightfoot’s amazing meta. I loved it more than I could have ever anticipated, and I’ve been gushing about it non stop to her on discord. We had a lot of fun reviewing the series and taking it apart to overanalyze bit by bit, marveling at the way it keeps growing layers and dimensions the longer one looks at it. Finally, we took out a google doc. The following is result n.3 of our combined excited ramblings, and… well it sort of turned into a full on dissertation. Whoops.

“You must make your own choice.”

Reconstructing Apollo’s Journey within Riordan’s Narrative

Much too self aware to be egotistical

Not the kind of feelings that gods have

You have heard of imposter syndrome? (read on ao3)

The Apollo we meet at the beginning of this story keeps his distance.

He’s affable enough that most people won’t be particularly offended by him, and annoying enough that nobody will actually wish for his company. He introduces himself with a shamelessly conceited little poem about his own awesomeness, but when a starry eyed Nico asks how he became the Sun, he shrugs. “Downsizing,” he replies modestly. He does not want to appear intimidating, and yet, he’d rather threaten to vaporize the heroes who seek his aid than give them the impression he’s on their side.

He flirts with anything that moves. He does not stay in contact with any of his lovers.

He keeps bringing children into the world, knowing full well they’ll be hunted down by monsters from the day of their birth for the sole reason that they are his.

“If Zeus went around retroactively yanking my divine power out of all my descendants, half the medical schools in the country would be empty. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame would disappear. The Tarot-card-reading industry would collapse overnight!” he tells Kayla and Austin, to reassure them that they will not be losing anything even if they lose him.

He taught Chiron so the centaur would keep teaching the children of the gods when Apollo could not. He sent the satyrs to him, to keep the children safe. He is the reason why Camp Half Blood exists, but these days, he has so little to do with the place you’d never guess without being told. A patron of the youth in secret, through subterfuge and misdirection, or in name only.

“Over the centuries, I’d had many conversations with demigods who wanted to know more about their absentee godly parents,” he says. “Those talks rarely went well.” He can’t make excuses for the other gods. He knows for certain that at least some of them, were they free to visit and spend time with their kids, would still not care to do so. He refuses to make excuses for himself. What good would it do to tell the kids that he has excellent reasons for failing them? Apollo can’t even stand to tell that to himself. “A father should do more for his children,” he thinks. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He answers their prayers. He sends them presents. Sometimes, he visits them in dreams.

He tries to care for them as little as he possibly can, so they won’t be used as leverage, and so he won’t be destroyed if they are.

Better for his children to have no reason to get attached anyway. Better for them to grow up feeling free to hate him. A safe target for their anger is the best Apollo can offer them. He is sure of it. He fully believes it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when none of them takes him up on the offer.

Oh, the injustice! A minor goddess forcing me, one of the twelve Olympians, to retrieve animals for her! I silently vowed that if I ever regained my godhood, I would never again send a poor mortal on a quest. Unless it was really important. And unless I was sure the mortal could handle it. And unless I was pressed for time…or I just really didn’t feel like doing it myself. I would be much kinder and more generous than this net goddess was being to me. (TDP 87)

Apollo says this at the beginning of book 2, when he still has absolutely no intention of truly changing his behavior, when he’s still holding tight onto his shitty but effective coping mechanisms, when he’s still just aiming to check the required items off his to do list as quickly as possible and get back to his home above the clouds, back to the usual routine, back to the horrific, necessary, comforting helplessness he’d gotten so used to it didn’t even bother him all that much anymore.

I will do better, he promises, careful to undermine his resolution at the same time as he makes it, only to go on to describe the barest of bare minimums, which is precisely what he’d already been doing.

When he’d been unable to look for Artemis and help free her himself, when, freshly turned mortal, he’d needed an escort to Camp Half Blood, he sought out Percy, possibly the most capable and powerful demigod in existence.

“Where is the A-List?” he wonders as soon as he arrives at camp at the beginning of book 1.

Even though he only admits it at the end of the book, he never had any intention to drag any of the children there into danger with him.

He feigns ignorance and indifference while in his head he’s calling all of them by their full names, knows them well enough to be able to discuss camp dynamics with Chiron as if he too were one of the teachers there. But he isn’t. He looks at these kids from above. He observes them from afar. He learns about everything they do knowing full well he will never even talk to most of them, and if he does, will pretend he has no idea who they are.

The Apollo we meet at the beginning of this story has accepted defeat. He has given up on the idea that he can make things better. That he can make them right. He has settled for harm reduction.

Sometimes he lends some people a smidge of help, here and there, behind his father’s back. Sometimes he even manages to save one person or two in plain sight, all the while reassuring himself and everybody else that he’s done it by accident, or out of boredom, or vanity, or because he didn’t want to look bad in front of a girlfriend. Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart. Absolutely not because he cares.

Sometimes he can only avert his eyes as these near strangers he, despite how much he tries not to, feels responsible for anyway meet their fate, and then forget about it as quickly as possible, or at the very least, act like he has managed to forget.

And sometimes… yes, sometimes he sends a pair of heroes he likes on a stupid, dangerous errand that he could take care of with a single snap of his godly fingers, just because he’s bored, and lonely, just so he can bask in the fantasy that these cool, amazing, wonderful people were happy to do him a favor, see, we are totally friends, they totally like me too, he will think to himself later, he will boast to anyone who’ll listen, even though he knows full well that they don’t, and that pulling this kind of stunts definitely won’t make them like him any better, but not really having the heart and willpower to refrain from doing so because that? That pretend friendliness? The feeling of mattering in some of these people’s lives, even if in the opposite of the way that he wants? That is the best he can do.

Even before he was shoved into this clumsy, flabby, acne riddled teenage form that he hates, despite his claims not to understand why his sister would rather be a small girl than a grown woman, we saw him choose to appear as a teenager much more often than he did as the adult he clearly, undeniably is.

“I am beautiful and everybody loves me,” is the mantra he repeats to himself in times of doubt. Beautiful, not helpful. He’s given up on being helpful a long time ago. It’s never worked out in his or anybody else’s favor when he tried.

The Apollo we meet at the beginning of this story is very, very determined not to try anymore.

He spends most of his time hiding behind a pair of shades, simultaneously yearning for connection and dreading the possibility that anyone might see past the carefully curated hollowness of his garishly golden exterior.

If the facade is all people see of him, then that’s all they can judge. Apollo is very fine with that idea. Better for people to be disgusted by a fake version of him than by the real thing. Because that’s what they would be. Disgusted. That’s how he feels, in the increasingly rarer moments when he looks – really looks – at himself. So he’s fine with the idea of role playing the entitled, useless asshole for the rest of his days.

Playing the asshole is easy. Reassuring. At times, even fun. Bad people don’t have to deal with guilt and self doubt. They won’t let anyone down, because nobody expects anything of them.

Apollo is fine with that. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Taking a page from his biggest role model: handsome, ferociously selfish, outrageously stupid Commodus, the man he’d loved and blessed despite his misgivings, and eventually judged unworthy of the gift of life, he keeps the darkness at bay with the roar of crowds and the glitter of spectacle.

That’s who Apollo is, when we meet him at the beginning of the story. A beautiful, self centered fool. Olympus’ official court jester. A battered, frightened animal hiding inside a house of mirrors.

‘Let me take care of these cuts, at least. Grover, why didn’t you heal these poor people?’

‘I tried!’ the satyr protested. ‘They just took a lot of damage!’

That could be my life motto, I thought: He takes a lot of damage. (TBM 40)

The god of performing arts is, for a change, actually good at his job. So good that by the point we first encounter him he’s got everybody, up to and including those who know him best, convinced they’re seeing the real him instead of one of a million distorted reflections. So good that he almost – almost – managed to convince himself of this too.

It took Zeus six months to unmake him before tossing him into the trash. Even told in the heavily caricatural tone of the start of book 1, even with Apollo doing the absolute most to sound despicable and unsympathetic – and succeeding at that! – as he spoke of it, this detail always stuck out as particularly appalling.

Once we can see the whole picture, it’s frankly surprising it took so long. Apollo had already done most of his father’s work for him.

When he crash lands in that dumpster in Manhattan, it doesn’t automatically start him on a self improvement path. He has no big revelation. He's not even really surprised. He’s been through… well, not worse, because as he quickly realizes this IS worse than the previous times, but he’s gone through a similar ordeal before. Twice, in fact, almost back to back, before he’d learned not to question his father’s authority. So this is certainly not the moment that prompts him to reevaluate his life choices. On the contrary. His first, instinctive reaction is to double down. Lean into the act further than he ever has before. Completely disappear into it, if possible.

He takes refuge in the familiar safety of lies, the more and the bigger the better. Yes, he tells us in all but words, he’s earned this. He could have definitely avoided it if he’d been smarter. This last failure, like all the previous ones, is a result of him not trying enough, rather than trying his best and coming up short anyway. He’s the one in control of his fate. He got himself into his current predicament, and he can get himself out of it too. He just needs to figure out what his father’s requirements are this time, and meet them, and he’ll be allowed back to the miserable, safe predictability of home. Back to the comfort of believing the best he can do is choose the lesser evil.

He’d been doing so well, before his millennia long streak of good behavior broke.

So he just needs to behave. He just needs to be careful to keep the distance, to keep up the walls.

The world is his stage and he’s the only one who sees it, the only one who knows he’s acting inside a play, so he’s the one in control of how both the audience and the other characters will react to him.

He can still be the one who controls the narrative.

Zeus stole his godly powers? Well joke’s on him, because Apollo will simply not shoot a single arrow until he’s sure he can superhumanly excel at it again. He will not touch a musical instrument until he’s able to play as supernaturally effortlessly as he’s used to. Take that, Dad! You can’t rob me of anything if I renounce it first!

By this point in time, he’s so set in his self destructive coping mechanisms he won’t back down even at the prospect of causing himself irreparable harm.

Except, there’s a problem. He’s not alone in this anymore.

In truth, he never was. But it was easier to pretend, from the top of Mount Olympus, that passivity in the face of injustice was the only possible choice. It was one thing to turn his head the other way and fake a cheerful smile when the people suffering were nothing more than tiny specks on the distant ground below. Now they are all around him.

The life force of each tree seemed to bear down on me with righteous hatred, accusing me of so many crimes … I wanted to fall to my knees. I wanted to beg forgiveness. But this was not the time.

I couldn’t allow the woods to confuse me again. I would not let anyone else fall into its trap. (THO 144-145)

It’s so easy to miss it with Apollo constantly throwing sand into our eyes, but right from the start, the thing that prompts him to action, the thing that anchors him and prevents him from succumbing to despair, always, really isn’t concern for himself, but for others. To the point that he himself admits it’s “a logical trigger for [his] powers,” as early as the beginning of book 2, even as he tries, and succeeds, in passing it off as a ludicrous idea.

“I have to get stronger,” he says, his first night at Camp Half-Blood, thinking about the missing campers, about his children, to whom he feels he owes more than what he can give. “I must.”

But how?

Apollo has gotten so used to lying, all the time, about everything, and he does it so smoothly, unflinchingly, boldly, that he himself is not even sure there’s anything real underneath it anymore. He keeps swearing oaths because he doesn’t believe in the power of his own intentions, in the power of his own actions anymore.

He’s almost as surprised as we are to discover that, even as an utterly ordinary, utterly mortal human, he can still move people, animals, plants and all other kinds of living creatures to tears and ecstasy just by plucking a guitar string.

Yes, he tires easily now, much like any regular human would, and of course that’s the thing he immediately focuses on: the one downside of what is, by all rights, a miracle. But as distracting and focus pulling as his internal narration is, it can’t hide the fact that his talent, a talent that is not only innate aptitude, but the result of millennia of diligent practice he refuses to admit to, is all but unchanged.

It makes perfect sense in hindsight. This is the only skill of his he had not already given up on, well before Zeus tried to take it from him by force. The only skill of his that he still sincerely allowed himself to take real pride in. The only thing he had left that he still considered truly HIS.

Apollo is, in the end, a performer above all. And so here’s his starting point. Music. The power to touch someone’s heart by singing a song, by telling a story. The first of his talents. The least threatening. After all, no battles have ever been won by singing... have they?

I blinked. ‘Zeus … singing?’ I found the concept mildly horrifying. My father thundered. He punished. He scolded. He glowered like a champion. But he did not sing.

Calypso’s eyes got a little dreamy. ‘In the palace at Mount Othrys, when he was Kronos’s cupbearer, Zeus used to entertain the court with songs.’

[...]

Electricity tingled at the base of my skull. I did know the song. An early memory surfaced of Zeus and Leto singing this melody when Zeus visited Artemis and me as children on Delos. My father and mother, destined to be forever apart because Zeus was a married god – they had happily sung this duet. (TDP 146-147)

Gods don’t have childhoods. They are born fully formed, the perfect embodiment of humanity's dreams of them, ready to take on the world. And yet, Apollo remembers being a child, young and inexperienced, eager to please and to learn.

He remembers looking up to his father for encouragement, and receiving it in the form of threats. Make me proud, or else. Don't make me hurt you. Don't make me regret breaking with the family tradition and sparing your life.

Because if gods are people – and we know these gods, at least, are – we must consider then, what it must have been like for them to “[grow up] on stories about titans and gods who cooked and/or ate their children.” To grow up knowing that they themselves were only alive thanks to their father’s magnanimity, feeling forever indebted and bound to their father’s command.

Make it worth it, their father would not even have needed to say.

And Apollo did. He was unquestionably the standout among Zeus’s progeny. The model son who gets perfect grades and does a thousand extracurricular activities and wins all of the trophies. The infuriatingly gifted kid who’s instantly good at everything he tries his hand at, and makes all of his siblings look bad by comparison.

There was a time, long ago, when Apollo was in fact Zeus’s favorite. We see it in all the tales of Apollo casually lording his own superiority over a deity lesser than him, in the quietly assured, unbothered tone with which he talks of his siblings’ achievements and blunders. We see it in the way Artemis does not take his fear seriously, in the way she expects him to be able to appease their father, because there was a time, long, long ago, before Apollo’s light became too bright for his father’s tastes, when Apollo could actually do it. We see it in the way Apollo looks at Meg’s foster brothers and sisters, and recognizes in their eyes the vicious jealousy of the spares who know they could never take the golden child’s place, and would kill to be able to.

“If I gave up on everyone who has tried to kill me,” Apollo tells Meg, “I would have no allies left on the Olympian Council.”

There was a time, long, long ago, when Apollo did hold his father’s approval. We see it in the way he now resents it far more than he craves it.

Despite all of Apollo’s insecurities, he genuinely doesn’t mind everybody thinking him stupid, or incompetent, or unskilled. He doesn’t really mind them saying so to his face, even. In his head, he often compares himself to others, taking petty satisfaction in imaginary small victories over them (Ha! My present is bigger than yours), making a production of complaining whenever someone’s stealing the attention away from him (Terpsichore had never been my favorite: she tended to take the spotlight off me). But the truth is, Apollo is not afraid of other people’s brilliance.

He loves the son who surpassed him and took his place as the god of medicine most of all. He doesn’t feel threatened by his fellow gods’ proficiency in their respective domains; he in fact respects it. That is, when he doesn’t feel smug in the knowledge that he outclasses them.

He does not resent or envy any of the demigods that he meets, who will accompany him on his quest, for being more powerful than he is.

He does not resent the Victor twins for making better shots than he does, even as they mock him for it.

No, the only thing that can really shake Apollo’s confidence is finding himself unable to reach the impossibly high standards he himself has set.

Ironic, considering that before he was turned mortal this last time he’d been purposely failing that very same test every chance he got.

The other gods, he says, could not understand why Dionysus chose to look like an old drunk when he could have shown off his legendary beauty. But Apollo always understood. Apollo had been doing for far longer a far more extreme version of the exact same thing. He’d turned his talents, that once were his father’s pride and glory, into laughing stock.

It was a petty, childish sort of revenge, he knows. But it was the only weapon he had that could actually hurt his father without causing collateral damage. At least, no collateral damage other than that Apollo would be inflicting on himself. But Apollo was fine with that. He welcomed it even. There was a part of him, deep down, that felt he deserved it.

Because there was a time, too, when Apollo looked at Zeus with reverence. We still see traces of it in the awe he can’t help feeling, against his better judgement, before the emperors, who all, in different ways, remind him of his Lord and Father. They all embody his father’s ideals, his conception of power, far better than Apollo ever could.

And for so long Apollo struggled, is still, to this day, struggling to let go of his father's teachings.

“Gods don’t cry,” Apollo repeats to himself, over and over, fighting a futile battle against the tears that he’s never been able to stop himself from shedding.

“But Apollo! You are divine!” he reminds himself as the guilt and remorse threaten to suffocate him. “You cannot commit murder. Any death you cause is the will of the gods and entirely beyond reproach.”

But this one death, just this one, is different, he makes a show of arguing with us, while really he is arguing with himself, with the voice of his father inside his head. I am allowed to feel bad about this one, I swear, he all but pleads, I swear just this once I have a good reason for my sorrow.

“Look at me, caring about innocent bystanders,” he thinks self deprecatingly. “The other Olympians would have teased me mercilessly.”

He remembers how the entire council made a mockery of his grief, the way Venus used the memory of all the people he loved and ruined and failed to save to cut him to pieces.

“These were not the kind of feelings that gods had,” he says about his own helpless, inextinguishable need and want to love, to get attached, to make friends, to make a difference.

Apollo has never liked his father’s idea of power, his father’s idea of divine justice. He’s never agreed with his father’s morals. He’s always felt utterly alone in this. So much so that he’s often wondered if, maybe… he wasn’t the one in the wrong.

All those who don't escape, and the gods cannot escape, become complicit. Apollo included.

It's the only way to survive.

The Apollo we meet at the beginning of this story is the arrival point of a thousands of years long journey that he never tells us about.

We end up putting it together backwards as we see him be forced to reevaluate all the choices he'd already resigned himself to, all the false beliefs he desperately fought to maintain to justify them.

We discover the way he'd been broken down into pieces only as we realize that what we're actually seeing is him PIECING HIMSELF BACK TOGETHER.

“You have heard of imposter syndrome? Everything in me screamed I am a fake! I do not belong here!” Apollo finally admits, at the very end of the last book, for the first time in his life giving voice to the feelings he’s ALWAYS felt and been desperate to bury.

It’s hard to make your own choices. It really is.

And yet, at the same time, it’s the easiest thing of all.

What else can Apollo do, if not run back into the woods to search for his children? What else can he do, if not give Meg the trust and support she so desperately needs? What else, other than put everything he has left on the line to save his friends, to give a chance, to give a choice to the enemies in whose likeness he recognizes his own?

When I reached the armoury, I scanned the rack of bows. My hand trembling, I picked out the weapon Meg had tried to give me the day before. It was carved from mountain laurel wood. The bitter irony appealed to me. (THO 252)

There’s a long stretch of book 1, immediately after Kayla and Austin get kidnapped, in which all of the bullshit abruptly disappears and we get Apollo’s almost completely unfiltered, genuine pov. The circumstances won’t allow him the luxury of pretension. It’s just him and these kids with no great powers or expertise, these literal kids who look to him for guidance, for strength, for reassurance, and what else can he do then, but be the adult and take the lead and get them back to safety? He has to. There is no other choice. At least, no other choice that Apollo would let himself consider.

And it’s easy to miss, because Apollo is so good at diverting our attention from the facts, because he refuses to acknowledge the facts even in the privacy of his own mind, because he refuses to give himself credit, but it’s not just his musical talent that’s remained.

It’s only when he lacks purpose that his skills, each and every one of them that isn’t pure divine magic honed through endless hours of study and practice, fail him. It’s only when he lacks confidence that his aim falters.

He paralyzes the entire giant ant colony with a song. He brings down a whole cavern with a single shot of his bow.

I can’t believe Paolo’s handkerchief did that! he comments.

When he believes in what he’s doing, only his newly acquired physical limitations can stop him. Sometimes, not even those.

But as soon as they are back to camp, he immediately starts shutting down again. It’s actually, depressingly, impressive how fast it happens. They’re back to civilization, there’s Chiron, and Percy, and other mature, competent people around, and Apollo… he lets go of the metaphorical reins like they were hot coals. He throws a full on tantrum right then and there, on the beach, in front of everybody. Even Chiron, with all the tolerance and wisdom of a long, long time teacher, with all the sincere respect and fondness he still has for his old mentor, finally seems to have exhausted his near infinite reserve of patience at that.

Apollo, who had decimated a whole nest of myrmekes with perfect headshots just hours before, now fumbles with everything, and, finally, all but begs Chiron to shoot his arrow for him. He begs the centaur to finish executing the plan HE himself had come up with, with the weapon that HE himself had created. He can’t, he won’t take responsibility for this victory.

The failures, yes, Apollo can take credit for those. He’s used to it. He can handle it. But victory? Doing what’s right? Doing good things? No, no, someone else, anyone else do it.

Because good things are done by good people. And good people MUST make their own choices.

The only thing scarier than being bad at archery was discovering that I was suddenly good at it again. That may not sound like a problem, but since becoming mortal I’d experienced a few random bursts of godly skill. Each time, my powers had quickly evaporated again, leaving me more bitter and disillusioned than ever. Sure, I may have fired a quiverful of amazing shots in Tarquin’s tomb. That didn’t mean I could do it again. (TTT 204)

It’s hard to make your own choices. If you do, then you’re responsible for your success. Then people start looking up to you. They start trusting you not to let them down.

And Apollo has already let down so, so many people. He does not deserve another chance. He refuses to take it for himself. Someone else, anyone else who actually wants it, can have it. He will give it to them gladly. He will put in them the faith he can’t bear to put in himself.

And he does. And they reward his belief by immediately proving him right.

Meg first. Meg last, also. Meg always.

This is what Apollo means, when he calls her his role model. She did it. She actually did it. She followed the path he’d shown her and started climbing toward the light. And then... she did something that he never would have predicted. She paused. She turned to look back at him. Well? she asked. Aren’t you coming?

Meg did it first. She did it last, too. But she wasn’t the only one. For every time that Apollo extended his hand, he found another hand reaching back to him.

I didn’t need the wisdom goddess to tell me what I must do. I should leave Camp Half-Blood immediately, before the campers woke. They had taken me in to protect me, and I had nearly got them all killed. I couldn’t bear to endanger them any longer.

But, oh, how I wanted to stay with Will, Kayla, Austin – my mortal children. I wanted to help Harley put smiley faces on his flamethrower. I wanted to flirt with Chiara and steal her away from Damien … or perhaps steal Damien away from Chiara, I wasn’t sure yet. I wanted to improve my music and archery through that strange activity known as practice. I wanted to have a home.

[...]

Percy sat next to me. He squinted at the sunrise, the sea breeze tousling his hair.

‘Yeah, I used to think I didn’t belong here either.’

‘It’s not the same,’ I said. ‘You humans change and grow and mature. Gods do not.’

Percy faced me. ‘You sure about that? You seem pretty different.’ (THO 343-344)

By the end of book 1, everybody at camp is looking at Apollo in a new light, even if he doesn’t seem to notice. The characters within the story didn’t have to deal with Apollo’s outrageous, incredibly misleading internal narration all throughout, a farce within the farce that we now realize was specifically aimed at us, the readers. Apollo was very careful to never actually voice any of the horrible, cruel thoughts he insisted he was having about all these people. He may have said out loud a couple of off putting things, but that’s really the extent of it. His actions have spoken far louder than words anyway.

Unlike us, the characters within the story were free to focus on the facts, so they know what the truth is. They are all, at this point, automatically assuming his thoughts and motives to be fundamentally good. They keep reassuring him that he’ll find Meg again, because his worry is that transparent, even without him saying anything. Rachel and Percy correctly guess that he’s thinking of leaving for the next bit of the quest alone. They understand that he doesn’t want any more people getting hurt.

It’s a noble sentiment, if not an entirely altruistic one. He does not want to be responsible for any more people getting hurt.

But it’s too late for that. People are either gonna get hurt helping him, or they’ll get hurt trying to clean up the mess after he fails, because right now, at this moment, he does not have the power to do this alone. He would not be doing anyone any favors by refusing aid. He would only give himself the illusion that he’d be sparing lives.

Apollo knows this, even before Rachel and Percy point it out to him. It’s a big temptation anyway. One he’s fallen for, in the span of his long, long life, more often than he likes to admit.

“You seem pretty different,” Percy tells him. Apollo recognizes that it’s meant as a compliment. But he can’t accept it as one. Because the truth is, he’s no different at the end of the book than he was at the beginning of it. He hasn’t changed at all. He’s just allowing himself, now, to be a little bit more honest.

#trials of apollo #toa #toa spoilers #rrverse

33 notes · View notes

goblinkingdomsblog · 3 years

Note

Hello I hope you are doing well !! I was wondering if it okay to request the mafia universe where they meet the agent y/n have a moment but then the agent smile and go away in like we will meet again kinda way I’m sorry if it’s too much you don’t have to do it I appreciate your writing and love it thank you for your hard work 💕

They get hurt while running away from the police, but agent y/n helps them - part 1

Members: hyung line.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: during a police chase, one of the mobsters ends up getting injured. Suddenly, you appear when he least expected it, willing to help him. You say you will see each other again in the future. With complete certainty: after all, you will guarantee it yourself.

TW: (V) = Violence.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

Hii!! I hope you enjoy this post, and that it meets well your request!

I'm really happy to know that you like the things that I write! Thank youu!!! 💜❤😁

+ Sorry for the delay, I wanted to make a long version of this reaction. The part 2 is already posted!

"We'll see each other again, don't worry."

Namjoon:

The damn right leg. It was always that damn leg.

Namjoon gasped, lowering himself against the wall of the dark alley. The smell there was not at all pleasant, and the humidity certainly wouldn't leave his expensive suit unpunished, but he was too busy to care about that at the moment.

Everything happened in a flash: one hour, he was sitting comfortably on a soft leather sofa, talking to the leaders of the other two most important gangs in Seoul (maintaining good relations between partner companies was essential); on the other, he was running down the wet sidewalk, after escaping from the building through a side door. The damned police had somehow discovered the secret meeting, probably through a traitor, and had invaded the place, trying to kill three birds with one stone.

Even his security guards had stayed behind, exchanging shots with the police to give him enough time to escape. He hated having to escape, looking like a coward, but he knew it was necessary.

Another thing he hated: he couldn't run fast without dropping at least one of his weapons, or himself. It was in a fall on the wet street that he had injured his leg, the same one that had broken twice before, and that now was hurting again thanks to his shitty motor coordination. He knew he was being chased, so he got up and forced himself to run for several more blocks, until the pain became too unbearable to walk. It was at that moment that he hid in the alley, where he was until now.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the wet darkness. Without a gun, he could do nothing but watch, hoping his bad luck wasn’t that glaring that day.

When you turned into the alley with your weapon in your fists, using its wall for protection, you saw him immediately.

The mafia boss, sitting on the floor, with an empty expression.

Frowning, you checked if that was a trap and if there was someone around, but he seemed completely alone. Raising your voice, you announced your presence, and the first thing he saw was your well-equipped uniform.

- Hands up. Put them behind your head. - you said, with controlled calm.

Namjoon sighed, obeying slowly.

- I'm unarmed. You don't need to be alarmed.

- Get up and come over here. - you ordered, ignoring his words.

The mobster started to get up, but then he slid back down the wall. He tried a couple more times, until he gave up and lay motionless on the floor.

- Hurry up.

- I am unable. I think I broke my leg again. - he murmured, almost as if admitting it was a shame.

Suspicious, you didn't move forward initially. You checked the alley again, but no one was in sight. So, you decided to use a different strategy: you approached with the gun pointed at his head, after all, none of the henchmen would dare threaten the life of their leader (or at least that was what you hoped to be true).

- If you try anything "funny", I swear I'll kill you, okay? - you hissed, bending down in front of him.

The man's legs were stretched out in front of him, and the right was in an ugly position, proving that he was telling the truth. The bone must have torn the flesh, because a bloody wheel was beginning to form in his pants. It would be disgusting to anyone who was not used to brutality.

- How did you get hurt like that?

- Let's say that this specific bone is not the strongest. It is already the third incident that occurs with the poor thing. - he tried to laugh, perhaps to feel better about himself, but the pain prevented him.

You then took a deep breath. You couldn't leave the man bleeding there, even if he wasn't the best of people. It went against your values.

By slowly lowering the weapon (but keeping it within immediate reach), you began to roll up your uniform sleeves. The basic first aid classes you took when you joined the police would have to do.

- What will you do? - he asked, lost in hesitation and fear, as he noticed your approach.

- I will help you not to bleed a river. But it will really hurt, and it will be a really temporary solution. - you answered, seriously.

Without saying anything more, the man just fell silent, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face.

You put your hands firmly on his leg and, using the techniques you had learned, started to push. The pain was absurd, but he preferred to bite his lip until it bled rather than scream. Of course, being a fugitive from the police should be part of the motivation for not making too much noise.

The cracking of bones when they went back to place was hollow and dark, but at least the meat stopped being kept open. Taking a serious look at him, you noticed that the man was pale with pain, looking like he was about to pass out.

- Breathe in. The worst is over. - you replied, rummaging through your belt until you found the bandages you always carried along, in case of personal emergencies.

Carefully but firmly, you started to bandage his leg, just to stop the bleeding and keep the leg in place for as long as possible.

- Don't move too much, or you could make your situation even worse.

The man remained silent for a few minutes, just watching your serious expression and your nimble hands as you bandaged his leg. He wasn't sure about how to react, after all, that kind of situation was not quite what a mobster would expect from a police agent.

- Uh... why are you helping me?

You lifted your head, facing him directly.

- One of the most important parts of doing justice involves not letting anyone bleed to death. And even if your wound is not that deadly, I believe that waiting for a long time in a wet alley is not the most ideal healing scenario. - letting go and wiping your hands on the leftover gauze, you took your gun out of your belt and stood up - I'll give you the advantage of not immediately telling them where you are. But hope your henchmen find you fast.

He watched you walk away, going back cautiously to the exit of the alley.

- But... I... - unable to formulate a coherent sentence and not wanting to look like an idiot, Namjoon just gave up asking questions - I suppose that's what it means to be on the good side. Thank you anyway.

Surprisingly, you turned around one last time. The smile that shone on your face exposing all your teeth and lifting the corners of your mouth, giving you an air of extreme cleverness, took away the little breath that was left to Namjoon.

- Oh, but you don't need thank me now, because we will meet again. And next time, I'm not going to be that good. - clicking your tongue, you took a step towards the darkness - You better be well prepared.

So, you're gone, leaving him alone in the alley until the moment he would be found by the other gang members (which took a little longer than it should have).

Seokjin:

Shit!

That whole day was being terrible. First, Jin had started by clashing with members of a rival gang. Then the police arrived, shooting anyone they saw ahead. It was in the middle of so many fights that he ended up being shot in the palm of his hand, and his dominant hand!

Pressing his hand against his now-stained shirt chest, he continued walking through the seemingly empty industrial quarter, unsure of how to hold his revolver straight.

Everything should have been a simple negotiation, but things got off track too quickly.

His palm had already bled so badly that the entire front of his shirt was red. In addition, he could no longer move his fingers, which was a really bad signal. Containing a sob, he let a few tears roll down his face.

He was concerned with his own hand, but his biggest concern was if it would lose its usefulness forever. How would he be a hacker after that, without being able to type?

It was at that moment that you found him wandering alone and desperate. You had been looking for the fugitives in the more distant streets, to make sure they didn't get far. However, when you found the boy crying, a part of the adrenaline that dominated your mind dissipated. He barely held a gun, after all.

With patience, you announced your presence. When he saw you, he threw his head back in mourning, as if he were indignant at the heavens.

- I can't handle it right now! - he whimpered.

Rolling your eyes, you approached, your gun in hand.

- Don't worry, I won't shoot if you don't do anything stupid.

Eyes widening, he pulled his hand away from the body, in a strangled cry.

- How would I do it if there's a hole in my hand?!

Even a few feet away, the fact that it was possible to see through his hand was disturbing. The bullet had gone in and out, leaving a hole with color of blood, bones and nerves showing. Yes, the boy's despair was justified. You just kept calm because you've seen a lot of complicated situations like that before.

- You have to stop the bleeding!

- How am I going to do this with one hand?! - the silent tears continued to run down his face.

Sighing, you finally approached, scaring him by holding his hand.

- What is this?!

- A basic aid, considering that the nearest hospital is two kilometers from here. - you replied simply, taking improvised bandages from inside the jacket of your uniform.

There was not much to do about that hand other than to stop the bleeding. Avoiding looking at his blood-soaked shirt (which was not a pleasant sight at all), you began to wrap the wound with the fabric, covering the hole and tightening the bandage tightly.

He let out a sob of pain, but he didn't back down, knowing he needed to put up with it.

- Take good care of this wound.

He wiped his wet face with his healthy hand, sniffling.

- I don't even know if I'll have a hand after this! - the reaction would be comical if it weren't tragic. The panic in his voice was real.

So, you closed your expression, getting completely serious.

- You will take care of your hand and you will stop being pessimistic. It'll be there the next time we meet. - so, you gave a smile of certainty, small but absolute.

Then, moving away, you raised your weapon again, passing by him.

It took a few seconds for Seokjin to understand what you had said. The pain left him with slow thinking.

- Hey, next time?! - he exclaimed, turning in your direction.

Unfortunately, you were too far away to be stopped. He watched you leave for a much longer time than the expected.

Yoongi:

He was no longer able to walk, so he didn't force himself anymore. It didn't matter that he was inside the same building that the police were still in: he just couldn't get away anymore.

Limping painfully for a few more steps, he sat down in the narrow hall, resting his back against one of the walls. He and his two customers had been caught during the delivery of a shipment of heroin, and one of the damned customers had stabbed him to have time to escape. Literally.

With a small knife stuck in his thigh, Yoongi was actually slower than the others, easier to be captured. He was just lucky to be in the company of his most trusted friends, who came into conflict with the police just so he could run. He was worried about them now, of course, and he couldn't even repay their sacrifice and really escape. The pain was so much, and the blood on his clothes was so much, that his veins seemed to be filled with acid, which caused a burning sensation in his entire body.

Closing his mouth to try to hold his breath and feeling the sweat on his forehead, he leaned his head against the wall, looking at the ceiling for a few moments. The knife was still stuck in his leg and needed to be pulled out. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to three. Then, lifting his trembling hands, he put them on the handle of the knife. That gesture alone was enough to make more cold sweat run down the back of his neck.

Then, as he prepared to pull the knife out, you appeared at the end of the hall. Wide-eyed, you observed the injured man and what he intended to do.

- Wait! Don't pull it! - you exclaimed, startling him.

I mean, Yoongi got scared, but the only thing he did was to turn his head slowly towards you, without really expressing fear.

You turned the other way, knowing that your colleagues were close. Specifically, a colleague who hated mobsters, and who would certainly have no mercy when shooting a man who was already injured. There was even a trail of drops of blood on the carpet, which went as far as the dealer was left.

- Why not? Sometime it will have to go. - he said, in a weak voice, with the tone of someone who no longer cared.

You slowly lowered your weapon when you realized that he was not carrying any gun. Then you looked at him again, snorting when you realized that you would need to act quickly.

Too many people had been hurt that day. You needed to fix the situation. Then, running up to him, you bent down in front of the man.

- You were stabbed in your thigh, that is full of important blood vessels. In addition, you are already bleeding too much. - you said, scolding him with some anger - If you pull the knife, it can make the situation worse and cause a much worse bleeding. Even though it hurts, the knife seems to be stopping the wound.

Too impressed by how straightforward you were, he just remained silent, nodding his head to signal that he would obey. In the distance, you heard your angered colleague's voice. Then you faced the mobster again, running your hands over his shoulders.

- I'm going to get you out of here and put you in a place where you're not in the immediate sight of a gun. But I can't do anything else. You will need hospital care.

Yoongi opened his eyes wide when you started to help him up, shocked by the situation as a whole.

- Why are you doing this? - he asked, his voice low and strangled with pain.

With effort, you managed to get him upright, but you were practically carrying his full weight.

- Because I think people should go through a fair trial, and not just get shot in the head like will happen if I leave you here. - striving to walk, you started down the corridor, towards the basement of the building - And make sure that your leg does not leave a trail of blood behind us, even if you have to tighten the fabric of your pants around the wound.

Again, he obeyed without protest, containing a cry of pain as he prevented the blood from dripping on the floor. He was shaking and sweaty, and the pain he was enduring must have been scary. Still, that was better than leaving him to die.

You followed as quickly as possible to the staircase, and each step was a sacrifice for Yoongi. The black mask you were wearing, part of the uniform, prevented him from seeing your face, but your eyebrows were frown at the smell of blood and the man in agony.

When you reached the basement, you hid the man behind a tall and heavy closet. The place was small, dusty and probably untouched for months. Still, you left him on the floor, sitting.

Stretching your aching back, you searched for the bad and cheap phone you used when you went to work, for emergencies. You turned it on and handed it over to the injured man, just before standing.

- Use this to call someone who can help you. It's the most I can do for you. - you said, as soon as he held the little electronic device.

Pale but with lively eyes, Yoongi took another deep breath to be able to speak through the pain.

- Thanks. - he said simply, closing his eyes when a flash of pain passed through his body. Then, he opened his eyes again - Isn't this phone tapped? It would be pretty easy to track me, then.

With a mysterious expression, you walked away. Even though you were wearing a mask, he could see the corners of your mouth going up to form a mysterious smile.

- You will have to find it out until the next time we meet. - you replied, taking your weapon from the belt just before leaving by the same staircase you had traveled before - Do not expect me to help you again.

Hoseok:

Hoseok was crying, something he hated to do. However, getting shot in the chest was not something that happened every day, and it was okay to cry in a situation like that.

With his hands pressed to the bleeding wound, he staggered down a deserted road in the hot dry night. The road was flanked by plantations, since it was located in the countryside, and the only noises there were that of the plants moving with the wind and that of the nocturnal animals.

He was afraid of those animals, after all, he smelled of blood. Still, nothing too dangerous should be there, as farmers would exterminate any creature. Even the "creature" himself, probably, if he appeared bleeding and wanted by the police in one of the houses far from the road.

He stumbled forward, needing to lean on one of the wooden fences. The pain in his chest was so strong that he had no idea where he was running to.

Suddenly, he felt the cold muzzle of a gun at the back of his head. As he bent over the fence, he stopped paying attention to the environment, and didn't notice when you approached silently.

- Hands up! - you hissed between teeth.

With a high-pitched cry, he remained in place.

- I'm using my hands to stop the bleeding from the shot your colleague gave me in the chest! - he exclaimed, his voice exuding real pain.

Swallowing hard, you wondered if it was true, and ordered him to turn around. When he did it, weak, the front of the shirt soaked in blood was proof enough.

The man's luck was that the shot had hit the right side of his chest and not the heart. The bullet was still lodged in his chest, but the bleeding was not aggressive enough to had hit an artery. That man was very, very lucky.

- Give me your gun. - you said, forcing the man to hand over his revolver. As soon as you made sure he was unarmed, you lowered your own weapon - Let me see.

By taking the man's hands away and looking more closely at the wound hole, you were sure that no very important veins had been hit. Then you started to take off the man's coat.

- Hey, what are you doing?! Isn't it enough that you invaded our place and killed 4 people?! - he exclaimed, irritated and scared.

Hearing those words was not pleasant, but they were true. So you didn't answer, just folding the jacket efficiently and wrapping it diagonally around his body, tying it tightly on his back.

- I'm helping you, you bastard.

Arching his eyebrows, he realized you were telling the truth.

- Why? - he asked, confused.

- Because nobody else is going to die today. I'll make sure of that. - you answered seriously - Now tighten the wound again. Prevent too much blood from being lost.

The man was already pale, but when he heard of blood, he became even more so. He swallowed hard, his face still wet with tears.

- Are you sure that I will not die?

You started to smile wryly, wanting to laugh at his crybaby face. However, as you watched his expression, you realized that his panic was real. You then changed your expression, smiling without showing your teeth but confidently.

- I am sure. We will meet in the future, because I will keep you alive. - you said, walking away - Now, run to the house after this plantation behind you and ask for help. I have to go back to the mission.

He wanted to say something else, but you were already walking away. The courage you gave him through your steady smile was enough.

He had the strength to run to the nearest house and ask for help.

Maknae line here.

The images used on this post are not mine, credits to the owners!

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

#fanfiction #writing #bts #bts mafia au #bts mafia fic #kpop imagines #kpop mafia #imagines #books and libraries #goblin king #hyung line #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #bts x reader #agent reader

81 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 12k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: good god where to begin, loss of virginity : ) for real, big dick joon, cowgirl, unprotected sex, special appearance from namjoon’s sensitive neck o.o, premature ejaculation sorry bud, creampie, dom!joon still tho, sub!reader, sexting, dom!hoseok/master!hoseok, sub!jungkook, sub!reader agAIN, bondage and shibari, master/slave dynamics (sorry i have to spoil the prompt but want to properly TW this stuff, but the word slave is only used once out-of-scene), filmed sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hoseok wearing the tear dior fit you are WELCOME, fingering, orgasm control/denial, oral (m receiving), anal (m receiving), a position i am told is called a lucky pierre/french sandwich, threesome in case you couldn’t guess, aftercare, guided masturbation, phone sex, pet-names, discipline/punishment

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY EIGHT

“Are you ready to make your decision?”

No. Of course the answer is no, but there’s no delaying it anymore. “Is it nine already?”

Sejin sighs, shuffling to the side of the table to indicate you’re to sit beside him. When you do, facing the boys on the couch, your heart gives another sickening lurch. Sejin squeezes your shoulder kindly. “Just a game, sweetheart,” he assures quietly, before raising his voice into the authorial tone he used for announcements. “Thank you for all being here on time, any on topic questions before we begin?”

Nobody answers, not even Jin. There’s a tense atmosphere, and you feel caught right in the centre of it.

“Okay, then,” he says softly, sensing the sullen atmosphere. “I’d like to give each of the Gentlemen a chance to explain why Y/n should keep them in the show. Let’s go around the room. Yoongi?”

To Sejin’s left, perched on the end of the three-person couch, is the doctor himself, legs crossed and face relaxed. “Um, Y/n should keep me in becau-”

“Say it to her,” Sejin guides, shuffling back to move out of the way.

Reflexively, Yoongi glances up at you, and the calm warmth of his eyes reassures you. “Y/n, I’d ask you to keep me in because we’ve had a good time together so far, but there’s so much that we have yet to explore. Beyond that, I’d like to think I’m a good fit for the house, and I’ll continue to assist Jin-hyung in cooking many meals.” Once he’s done, he sends you a small smile, eyes glinting playfully.

The younger boy sitting next to him is not as cheerful. Bottom lip red from gnawing, Jungkook tucks his feet up on the couch, resting his chin on his knees. His eyes meet yours after Sejin signals for him to begin. “I really hope you don’t vote me out because I like it here a lot. You’re so cool, and the hyungs are so cool, and I feel really happy here. I know we haven’t spent a whole lot of quality time yet, but I want to, if I stick around long enough.”

You bite down harshly on your tongue, sending him a strained smile. Fuck, this sucks. Beside Jungkook is Hoseok, who props his elbow on the arm of the couch, posture casual but face stricken.

“Y/n,” Hoseok begins, voice tentative and uncharacteristically subdued, “you’re a very intelligent girl and you have a lot of potential in being a sub. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stay in and show you and the audience how enjoyable BDSM can be. We’re all very lucky men to be on the show with you.”

On the couch beside, Namjoon is the next one around. He pauses, eyes dancing about the room as he thinks. “I think it probably doesn’t make much sense to keep me in the game,” he allows. “I’m not experienced like the others and so it’s a little hard to defend on that front, but I think me staying allows you the advantage of being my first and best experience. I feel like with just a bit more time, I’ll really grow into my element, and I feel safe doing it with you. So I really hope I stay.”

Squished beside him is Jin, who sends you a big grin, even if it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “This is so shitty,” he says with a laugh, “it’s harder than I was prepared for before I came, and I think that’s due partly to the warm environment that we’re developing with each other, but also because you, Y/n, are a very genuine and lively person. Of course this is a game about sex, but I don’t think any one of us could say that’s the only factor here. As for me, I ask that you keep me in at least a week more because I can promise not only a good time, but also an ear if you need one, and advice should you ever want it.” He pauses to glance around the room. “That goes for all of you,” Jin adds, “I cannot believe that I don’t hate any of you, I don’t know how the producers found such great people.”

His words ease a bit of the tension, and the rest of you let out laughs of relief, your heart easing slightly.

Next, it’s down on the floor for Taehyung, who seems to prefer sitting cross-legged on the carpet to any other spot in the room. “I really wanna stay here,” he pleads with his eyes locked on yours, so earnest, “you’re so fantastic, and Jungkookie and the hyungs are all so fantastic, and I don’t wanna go home so soon. And also I think in terms of sex and stuff, I bring a lot to the table.” Taehyung avoids Sejin’s gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt innocently even as he stares up through his eyelashes at the rest of you cheekily. “I think we saw that yesterday. Though in the future, hopefully it’ll cost me less.” He sends a withering glare at Yoongi and Jin. “You assholes.”

You let out a chuckle, Jin huffing in response and Yoongi just shrugging with a shameless grin. Finally, it’s Jimin’s turn, and your chest pangs as you remember the last time you were together. The way he squeezed your hand gently before getting out of the car last night, the way he walked you to your bedroom door, wishing you sweet dreams. The way you saw an entirely different man to the one he’s been advertising.

His eyes on you are imploring even as his back is straight and legs crossed. “I value the time I spend with you. This is, after all, a game about sex so I’ll defend myself by saying you can rest assured I’m skilled enough to please you well, but if you allow me to stay,” he drops eye contact, fiddling with his rings even as he fights to remain poised, “I do hope it’s not the sex alone that keeps me here.” Like a switch is flicked, his momentary vulnerability vanishes, and he glances up and sends you a smile, warm and at-ease, having said his piece.

“And Y/n,” Sejin guides from beside you, his kind eyes on you, “anything to say to the guys?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s been a week? Why is this so hard? “I- First of all, this decision has been insanely hard. You’re all amazing, not just in bed but as people, and I hope that whoever has to leave will still stay in touch. It feels really cruel that I have to say goodbye to someone so soon. The reality is, none of you did bad, and there’s nobody I don’t like; nobody that doesn’t belong here. I’ve made my decision, but- I don’t know. I’m not happy with it, but I don’t think I’d be happy with any decision. In the end, I guess I just went for the least painful option.” You take a deep breath, eyes lifting to look at Hoseok, who sends you a sad smile. You open your mouth-

“Wait!” Sejin interrupts loudly. Everyone turns to look at him in unison, eyes wide. “There-” He breaks off with a sigh, glancing at the camera closest to him before looking back down at the group. “Listen; this will be edited out, but ratings have been doing far better than we’d ever anticipated. We already hired a third editor to keep up with demand and get more episodes out than was on the schedule, and there’s talk we may even start getting sponsorships because the support has been creating headlines, at least on Twitter. The higher-ups at Bangasm, well… they want to make an exception.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” Sejin answers. “Act surprised.” The eight of you stare at him with varying degrees of bewilderment as he puffs his chest and carries his voice louder, switching back into producer mode. “Wait!” he repeats in the same tone as earlier. “The production team hasn’t been completely honest with you. This isn’t just a basic game with prompts each week like we told you. There will be a special advantage, a wildcard if you wish, that changes things up. They could affect the prompts, or how the game proceeds for that week. We call them Bangasm Bombs. And while we didn’t tell you, our production team has drawn the Bangasm Bomb for Week One.”

Sejin pauses to look at you all meaningfully. Jimin picks up the hint. “So; what’s the ‘Bangasm Bomb’ for this week?” he asks for you, gesturing quote marks with his fingers.

Your mind is starting to whir, possibilities beginning to percolate in your mind, but you aren’t prepared for what Sejin says next.

“Nobody goes home this week.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes darting around the room to see the open disbelief on the guys’ faces. “So I- I don’t have to send anyone home today?”

“No,” Sejin answers warmly, and you feel your shoulders sag in relief, a breath rushing out you didn’t know you were holding. Sejin winces, clearing his throat lightly. “That’s… the other thing.”

“Other thing?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “There’s more?”

“With the success of the show comes other benefits. For example; the CEO and treasurer of Bangasm have agreed to double our funding if we can keep the views up. No, Seokjin,” Sejin quips the second the eldest contestant raises his hand. Jin puts his hand down, lips pursed in a pout. “We’re changing the rules a bit. Before, we said if Y/n eliminated you, you’d pack your bags and leave. Now; you stay.”

Sejin can’t get another word out over the clamour that arises, everyone shocked and excited and confused all at once. He waves his hand for silence, and only after a minute or so everyone calms down.

“So, there’s just no eliminating?” Jungkook asks with a comically quizzical look on his face.

“Please just let me explain,” Sejin requests, sighing. “Yes, there will still be eliminations. But if you get eliminated, you stay in the house.”

“So it’s a free pass,” Jungkook surmises.

“Not quite. No longer will you not be competing in the game, but you won’t be able to have sex with or sexually touch Y/n in any way. If you do, then you’ll be sent out of the house for good.”

“No sex with Y/n?” Taehyung asks meaningfully. “So… otherwise…?”

Sejin sighs, a tired laugh falling from his lips. “Just no sex with Y/n,” he confirms. “If you touch Y/n sexually, you go home. If Y/n touches you, of course we can’t send her home, so we’ve devised a punishment.”

At the word punishment your head darts up to stare at the producer, but Hoseok beats you to the punch. “She’s gonna come join us in the bunkroom?”

“That’s for failing prompts, Hobi-hyung,” Namjoon points out, “Y/n doesn’t have any prompts.”

“Correct,” Sejin confirms. “If Y/n touches an eliminated member in a sexual manner, then that member gets to choose what she wears for the next 24 hours.”

You frown. “That doesn’t sound so…” you trail off when you glance up, only to be met with seven hungry sets of eyes. You can just about see the cogs turning in their brains as they stare at your body. “Ah.”

“Yes. So stick to the rules, and you get, as Jungkook so elegantly put, a free pass minus Y/n. Got it?”

The eight of you stay silent, still shell-shocked from the two revelations. This changed things. Now, when you voted someone off, they would get to stay, but they would get to stay. You can see both the positive and negative possibilities there, and it’s no surprise that a reality show would have such a sneaky plot twist.

So you’d have all seven fucking you for one more week, and then all seven every week in the future, only with your sexual prospects dropping as you went. It does ensure that you’ll begin voting for them purely based on sexual performance; considering their personalities in the house wasn’t an issue if you’d have those anyway.

As you glance around the room, you can’t help but wonder if your vote would’ve been different had you known that he’d get to stay. And you wonder if you’ll end up picking the same person in a week’s time, after a new set of prompts. The thought makes you sit up, turning to Sejin again.

“Will the boys draw their new prompts, then?” you ask. “Do I get to know the theme again?”

“Ah, of course-” Sejin breaks off to sit up, retrieving a stack of slightly crumpled papers from his back pocket. “This week’s theme is dynamics and roleplay. Come pick a card.”

Like last week, you pay close attention to the reactions of each of the seven. Namjoon blinks wide at his, but doesn’t seem as put off as last week, and his eyes go distant when he sits back down, like he’s already picturing it. Jimin takes two, one for him at one for Taehyung, and the two compare, Taehyung laughing at Jimin’s and Jimin smirking at Taehyung’s, brushing his clean-shaven cheek with the back of his knuckles and murmuring something in his ear.

When Jin gets his, he bites his tongue and shakes his head with a light laugh, and Yoongi’s mouth drops open upon reading his card, eyes darkening with lust. Jungkook winces at first, but thinks on it a moment longer and grins eagerly, taking a second glance and scrunching his nose cutely at it. Hoseok takes his last, calmly reading it with a pleased smirk, sliding it into his front pocket and taking a seat.

Your breath leaves you in a slow stream. You’re back to the not-knowing. Dynamics and roleplay. It could really be anything, you supposed. Naughty schoolgirl, pizza delivery guy. You didn’t watch a lot of porn but you vaguely knew some of the tropes, and it’ll be a rather interesting week indeed.

“That’s not all, of course,” Sejin adds, and you feel like your brain could implode with the information dump that this morning has been. “Would you like to hear the Bangasm Bomb for Week 2?”

“We find out now?” Hoseok questions. “Not at the end?”

“Well, in order to fulfil it you need to know now,” the producer explains. “This week, Y/n may not sleep in her own bed, and she may not sleep in the same bed twice.”

You blink, not expecting it to be directed at you. “I what?” Your mind catches up with the rule, and you let out a light laugh. “So, I’ll have to share with the other guys?”

"Let's not forget the type of show we're on," Yoongi points out, leveling an impressed stare at the producer. "Well-played."

"Thank you," Sejin replies shortly. "Now, that'll be all. Just a reminder, if your scene isn't filmed, it doesn't count, and it's okay if Y/n guesses the prompt, but if you tell her directly then your prompt is void. Seokjin; we ordered you a set of chef's knives that should be here later today. Please stop spamming the company's inquiries email."

He's out of the room before Jin can even react, open-mouthed but smug like the cat that got the cream.

The eight of you sit in silence for a moment or two, still reeling. It's Hoseok in the end that recovers first.

"So we all stay," he muses. "Even if we get voted off, we stay. Why is that both a blessing and a curse?"

"This is reality TV," Jimin points out calmly, "and it's porn on top of it. Tension and drama skyrockets ratings. Well; I'm going to make some coffees if anyone wants one."

Most of the group move back into the kitchen, rifling through cabinets like zombies to make their breakfasts, but Namjoon approaches you hesitantly, biting on his lip.

"Y/n, can I talk to you? Privately?"

You stand up off the coffee table, though still you're lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "Sure," you reply easily, "privately or privately privately?"

"Um," he hesitates, glancing towards the entrance foyer, where across the hall lies the unfilmed rec room. "Just privately is fine for now."

Everyone else distracted with the prospect of food and hot coffee, it's easy enough to just sit on the stairs, side-by-side and thighs touching. Like this, you become aware of how much bigger he is than you. Namjoon's legs sprawl out down to the bottom of the stairs, socked feet slipping slightly on the glossy stone floor, whereas yours are tucked on the step below you. He glances down at you with a nervous disposition, but his eyes are surprisingly steady.

"Hoseok-hyung and I slept in the bunk bed room last night, as you probably know," he explains. "Him and I talked a lot. About a bunch of things, but he helped me realise something. And after I got the prompt today, I was sure."

Your eyes widen as they watch him carefully. The roots of his purple are starting to grow out in a soft brunette that makes him look even younger, his face round yet gently sculpted, chin pressed out in solemnity. "Sure of what?" you question quietly.

Namjoon takes a slow breath, rubbing his palms over his knees. "I think it's better if I don't lose my virginity while doing some cheesy role-play for a porn show, you know? I know I chose to come here knowing what I was walking into, but... Hoseok suggested maybe we could use the rec room for some privacy and then I could just fill my prompt later in the week. Of course, the producers will probably get annoyed at me not losing my virginity on camera, but they never said I had to, and I think I want it to be something just for me, you know? Something that's just you and me, outside of the show. I understand if you don't want to do that, but if you're happy to, I think I'm ready now."

You take a few moments to fully process his words, the gravity of them. "You sure you're ready? If you are, I'm happy to do that, Joonie. I want it to be good for you. You deserve that."

He smiles at that, broadly, but with his head ducked down. "That means a lot," he admits, "but yeah. I'm ready. If you want to...?" He trails off, tipping his head in the direction of the private rec room.

You sit up straight. "Oh! You mean- now now? Yes, I can do that, wow, okay-"

"If that's alright?" he asks hastily, face pinched with worry, but you just stand up, holding out a hand to him. He takes it, letting you lead him to the door.

From the few times you've needed to use this room, it's been pretty empty. It's small; most likely originally intended as extra storage or a home office, and the producers had put a visibly second-hand couch on one wall, a skinny coffee table and a lamp in there.

Generally, it's a glorified staffroom of sorts, a time-out that's more valuable for its lack of cameras than anything actually inside. Today, though, you freeze in the hallway at the sight that greets you.

With the table pushed to one side, boasting two bottles of water, a box of tissues, a bottle of self-heating lube and a small bluetooth speaker, the rest of the room has been converted into a massive bed.

The floor is covered with blankets, sheets and duvets, thick enough to be like a bedroll, with pillows stacked on the edges. They cover most of the floor, roughly the size of a queen size bed. On top of the impressive set-up are a colourful variety of packaged condoms, arranged in a tasteful love-heart.

Namjoon groans at the display, pinching his brow. "Hoseok said he'd set up for me and make it a little more comfortable, I'm sorry."

"It's cute," you say with a laugh, "are you wanting to use condoms?"

Namjoon swallows. "Uh, you- what would you prefer?"

You shrug, collecting them up and flicking through the buffet of options. You chuckle as the majority are L and XL. Unsurprising. "I mean, we don't need one. So if you want to feel everything fully, I say go bare."

"G-go bare, please," he coughs out awkwardly, shutting and locking the door behind him, double-checking the handle. "Can we put some music on? It's really quiet in here."

"Of course." You busy yourself with the music, smiling at the fact that he must have appreciated it last time. By the time you select a nice playlist on your phone and pick a decent volume, Namjoon's surprised you by hastily stripping down to his underwear, shyly rubbing at his knees.

You stand stock-still for a moment, just taking in the gorgeous sight of his body, all understated muscle and bold lines and planes. He must do some form of exercise, because his chest is thick, as are his thighs, and his lower stomach is soft but lean. He's gorgeous, and between your legs you feel your excitement grow.

Hustling to strip your clothes off as a gentle guitar strumming fills the air, you feel the cool cotton of the duvet under your knees as you straddle Namjoon, the man sucking in a breath as your clothed pussy presses flush against his hardness.

"Give me a kiss," you ask softly, a suggestion to let him take control, and a sigh of relief leaves his lungs as he cups your face in his hands, tugging your lips onto his greedily.

The ferocity with which he kisses you takes your breath away. It's powerful, greedy and demanding like he's waited an eon to kiss you again. While he was surprisingly skilful the first time, now it feels like he's come into his own.

You make a noise of surprise in the back of your throat as you feel his tongue slipping between your lips, licking up into your mouth like he's trying to devour you. You're drunk on it, mind feeling hazy, but you manage to pull away for a moment, gasping out a, "how the hell did you get this good?"

Grunting, Namjoon's eyes flutter open and one of his hands slips back to cup the nape of your neck securely, preventing you from backing up further. "Hoseok gave me some tips," he admits. "Now get back here."

You let yourself be pulled in again and eaten alive, muffled groans and sighs of bliss slipping out between swipes of tongue and flashes of teeth, nipping at your bottom lip until it's swollen and aching in the best way.

Without realising, you've begin to grind your hips against him, needing friction, and he pants into your mouth at the feeling. The pleasure makes him sloppy, and you groan as his lips leave yours, veering down to kiss along your jawline, tugging on your earlobe before sucking blossoms of colour down your throat. You tip your head back, arching into his mouth and rocking your hips against him, the friction addictive.

"Gonna fuck you now," you hear him groan against your collarbone, lips on your skin that's slick from his spit. Even in your heightened state of arousal you can sense the slight question in his voice, like he's checking you're still okay with it.

More than okay, you glance down to see the point that joins you, your panties so wet that the grey of his boxers is marred by a dark spot, wet and clinging to the stiff outline of his cock. You curse lowly at the sight of it. "Fuck, please, I need you, Joonie."

He lets out a strangled sigh, hands trembling slightly as he pushes down the waistband of his boxers so that it rests below his balls, cock bobbing up to rest at his stomach. He swallows hard, eyes closed and back resting against the base of the couch. The sheets beneath you have heated up with your body temperature, arousal radiating off the two of you in waves.

When you first reach out to touch him, you keep your eyes on his face, on his reaction. The initial contact makes his brow twitch, eyes clenching shut. So thick your fingers don’t touch around him when you grasp his base, he’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen in the house; a touch of irony that the least experienced member had the biggest genetic advantage. His bottom lip finds his way tucked between his teeth, thighs tensing beneath you.

“Joonie,” you mumble in a mock pout, “are you gonna fuck me now or so I have to do all the work myself?”

His eyes fly open, gaze landing on your widened eyes of innocence, before darting down to where you’re gently stroking him, fingertips catching on the sensitive ridge beneath his head. “Hobi-hyung said you should ride me so you can get used to it.”

You chuckle, tapping your thumb over his weeping slit, making him hiss. “Let’s stop thinking about what Hobi said and start worrying about what you want. Do you want me to ride you? Feel how tight I am for you?”

He curses, brows knitting as he nods shakily, and you can’t hold yourself back any longer. With a low curl of thrill in your stomach, you sit up so you can quickly slip off your panties, before straddling him again. He feels heavy when you brush his length through your sodden folds, readying him for you, and the thought makes you groan lowly.

“Wanted you so bad,” you confess over the music in the background, now a simple drum beat that gives you rhythm as you grind your hips over him, letting his blunt head catch at your entrance. “Fuck.” His fingers are digging into your hips just with the feeling of your pussy clenching over his tip, and you lower yourself painfully slowly, adjusting to the way he stretches you to your limit, dragging inch by inch against your walls.

“H-oh god, it is, it’s so tight,” he comments with a hitch in his voice, and again you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury himself in you. Though the thought of it is hot, you’re merciful that he’s giving you time to grow accustomed to the sheer girth of his dick inside you.

“Does it feel good, Joonie?” you ask, the question panted as he takes your breath away, grinning at the quick stuttered nods he gives in reply, fingers flexing on the flesh of your hips and ass. By the time you’re sitting flush against his lap, you can barely breathe, a shaky hand pressing onto your stomach almost expecting to feel him bulging out of you from the inside. He’s not just the biggest on the show, but the biggest you’ve ever had, and you feel like you could cum just from rolling your hips against him.

“You feel so amazing, Y/n,” he praises, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close so that he can press his lips to yours. You whine as he shifts in you, feeling shakier than ever, but appreciate the chance to adjust to him, tongue chasing his and fingers slipping into his hair as you kiss.

You’re content to stay like that for as long as he continues to move his mouth against you, mouth watering at the feeling of cockwarming him and joining your bodies so intimately, but the excitement of new sensation gets to him, and after a while he begins to shift, holding your hips down and grinding his hips.

Your jaw drops open, hands flying out to grip at his shoulders at the feeling. He’s so deep you can barely comprehend it, can barely think with his cock filling you so completely, and find yourself pleading quietly, an unintelligible babble of more, please more, need more. He shifts his posture as you sit on his length, uncrossing his legs and instead bracing them in front of him.

“Want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, nipping at your throat, and you shiver at the husky gravel of his tone. What happened to the shy virgin?

“Please, Joonie,” you gasp, clenching around him, “need you to move.”

His first thrust takes your breath away, punching the air out of your lungs. When he moves inside you it feels monumental, like a core piece of you shifting, and your eyes water with the delicious burn. You whine when he pauses for a moment, hands slipping down to knead at your ass. Namjoon’s eyes are like molten dark chocolate as they focus on you, rich and intense, and when your head tips down to kiss him again it’s so needy your teeth clash, the keening whimper in your throat sign enough that you want more.

It’s only once he begins to fuck you in earnest, bouncing you on his cock, that you see how truly affected he is. Strands of lilac cling to his temples as he sweats, chest heaving and hands trembling even as his fingers dig in hungrily. His lips are slick with spit, but he makes no move to wipe them clean, just biting onto his bottom lip and sucking, hips snapping up with bruising momentum.

You can’t catch your breath, but still you chase his lips like oxygen, needing to be as close as possible. His panting keeps you anchored as you moan shamelessly, toes curling and back arching. Your high approaches quickly enough that it shocks you, but there’s no escaping the pleasure that rushes through you with every snap of his hips.

You lose contact with his mouth, cheek resting limply on his shoulder as he speeds up his pace, the muscles in your legs failing you, twitching uncontrollably.

“No, no, no, fuck,” Namjoon chants lowly, and you feel a hand bury in your hair, holding you to the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m not gonna last.”

You moan at that, feeling him stiffen impossibly more inside you with every thrust. “Wan’ you to cum,” you promise in his ear, barely more than a gasped breath, “wanna cum with you.” To end the statement, you nuzzle your nose against his throat and nip at his pulse point. To your surprise, he shudders violently, suddenly going stock still.

Your eyes widen as hot ropes of cum fill you, Namjoon clutching you to him helplessly, groaning nonsense as his orgasm hits him out of nowhere. Your own high recedes, but you barely notice it as you sit up tiredly and clench around him, watching the pleasure flicker across his face as he rides the high.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes cast towards the ceiling and chest still heaving, “I’m so sorry, I… sensitive neck.”

You grin, running your hands up to gently brush over it, feeling him pulse inside you, spurting the final drops of cum from his spent cock. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, leaning in quickly to nibble at his lips and give him a lazy, indulgent kiss. “That was really fucking hot.”

He laughs, cheeks pinkening slightly, and you feel your heart warm at the return of the shy Namjoon you’d gotten used to. So he’s a lot more dominant and confident in the heat of the moment, you muse as he catches his breath, good to know.

When you find your strength again, slowly sitting up off him, you wince at the rush of cum leaving you, and the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. That’s only exacerbated by the fact that you haven’t cum yet, but it’s his first time and you don’t want him to feel bad. Collapsing on the sheets beside him, you rest your head on his shoulder, breath still coming in shallow pants. “Good?”

“Good god, Y/n,” he exclaims earnestly, “I think I might be a sex addict now.”

A surprised peal of laughter leaves your lungs, and you shove him playfully before crawling over to the coffee table, cracking open a bottle of water and cleaning yourself up with the available tissues. “Hoseok really did think this through, huh?” you muse, chucking him the box once you’re done.

Namjoon clears up the cum on his cock and thighs, grimacing at the way some of it has stained his boxers, but he sends you a guilty look. “I’m sorry.”

You frown, reaching for your clothes. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t-”

Whatever Namjoon is about to say is cut off by a sudden thud that gives you both a fright, followed by three polite albeit enthusiastic knocks. You stare in bewilderment at the door, before hastily dressing yourself.

“Is everything alright?” Namjoon calls out, putting his underwear back on properly and hopping into his pants. “Has something happened?”

“I should hope so, young grasshopper!” an enthusiastic voice chirps from the other side of the door, muffled but unmistakably Hoseok. “You’ve popped your cherry, Kim Namjoon!”

The academic winces, reaching out to unlock the door once he’s made sure the two of you are dressed. “Hoseok, what are you doing? Wha-?” He breaks off once he opens the door, and you rush around behind him to see what gave him pause.

In the foyer are Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin, all in matching paper birthday hats, the strings of thin elastic digging into their chins. Hoseok’s holding two more in his hands, and he thrusts them towards you as Taehyung wiggles the weighty bottle of champagne in his grasp. Behind them, Jin calmly holds a kitchen knife.

“What’s going on?” you ask in bewilderment, stepping out into the foyer and wincing at the ache between your legs with each step. “Why the fuck are you holding a knife?”

Jin, his bright blue party hat on at a jaunty angle, stares down at his hands blankly before gasping, tucking it behind his back. “Sometimes I forget I’m still holding it.”

“That’s extremely alarming,” Namjoon says with a frown. “I still don’t understand why you’re all gathered outside the door.”

“It’s time for the party, hyung,” Taehyung explains, “to celebrate you finally getting your dick wet.”

Your cheeks go flaming red as you glance at Namjoon, the poor man spluttering and eyes wide like he didn’t know what to do. “If there’s champagne, I’m there,” you announce calmly. “Come on, Joonie, let’s go celebrate.”

Namjoon visibly relaxes when you aren’t offended, flicking you a warm smile. “Is everyone wearing a hat?” he questions incredulously, taking the thin cone card.

“Mo-mostly everyone,” Hoseok answers suspiciously.

“It’s just you guys, isn’t it?”

“Well, if you both wore one, we’d have the majority.”

You grin, patting Hoseok on the shoulder as you walk past him into the foyer. “Let’s just go,” you call out to the guys behind you, “there better be food.”

As expected, the three that greeted you were the only ones wearing party hats. At the dining table, which has been laden with aromatic dishes, steaming rice and empty champagne flutes, the other three await. Jimin’s is resting beside his plate and chopsticks, untouched. Beside him, Yoongi has his upside down, using it as a bowl for the rice snacks he’s munching happily on. The youngest man in the house hasn’t even noticed you’ve arrived, using it like a very inefficient telescope, one eye scrunched shut and the other focused on the pinhole at the top of the cone. Sitting at the head of the table, he aims it at Jimin, mouth hanging open as he tries to see through the tiny gap.

Giving up, he waves the wide end around the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of something. Once the cone lands on the five of you, he gasps, chucking down the party hat. “You’re back! I didn’t start eating the cake, like you said!”

Jin frowns. “That sounds awfully suspicious.” Knife still in hand, he makes his way to the kitchen island, where you catch a glimpse of a beautifully iced cake with writing on the top that you’re too far away to read.

Jungkook shifts restlessly in his seat, staring worriedly at Jin. “The- um, the birds attacked it.” If you look closely, you think you can see the slightest hint of vanilla icing in the crook of his mouth.

Jin stares at the cake desolately. “The birds?” he deadpans.

“Seagulls, you know,” Jungkook tries to pass off casually, the pink of his tongue dashing out to lick the sugar off his lips. “Absolute vultures.”

Hoseok tsks in disappointment. “Was it seagulls or was it vultures?”

Jungkook stays silent an inexplicably long amount of time, glancing slowly between Hoseok and Jin. His eyes are wide like he’s trying to work out the lie in his head “...It was me.”

Jin’s fingers are pressed to his temple as he sighs. “Right.” Setting down the knife, he picks up the cake and brings it to the table, placing it in the middle of the table. The rest of you all take a seat, filling in the spaces around the table. Taehyung slips in beside Jimin, Hoseok at the end of the table opposite Jungkook, and finally Jin, Namjoon, and you take the last of the seats.

The cake is beautiful, neat and fluffy buttercream all over with swooping cursive written in a thin black stream. Unfortunately, a very delicate but obvious slice has been taken out so you have to focus to work out what the writing says. Once you do, you let out a reluctant chuckle, watching Namjoon blush once more, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his shirt shyly.

“‘Here lies Namjoon’s virginity,’” you recite, “‘1994-2020.’ Who came up with that?”

“That’s not impor-” Jin begins, but Taehyung swiftly cuts him off.

“I did!” he declares proudly. “Everyone agreed mine was funnier than Jin-hyung’s.”

“Obviously not everyone,” Jin replies bitterly, dishing himself up some of the rice closest to him. “Dig in, everyone, Yoongi and I worked hard on this. And congratulations Namjoon,” he adds, though he sends Namjoon a genuine smile, eyes twinkling.

After everyone says their congratulations, the food is dug into and the cork of the bottle is popped, conversation flowing like the champagne.

Over time, Namjoon seems to get used to the chatter about sex, perhaps not feeling so left out of the loop, and his face is more open and relaxed than ever, a dimple poking out when he smiles. You occasionally reach out to shove him playfully or squeeze his arm as the chatter continues, and he no longer freezes or stiffens up. It warms your heart that he feels a little more comfortable amongst you.

You’re happy to tuck into your meal, having worked up an appetite for lunch, but it’s barely more than a second after finishing your first helping that your phone buzzes.

You slip it out casually, frowning when you see it’s a notification that you’ve been added to a group-chat.

After that, you smother a scoff and slip your phone back into your pocket, hoping if your cheeks are red they can safely be attributed to the alcohol.

Glancing up, you see Jungkook stand up suddenly, eyes wide with barely-contained excitement as he picks up his bowl, chopsticks and champagne flute, scurrying over to dump them in the sink before disappearing upstairs. Yoongi stares at his empty seat in confusion, but shrugs and takes another mouthful of cake. You eat yours quickly enough that your stomach flips, or perhaps that’s just the anticipation.

After you’re done it takes you a few moments to build up the courage to look across to Hoseok, feeling his gaze hot on your skin. When you do, your eyes lock immediately, but he just continues to stare, lips pressed in a narrow line.

Your heart leaps for a moment, wondering what that hard gaze means for you later on. Silently, as Taehyung continues to explain something to him with a mouth half-full of food, Hoseok lifts his eyebrow once, gaze darting to the roof. The message is clear. Go upstairs.

Biting your lip, you let Namjoon know you’re heading up, waving off his concern until he’s pulled back into a thread of conversation. You try to ignore the uncertain adrenaline rush that makes your hands tremble and your core throb all the way upstairs, until you’re knocking on Jungkook’s door.

The two of you share a look once he opens the door, one of anticipation and desire, and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” you ask rhetorically, stepping in and collapsing onto the bed.

“I’ll take it if it means getting a good fuck,” he states matter-of-factly, sitting himself beside you and tucking his legs up. “Besides; I’ve wanted to see Hobi-hyung in action for a while.”

Sitting up, you think back to that day in the confessional booth, where he had so easily made you fall apart without even taking a single item of clothing off. You wondered if he’d deprive you of his body tonight as well.

“I think he’s angry at me,” you admit, “before I left, he looked… intense.”

“Why would he be angry at you?” Jungkook asks with a frown, his hand slipping under the baggy fabric of his black tee, rubbing at his shoulder like he’s aching to take the item off.

You go to shrug, but then your mind flicks back to this morning. “The elimination,” you realise, dread rising in your stomach just as much as your arousal is. “I think he knows I was going to eliminate him.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, round enough to be saucers. “Wait, really? Why him?”

You find the words dry up in your throat. “I- God, I don’t know. How am I meant to choose anyone when you’re all amazing? Maybe his had the least impact on me, I suppose.” You eye the door to the walkway warily. “I guess he’s determined to change that now.”

Instead of replying, you’re taken aback when Jungkook throws his arms around you in a tight hug, his long hair brushing at your neck and shoulder as he tucks his chin into the hollow of your collarbone. Hesitantly, you bring your own arms up to hug him back, feeling your tension melt in the warm embrace.

“It must be so hard,” he murmurs, “I don’t think Hobi-hyung is really mad, you know? He probably just feels like he wasn’t good enough for you and wants to prove himself.”

This thought just sends another spike of guilt through you, but you have no time to dwell on it before the door is clicking open, making you and Jungkook instinctively jump apart.

Hoseok stands there, as intimidating as last time in all-black. Though he’s wearing just socks instead of the heavy duty boots he was in that day, there’s no denying the power he holds in the clothes he wears like armour. Leather pants so snug they’re like a second skin and a black long-sleeved shirt, tight but breathable cotton with a harness of thin leather straps providing some structure. His raven hair is swept back, but just a single stray lock hangs low over his brow, drawing your eyes back to his. “Starting without me?” he questions lightly, though his face is devoid of humour.

You swallow hard. “No… Master,” you add, seeing the expectant look on his face. Once he steps further into the room, you notice the black bag that was previously hidden behind his back. The duffel bag from last time. You suck in a breath and clench your thighs before you can even think to stop yourself, and Hoseok’s positively gleam at the sound.

“Both of you have been very naughty today,” he explains, dumping the bag on the bed beside Jungkook, beginning to casually pull a heap of bright red nylon rope out. “Little Jungkookie ate the cake that Jin-hyung worked so hard on, even when he was specifically asked not to. And Y/n… Y/n knows exactly what she did.” Your eyes widen when Hoseok sets the multiple lengths of rope to one side in a neat folded coil and reaches back into the bag to produce a pair of wide, heavy-duty shears.

“Woah, hyung,” Jungkook exclaims in alarm, “I can apologise for the cake, I-”

“Settle, Jungkook, it’s okay,” Hoseok explains softly. “I told you we’re gonna be tying you up, yeah? This is so that we can cut the ropes quickly in case you want out. They aren’t part of the scene.”

You feel a thrill run through your veins at the gentle click of metal resting on the nightstand once Hoseok sets the scissors down. He hadn’t needed them for when your arms were tied. It meant that whatever you were going to do tonight would be more intense. The thought of everyone else downstairs having a good time and hanging out while you and Jungkook were up here getting bound by Hoseok… it somehow feels even more illicit and dirty.

“Let’s do Jungkookie first, hm?” the dom proposes. “I’ve been wanting to see what you’d look like all prettied up for me. Choose red just for you.”

Jungkook positively preens at the compliment, hands tucking into his lap and chest puffing out. “I’m excited, Master!”

Hoseok gestures for Jungkook to remove his clothes with a flat expression. “Don’t be,” he retorts calmly, “this isn’t a reward, it’s discipline. We’re going to learn a lesson about behaving.”

The camboy trembles, hastily shucking off his baggy shirt and pushing his sweatpants down, naked except for a pair of white socks. Your breath is taken away by how easily he bares himself to the cameras and to the two of you, eyes eager and nervous as Hoseok picks up one of the longer lengths of rope.

“I want you to kneel, Jungkookie,” Hoseok instructs, “kneel on the bed for me, arms at your sides.”

Jungkook obeys, breath hitching as Hoseok approaches, passing the coil over his palm. You watch with baited breath as a bright red strand of rope is run around his narrow waist. As the professional dom begins looping, knotting and wrapping the rope around Jungkook’s torso, the boy’s eyes grow lidded, cock twitching as it rests back against his lower abdomen.

It takes a while, but time is as smooth as velvet in the soft silence of the room, just gentle breaths and the whir of nylon rope sliding so beautifully along Jungkook’s skin.

By the time Hoseok is done, Jungkook’s eyes barely open, so content with the feeling of being patiently wrapped up, and he hums lightly as Hoseok rechecks the tightness of each loop, slipping two fingers between rope and skin in several places.

Rather than bondage or restraint, this looks like art. An elaborate harness of red contrasts beautifully against the pale golden flesh below, hardness of his chest and abs softened by the vaguely fishnet pattern, loops that interlock and curve across his body gracefully, the most careful and precise lattice of scarlet ropes.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Hoseok questions, and a finger comes down to run through the glossy precum that has been smeared onto Jungkook’s lower stomach. The boy hisses, arching his hips up in search of contact, but all it takes is a sharp swat at the head of his cock and Jungkook is whining, thighs flexing with the force of keeping still. “Patience, my little prince,” Hoseok tuts, patting Jungkook’s cheek with a hand still wet with the camboy’s own precum, “we’re gonna teach you how to be patient today.”

Jungkook groans low in his throat, lips parting at the term of endearment, and Hoseok grins at it, tiger-like.

“Oh, do you like that, hm? Wanna be my special prince today?” Hoseok runs his fingers through Jungkook’s long hair, the camboy sucking in a sharp breath when they snag on some knots. Jungkook nods, eyes round and glittering as he looks up at his Master. Hoseok pouts, tapping him once on the end of his button nose. “It’s a shame you weren’t behaving today, then wasn’t it? Maybe if you’re good for me tonight, you can earn it.”

Jungkook’s brows lift pleadingly, looking so small under Hoseok’s harsh stare. “I’ll be good, though, Master.”

“Mm, I’m sure you will,” Hoseok confirms, swiping a thumb over Jungkook’s nipple to make him shiver, before he fixes an iron gaze onto you.

You swallow, slipping out of your clothes as quickly as you can once he gives the same gesture as before, crossing your legs and arms to try and preserve some dignity. Hoseok just tuts, picking up two of the remaining sections of nylon rope, only one still left waiting on the bed.

“Hands at your sides, kneeling,” he instructs sharply, and you feel the way your walls clench at the authority in his voice as you hustle to get into position.

The harness he puts you in is different to Jungkook’s, accentuating your breasts with bands both above and below them, leaving your stomach free but doubling the rope over so that every loop that wraps around you is twice as thick. The final tie is slipped up between your breasts, around the back of your neck and tucking back down to hold it all together, and your breath shallows at the secure feeling of the rope.

It’s peaceful; the warm stripes of friction as he pulls strands through loops, the gentle flicking of the ends against your skin until he folds them away, the way it embraces your chest so snugly, but not too tight. It’s only once he’s done checking the rope like he did with Jungkook that he picks up the second, shorter length of nylon, and by then you already feel the sleepy yet electric haze of subspace seeping throughout your body.

“Hands,” he instructs, and you hold them out for him, watching with heightened arousal as he binds them, the rope wrapping around and between your wrists until they’re locked together. Last time your hands were bound behind your back but like this, you can watch him as he works.

It’s quick - a testament to his expertise - but you spend every moment with your eyes locked onto him. The eyes, gleaming with control and satisfaction, the pink tip of his tongue poking out just slightly as he focuses. His thin fingers, looping and wrapping and knotting with such skill.

His last move, eyes darting up and smirking once he catches you watching him, is to connect the thick cuff-like ropes to the top of your harness, pinning them up to your chest, folded hands resting at the base of your throat. You instinctively tug once he’s done, only to feel the rope around your back tighten and dig in, but no distance made. The feeling of being at his mercy only adds to the slick gathering between your thighs.

Once he steps back, eying the two of you up, your breath catches in your throat. Both you and Jungkook are fully naked, somehow feeling even more vulnerable in the rope, and Hoseok stands across from the bed in all his black leather glory, eyes raking over you like he’s assessing his work.

“Are you gonna touch us, Master?” Jungkook questions in a small voice, fingers clutching at his own thighs, cock flushed and needy between them.

“Not you yet, Jungkookie. Gotta warm Y/n up first.” Your eyes widen - for what? - but Hoseok is moving closer run a hand down Jungkook’s back, fingers jumping over the strands of rope. “Do you wanna help me, baby?”

Jungkook nods, blushing when Hoseok pinches lightly at his cheek.

Hoseok leans over to you, carding his fingers into your hair and curling them in so that he can hold you steady. Like this, kneeling on the bed, you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, but he just tuts, holding you face-forward to Jungkook. “You wanna give her a kiss, Kookie?”

You swallow, fingers interlocking together as you look over to the camboy. He looks so needy, blissed out and pretty in his red rope, cock untouched and weeping. Your lips part automatically, tongue darting out to wet your lips and you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s eyes are drawn to it, lids now as he nods.

With your hands pinned to your chest and kneeling, you don’t feel able to meet him halfway so you just wait as Jungkook crawls to you, glancing up at Hoseok for permission before burying your hands in your hair alongside the dom’s. With barely a second to suck in a breath, Jungkook ducks his head, his lips descending onto yours with sweet, unrestrained need.

Unable to touch him back, you let your eyes slip shut with the soft presses of his mouth, taking everything he gives you. Everything about Jungkook in this moment is soft; his lips, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones, even the subtle scent of vanilla as his hair tickles your face - but the stiff grip in your hair is anything but, reminding you where exactly you are and the hand you’re under.

Your breath hitches as two things happen at once; Jungkook’s tongue presses into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and behind you Hoseok shifts, getting up on the bed behind you. Though you can’t see him, you become even more aware of his commanding presence, through the simple gesture of a fingertip, tracing beside lines of rope with a touch so light you shiver.

“You both look so pretty for me,” Hoseok murmurs warmly, his voice closer than you’d expected him to be, sounding like it’s right beside your air. Jungkook doubles his efforts in response, and your core is alight with excitement when you instinctively go to touch him, only to be reminded of the restraint you’re in.

Jungkook kisses without abandon, not hurried but deep and purposeful. Though you still tremble under Hoseok’s teasing touch, your mind is so enraptured by Jungkook’s tongue in your mouth and teeth on your lips that you lose track of it.

The camboy doesn’t dare venture his hands further than your face, cupping it so tenderly as he delves into you, so your eyes fly open with shock when two fingers are suddenly slipping through your folds, running over your clit for a single delicious moment of pleasure. You moan in shock and pull away to look down.

Between your kneeling legs is the slender but calloused hand of your Master himself, wrapped around your front and slipping inside you without question like you’re his. His to explore, his to ruin. You pant at the intrusion of two fingers, clenching around him, but his only response is to tug suddenly at your hair, pulling your gaze back up again.

Nipping sharply at the bridge of your ear, Hoseok scolds you. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he growls harshly, “did I?”

“Sorry, Master,” you reply without thinking, barely a moment before you let out a muffled squeak from Jungkook joining you together again, wasting no time to obey.

Hoseok doesn’t stop his motions between your legs; on the contrary, he continues without pause, fingers moving inside you with a steady urgency.

For a while, your brows furrow, hips rocking below him. He keeps missing your g-spot, fingers too straight to press against it on each thrust, and he moves to three fingers without touching your clit at all, hand held foward off of you to avoid friction. You moan brokenly into Jungkook’s mouth as you realise Hoseok’s doing it intentionally, stretching you out almost clinically, without regard or want for your pleasure. You go weak at the thought, sinking forward into Jungkook’s embrace, but soon enough the fingers are removed from you completely. Empty and unsatisfied just like earlier, you huff and begin to kiss the camboy more frantically, desperate for some pleasure to replace it.

But Hoseok clearly isn’t having it. “Stop,” he commands shortly, “hands off.”

Jungkook sits back quickly, making sure you won’t slump over before he presses his hands to his thighs again, cock twitching at the continued neglect. Blinking, he licks his swollen lips and glances behind you to Hoseok in confusion. “Master?”

Your mouth goes dry when you hear the unmistakable sound of a zip being lowered. Hoseok’s hand leaves your hair suddenly, and you feel unmoored between the two men, just you and your hands tucked under your chin. “You tasted her pretty little pussy in Week One, didn’t you, Jungkookie? Would you like her to return the favour?”

Eyes wide, you drop your gaze down to Jungkook’s aching dick, as it twitches and leaks another thin trail of precum, the boy groaning. “Please, Master.” His fingers flex, holding back from touching it. “‘Hurts,” he whines.

You bite your lip, mouth watering. He’s not as big as Namjoon, but you know how fully he filled you just yesterday, and to have him in your mouth… “Please,” you croak out, fingers wiggling in the air as you’re unable to lower yourself to him.

“Good girl,” Hoseok praises, hands strong on your shoulders as he helps you down, elbows propping yourself up awkwardly in the space that Jungkook’s shuffled back from. “Gotta warm Kookie up too, don’t we? Open up, princess.”

Like this, you’re able to keep upright, but barely, craning your neck to look up at Jungkook. His cock is in front of you, and this close you can see just how flushed it is, the tip almost perfect. Hoping your pleading gaze can communicate your desperation, you open your mouth, letting your tongue rest just over your bottom lip.

Jungkook’s brows furrow in wanton need as he glances towards Hoseok. “Can I touch her, Master? Help her?”

“Of course,” Hoseok’s voice allows from behind you, palms running over the flesh of your ass, “but my little prince better not cum.”

Jungkook visibly shivers at the nickname, hips jerking uselessly. “Y-yes, Master,” he allows, before tipping your chin up so gently, gripping himself to guide his length into your waiting mouth.

You moan the moment your lips wrap around his tip, the tang of his precum bursting on your tongue as you flick it over the slit, making Jungkook thrust up again, enough that his cock reaches the back of your mouth. You’re barely able to avoid gagging, but you inhale harshly through your nose, blinking up at him as he brushes your hair back with a shaky apology.

Knowing he can’t orgasm, Jungkook seems happy enough to lazily roll his hips, just enjoying the wet warmth around him as you follow his rhythm, enjoying the slight ache of your jaw around his girth. Hoseok gives you only a few moments to reach this equilibrium before you feel his cock lining up against you.

Eyes widening, you’re given no time to prepare as he slides inside you, slowly but without pause, making your back arch with the intrusion.

You moan, muffled, as Hoseok pulls out and begins to pick up a steady pace, once again sliding right past your g-spot, not fast enough to make your toes curl and not deep enough to make your eyes roll. There’s no denying he’s doing it on purpose, and the thought that he might not let you cum at all has you whining desperately around Jungkook’s cock, loud enough that Hoseok hears.

To your disappointment, he tsks and pulls out, tugging at your hair to pull you off Jungkook. “What the fuck?” you complain bitterly, sucking off the drool that’s accumulated in the corners of your mouth. Equally deprived, Jungkook makes a noise of confusion, but before he can speak up, a commanding voice calls out to you.

“That’s it, on your back,” Hoseok orders, making you jump as he smacks the flesh of your ass. “If you’re gonna be ungrateful you won’t get anything at all.”

You pout, craning your neck to look back at him. “Hobi,” you whine, hoping to appeal to that soft inner that got you what you wanted the last time you were scening with him, but it doesn’t work.

Impatient, his hands find your hips, flipping you around unceremoniously. Your breath is punched out of you as you’re suddenly landing on your back, and you whimper as he hooks a finger in your harness over the top of your breast, using it to tug you higher up the bed so that him and Jungkook are on either side of your waist.

“You’ve been far better behaved,” Hoseok directs at Jungkook casually, reaching into the duffle bag to pull out a square foil packet, “so you’ll get my cock instead.”

Jungkook bites his lip harshly, shuffling on his knees as Hoseok rolls a condom on. “Thank you, Master,” he replies politely, eyes lidded and needy.

“What a good boy,” Hoseok coos, reaching over to brush a fond hand over Jungkook’s cheek. “Do you wanna fuck Y/n too, my little prince?” You let out a low groan at the prospect, at the way Hoseok speaks for you like you’re a toy of his. The thought is more erotic than you’d expect, and your legs part unconsciously.

Jungkook whimpers at the sight, dark hair curling at his temples with perspiration. “Please, Master.”

“Go on, then, baby.” Hoseok gestures for him to straddle you, and you whimper as Jungkook’s form blocks the light from the ceiling, framing him in a silhouette of dark hair.

Your legs part further as he settles between them, cock brushing between your folds lightly until he puts a hand down to line himself up. With one arm bracing himself, Jungkook slowly drives his cock deep inside you, small rocking motions to get you accustomed to him as he bottoms out. The two of you groan in unison, the feeling of being full again like bliss.

Before Jungkook can set a pace, you hear Hoseok’s voice again behind him. “There’s only one thing,” the dom adds in an apologetic tone, “Y/n hasn’t earned an orgasm yet, not like my sweet prince has. If you want to fuck her, Jungkookie, she better not cum.”

You let out a frustrated moan, heel kicking into the mattress. “Fuck,” you whine, hips already rocking against Jungkook’s length inside of you, “are you serious?”

Calmly, Hoseok clicks open a bottle of what must be lube, and you feel Jungkook go lax above you, holding his weight off of your torso but dropping his head onto the bed beside yours, groaning lowly. “Of course I’m serious,” he explains simply as he preps Jungkook with his fingers, “I’m doing you a favour, Y/n. This way you won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You sob, feeling Jungkook twitch inside you from the pleasure he’s receiving from Hoseok. As the dom finally deems Jungkook ready and lines himself up, you realise why Hoseok was so popular at his job. Handling two subs, let alone one who was getting punished and one who was now getting rewarded, was a tough balance, and yet he does it with such cool and professional ease.

Jungkook curses, rocking his hips with stuttered gasps, and you feel the impact of Hoseok’s hips through Jungkook’s body as he thrusts the first time, the camboy hurriedly throwing his other arm up on the other side of your head to prop himself up with more stability. You can feel the rhythm as he gets fucked, and the way his chest heaves, breaths panting over your bare shoulder.

With your hands tied to your chest and lain on your back, you quickly realise there is nothing you can do to chase any pleasure for yourself, and you let out another low sob. You won’t be making the same mistake twice indeed, you muse as Jungkook barely shifts inside you. He feels so good, but it’s just not enough for you to get anywhere close to your own high. The lesson has most certainly been learned; if you want pleasure, you play by Hoseok’s rules.

“Please, Master,” you pipe up desperately, looking past Jungkook’s shoulder to the dom’s face, calm even as his hips rock with the graceful fluidity of a dancer, every stroke making Jungkook cry out. “I’ll do anything, Master, I’m sorry for being bad, just please let me come!”

A grin spreads across his face, satisfied, even as he grunts from exertion, Jungkook trembling above you as he’s brought mercilessly to the edge. “It’s too late for that,” Hoseok pants out with a chuckle, “it’s already time for my little prince to cum.”

Jungkook moans, a high-pitched keen at the pet-name, and the sound is so sinful you can’t help but clench, making him stiffen impossibly inside you.

It only takes a thrust or two more, and a gruff command to cum before Jungkook does just that, spilling inside you with a drawn-out whine, thanking his Master with every breath he can suck into his lungs.

He manages to keep his weight off of you as he rides his high, Hoseok fucking him into oversensitivity before he pulls out, leaving briefly to discard the condom. Jungkook pulls out of you with a wince, but a satisfied one, and rolls over onto his back, running his fingers under the lines of rope lazily as he catches his breath.

Once Hoseok returns, he begins untying you first, and as your wrists are loosened from your chest and promptly released, the cool air on your skin feels like defeat. Your eyes slip shut, a pout no doubt on your lips as you give him nothing but dead weight, forcing the professional to manhandle your torso as he undoes the rope bit by bit.

You open your eyes once he’s done, frowning at him as he releases the rope from Jungkook’s body. Without looking, Hoseok chastises you. “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, “I’m sure next time you’ll be behaved like our Jungkookie here.” The boy in question preens softly at the compliment, blinking up at Hoseok as the dom brushes his hair out of his eyes.

The sight warms your heart, and you can’t deny that Hoseok has the right to discipline you, no doubt feeling self-conscious about his place on the show. And the feeling of him playing you so skilfully is something that will stick with you for a good while. You press your thighs together, sighing out at the slick still between them.

After finishing with Jungkook, speaking quietly with him in praise or reassurance, he comes back around to you, rubbing at the few red marks on your chest and wrists that have appeared from your movements. His eyes search your face, and you’re surprised to see the absolute calm in them, clearly switched out of the Master persona and just into a dominant but caring one. “Not hurt?”

You shake your head after taking the time to really think it through, wiggling your fingers and toes.

“Not angry?”

Again, you take a moment to consider, but shake your head.

Hoseok smiles down at you, warm as he squeezes your hands fondly. “Good. Now I know you can’t sleep in your own bed, so Jungkookie has kindly offered for you to stay here with him. Take care of each other, okay? I’m just down the hall.”

By the time Hoseok zips up his pants - you note that even after all that, you hadn’t seen him properly naked - and gathers his bag, Jungkook’s managed to slip his legs under the blankets, snoring away peacefully with the aftermath of a good orgasm.

After the dom leaves, you get under the covers yourself, watching the relaxing cycle of Jungkook’s chest rising and falling, the way his eyes flutter lightly in his sleep, but it doesn’t lull you to unconsciousness.

Instead, the unsatisfied throb between your legs just grows more ferocious than ever. If you could just get yourself off…

Your hand trails down, slipping between your legs naturally, but the first swipe of your index finger against your clit gives you pause. Hoseok had pretty clearly stated that you weren’t to masturbate without permission unless you were in a scene with another contestant and, well…

You grimace as Jungkook snuffles in his sleep, wriggling around to get more comfortable. You can’t exactly wake him up.

Which leaves you with only one option.

Fuck it. As quietly as you can, you slip out of bed, stumbling over to your pile of clothes. After retrieving your phone - still somehow tucked neatly into your pants pocket - you hop back into bed and seek out the one contact who can alleviate your need. Hoseok himself.

You answer the call with shaking fingers, those not still buried inside you. When Hoseok’s voice comes through, it’s thankfully quiet and low, but the words still make you keen.

“Princess couldn’t wait until the morning, hm?” Hoseok chuckles quietly at your whine of response. “That’s okay. Let Master help you.”

You sigh out, sitting the phone so that it lies on the pillow beside you. “Please, Master,” you whisper, “can I touch my clit?”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “such a polite girl now. Baby took her lesson well. You can touch it, princess. Get yourself close for me.”

When you change the angle of the fingers thrusting inside you to make room to rub at your clit, you could cry from the satisfaction, biting your lip to muffle the moan that’s pulled from your lungs.

Glancing quickly beside you to ensure Jungkook’s asleep, the sight of him sleeping so peacefully as you get off right beside him has you clenching down, and your back arches off the bed.

Your high is close, and the faster you strum your clit frantically, the more you pant, desperate to keep quiet. Your mouth drops open as you suddenly feel the orgasm approaching, and you turn to the phone on the pillow, getting close enough that he can hear your whisper. “I’m go-gonna cum, Hoseokie, fuck,” you choke out before quickly pressing your lips together, preventing further noise.

His voice is low velvet on the phone, a calm command. “Cum for Master now, princess.”

You feel your orgasm hit you like a tsunami, crashing so violently that you curl over your hands, shivering and convulsing as pleasure rocks every inch of your body. As it floods you entirely, you feel hot tears stream down your face, ones you didn’t even know you were shedding. Your thighs shake and your chest heaves and you don’t stop your fingers until there’s no more pleasure left to be milked from you.

When you finally cum down from your high, panting, you fumble clumsily for the phone. “Tha-thank you, Master.”

Perhaps it’s the post-orgasm delirium, but you swear you hear the smile in his voice when he murmurs, “you’re most welcome, princess. Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

After hanging up, you lock your phone and chuck it down onto the carpet beside the bed carelessly, the wetness between your thighs no longer uncomfortable, now just a satisfying reminder of the pleasure he finally allowed you. Taking one last look at the tranquil face of Jungkook as he slept, you let yourself join him in a blissful unconsciousness.

ELIMINATION GRAPH

No elimination this week ! What a doozy, huh? If you were curious, here are the results of the vote!

It was taken after exactly 48 hours of the poll being open, and required a sign-in with email to prevent spamming so that it was as fair as possible!

In the future, we’ll use this format for both Fan Favourite and Elimination voting. I’ll tell you the top three for audience fan-favourites in the following chapter, and for elimination you’ll find out Y/n’s final decision in the following chapter, plus this graph at the end for the complete results.

Thanks for all your support !

1K notes · View notes

lanland04moure · 3 years

Text

미안해 •| ᶜʰᵒᶤ ʸᵉᵒⁿʲᵘⁿ |• [ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ¹ ]

It's been hours since you left home. It's been hours since that stupid argument. But not being here is part of your job, I know.

You were right, it's your room and only you know how you keep it tidy. Even though I was right too, it's a mess. You should take the time to tidy up a little better.

It's been a while since I last called you. I asked you to have dinner together, a truce to fix this stupid situation. You refused my request.

You're still upset, I could feel it in your voice.

The door to the apartment burst open, giving way to the thunderous voices of the boys coming in, playing and shouting. But you weren't there.

Why did you have to, why if everyone else was leaving did you have to stay? Why did you?

Heuning and Beomgyu went straight into the kitchen, looking for something to eat while it was time for dinner. Soobin took a seat next to me on the spacious sofa. Taehyun walked slowly in our direction after locking the door informing me that Soobin and Heuning had planned to go to the movies before dinner, mentioning that they had only stopped by the apartment to change. But he didn't mention you.

I struck up a conversation with the guys, trying to forget the fact that I felt rejected by you.

Beomgyu zapped at the TV, while Taehyun fought with him for not allowing him to see what was on some channel. Soobin and Heuning had long since left, excited because the movie they would be attending looked very promising.

The next moment Beomgyu and Taehyun's voices stopped as did the constant switching on the TV. They had finally left a channel. But it felt strange the abrupt change of mood.

I turned in their direction and they looked like they had seen a ghost, frozen with their eyes glued to the TV. As I prepared to take a look at what had caused their reaction, Taehyun obstructed my point of view and started talking very fast while trying to pull me along with him.

What was wrong with him? I was about to protest when the words of the person behind the TV set froze me in my tracks.

"A second explosion is reported at HYBE entertainment agency. The trapped people could not be rescued yet. Rescue bodies report that they expect 3 to 6 more explosions to happen due to the rupture of several gas lines. So far at least 10 people are reported trapped."

The three of us kept silent.

Beomgyu changed the channel again, his hands were shaking, we all knew you were there.

"It is reported that 2 or 4 people could be found lifeless. This is due to the difficult situation and that the location does not lend itself to a safe rescue. Viewers are asked not to be present at the site, as this could cause even more chaos than what is already there. This is primarily directed at all the young women who are crowding around the company in search of information about members of various groups in the company."

Why if I asked you to have dinner together did you have to turn me down? Why do you have to allow your pride to go so far?

One more change.

"The area affected by the explosions is reported to be on the central floors of the building, the area where the agency's practice rooms and locker rooms are stipulated to be located. So far, no injuries or people trapped in the few debris generated on the lower floors have been reported. It is reported that at least 7 people were on that floor at the time of the incident. All the victims have been identified, 4 or more of them could be company personnel and we have the report that 2 of them could be idols. We are not allowed to inform who they are or what group they belong to, to avoid increasing hysteria among fans."

I know it's you, I know because you haven't called yet. If we hadn't argued you'd be with me now. But you're not.

Another change.

"A successful rescue of 3 people has just been carried out, they were found trapped inside one of the elevators of the place, none of them has any serious injuries or damage."

The transmission was cut for several seconds after a loud noise was recorded by the microphones that were in place. When the signal came back on, the reporter was a little further away from the scene and had a frightened look on his face.

"We have just witnessed a new explosion, the rescue corps reports that this explosion can generate a collapse in the construction. Because of the previous explosions the foundations of the site were damaged. So far a large amount of debris has fallen, which will further delay the rescue of the victims of this disastrous accident."

Another one.

Everyone's nerves are on edge, Taehyun still hasn't let go of me, and I really appreciate it because his touch is the only thing that keeps me still standing and not on the verge of collapse.

The door to the apartment opens again, our eyes traveled to that point and for a moment no one came in and it kindles in me the hope that it is you, that you had reached to leave the Company before all this happened. Then Heuning enters, letting out little sighs, a sign that he was crying, followed by Soobin. Again, not you.

—Take your things, we'll go to the company.—

Soobin's request was in a calm voice, but no one moved, we just exchanged glances.

—¡MOVE!—

Beomgyu's shout brought us out of our state. Tae let go of me, from then on it was all a race, the boys looking to change clothes and everyone fighting for the toilet.

I went to your room, I felt calm, I wasn't scared, I wasn't afraid, and the thought of panicking had left me.

I guess I hadn't quite assimilated the fact that you are trapped in a building at risk of collapse. Because there can be no other explanation for the fact that I was so calm.

I went to the closet and grabbed two sweatshirts. One was obviously for me, it was cool at this time of night. The other is for you, because when you left the house this morning you didn't have one with you and you're probably a little chilly.

When I returned to the living room, the TV was already off and the boys were standing near the door.

They were waiting for me.

•

On the walk to the company many doubts assaulted me. Will you be okay? Did you suffer any damage? Did something even worse happen in there? Will you still be alive?

With all these thoughts in mind, I began to experience a strong pressure in my chest, everything around me spun and the boys' conversation began to be heard in the distance. I had to call you, I had to know you were okay.

You couldn't leave me now, you couldn't go away upset because of that stupid argument, I started a desperate search for my cell phone, but that was the moment when I started to feel short of breath.

Was this a panic attack?

I could see the worried faces of the guys who were almost on top of me. They all spoke at once and it was impossible for me to understand what they were trying to say.

Taehyun pushed them all away and helped me into a better position so that it was possible for me to breathe.

—You need to calm down, breathe...—

There were no words of encouragement, it wasn't an "Everything will be okay" and it certainly wasn't a "He's safe". Why we didn't know, we didn't know how you were doing and we had no idea what we would find when we got there.

When we finally arrived the boys came down immediately, but I didn't know what to do, would I be able to keep calm now that I had the real version of the event in front of my eyes?

I need you by my side, now I realize how much I really love you.

This morning that you left we didn't say goodbye... we didn't say goodbye, we didn't give each other a kiss. We didn't say "I love you".

While I was in that internal debate of how to take the situation a loud noise like a big thunder flooded the atmosphere. The hustle and bustle of the moment stopped, everyone was looking at that big damaged structure. And without being able to avoid it, I turned my gaze behind the glass to the same place.

A large part of the building had collapsed. The area around the site had been reduced to rubble.

Not far from us stood one of the reporters we had seen on television. He immediately settled down in front of the frame to report on the latest development.

A little further back was a group of firemen, one of whom was carrying a megaphone through which he began to instruct people to move away from the structure for safety.

I turned my attention to the reporter to hear his last words.

"After minutes of waiting, the collapse the authorities were talking about has happened. The rescue forces communicate that they expect to find the 7 people who were trapped lifeless. The weight of the debris is too much for anyone to have survived."

The Lieutenant in charge took the megaphone and made the announcement that woke me up from my state of shock.

—The explosions were on the central floors of the building, the columns of the site are already too badly damaged and the upper floors are beginning to collapse. There is no hope for a successful rescue.—

I immediately got out of the car, it couldn't be true, what we had just witnessed had to have been an illusion, this couldn't end like this.

I need to see you, I need to hold you. I need to tell you how much I love you, one more time.

I ran towards the building dodging all the agents that tried to stop me, if they didn't come in to get you I would, because I need to have you by my side.

Strong arms wrapped around me preventing me from continuing to run into the building. They held me close to his chest, which was rising and falling in agitation, he had run after me. And there, in the warmth of that embrace a new hope grew within me. But I didn't want to turn around and find out again that it wasn't you.

— You need to stop, you can't do something like this, what do you think you can do for him once you're in there? You couldn't do anything.—

Soobin's voice came directly from the one who was holding me, so.... Again it wasn't you.

I felt my heart sink in a sea of anguish. Why aren't you here with me yet? What are you waiting for? Come on, get out of there.

•

"All night has passed and rescue teams have still not found any people trapped under the wreckage."

"After what seems to be 12 hours of the tragedy, the rescue teams have managed to stop the explosions and have also controlled the fires caused by these."

•

It's been more than 24 hours since I last saw you.

The guys dragged me back home, that I needed to sleep was their argument. But still, in the silence of the night, without you by my side, it was impossible for me to fall asleep.

I miss you.

Look at your room again. It is still the same as you left it yesterday morning. Your desk is full of notebooks and notes. On a chair and isolated in a corner is a pile of clothes, clean or dirty, I'm sure you don't even know. Sweatshirts and pants everywhere. And even as I'm admiring this mess again I think; are we really fighting over something so futile?

I need to hear from you.

I stood up slowly, I had to go there again. I needed news, and I didn't want to watch it through the TV, I had to be present on the spot.

I left your room ready to go back to the company. I left without making any noise, but when I got to the living room my plan went down the drain. Everyone was there, and judging by their expressions there was still no good news. I turned around and resignedly went back to the room.

I threw myself on your bed and without being able to help it I burst into tears. Why did this have to happen to us?

The sound of the door was like a whisper next to my uncontrollable sobs, this time that illusion that it was you didn't appear. I knew who it was.

Feeling the warmth of his embrace only made my crying increase. He didn't try to make me stop, he didn't comfort me, he didn't do anything like that. He did nothing but join me in my crying.

I knew that for the boys this was also a difficult situation. But of all of them, he was surely the one who was coping the worst, he also needed a support, but at this moment I couldn't be one, we were both equally broken.

I'm sorry Soobin, I'm sorry for not being able to comfort you.

part 2. part 3

#txt #txt taehyun #txt beomgyu #txt hyuka #txt huening kai #txt soobin #txt yeonjun #tomorrowxtogether #txt choi yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #txt oneshots #tomorrow x together #txt drabbles #txt imagines #txt the chaos chapter: freeze #txt chaos chapter #yeonjun oneshot

28 notes · View notes

outofsstyles · 4 years

Text

WHEN IN ROME - part 1

a/n: Ciao ragazzi!! So this is the part 1 of my friends to lovers featuring italy!Harry. Also a special thanks to my dear friend Giorgia for helping me with this, love her very much!! Hope everyone enjoys it!! Pease feel more than welcome to leave feedback (or just chat if you’d like) :)

Word count: 7k Rated: M,mature

You visit your best friend in Rome and some old feeling may start to resurface.

You struggle with your luggage after one of the wheels got caught on a loose tile, making it jerk across the airport floor.

The other passengers from your flight stroll along the illuminated hallway, towards the arrival gate exit. Looking around, you notice their tired faces; half-open eyelids and pouted lips, often opening in small yawns. You probably didn’t look much different, considering flying always tends to make you sleepy, which is why you preferred the night ones.

This one, in particular, was supposed to have landed around sunset, giving you enough time to enjoy your Harry’s company before settling in the hotel room. What no one was expecting, however, was to hear a muffled voice announce through the speakers that your flight was expected to be delayed for about 3 hours. The news was annoying, sure, but you knew there was not much to be done about it. So you simply snuggled further on the uncomfortable metal seat as you rolled your eyes at some angry man who was trying to argue with the poor attendant.

The warm Italian weather was a refreshing change of settings when you finally got to step out of the aircraft, making you take off your cardigan and tie it firmly around your waist. It sent a sparkle of energy down your spine, knowing you arrived after what felt like such a dragged-out flight. But despite your tired state, you feel a warm feeling settling itself in your tummy. One that makes you fight back a smile and jump on your heels in excitement as you walk maybe a bit faster than you should.

Going through the exit doors, it almost feels as if your heart wants to escape from your ribcage. The nervous anticipation filling every inch of your mind.

You walk past the group of people gathered around the gate, politely declining the ones who approached you offering taxi rides in a strong accent. Peering around the busy area, it doesn’t take long until you spot the curly mop you were looking for, as he calls out your name.

You don’t hold back the smile that breaks into your face as you watch him approach you with open arms, his dimples marking his cheeks. Not giving a second thought, you let go of the handle of your suitcase, rushing to his direction. You find your place between his arms as he pulled you into a tight hug, arching his back a bit to make your feet leave the ground just barely.

The scent of his cologne makes your eyes water just slightly, not realizing how much you had missed his presence until that moment. You nuzzle your face deeper into his neck, his arms tightening around you once more.

“Missed you so much, love,” he blurts, his voice muffled as his face squishes into your shoulder blades.

Placing a quick kiss to the side of your face he pulls away, allowing you to take in his appearance up close for the first time in months. His hair was still short, but longer than it was the last time you’d seen him in person, some locks falling charmingly along with his face.

You place your hands on his smooth face, rubbing it lightly, “you shaved!” You exclaim, referencing the last picture he had sent you, which showed a scruff growing along his upper lip and jawline. At the time, you were quick to text him to playfully let him know you were not the biggest fan of it.

He rolls his eyes at you, shaking his head slightly as he pushes your hands away from his face. “‘m very happy to see you too, knobhead,” he mumbles, moving to retrieve your forgotten bag lying on the floor behind you.

“I’m just teasing, silly,” you pinch his chin jokingly as he comes back by your side, guiding you through the airport, “You know I support all your decisions, even the bad ones.”

“Okay, I get it, it’s a no for the beard,” he chuckles, “mum hated it too.”

“I’ve always trusted Anne’s good taste,” you provoke, making him poke you playfully before reaching to put his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug as you two walk.

“‘S too bad your flight got delayed,” he says, “was planning on grabbing a bite and show you around fo’ a bit.”

Your heart grows a bit at his words, you reach your arm around his waist as to hug him back. “Yeah, it’s too bad,” you gaze up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before he looked up again, “sorry for making you wait so long.”

“Stop that, don’t have to apologize,” he assures, “‘s not your fault.” He squeezes you against him gently, “‘sides we have the entire week to make it up fo’ it.”

When Harry broke in the news that he would be moving to Rome to pursue a photography degree you obviously felt heartbroken. You two were inseparable at the time and knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him every day anymore made your heartache. It couldn’t have come at a worse time either, you had just broken up with your boyfriend, and suddenly it felt like you were losing everyone you loved the most at the same time.

But still you swallowed back your selfish feelings to show him your support, promising to visit as soon as possible.

In your ideal world, you would drop everything and pack your bags with him to start a fresh life somewhere else. But realistically speaking, you had too much tying you up to your home, and not nearly enough money to pay for tickets to Italy every weekend so you could visit your best friend as regularly as you wish.

So you hugged him goodbye with tearful eyes and shaky hands, watching him walk towards the departure gate as he waved back one last time.

That had been eight months ago.

You never expected to take this long to finally be able to see him again, but life sometimes just doesn’t line up the way you want it to. Harry never let you lose contact, though, and for that, you were eternally grateful. He always made sure to call you at least once a week to catch up on each other’s lives.

It was the highlight of your weeks if you were honest. Getting the comfort of seeing his face even if it was just to talk about trivial things like his recipe of vegan brownies or a new boutique shop that opened on the corner of your street.

But now you don’t have a screen separating the two of you anymore. You can see his smile without it being a pixelated image. You can hear his voice clear next to you. You can hug him back and feel his arms squeezing your waist. You can smell the faint lavender scent on his shirt, mixing with his cologne.

You definitely missed him much more than you’d realized.

The sound of your alarm clock rang softly through the compact hotel room. You sigh contentedly, reaching to turn it off before rolling on your back and blinking your eyes open with little internal fight.

It wasn’t often you could feel this well-rested, especially after sleeping on a strange bed. But thinking about how tired you were the previous night, it didn’t take long for you to fall into a deep slumber as soon as you finally got to lie down.

The sunlight invaded your small room through the cracks of the nearly closed curtains, making you realize you might’ve been too sleepy to bother on closing them all the way the previous night. Usually, in regular days, you’d lay back in bed and steal a few more minutes of sleep, which would eventually lead to maybe another hour or two of snoozing your alarm clock. But this wasn’t just a regular day, you were in Italy, and Harry would probably be waiting for you down in the lobby in just a few minutes.

He had revealed none of the plans he made for the day, wanting to keep most of the trip a surprise for you. This habit of his of trying to keep a mysterious front usually makes you tease him with a roll of your eyes, but on this occasion you accepted it. You didn’t really care about what activities you’d do on your stay, as long as you can do it with him.

You check your bag to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything as you wait for the elevator to go down. Running your hands over your summer dress as the doors opened.

Walking into the lobby, you expected Harry to be late, considering he would always be the last one to arrive on any kind of social gathering you’d go before he moved. But to your surprise, you find him leaning against the reception counter, speaking excitedly to the sweet old lady that had welcomed you when you checked in.

As you get closer to them, you can identify that they’re speaking Italian, making you smile softly at how easily the words flew through Harry’s lips as he speaks.

The lady notices you first, smiling at you as you approach the counter, making Harry check over his shoulder to find you standing behind him. His smile grows, his eyes traveling down your body so subtly it almost felt like your mind was making it up. He greets you with a small hug, looking back at the woman behind the counter one last time and saying something you don’t understand.

“She looks beautiful!” she speaks, her word flowing with a strong accent, “bellissima!”

You feel a blush creeping to your cheeks as you thank her, wishing her a nice day before Harry and you make your way to leave through the front door. The hotel you’re staying in isn’t the fanciest, but it makes up with the cozy feel and charm you could only find in a small, old building. You chose it specifically for being located just a block away from Harry’s apartment, allowing you two to be closer to him.

“She seems nice,” you say once you turn into the street.

“She’s lovely,” he agrees, shooting you a quick look with a smirk on his face, “was telling me about her husband.”

“Oh,” you say, “What did she tell you?”

“Told me about how they met and all that, they’ve been married fo’ forty years!”

“You love those stories, don’t you?” You chuckle.

He rolls his eyes, “they’re sweet, okay?” he argues. “Not my fault you have a cold heart.”

You gasp, poking him playfully. “I don’t!” you exclaim, earning a knowingly look from him.

You walk a few more blocks along on the small sidewalk; the closeness making your hands brush slightly every so often. The day was nice, ideal for staying outside and enjoying the clear sky. A morning breeze messes up your hair a bit and the sounds of birds singing take over the empty street, along with Harry’s low hums to a tune you’re not familiar with.

He guides you to a small bakery, barely noticeable amongst the surrounding buildings. As you approach the entrance he explains how it’s one of his favorite places to go for what he says is “the best Italian breakfast in Rome!”

Walking inside you are met with the delicious smell of fresh-baked bread. The place is filled with quiet chatter as a few people sit on a long couch located by the back. An older man wearing an apron with various spots of flour on it greets Harry happily as you come in, pulling him into a small conversation you, once again, can’t really pick much of.

Soon, you two are sitting at a small table by one of the large windows that overlook the street you came from. You bite into the sandwich as a pair of green irises watches you carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of your reaction.

“So, what are we doing today?” You ask as you pick a few crumbles of bread left on your plate.

“You’re very impatient, haven’t changed a bit,” Harry replies, taking one last sip of his coffee.

You roll your eyes at him, “you say that as if we haven’t talked in eight months.”

He chuckles lightly as he leans back on his chair, his arms reaching over his head in a stretch. You try not to notice how his shirt rides up just barely, but enough for your eyes to wander a bit lower than you should’ve. When you meet his gaze again, he has a smirk adorning his face, knowing he just caught you not-so-subtly checking him out.

You clear your throat, praying the warmth you feel creeping on your cheeks isn’t noticeable as you try to think of how to cover up.

“Nice fit, by the way,” you motion towards his blue shirt with an imprint of Mickey Mouse on it, to which he matched with floral shorts.

This was the kind of clothing combination that would most definitely look silly on anyone else, but Harry was the kind of person who could pull off wearing a potato sack. He just looked good in anything, it was almost aggravating if it wasn’t also endearing in a way. But you’d never say that out loud.

“D’you like it?” He asks as he moved his hands to pull at the hem, looking down at it before meeting your eyes with a smug look on his face. “‘S my tourist outfit.”

“Is it now?” You chuckled, “does that mean we’re being tourists today?”

“I mean, you are a tourist, but yes,” he said, “we’re sightseeing, baby.”

Walking around the historical neighborhood in Rome was an overwhelming feeling in every sense of the word. You knew choosing to visit the city at the peak of summer would come with tourist-filled streets so it didn’t surprise you to be met with congested crowds as you got closer to the historical sites.

But as much as you were not the biggest fan of crowds, you couldn’t even feel bothered in the slightest by the masses of people surrounding you. The feeling of the city itself was ethereal, something that seemed right out of a movie screen. Timeless buildings stood tall above you, with the perfect combination of old-fashioned and modern.

Harry is having fun with his camera, teasing you at the amazed expressions you made at every corner you turned. But you couldn’t help but feel like that.

The day only helped to enhance the enchanting feeling of the place. With the sun shining proudly in the clear blue sky, but still catching a light breeze that relieved the heat that formed a light coat of sweat on your body, making you take big gulps out of your water bottle every so often.

Even the air around you feels different. Something you couldn’t really explain, it was lighter. Harry said it was Italy’s perfect mixture of great food and great people - to which you can’t deny - but you know having him with you is also a big factor.

“Harry, please, I’m scared I’ll bump into someone,” you say, moving your hands blindly in front of you.

“You won’t,” he replied, keeping his hand firmly above your eyes as he guides you.

“What if I run over a child?”

“I find your lack of trust incredibly hurtful,” he says from behind, pulling you closer to him. “We’re almost there.”

“Do we really have to do this?” You chuckle.

“Yes, now shush.”

You walk a bit more before he stops. His chest meets your back as he leans in, the ends of his hair tickling your ear slightly. You mindlessly hold your breath, grabbing his wrists anxiously as you wait for him to remove his hands.

“Ready?” He asks. His low voice causing goosebumps to form on the back of your neck.

You nod quickly into his hands, bouncing on your feet slightly as you wait for him to pull out his hands from your eyes.

It takes a second until your vision can get used to the sunlight after being in the dark, but as soon as you focus on the sight in front of you, it’s like all the air escapes from your lungs. The colosseum stands in all its glory, centered in the open area. A place you have only seen in pages of history books or through a screen. You bring your hand to cover your mouth mindlessly as you gasp at the gigantic monument.

“How does it feel?” Harry bites his lip, grinning as he gazes quickly at the construction before looking back at you. “Seeing it fo’ the first time?”

“It’s incredible,” you gasp, your eyes still wandering around the sight in front of you.

“It’s two thousand years old, you know,” he explains. “‘S why it kinda looks like a swiss cheese f’you look at it closely.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle, shaking your head at him. “Did you just compare one of humanity’s most historical monuments to cheese?”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, “‘s a metaphor, darling, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Of course, I’m sorry for being so illiterate.” You joke, bumping your hip against his.

“‘S fine I’m used to it,” he provokes back. “So, are you just gonna stand there with your mouth open or are we going in?”

Your eyes widen at his question. “Wait.” you grab his arm as he looks at you with the most amused expression.”So we actually get to go inside?”

“Course we get to go inside, love.” He throws an arm above your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “What kind of tour guide d’you think I am?”

It warms your heart how much thought he clearly put into planning this trip for you. Not just planning it, but also making sure you’re enjoying all the aspects that Italy has to offer in your limited time here. Truthfully, the biggest reason that brought you here was him. Getting to visit one of the grandest cities in the world is just a bonus. A wonderful bonus. And you are glad to do it with him.

Okay, maybe you finally realize what people meant when they described Rome as “enchanting, yet congested” on the many traveling websites you had researched before packing your bags.

Harry warned you about it before you entered the small square - that isn’t even that small but the packed crowd makes it seem much enclosed. He keeps his hand holding securely onto your waist, pulling you close as you walk towards the fountain.

The fountain, yes, the whole reason you are here. Fontana di Trevi. One of Rome’s most prized monuments, and just taking one look at it you could see why. It’s gorgeous, not like any other fountain you’ve ever seen in your life.

That seems to be a repeating theme in this place, finding the beauty in the most minimal details, like the flowers blooming on a building’s wall, but also on the obvious ones, like the carefully crafted statues posing forever on top of the marble stones.

As you get closer, your eyes never leave the artwork standing in front of you. You’re thankful for Harry’s grip on your waist, otherwise, you’d probably trip down the steps as you make your way through the crowd.

You find a spot by the edge of the fountain surprisingly easily. Harry lets go of your waist to reach into his back pocket, retrieving a few coins and offering to you.

“Here.”

“Do I make a wish?” you asked, picking a couple from his palm.

“No, there’s this whole thing,” he began, “f’you throw one means you’ll return to Rome,” he held up a coin as he explained, “two, means you’ll get married, and three, s’to get a divorce.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “that’s a nice way to break the news, I guess.”

You looked down at your palm, quickly picking up a cent and throwing it at the fountain, watching it descend slowly into the clear water.

“There.”

“Just one, love?” Harry asked, making you look up at him to meet his gaze.

“Don’t really have anyone to get married to, do I?” you joked, “What about you?”

“Already made my wish when I first got here,” he replied, “not gonna risk throwing more.”

“How many did you throw?”

He simply grins down at you, letting your question linger in the air for a moment. You can feel his hand making its way on your waist again, pulling you closer to him.

You’re received at the bar table with excited cheers from the small group already gathered there.

There’s an already annoying knot settling at the pit of your stomach. It’s something that has been bothering you throughout the day from the moment Harry mentioned you’d be meeting his friends for dinner. Even with his assurance that you’d be fine, telling you how excited they are to meet you, it still makes you a bit anxious. Of course you want to make a good impression, they are his friends after all. His new friends.

What helps with your nerves a bit, is the fact that it’s not a massive amount of people, in fact, you are a bit surprised to see there’s only four of them.

They all seem like they’ve just walked right out of a Vogue issue photoshoot, which makes you fidget with the fabric of your dress nervously. Harry keeps his hand placed on your lower back soothingly as he introduces you to everyone.

The two girls don’t even bat an eye in his direction, getting up to make their way directly to you. The first one pulls you into a tight hug immediately, the unexpected gesture causes you to take a second before hugging her back. She’s shorter than you, but she gives you a big smile as she introduces herself as Giorgia with an excited voice. Her look is very classy which stands out from the more laid-back outfits of the rest of the group.

You barely have time to separate from her before you’re being pulled into another hug.

“I’m Francesca!” She says before pulling back, her blonde hair a bit messy on top of her head. “It’s very nice to finally meet you!”

You laugh softly at the warm welcome, “It’s lovely to meet you too.”

“We were all so excited to meet you,” Giorgia says, as you sit on the chair across from her. “Harry talks about you all the time.”

You glance at Harry who’s pulling the chair next to yours, arching your eyebrows at him. “Oh, does he now?”

“Alright, alright.” He scratches the tip of his nose, letting out a light chuckle. “Knew she’d do that as soon as you got here.”

“It’s my personal job to tease you at any given opportunity, H.” She reaches for the wine bottle, pouring it into a glass and handing it to you.

You give her a slight smile. “Think we’ll get along then.” You chuckle, moving the wine glass to your lips.

“Wait!” Giorgia stops you, “there’s a saying here in Italy that if you drink without toasting, you have seven years of bad sex, so.”

“Oh,” you move the glass away from your mouth, raising it. “We don’t want that.”

“No, we don’t.” You hear Harry say from his spot next to you, moving his own glass to meet yours in a light click.

The night progresses bringing a warm feeling in all the pleasant ways.

A light chatter fills the table, mixing with the sound of the other loud conversations from other young groups surrounding you. You risk learning a bit of Italian from the girls, as they tell excitedly stories about Harry’s first months not knowing the language. It makes you feel silly for ever thinking they wouldn’t welcome you, seeing how they are treating you as if you are friends for years.

But what makes your heart swell is seeing Harry so comfortable and laid-back amongst them.

It may be the effect of the alcohol settling itself on your bloodstream, but as time passes, you find it harder to keep your eyes off of him.

The crinkle in his eyes as he throws his head back with laughter brings an inevitable smile to your face. His hand squeezing your knee reassuringly, every so often, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes never leaving yours as you ramble about something you don’t even pay much attention to.

He’s listening closely to the words coming out of your mouth, his own lips forming a soft grin. You can feel your words start to get confusing as you become much aware of the distance between the two of you. It was close enough so you can notice the cloudy look in his eyes, but till not as close as you wish.

Your mind seems to erase everything around you as you can see his eyes moving down, so quickly it almost seems like it’s part of your imagination.

“You two look so cute together.” You hear Francesca’s sudden voice from the other side of the table, reminding that you’re not alone. “You’d make such a cute couple”

It catches you off guard, making you glance over to Harry before shaking your head. “Oh, I mean, I- Well- We’re not- We’ve never-”

“Francie!” Giorgia - thankfully - interrupts your nervous stutter, poking her friend gently in the arm. “You don’t just say stuff like that.”

“What? But it’s true!” Francesca says defensively, “they must get this all the time.” She turns back to you.”Right?”

You quickly bring your glass to your lips, taking a long sip as you decide to let Harry deal with the situation. You feel grateful for the dim lighting of the place, knowing it will cover the undeniable blush that you can tell is already covering your cheeks.

“I mean, yeah, we used to,” he begins, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. “But that’s just cause we slept together.”

You choke on your wine at his words, making him laugh at your clear affected state. “Harry!” You exclaim, hitting his chest lightly before gazing at the amused expressions watching the two of you. “We just slept together, literally. As in just sleep. And that was years ago!”

“I feel like I should take offense at your horror,” he teases.

“Wait- No! I- I didn’t mean it like that-” you try to explain.

“I enjoyed sleeping with you. Thought it was special.” He throws his head back dramatically.

You shake your head at him. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

He looks back at you with a smug look on his face, “maybe I’m just flattered.”

You look away from him, taking a sip of your wine as you hear laughter taking over the table.

“Told you, you are cute!” Francesca says once again.

The walk back to the hotel was filled with giggles and rushed whispers as to not disturb anyone, considering Harry’s warning about the loud acoustic of the narrow streets. Your minds were hazy and your chests warm as you stumbled along the way.

“Madame, you’re home.” He says, motioning dramatically towards the entrance door.

“Well, sir thank you for your company on this dark night,” you giggle, bowing slightly. “Seems like you’re a proper gentleman now, aren’t you?”

“Now?” he questions, an offended look taking over his face, making you giggle again. “Was I not before?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Of course you were!” you bring a hand over your mouth as an attempt to quiet your laughter.

“Well on that note, I’ll leave.” He turns on his heels.

You reach for his arms pulling him back to you. “No! Stop! I’m sorry, come back.”

He glances over his shoulder, allowing you to drag him towards you. His grin was visible on his face, dimples deep on his cheeks, as he wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you in. Your laugh stops on your throat when you gaze up to meet his eyes, realizing how close you were.

Even in the poor lighting, you can still see the green of his irises as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek. The alcohol dancing in your mind making it seem like you were watching it from the outside, as you hold your breath, too afraid to make any kind of movement.

Your heart was loud on your chest. You wish you could read his mind, know his next move. His eyes looked at you almost as if they wanted to tell you something, but your head was too blurry to understand it.

You swallow dryly, “thank you for today, H.” You break the silence. “Was really nice.”

“‘F course, love.” He whispers, caressing his thumb gently over your cheekbone. “Should get some rest,” he says, “got another early day tomorrow.”

“Sure,” you breathe. “Good night, Harry.”

He leans in, your breath catching on your throat as he places a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away completely.

“Buonanotte.”

“Gelatto!” You hold up the two ice cream cups before handing one to Harry and moving down to sit next to him on the steps, carefully avoiding the handlebar of your bike laying on the ground.

“Look at you!” He giggles, “by the end of the week you’ll be a proper Italian.”

You chuckle, “I mean, it’s not like this word is not written all over the store or anything.” you lick the ice cream off your spoon. “But I do have the best tour guide in Rome, so that helps a lot.”

“Is that so?”

You hum with your spoon between your lips, nodding at him.

“Should get his number then, heard he’s a pretty cool bloke.” He smirks, “heard he’s quite handsome as well.”

You roll your eyes at him, “he’s got a big head too.”

He scoffs, nuzzling you as you giggle. “You’re a pest.”

“I am?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Yes, you are.” He shakes his head, playing with the spoon on his ice cream before scooping a bit.

You fall into a comfortable silence enjoying each other’s company with the soft sound of nature surrounding you.

The day was thankfully cooler than the ones before, allowing you to sit underneath the sun without feeling like your skin was boiling. The light breeze helped to chill your hot skin, caused by all the cycling you did to get to the island.

“Y’know,” Harry’s voice breaks into the silence. “I’m very happy that you’re here.”

You gaze up at him, smiling softly. “I’m very happy that I’m here too.”

“No, like really I-” he begins, meeting your eyes. “Thank you fo’ coming.”

“Of course I’d come, silly.” You say, “promised I would.”

“Yeah, I know but-” he looks down at his shoes, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “‘S just,” he sighs, almost in frustration, as if he doesn’t know how to say it. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, H.” Your eyebrows knit together - you can tell there’s something on his mind. “Where’s this coming from?”

“‘S nothing,” he brushes off, still not meeting your eyes.

“Almost fooled me there,” you say, bumping your shoulder on his softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know.” He looks at you, “was just thinking back to right before I moved. When I told you about it.” He shakes his head, gazing up to the river in front of you. “Felt like the worst friend in the world.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, “‘s just-” he begins, his eyebrow still in a frown - as if he’s searching for the right word to say. “You just were in a bad place back then, felt so bad fo’ just leaving you like that.” He admits, glancing at you. “I’m sorry.”

You can feel your heart sink as the words come out of his mouth, knowing what he’s referencing to. Your breakup.

It’s something you don’t really enjoy thinking about but still seems to come back to your mind occasionally, as if to haunt you.

The entire relationship was a mess, to begin with, and it’s something you can only look back now and realize. From the start, you only accepted going out with him as a form of distraction from your genuine feelings - to which you assume now it’s incredibly unfair not only to him but to yourself. Truth to be told, you never loved him the way you were supposed to.

But as the months went by you learned to get used to it, telling yourself that maybe with time you would forget about who your heart yearned for. So you swallowed back that ache.

When it finally happened, it didn’t come as a surprise to you. You felt like it was inevitable that you wouldn’t last. What did surprise you were how harder the aftermath would be when you learned your biggest support was leaving.

So you look at Harry apologizing for it, not knowing how to express in words that the primary reason you were a mess back then, wasn’t because of the breakup at all.

“I’m sorry, shouldn’t have brought it up.” He apologizes after your lack of response.

“No, it’s fine.” You reassure, “just haven’t thought about it for a while.”

You can feel him watching you from the side of your vision.

“It killed me to see you with him.”

The sentence makes you freeze a bit. You’ve always known Harry wasn’t a big fan of ex. It wasn’t something explicit, considering he never spoke about his dislike of him. But you know Harry. You could tell from his dry words and uninterested eyes every time your boyfriend came up, that he disapproved. So hearing him admit it straightforwardly shocked you a bit, to say the least.

“I-” You begin, but stop, not knowing how to end the sentence.

“‘m sorry, shouldn't’ve said that.”

“No. Harry-” you pause for a moment, his eyes never leaving you as you think how to say it. “He was a dick.”

“Yeah.” He agrees. “He really was, love.” His gaze moves forward, breaking the eye contact. “You deserve much better than that.”

Like who? You want to ask. Even if you already know the answer. Well, you think you know the answer.

The words get caught in your throat, screaming so loud inside your mind you physically shake your head, trying to stop thinking them. It’s that unsaid confession. The one you’ve been meaning to say long before you even dated your ex..

There’s an awkward pause in the air. One you created without even realizing, because of your lack of response. Harry clears his throat, getting up before offering one hand to help you do the same which you take it.

“We should go,” he says, his eyes still not meeting yours. “Still got to return the bikes.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

You let out a content hum as the orangy taste hits your tongue, scrunching your nose slightly at the bitter aftertaste, due to the alcohol in it.

“You don’t like it? Harry chuckles at your expression, pulling his glass back to his side of the table.

“It’s good,” you say, “Just looks like orange soda.”

Harry wraps his lips around the straw, taking a sip. “Suppose it does.”

The sound of a small boat passing by the river next you call your attention, making you gaze at it as it moved lazily across the water. You take a moment to appreciate the view from your table, feeling grateful for finding one right by the edge of the sidewalk, allowing you to look at it without lots of people serving as obstacles.

A pinkish and golden tone paints the sky, as the sun goes down to give space for the nighttime. The sound of someone playing the piano took over as background noise. The lights are already turned on though, reflecting beautifully by the water. You can see the masses of people strolling on the other edge where the expo was set up.

You were there earlier in the day, going through the small businesses and gazing at the artworks exposed on the tents.

There was a particular rose necklace that caught your eye, making you run your finger through the delicate piece for a moment before deciding it was best to leave it be. To your surprise, a few minutes later, as you stopped to watch someone plays a ukulele version of Riptide, you feel a cold chain being wrapped around your neck.

You looked back to find Harry smiling at you, muttering a shy “Surprise,” as you reach to your neck, only to find the same necklace you had been eyeing before.

The recent thought brings a smile to your face, causing you to play with the pendant.

“D’you remember,” Harry’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “When we went to that friend of yours birthday party.”

“Alice?”

“I think so,” he says. “That party was shit.”

You laugh, “God, it really was.” You shake your head slightly at the memory. “We left after, like, ten minutes.”

“We did, yeah,” he says fondly. “Went to that petrol station at midnight to get those awful chips you like and ate them at that empty parking lot.”

“The one with the broken sign.”

“The one with the broken sign,” he smiles. “‘S one of my favorite memories.”

“Really?” You incline.

“Really.” He says, “can still picture you laughing at my terrible attempt at making jokes.” He looks down, poking his finger at the tablecloth. “Almost kissed you that day.”

You blink at him. Feeling your heart skip a beat at his confession. His eyes moving up to meet yours with a gleam to them.

Maybe it was the ethereal feeling that had settled into your mind from the first moment you got here. The one that made it seem like you were in one of those cheesy romcoms Harry loves so much. One where you found yourself in a breathtaking place along with your best friend, where you two slowly would come to the realization that maybe you felt like being more than just friends.

You tried your best to keep those thoughts away. Locking them down in the back of your mind and trying to forget they even exist. But like an annoying ich you can’t quite seem to reach, they would come back to you, almost in a provoking way, to remind you you couldn’t get rid of old feelings. No matter how hard you tried.

It was in the small moments when those thoughts came back to life. When he holds onto your waist in a crowded space so you wouldn’t get lost. Or how he always found a way to compliment you.

Or even when he’s not even doing anything, but the string of lights above you just hit his face perfectly as he looks at you with the most affectionate eyes. His thumb finding your hand over the table, caressing it so gently that brought the most beautiful butterflies on your stomach.

Maybe the wine has gotten to your head but those unspoken words weigh so heavily on your tongue you can almost taste them.

But it was a little voice inside your head that makes you swallow them back. One that screams that this has become something too important to be thrown away in a failed attempt at a relationship. Whatever window that was of becoming more than friends had already been closed years ago.

And with one look at his glistening eyes, you take a sip of your wine, deciding that those past feelings should stay in the past.

~*~

{PART 2}

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #my writing

739 notes · View notes

seraphanangelica · 4 years

Note

Can I please have scenarios or headcanons on how bnha characters (any that you like) would handle dealing with a ghost with their s/o who totally believes in the supernatural? Thank you in advance

I absolutely love this idea! As a firm believer of the supernatural myself, there was absolutely no way I could delay this response. So here you go!

How They And Their S/O Would Deal With Ghosts

💥This guy has only seen or heard about ghosts and spirits from horror movies. That’s all he cares about them. If they’re not in a movie, they have no existence. Of course, every time he says something along those lines, you roll your eyes and laugh to yourself at his blatant lack of attention to the supernatural.

💥You’ve tried, many times to prove just how real they were. And every single time it would go like this:

💥”I’m telling you, Katsuki, I’ve had experiences with them. You just don’t think they’re real becuase you haven’t.”

💥”Your experiences are just things you don’t want to give logical explanations to, dumbass.”

💥His point is proved further when nothing happens. And nothing happened for days after the last time you two had the repetitive conversation.

💥One day, as Katsuki woke up before you, he got out of bed and proceeded to go about his completely non-paranormal life. After giving you a light kiss on your forehead, he went downstairs to start preparing breakfast.

💥He stopped mid-stair though, as he heard another pair of feet pattering down the stairs behind him at a much quicker and softer pace. At first he thought it was you that had gotten up earlier than usual to spend more time with him in the mornings. He turned around to greet you with a smirk, his face falling slightly when he saw no one around.

💥Paying it no mind, he finished descending the stairs, and continued into the kitchen.

💥In the middle of sautéing vegetables, Katsuki reached out to grab the bottle of olive oil that sat on the counter to his left. He froze mid reach as he saw the barstool behind him rotate as if someone were sitting there out of the corner of his eye.

💥”Oh hell, no.” He still refused to take into account anything you’ve said about the matter.

💥Twenty minutes later, you were downstairs and eating breakfast, in the barstool next to the one that moved. You watched in curiosity as Katsuki leaned against the counter in front of you, crimson eyes darting from the empty seat then to you, then back again.

💥You were concerned, to say the least. “Katsuki, are you alright? You’re acting weird. Come sit down.”

💥He only shook his head and took a deep breath, looking you in the eyes. “Tell me about everything you know about ghosts. Now.”

💥And so you did. You told him everything you’ve been trying to tell him since you’ve known each other. The only difference was that this time, he was actually listening as if it were real and not a story.

💥When you finished he shook his head. “Look, I still don’t believe in this ‘ghost’ stuff, but-“ crash!

💥You’re heads snapped over to the source of the sound, your eyes settling on the plate that used to be next to Katsuki. It was now shattered on the floor, the pieces spreading out farther than the counter span. You knew Katsuki was freaking out but concealing it on the outside.

💥You couldn’t help but smile at your husband as his eyes still focused on the broken dish. “Don’t belive me now? We both know that dish was no where near the edge.”

💀Dabi would be disbelieving, but open to conversation. People talk about anime, right? It’s not real but makes for great small talk. He’d also be stupid. Very, very stupid.

💀The day he walked into the League of Villain’s hideout with an Ouija board under his arm, you thought he’d finally lost his mind.

💀”Are you crazy? Do you know the kind of stuff that happens when you use one of those things? You don’t know what you’re letting in!” You tried to reason with him, even coming up with ways to dispose of it without his knowledge. Unfortunately for you, he knew what you were up to and hid it.

💀”Oh come on. It’s just a little fun,” he teased you one night when he bagan setting it up in the center of your shared room. “What’s the worst that happen?”

💀”Asking ‘is anybody there’ is the stupidest thing you can do becuase thats inviting anything to come into the space. Secondly, you don’t know how to protect yourself against that kind of thing. The worst that can happen is possession, Dabi.” You scolded, leaning against the wall farthest from the board.

💀”Relax, Doll. I have someone in mind, actually. He didn’t really matter much, but I picked this from his wallet,” he reached into his pocket and tossed an ID card in your general direction. “See? Perfectly fine.”

💀It was not perfectly fine. You reluctantly joined him in the game, placing your fingers on the planchette, cringing with every subtle movement the burnt boy made. Because you didn’t want to do this in the first place, you let Dabi carry out the ‘ritual’.

💀As you would’ve guessed, the moment Dabi’s target was acquired, the planchette began moving, much to your dismay. Slowly, the letters formed a sentence. ‘You killed me.’

💀You shot a glare at your boyfriend. “What the hell did you do? Did you seriously just kill a man to contact him?”

💀He shrugged. “I caught the guy stealing from the convenience store, he had to go.”

💀”YOU STEAL FROM CONVENIENCE STORES!”

💀After you both said ‘goodbye’, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. It practically consumed you as the next hours passed, your eyes always finding themselves back to the abandoned board that still laid on the floor.

💀”WHAT THE FUCK!?” Dabi shouted from the bathroom, his voice one of surprise and confusion. You darted into the small room, expecting a prank left by Twice or blood left by Toga (it happens), and to be pretty honest, you were expecting this too. From the mirror, you could see eight distinct and parallel scratches on his back, too fresh and too deep not to be ignored.

💀Without a word, you bounded over to the closet and wrenched the doors apart with a set purpose. Pushing clothes out of the way, you pulled out an old chest you stored wherever you stayed. Opening the wooden box, you pulled out a match and a bundle of juniper and sage. Lighting the end of the dried herbs, and opening the nearest window, you let the smoke drift to all corners of the room.

💀Dabi watched in confusion and amusement as you walked towards him and started waving the herbs around him, cleansing him as well as the room.

💀”Y/N.”

💀“What, Dabi?”

💀”We should do it in a graveyard next time. This Halloween.”

💀”Fucking Samhain? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

💀He believes in ghosts now, so you had that going for ya.

🥦Midoriya would be skeptical about it. As someone who never rules out any possibilities, he has a wide range of knowledge towards that kind of thing. You never knew if someone had a quirk that could control the spirits of the dead.

🥦When you told Izuku that you see dead people, he honestly thought you were quoting The Sixth Sense. You were, in a way. In the same way you were being serious.

🥦You sat on the couch in the living room, remote in hand as you got ready to start a Marvel movie marathon when your fiancé got back from the store downtown. He got called in when someone was murdered just outside, appearing to have been trying to steal some food and magnets. Why someone would try to steal magnets from the convenience store was beyond you.

🥦Sighing, you settled into the cushions, and turned on the TV. Soon you began playing Netflix as you waited. You felt the couch dip next to you. No one was home but you, and you hadn’t heard Izuku get back yet. This was the time she came out.

🥦You faced the girl that sat next to you with a smile. “Looking for Izuku?” She nodded. “He’s not home right now, but you’re welcome to stay with me until he gets back if you like.” She thought for a minute, running a hand through her long hair, then nodded again.

🥦You scrolled through various shows until she pointed at one that sparked her interest. You began playing ‘Supernatural’, watching her reaction to each of the Winchester Brother’s ghostly adventures. “What, it’s not accurate? There’s got to be something that’s right.” You teased.

🥦The girl laughed, the sound never reaching your ears, and shook her head, continuing the show anyway.

🥦A couple episodes later, you heard the sound of keys turning in the lock, signaling your fiancé’s return. You turned to warn the girl, but she was already gone. She liked Izuku, but she was shy; something you learned upon meeting her. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, you know.” You told her in a low voice as Izuku stepped into the house.

🥦He gave you a smile. “Hey, sorry for being gone so long,” he held up a plastic bag full of sweets. “They gave this to me as a thank you for helping them, so now we have even more marathon snacks.” Setting the bag on the counter, he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a firm, loving kiss to your forehead.

🥦”It’s fine, Izu. You weren’t gone that long. I had plenty of company.” You returned the hug, your last statement directed to the girl who was now peeking in from the doorway.

🥦The movie marathon was a blast. You nerded out, quoting almost every line from every movie you watched that night. The girl warmed up to Izuku, you noticed, as she sat on the floor in front of him almost as if she were nervous to sit next to him.

🥦”You can sit next to him, kid. He won’t mind.” You told her. Both pairs of eyes snapped up at your speech.

🥦Izuku looked around to see if there were any unknown guests, turning back to you when he saw none. “Uh, Y/N?”

🥦You ignored him and continued. “He’ll be nervous at first, but he’ll warm up to you. Go ahead. You were in this house long before we came here.”

🥦Izuku screeched like a banshee when he felt the couch sink next to him. Like he was a cartoon, he jumped into your arms, clutching you like he was afraid to lose you. The poor panicked boy didn’t know what to do.

🥦So, you began explaining all that you knew about your abilities, or extra quirk as he said. The girl never left, quite amused by the interaction. Izuku never really calmed down. Sure he’s prepared for it in his journals, but he never thought there would be a day.

🥦”I told you ‘I see dead people’.”

🥦”Y-yeah, I guess you did."

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha dabi #bnha midoriya #midoriya x reader #bakugo x reader #dabi x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha #midoriya izuku #bakugo katsuki #dabi #bnha scenarios #bnha headcanons #bnha au #supernatural #bakugo smut #dabi smut #midoriya smut

242 notes · View notes

littledrummeraussie · 3 years

Photo

At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 1

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 4492 words tags/warnings: past: missed flights. some swearing. slow burn flirting. room sharing. “there’s only one bed”. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia.

Ashton wasn’t sure what woke him so early in the morning – it definitely wasn’t Tyler bouncing on the bed with Bailey hot on his heels, barking from the door because he knew he wasn’t allowed in the master bedroom. And it wasn’t Henry either because he would have been already up if he heard his younger son crying for one of you. He found that the house was dark and quiet, and that his back was cold even though the sheets were wrapped around his body the way he liked them. He squinted an eye at the clock on his nightstand, the green digits showing 4.38 AM, slowly ticking towards Christmas morning.

He reached backwards, fingers looking for the body that was never too far away, wanting to wrap his arm around his lover and go back to sleep. But the bed was empty, the sheets almost cold where he grasped them, and he sleepily turned around, furrowing his eyebrows. Propping himself up on his elbow Ashton looked around the room, searching for any sign where you could be, and when finding none he kicked off his blankets, reaching for his discarded shirt on the floor to look for you.

There were no sounds coming from the closet or the bathroom so he checked the guest bedroom where he usually found you curled up in bed with the boys and Bailey for an afternoon nap. A smile pulled at his lips as he saw his sons sleeping soundly in the big bed with the dog keeping them company, guarding their dreams. Ashton still remembered the day he brought home the puppy as a gift to you, just a month before finding out that you were pregnant with Tyler. For a while he wasn’t sure that keeping the dog was a good idea, especially as he grew bigger by the day and with Tyler’s due date drawing closer he needed to realize that he was scared how Bailey would react to the new addition to the family.

But Bailey was in love with his new little owner from the moment you brought him home from the hospital, and the two of them were inseparable to the point that you let go of all the previously set rules and let him climb up on the sofa to curl around the little boy while he slept. When Henry was born you let Tyler introduce his brother and the dog to each other, ready for every possible outcome, and happily finding out that Bailey loved the new baby just as much as he loved Tyler.

Ashton stepped closer, tucking the sheets back around his sons, lightly chuckling as Bailey snored next to the sleeping boys. Tyler begged you to let them all sleep together in the guest bedroom since it was Christmas and neither of you could say no to him as he hugged the dog’s neck, both of them giving you puppy eyes and an all too familiar pout that Ashton was sure was your genetics. Henry fell asleep during the first five minutes of your bedtime story, and Tyler wasn’t far behind as he clutched his favourite stuffed animal with Bailey snuggled behind him. With the boys sleeping it was time to put all the presents under the tree and stuff the stockings you hung over the fireplace, both of you giggling as you shared the cookie and milk left for Santa. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and Ashton buried his face in your hair, mumbling one last ‘I love you’ before closing his eyes.

He made his way back to the hallway and down the stairs, ready to look for you in the living room or the kitchen. The lights were already up on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, and another smile pulled at his lips as he finally found you snuggled up in front of the window, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around your legs with an empty mug sitting on your lap. When you heard his footsteps you looked up at Ashton, smiling back at him as he leaned closer, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“There you are,” his voice was slightly scratchy, still heavy with sleep, and he nuzzled his nose against your skin, smearing a kiss on your lips. “Was scared Santa took you because I was a naughty boy this year.”

“I like a naughty boy,” you giggled, kissing his pouty lips, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of his head. “Just wanted a little peace and quiet before the boys wake up. I love them, but they are little firecrackers.”

“Wonder where they’ve got it from,” Ashton grinned, knocking his forehead against yours. “Can I join you?”

“Only if you bring me more hot chocolate,” you tapped a finger against your empty mug, making Ashton chuckle.

“Of course, hot mama,” he blew a raspberry on your cheek before going to the kitchen, your giggles making his heart skip a beat.

He busied himself with making hot chocolate for the both of you, his eyes meeting yours every now and then, sharing smiles and winks as he put an extra dose of marshmallows into your mug and a little more whipped cream than necessary on top of his own – after all, it was Christmas. You held onto both mugs as he settled behind you, legs bracketing you in, pulling another blanket around his shoulders as you snuggled up together. Ashton rested his chin on top of your head, taking small sips of his drink as he held you close, enjoying the quiet moment he got to spend with you.

“Remember London?” Ashton asked, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, knowing all too well that you could never forget about London.

“I kinda miss the snow, you know,” you tilted your head back onto his shoulder, looking up at him. “Makes me wish the kids could have a white Christmas.”

“I think we could take a trip next year. Maybe not London, but definitely somewhere where there is snow.”

“Yeah, I would like that,” you reached for his free hand, fingers tangling together in your lap, and you felt Ashton’s ring knock against your own, making you smile.

“I would miss a thousand flights for you,” he whispered against your temple, pressing a kiss onto your hairline while squeezing your hand.

“We both know you did not miss your flight, Ash,” you gave him a cheeky smile while tapping his nose, making him scrunch up his face in a giggle. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Thank God for snowstorms, right?”

*****

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

Your eyes lifted from the book you were reading, trying to kill your time while you waited for news about your delayed flight. The terminal was packed with confused and irritated people, all of them wanting to get real information why the planes weren’t landing or taking off. The guy sitting from across you mumbled another curse as he listened to the woman talking on the loudspeaker, announcing that the flight to Sydney will be delayed for another two hours or so. He ran his fingers through his hair as he tapped his phone, rapidly texting someone before pocketing it again, legs bouncing nervously. You knew the feeling all too well – your plane back to Los Angeles has been delayed three times already, and deep down you were ready to spend the night at the terminal, curled up in a plastic chair; you already knew you won’t make it back home on time.

Another 30 minutes passed before the announcements finally came – one after the other flights got cancelled because of a snowstorm hitting London. The crew worked hard to at least help the planes land, but you caught word that there won’t be any take offs for the next few days. You still held onto the little bit of hope you had that your trip back home will happen; they did not say anything about cancelling your flight yet. Your handsome stranger wasn’t so lucky – as they started listing off another set of cancelled flights he realized that the one to Sydney won’t be taking off, making him kick his chair as he scrambled for his phone again.

He paced the floor in front of you as he called one person after the other, quickly going to the front desk for more information before coming back and continuing his phone calls. You kept an eye on his things while you’ve read just to be sure he doesn’t come back to missing bags and another misfortune to deal with. A series of colourful curses caught your attention as he plopped down in a chair, pushing the button on his phone and trying to make it work, and you were sure he was seconds away from throwing it to the floor.

“You wanna borrow mine?” you found yourself asking, and his head snapped up, blinking at you. “Or if you need a charger I can give you one.”

“Uhm– yeah. A charger would be great, thanks,” he closed his fingers around the phone before standing up and stepping to you, and you reached into your bag to hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you gave him a smile, nodding to the wall behind you. “You can plug it in here. I don’t mind.”

He mumbled another quick ‘thank you’ before plugging in his phone, and as he waited for it to switch back on he brought over his bags, settling down next to you. Another set of phone calls were made, apologies spilling out of him as he tried to let everyone know that he will be a few days late, don’t worry about him, he will figure this out, he just won’t be home for Christmas.

“Still hoping that plane will take you to Sydney?” you rested your head back against the wall when he finished yet another call. “Or are you planning on set up camp here for the next 3 days?”

“You don’t seem like someone who plans on leaving either. So where’s gonna be your tent?” he quirked an eyebrow at you, making you chuckle.

“They did not cancel my flight. Yet,” you added, knowing that it was a possibility that you have to spend the next few days here.

There was static coming from the loudspeaker again, making everyone turn quiet as the woman from before announced that unfortunately the weather was so bad that all flights got cancelled for the next few days. You looked back at your stranger who gave you a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you over all of this.”

“That my name is Y/N.”

“Ashton,” he held out his hand and you shook it, both of you holding onto the other just a little longer than it was necessary. “Should we set up camp now?”

*****

“Whose clever idea was it to rent a room and share it?” you scooped a melted marshmallow onto your spoon, holding it up to Ashton’s mouth.

“Probably mine,” he mumbled around the sticky sweetness, licking the rest off the spoon. “Not that you objected.”

“I really didn’t want to sleep at the airport,” the confession wasn’t anything new, but still to this day it made you blush. “I just wanted a shower and a few hours of sleep.”

“And you ended up with a bed full of me,” grinning Ashton pressed a series of kisses along your cheek, nuzzling close to you and rubbing his scruffy chin against your skin, making you laugh. “Shh, don’t wake the kids!”

*****

“Are you sure about it?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here.”

There was much less commotion now that people started to accept the fact that the snowstorm over London was no joke and that all flights were cancelled. You’ve spent another two hours sitting in your chairs with Ashton, talking about whatever came to mind as you waited for things to calm down, contemplating your options. He offered to buy you a warm drink and both of you moved to the Starbucks that was mostly empty now, your little corner secluded and quiet in the place that never seemed to stop.

He was scrolling through his phone for a long time before finally looking up at you, and you rubbed your eyes, trying to stay awake. Your plans originally included a long nap on the plane, followed by another 12 hours of rest to sleep off your jetlag. Cancelled plane rides and being stuck in London wasn’t on your list, yet here you were, drinking hot chocolate with a stranger who was just as lost as you were.

“I’ve found a hotel room nearby,” Ashton announced, pushing his foot against yours under the table. “We could split and stay until we can both travel home.”

“You don’t even know me,” you rested your chin in your hand, playing with your empty paper cup. “I don’t know you. Sharing a room sounds like a crazy idea.”

“What I know is that you’re about to fall asleep right at this table, and that I don’t plan on staying here for 3 days if I can help it. I also don’t plan on leaving you here since you were really nice to me and I could use the company,” Ashton shrugged his shoulder, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “And… it’s Christmas. No one should be alone.”

“So you don’t think I’m a crazy fan trying to take advantage of you?” you raised an eyebrow at him, smiling and kicking your foot against his, making him huff out a laugh.

“Geez, you’re so weird,” he shook his head. “You couldn’t even remember the band’s name even after I’ve told you it five times. Five times, Y/N!”

“You’ve also told me it was 500 Years of Winter and made me listen to a song that was called Pizza.”

“That look on your face was priceless,” his smile was wide, making dimples appear on his cheeks, and you needed to remind yourself to start breathing again.

“Are you sure about it?” you stirred the conversation back to the topic, biting your bottom lip. “Do you really want to share a room with me?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here,” he took both empty cups to throw them away, holding his hand out to you in invitation. “So – are you coming?”

“You know… I could really use a shower,” you slipped your hand in his, letting him help you up.

Something caught both of your attention, eyes meeting before slowly looking up above you, finding a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, placed perfectly over the table you’ve shared. His eyes were hazel with green and gold flecks, and you’ve realized you were staring at him for longer than you should have. Ashton’s lips were slightly parted, teeth sinking into the bottom one before quickly licking over it, another blush colouring his cheeks. A moment passed, and you both let out an awkward chuckle, stepping away from the table, mumbling about silly holiday traditions. But it was too late – the spark was already there.

*****

“I really wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe,” Ashton wrapped both arms around you, and you burrowed against his chest, head resting over his heart.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you pressed your lips against his throat, following the line of his shirt to the back of his neck, turning so you could straddle his thighs. “I remember getting lost in your eyes.”

Your fingers played with the short curls at the nape of his neck, foreheads knocked together as you stared into each other’s eyes. Ashton tilted his head forward, brushing his lips against yours in an almost kiss, tongue poking out to lick the corner of your mouth. You both giggled and Ashton curled his palms around your jaw, pulling you in for a real kiss, one that took both your breaths away.

“I wonder if you would have tasted like this back then,” he mumbled against your lips, voice full of longing and nostalgia.

“You’ve bought me a hot chocolate, so I would like to think so,” you pecked his nose, brushing the stray curls back from his forehead. “I wonder if you’ve looked for mistletoes after our missed chance.”

“I was ready to drag you under one for a kiss,” Ashton squeezed your hips, pulling you even closer to himself. “But I guess we didn’t need one in the end.”

*****

“Hey, I’ve called ahead to reserve a room for two,” Ashton lightly tapped his fingers against the counter, smiling at the girl behind the desk. “Under Fletcher Irwin.”

The lobby was heavily decorated with Christmas ornaments and sparkly garlands, and you could see a tall Christmas tree behind a set of glass double doors, probably leading to the other side of the hotel and the restaurant. You felt slightly overwhelmed by the place and the fact that you’re gonna spend the next few days here with a man you barely know, but you’ve tried to tell yourself that this was an unexpected emergency case, and anything was better than sleeping at the airport. Ashton said something and the girl giggled before looking at you, a knowing smile spreading across her face as she handed the keys to him, wishing the both of you a pleasant stay at the hotel.

Ashton stepped back next to you to grab both of your heavy bags and suitcases, ushering you towards the elevator. The ride up to the 7th floor was quickly over, and you dragged your stuff to the room at the end, ready to drop for the night. Ashton opened the door for you, letting you go in first.

“They’re sending up some dinner in half an hour,” he said as he closed the door, locking it behind his back. “In case you’re hungry.”

“If I can stay up that long then I’m sure gonna appreciate it,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Come, let’s settle down and then you can shower first,” he tugged off his jacket, moving behind you to help you with your own coat. “Here, let me help you.”

“You’re way too nice to me,” you chuckled, giving him a pointed look. “I’m onto you.”

“My Mom taught me manners,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle of his own, hanging up your coats before kicking off his shoes. “It’s just who I am.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” there was a bashful smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, and to take the attention off of him he nodded towards the bedroom. “Let’s check that out, shall we?”

You turned around and stepped into the dark room, fingers fumbling for the light switch. When you’ve found it you flicked it on, making the room light up. You felt a blush heat your cheeks as your eyes looked around the room, biting your lip in the process.

“Uhm– Ashton?”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he stepped next to you and you saw the moment realization hit him as well.

“There’s only one bed.”

*****

“Do you think we were set up?” your forehead rested on his shoulder, fingers drawing over the lines on his palm, and you felt Ash push his cheek against the top of your head, humming slightly.

“You still think the girl at the front desk did it?” his other hand settled on your waist, drawing the same patterns on your skin.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, tangling your fingers together. “Maybe not. But I do remember you asking for separate beds. Twice.”

“I did tell you I was okay with sleeping on the couch,” Ashton moved so he could pull your interlocked hands to his lips, kissing over your knuckles and your ring. “More than two times.”

“I just didn’t think it would be fair, you know?” you still played with his fingers, giving him a pout. “You offered me that we could share a room, so making you sleep on the couch after that… no, I couldn’t do it.”

“Y/N…” Ashton nudged his nose against yours, tilting your chin up to press his lips to your lips, whispering against them. “Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

*****

There were phone calls made down to the front desk, but it was clear that they couldn’t do anything about the situation – all the other rooms were full already. You pulled your legs under yourself on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as Ashton asked once again if they were sure, but as he finished the call you knew he did not succeed.

“Look, it’s… it’s fine,” you’ve tried to break the sudden tension between you two, not wanting to spend the next few days awkwardly stepping around each other. “The bed’s big enough, I’m sure we can figure this out.”

“No, look, I– I’ve promised you your own bed, and I’m gonna keep my promise,” Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, giving you a forced smile. “I’m just gonna sleep on the couch. I’ve done it a hundred times before, it’s nothing new.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” Ashton quirked an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged your shoulder. “My Mom also taught me manners and told me to share what I have with those who have less than me.”

“Trust me, it’s no trouble at all,” he shook his head, standing up when there was a knock on the door. “It’s probably our dinner, I’ll go get it.”

While you ate your food you’ve tried a few more times to make Ashton change his mind, but he brushed off your offers even though you could sense a small crack in his armour when you gave him a pout. He made a joke about how you should stop with the puppy dog eyes, and you were quickly back to teasing each other like the discussion about your sleeping arrangements didn’t happen at all.

An hour later you were out of the bathroom, freshly showered and feeling like a brand new person. Ashton was lounging on the couch, getting used to his bed for the next few days; he gave you a smile when you passed him, eyes lingering on your form just a second too long before going back to his phone. You pretended that you did not just blush under his gaze as you pulled the robe tightly around your body.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now,” you leaned against the doorframe as he looked up at you again. “I see you’ve already taken your side of the bed to the couch.”

“I promise you I’ll be fine,” he chuckled, sitting up. “Stop worrying about me.”

“Are you really sure…?”

“I’m sure, trust me.”

“Alright,” you held his gaze for a few seconds before dropping it to the floor. “Good night, Ashton.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You could feel his eyes on your back as you closed the door, almost turning back around to ask him one more time. You heard as he was moving around in the small living room, probably setting up his makeshift bed before going to the bathroom to shower. With the blanket pulled up to your chin you listened to Ashton’s sounds, letting them slowly lull you to sleep.

But your rest didn’t last long as you found your eyes opening in an hour or two, trying to work out where you really were. Then it all came back to you – the delayed and cancelled flights, your handsome stranger and how he bought you coffee and offered you to stay in a hotel room together. How there was only one bed and how Ashton promised you that he was absolutely okay with sleeping out on the couch. You could hear a slight bit of moving coming from the living room, quiet snores breaking the silence around you. Another moment passed and you slipped out of bed, opening the door and looking out into the next room.

Ashton was sprawled out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, a leg hanging off to the side as he slept. It didn’t look comfortable at all, and without thinking twice about it you slowly moved to the couch, crouching down next to him on the floor. You felt your heart beating in your ears, your throat working around silent words as you tried to speak them. A finger brushed against his forearm, stroking over tattoos you didn’t know were there, and he moved his arm above his head, burrowing against his pillow.

“Ashton,” your voice was only a whisper, knuckles lightly running down his arm again, slowly moving to his forehead to brush the hair back from his face. He hummed in his sleep, leaning into your touch before his eyes fluttered open.

“What’s wrong?” he furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing his eyes to wake up a bit more.

“No, nothing, I just– just come to bed, please,” your hands fell into your lap, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt as Ashton propped himself up on his elbow.

“I’ve thought we were over this,” his fingers ran through his hair, a confused expression on his face.

“I know and I’m sorry, but please understand that my conscious won’t let me sleep until you’re out here on the couch,” you were well-aware of the pout on your lips, the one that seemed to work on Ashton, and he let out a sigh. “The bed is big enough for two. We can sleep on the two ends, I really don’t mind.”

“Only because my back is killing me,” he finally sat up, moving his neck and shoulders to work out some kinks in it. “Alright, lead the way.”

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders while you grabbed the pillows from the couch, shuffling back to the bedroom with Ashton following you. You moved your bedding to the far side of the bed, piling his pillows onto his side before sliding back under your sheets. Ashton climbed up next to you, quickly finding a comfortable position for himself as he buried his face in his pillow.

“Will you be able to sleep now?” he yawned, smacking his lips as he burrowed into his blankets.

“Mmhh, yeah. Good night, Ashton,” you turned so your back was facing him, and you heard him do the same.

“Night-night,” he whispered, probably already falling back to sleep, and you closed your eyes, trying to do the same. He shuffled around a bit, lightly jolting the mattress until he settled down then a moment later you heard him mumbling. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

------------------------------------------------

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #dad!ashton #afic: at christmas all the roads lead home #fiction time #series: at christmas

106 notes · View notes

marzipanandminutiae · 3 years

Note

For the character ask meme, obviously I have to ask Lucille (or Edith!)

Oh no I have suddenly developed an ocular affliction that causes me to read the word "or" as "and"

What a strange and unfortunate-

Edith Cushing

First impression: My first impressions of this movie are kind of hazy in my memory now, because it's been six years but also because all I really recall is how much I loved it. Like, you know those movies where you leave the theatre and you just feel Changed(TM)? CPeak was definitely one of those, even if my Fandom Spiral for it was delayed.

I do remember thinking, "oh thank god, a Victorian female lead who's strong and independent and compelling without giving the impression that the director secretly hates 19th-century women." That definitely hasn't changed.

Impression now: MY STONE-COLD BADASS BUTTERFLY GODDESS. I love Edith so much. I want to write her more, and I have some stories coming up which will give me that opportunity. She's imaginative but no-nonsense, a keen appreciator of beauty but eminently practical. Edith is the eternal "sir, this is a Wendy's," and the epitome of "do no harm, but take no shit." Also her wardrobe is excellent.

Favorite moment: Any time she's talking about her book. It's so relatable and she's so determined to make her dream come true. Characters do talk to you, and I wonder, if she ever found an earlier copy of the text she'd stashed away somewhere, what Cavendish would make of himself now.

Idea for a story: Edith is secretly gay and marries Thomas just to get to Lucille. That's it; that's my next multi-chapter fanfic. Coming eventually to an AO3 near you!

Unpopular opinion: I don't think she was pregnant at the end of the movie. Or if she was, I imagine long-term chronic cyanide poisoning would make her miscarry. I also don't think she ever saw Thomas' ghost again, but I do think she held onto the land around Allerdale Hall and reopened the mines- half to fulfill his dream as a last gift and half because it never hurts to have another source of income. I doubt she ever went back into the house, though.

Favorite relationship: Canon? With her father. I love the scenes where they interact, because it's clear how much they love each other and understand each other as people. We love a healthy fictional parent-child relationship in this house.

Fandom? I am currently the woman in that math meme, except trying to figure out how to morally break Edith in just the right way that she'd fall for Lucille. Without being totally unrecognizable as herself.

Favorite headcanon: It's not exactly headcanon, but Del Toro said Edith dislikes Christmas in her character bio, and I imagine that's because of just how many parties an upper-class American Christmas in the 1890s-early 1900s would involve. Maybe she can get out of going to some, but she's Carter's hostess, and since he enjoys "social frivolity" as much as she doesn't...I imagine she breathes a sigh of relief when January 7th comes around and she can finally just spend evenings by the fire with her manuscript and a cup of chocolate.

Lucille Sharpe

First impression: If Murder Bad Why Evil Lady Hot?

Impression now: I want to suit up in full body armor and give her a hug. She's such a mess, and she's a mess that you can't help feeling sympathy for. Obviously she does so much that's awful and horrifying, and none of it is justified (except killing her parents- they had it coming). But god...there's just SO MUCH below the surface to analyze and poke around in. That's what makes her so fascinating to write.

...also If Murder Bad Why Evil Lady Hot?

Favorite moment: It's not my favorite, but it's a moment I have many questions about. The part in the park where she tries to dissuade Thomas from going after Edith. Why did she do that? Was she objecting to Edith's youth because she actually has some scruples left? Was it just about her own insecurities in the face of a Sweet Young Thing(TM) who Thomas already seems way too interested in? Was it a slightly petulant complaint that Edith's company would be unbearably tiresome for even a few months?

I feel like the answer could say a lot about her as a person. If only we knew it.

Idea for a story: How long do you have? I'm writing a hurt/comfort fic right now about Thomas bringing her home from the asylum and the immediate aftermath thereof, so that's definitely an idea to explore.

Unpopular opinion: I think her relationship with Thomas is more or less consensual. Or at least, I don't think the fact that his eyes were closed when Edith caught them together means what the fandom seems to think it means (that he was uncomfortable). Like. He was kissing her shoulder and actively pulling her closer to him. His eyes may have been closed, but the body language doesn't exactly say "just getting through it" to me.

The power dynamic is undoubtedly screwed up, especially since they were 13 and 11 when everything started (according to Del Toro) and Lucille is not above laying on the guilt trips about everything she's done for him (according to the novelization). So it's still not a HEALTHY relationship, even besides the codependence and the fact that they're siblings. But I don't think Lucille is outright forcing Thomas to have sex with her, or ever has.

Favorite relationship: Canon- I mean. She has one non-murder-motivated relationship in canon, so...I find the Sharpe siblings somewhat endearing because I think, ultimately, they really do love each other. I bet she has a favorite among Thomas' automata, and I bet she could listen to him talk about his inventions for hours.

Fandom- I don't have to math meme this one. Lucille likes having Her People, to love and possess. Lucille likes women. Lucille thinks Edith is beautiful. Lucille has absolutely no scruples about pursuing what she wants, if she can allow herself to want it. This theme has been lovingly explored by fans many times over, and it never gets old to me.

Favorite headcanon: Lucille is an aesthete at heart. You can't tell me a woman who does housework in silk-velvet and owns that nightgown/robe set isn't hell-bent on beauty even at the expense of practicality. Gods help anyone who tried to offer decorating advice if they ever had gotten the house fixed up- she'd lovingly plan every single room herself, and accept no advice or criticism from anyone. (Except possibly Thomas, but I doubt even him.)

#ask #anon #long post #ask meme #ask game #character meta #crimson peak #child abuse mention #csa mention #incest mention #emotional abuse mention

18 notes · View notes

artisticflutter · 3 years

Text

Winter

It’s the faaabulous time of year again where we post for @mlsecretsanta~ And this year, my giftee is @coffeegrindsandautumnbreezes who wanted something sweet and Juleka-centric. Please enjoy~

Rating: General Audiences Genre: Friendship, Family Bonding, Slice of life Pairing(s): None Summary: Juleka has some introspective while filling in on a re-shoot for Gabriel. Warning: Minor mentions of “Reflekdoll”, beta’d by PocketNoivern

“Are you sure about this Juleka? I’d understand if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, it’s alright. I offered to do this.”

A nod, but her mouth thinned all the same. Peridot eyes twinkled however, and he smiled so easily.

“Okay, but tell me if you ever start feeling overwhelmed at all?”

“Mmm… thanks Adrien.”

He really was too kind; Juleka was grateful for his friendship and she could see why Marinette’s infatuation with him remained after so long. Of course, she was - in general - grateful to both of them for this opportunity at all. It had been Marinette’s suggestion that he ask her about modeling again (she wondered if it was to make up for last time, but really, that hadn’t been Marinette’s fault). It’s possible Marinette knew she had needed the extra euro and what’s more, it would be experience for her resumé. She intended on thanking them both properly when she could and the opportunity to hang out with a friend that could probably do with the change of pace himself.

Well, if helping her again was a change for him. Considering the circumstance, it probably wasn’t. After all, someone as patient as Adrien should’ve been able to work with someone as flexible as Lila, but therein was the reason for the winter re-shoot and Juleka getting this break at all.

She’d think about the details later, and instead, try to focus on posing.

Her usual make-up? Removed and replaced with natural tones. She herself provided enough contrast to the neutral, but brighter and warmer tones of the winter attire she had to wear. There was also a matter of the location - the Pont Alexandre III blocked off just for this. The purpose today was to accentuate warmth in the cold, first a series of solo shots and then a few couple poses - the idealistic and romantic comfort when the temperature dropped. She’d done similar shoots with him before - maybe that’s why Marinette suggested her first? No, part of her tone had still sounded apologetic.

So far, it was going well; or at least, she was satisfying Vincent’s demands, but then everyone seemed to tense when Vincent called for Adrien to join her.

“Are they expecting an akuma?” she asked when he stood next to her.

He shot her a sheepish look. “Ah… yes and no? These days, they’re always worried about an akuma delaying us, but… er, Lila wasn’t following directions when we got to this part. I’d say that’s pretty standard considering how often I have to work with her now.”

“Oh… that’s weird.”

Lila being unprofessional? That didn’t sound right, but if Adrien was saying that… Then perhaps her perception wasn’t as off as she thought.

“Yes! Warm couple, show me winter love! That… cold hot passion! Close, but no! Shy, waiting to bloom! Perfetto!”

“I think I get it…” Juleka mumbled, taking hold of Adrien’s hand, but looking down.

“Really? Most people don’t.”

She heard the shutter going off.

“When you take a walk in winter with someone, you’re close, but not too close,” Juleka started, pausing as they changed poses. “You’re enjoying the cold and the quiet with company instead of talking in the sun and warmth. You think about the return home together, sitting by a fire, or wrapping up in a blanket and don’t linger...”

“Yeah, that’s right…!” Adrien paused as they stood close together, huddled with her shoulder to his arm as they both ducked their heads and pretended to be caught in a sudden snowfall. “It’s definitely a more restrained display of love outside during winter that’s not just limited to romantic couples. You think about things like this a lot, don’t you Juleka?”

“... Maybe.”

She wasn’t asked about her opinions or thoughts all that often, and she knew it had much to do with the way she dressed and musical tastes. Not that she’d ever say it out loud, but she was a bit of a romantic and had her interests that seemed counter to her rock lifestyle. For example, she would rather write poetry than music lyrics, and this too, she wanted to model instead of play music. There was plenty still that she didn’t grasp, but to try understanding more complex feelings she didn’t fully comprehend, she observed people, thought plenty about moments in time, and the experience they must have in that instant. As well, she could look at couples and visualize their connections almost. Perhaps it wasn’t the same as how her brother could hear people’s heart songs, but she’d like to think she had enough sense.

Like in this moment, Adrien came off to her as ‘ease’ and ‘comfortable’, contrasting how stressed he’d been growing at school - or perhaps, it was better to say he was becoming stressed at life. It was unfortunate; she didn’t think she was the person to ask him about it. Hopefully Nino or Marinette would notice.

“Now, Juleka, you are winter blossom. I need… yes! Smile, just like that! Yes, yes!”

It was just a subtle expression she was giving the camera, but she did wonder how it did look on his end. She couldn’t see Adrien’s expression either, but it still felt like he was enjoying himself. Good; she was happy to know he didn’t mind her company.

A few more shots and a few more poses (the closest to uncomfortable was a small cheek kiss, but it was only one shot) had Vincent snapping up to a straight spine stand and lowering his camera.

“That! Was magnifico! I need her for more shoots, Adrien! You bring her again!”

“If that’s alright with her. She’s not officially contracted, but if you tell my father…”

“Ah, yes! I will have a word with Nathalie!”

Vincent was off in a shot while Juleka remained standing, watching the crew begin to remove the extra lighting that had been set up in assumption they’d continue longer. She accepted Adrien’s hand when extended her way and his escort back to the dressing tent. He looked, and felt, so elated that Juleka couldn’t keep herself from smiling back as he spoke, “That was great, Juleka! One of the best shoots we’ve had! I wish we could’ve talked more, but I hope Luka likes his gift.”

“Thank you, Adrien. And I know he will.”

Even if he managed to get a new one already, but that would just mean having two instead of none. “I had fun too. If you need me to fill in again, or if Vincent insists on that next shoot, just ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Letting go of her hand, he waved as he retreated to his own dressing tent. Meanwhile, she stood and stared, considering many things about the energy now exuding from him and how it proceeded to dim. How curious, but again, she wasn’t close enough to ask for details. She wouldn’t mind getting close in the future, especially if working together might become common; he seemed like the person who’d appreciate more friends and she rather liked having brighter personalities around.

Turning, she was in and out of her tent in moments, taking particular care to make sure the designer clothes were hung properly before stepping back out. There, the make-up artist handed her the agreed pay for the late-minute fill-in - there was more than originally negotiated. However, glancing up, there she saw Adrien peering around Nathalie as she spoke to Vincent. He grinned, waving slightly again, and mouthed ‘Joyeux Noel’. Of course she mouthed ‘Joyeux Noel’ back before heading on her way.

Down the ways towards Champs-Élysées, Luka was waiting for her to arrive having stayed to watch her and walk with her home. He could’ve at least gone and waited inside a cafe to keep warm, but no. Hopefully his fingers weren’t cold considering his fingerless gloves, but knowing him, he’d probably lost track of time strumming his guitar. Stopping as she approached and raising his head, he beamed brightly. “Hey Jules… Sounds like you had fun. Did Adrien treat you well?”

“Mmm, he made sure I was comfortable, and if I had any issues, he was ready to help,” she answered, knowing that her brother already knew.

“His heart is still suppressing its true ballad. I’m glad things went well,” he said, packing his guitar back into its case. Standing up, he slung it over his shoulder and nodded. “Ready to head home, or do you have any other stops to make?”

“... Not right now. Let’s walk home, it looks like it will really snow soon.”

“Yeah, that’s true… Ah, wait.”

He turned to the railing and picked up two to-go mugs, turning back to her with a grin as he held one out. “Mom will likely have something bigger, but cheers to a successful shoot. One step closer to the dream.”

“Thanks, Luka…”

Accepting her cup, it was still warm between both hands. Then, he had gone to a cafe moments before - ah, he’d called when they would be wrapping up. One day, she’d like to be that intuitive and thoughtful. For now, she walked alongside him in comfortable silence, enjoying the wafted aroma of vanilla and chai, and making plans on getting him that pedal tuner she spotted in the music store. After that… the best Merry Christmas thank yous she could think of.

#ml secret santa #mlsecretsanta #scribbling do #miraculous ladybug #juleka couffaine #luka couffaine #adrien agreste #juleka models #coffeegrindsandautumnbreezes #fanfiction #minor ml spoilers #for those who haven't seen season three #reflekdoll mention #family #friendship #bonding

48 notes · View notes

currywaifu · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: rival 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: sumeragi tenma/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 2.9k words, 3 images

𝐚𝐧: two people from the filo discord (ty to sel & kai) gave me the idea for this! i meant to push this out a while back, but only got the time to finish it tonight! at... 5 am... sorry for the long delay, @chewie-santatoast !

If someone were to ask Tenma why he was stalking your Instablam right now, he’d be able to spout off various excuses— all with varying levels of believability.

His first excuse was that you were going to be one of his latest co-stars in a drama. Just because the both of you were going to be part of only a few episodes doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop being diligent. He’s just doing his best to be up to date with you and the other cast, for social reasons.

Why is he so focused on your page, then?

His second excuse would be that he’s only looking, following your account because you’re one of his rivals! Not only were you someone who also started acting at a young age, but you also recently started getting into theatre! Not only were you a threat to any possible awards he could get this season, but any notable troupe was a rival to Mankai for any possible competitions or awards! He’s only looking after the company by scoping out the competition!

Why is he so focused on a specific set of images?

His third excuse, actually still pretty believable, was that he was looking at your most recent posts wherein you were clearly promoting a new play, your repost of the poster signifying that you were the lead. Rival or not, he was still interested in plays or musicals— of course he was going to learn more about the production you were going to be a part of, right?

Why is he looking so intently at the caption and comments, then?

Even in his own brain, this is where Tenma began fumbling. You were just supposed to be promoting, so why were you posting a selfie with another actor, even mentioning that same person in the caption? And- and the people in the comments! Why were they talking about “shipping” you and that guy? Comments about how cute of a couple you’d make… were they fake fans of theatre or something? People who were more engrossed with the actor’s lives than the show?

That’s exactly it… he’s repulsed by people’s audacity. Fan service was alright, but you shouldn’t be feeding your followers anything unnecessary— and why were they so adamant in taking things too far and out of context anyway?

The door creaked open, and he quickly locked his phone as he hastily stashed it underneath his pillow, face unknowingly painted with a blush as though he was hiding something scandalous instead of a picture of you doing finger hearts at the camera.

… thank God it was just Misumi, who doesn’t mention anything possibly wrong with his appearance or attitude. The older boy mentioned something about eating triangle cakes together with the rest of the troupe, and he eagerly replied in agreement as he gets up from bed.

In his head, Tenma justified his actions by telling himself it’d just be a hassle if anyone (note: Yuki or Kazunari) caught him and automatically made assumptions.

When Tenma arrived on set, you were exiting out of your car as well.

‘I should probably be friendly and greet them, right?’ he thought to himself as his body was positioning itself to avoid you instead. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, you had already spotted him and with a loud “Tenma-kun!”, his gaze was forced to meet with yours.

You made your way beside him with a blinding smile, not giving him the time to formulate a greeting in return as you began talking up a storm.

“I’m excited to work with you again!” you said, briefly pausing to greet his manager as well before turning back to him. “The last time we’ve worked together was for a drama 6 months ago, right?”

“No,” he corrected immediately, the ‘you idiot’ that would have followed thankfully left out by Tenma. “We filmed a commercial 3 months ago, and then we had a magazine spread last month.”

When you blink up at him in surprise, he found himself getting a little conscious. “It’s… it’s not like I memorised it because of you, though!” he said, beginning to explain himself, “obviously a good actor remembers the things they’re a part of, right?”

When you giggled in response, a part of him started to feel… no, not worried, but something.

“No, no, I totally get that!” you raised your arms up in surrender, “I just meant like an actual acting gig, I guess? Nothing beats having a whole new script to learn, and getting to act with the people you admire. Right, Tenma-kun?”

Inclined to agree with you, he nodded in agreement. “Right…”

You looked at him with a blank stare on your face, like he was missing something (what was there for him to miss, though?) before quickly turning away to greet some of the production crew passing by with a wave and grin.

He, for once, managed to tune out the coos and comments of, “it’s so cute that they stayed friends after all these years!” and “aww look they even entered the set together!” in favour of wondering if there was something he said (or didn’t) that ended the conversation.

…

After filming finished for the day, he decided to lag behind instead of immediately leaving. He’s worked with a bunch of the cast beforehand, so it was a good thing to catch up with them.

“Mini Sumeragi,” one of his more… out there seniors, a friend of his father, began “are you gonna keep staring at their dressing room?”

Freezing up, he mentally took note to stop darting his eyes in that direction before anyone could make something out of it; it was too late, though, when the lead actress asked who occupied that room and several people replied your name in chorus.

“Ohoho~ our young boy is finally growing up,” the lead actor said with a grin, and the whole cast amusedly watched Tenma’s cool mask forming cracks.

“Could it be you’re waiting for them to go out? Is that why you’re staying behind to chat with us oldies?” none of them look the least bit offended, but while he was safe on that aspect, the little smirks and chuckles that escaped the others made him want to justify his actions somehow.

“It’s- it’s because I— have something to tell them!” Tenma explained, despite not knowing a) what he would even say to you, and b) that he was planning on talking to you in the first place. Even though all the signs were pointing to him wanting to do so, at least to an outsider’s perspective.

With widened eyes and an over-dramatised look of shock, the show’s director herself let out a gasp. “Sumeragi-kun, you don’t mean… you’re going to…“

Tenma’s perceptive after all, especially when it came to body language. He had to be as the Summer Troupe’s leader! He could tell there was something bothering you a while ago. As co-workers, he just doesn’t want you to have an issue with him is all! Not— not that he was super concerned about what you thought about him though, it was just—

“Tenma-kun?”

The whole group turned to look at the source of the voice, and who else could it be other than the devil itself.

“I’m glad you’re still here!” you exclaimed, a smile gracing your face as you approached the ginger. “I actually had something I needed to ask you about.”

“Huh? Oh, of course you did,” he crossed his arms, averting his eyes from your expectant gaze. “What did you want?” What— what else was he supposed to say?

Unexpectedly, you bring out your phone and hand it to him. Hold on, wasn’t this like those scenes in the dramas he acted in? Or Muku’s shoujo mangas? Where the main character would hand her phone to the guy she liked and asked for his number?

“Could we start chatting on LIME?” Tenma stiffened at your words, until you followed up with “Since you got into theatre before me, you’d probably have some tips or advice, right? I’m still inexperienced, so…”

After what felt like minutes, his thumbs quickly moved to enter his phone number, adding himself as a friend on your phone.

“I’m only doing this because it’s theatre related, okay? There’s no other reason!”

“Yes, yes, I know… Tenma-kun is always very nice to me,” with a closed-eyed smile making its way to your face, the both of you remained unaware of two things. First, the reddening of Tenma’s ears, and second, the hushed commentary of the others in the room.

“… that felt like a scene from a high school drama,” the director commented as soon as the both of you were out of earshot, looking contemplative, “they’re cute. Maybe I’ll cast them as the leads in my next show.”

Several laughs come out of the group, knowing glances thrown around from one person to another. The usually professional Sumeragi Tenma finally acting his own age, and the one who caused him to act that way. Whether you two knew it or not, you two’d become the hot topic amongst the crew for the next few filming sessions.

Unsurprisingly, Yuki’s the first one to notice something was up; while Tenma was good enough to be able to hide whoever it was he was chatting with on his phone, he was not slick enough to hide how affected he got upon hearing his phone ping, or the look on his face as he read and his fingers poised themselves to reply.

What kind of person gets smiley so early in the morning without eating breakfast, just because of a text message? Disgusting, really.

Also unsurprisingly, Kazunari’s second to notice, but unlike Yuki he’s the first to properly try and figure out who Tenma’s talking to instead of just making comments here and there.

After all, the blond can only conclude two things— first, they must be a special enough person to have the always busy actor chat with them consistently during his free time; second, Tenten… probably hasn’t noticed that he’s being so, so obvious to the point that Misumi thought their very own leader found a “very special triangle”.

Kazunari found it was a little difficult, trying to figure out who it was exactly that caught Tenma’s attention, especially with the latter keeping a tighter on his phone than usual.

However, it was not impossible.

It wasn’t uncommon for several members of the troupe to gather around the living room to watch the latest episode of whatever drama Tenma was currently in. It wasn’t that uncommon either for him to watch with everyone as well, judging his own acting and seeing how it turned out through the camera.

Tonight was different though, and it would seem that always having his phone on his possession had become his own boon… or perhaps the true boon was sitting in front of Kazunari, giving him the perfect view to have a bit of a peek without being evident about his intent.

…

Tenten—

Tenten, why—

Kazunari found himself sending a mental prayer to whatever deity existed in the universe, not just for his own sanity but for…

His eyes go to the one person on screen that Tenma’s clearly been hyper focused on. ‘Yes, I pray for your sanity, too…’ he thought to himself. It was so clear that you had some semblance of more-than-friendly interest towards his friend, and you were clearly fishing a compliment out of him— if not just for the sake of a compliment, then to gauge his interest level in you.

Honestly, he can’t let this go any further— him snooping getting revealed be damned. Tenma’s been typing and hitting the backspace key for a solid two minutes now, he was clearly hopeless, and Kazunari? Why, he was a texting MASTER— it was his duty to help out his poor disciple.

“Tenten~♪,” as soon as the ginger’s attention broke from the phone, he quickly grabbed the device out of said person’s grasp, ignoring his indignant noises as he quickly typed in a response that seemed in-character enough for Tenma, but enough to pander to you.

When Tenma finally got his phone back, Kazunari resisted the urge to take a photo of the former’s face, morphing and reddening as he registered the rest of the messages.

“Why’d you… why’d you call them cute?” Tenma whisper-shouted, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation, before turning back to Kazunari.

“Awww, so you don’t think they’re a cutie?” Kazunari asked, clearly baiting Tenma to refute.

“That’s not what I— that’s not the point!”

Unable to hold himself back, he let out a laugh while one of the more serious parts of the show was playing out, causing several people to look at him in wonder. He doesn’t really have an explanation without exposing Tenma, so he gave the vague excuse of seeing something funny on his phone.

Not his phone, but hot diggity dog, did he see something funny alright.

There was no way he’d ever admit this to you, or to anyone for that matter, but he genuinely doesn’t understand you. You were rivals, weren’t you? Sure he expected you to be civil, but you were being so friendly and kind… and even worse, you were making him feel weird. You were making him do things he normally wouldn’t do.

He glanced down, the newly bought bouquet of roses seated on his lap as he waited for the play to start— the opening night of the play you were going to be in.

Opening night… when the others found out about it, they gave him knowing glances, playful nudges, teasing comments but really, what did it matter if he just so happened to watch on opening night of all nights? It was the night he was free on!

Besides, you were his rival in acting! Obviously, he was going to watch your performance to simultaneously check out your strengths and weaknesses as an actor— how you differed on set and on stage.

… no, that didn’t sound right, even in his head.

Then, he’s watching you because you went through the trouble of asking him for tips about acting on stage, and getting into theatre. He’s kind of like your teacher, right? So he has to support you

… that didn’t sound right, either.

Even after the play ended, he waited for the audience area to be mostly deserted before coming to find you backstage, the stage manager apparently recognising him and letting him pass without much questioning on who he was here to see.

When he finally found you, he stilled in his spot. Oh, you were with…

For a few seconds, his stomach churned, like a fiery pit burning his insides on fire without so much a regard towards any pain he’d fill and—

“Tenma-kun!”

As quickly as it arrived, the fire gets extinguished at the familiar shout of his name. That person turned to you, quickly muttering something that made you giggle, the forming frown on his lips only leaving as the other man did.

“I’m really happy you came to watch me~” you told him, a little bashfully. “My parents couldn’t come tonight, so it was nice to have someone I recognised other than my manager in the crowd.”

Right, opening night was… a lot for him, too. Tenma nodded understandingly. “Obviously? Oh and congratulations, by the way, you did really well,” he added in, watching you gingerly take the bouquet of red roses from his grasp. Your eyes turned a little softer at the present, stuck on the little tag even though all that was written on that pre-made to and from card was your name and his respectively.

“I said I’d watch you, right? Besides, just because you’re my rival doesn’t mean I’m gonna go break a promise.”

You remained silent for a minute, and he worried again if he somehow found another thing that would cause you to stop talking to him, at least for a little while— a time period just enough to bother him.

When you break your silence, you make sure to make direct eye-contact with him.

“… rival?”

“Yes?”

With a heavy sigh, you began muttering to yourself. While he wasn’t able to pick up on comprehensible sentences, your expression was enough to tell him you were annoyed.

Before he could question you, the smile returned to your face.

“You think we’re rivals? That’s a shame… I don’t see you that way at all,” you remarked offhandedly, watching Tenma’s face morph into a mixture confusion and hurt.

“What? Do you not think I’m good enough to be your—“

“Okay! Stop the thought right now!” you interrupted, shaking your head vehemently. What kind of derivation was that? “I think of us as more than rivals, is what I mean.”

Tenma’s blush seared through his cheeks, looking almost as though his face was lit up on fire. Despite this, he made no attempt to move to shield his face from your gaze, or any movement at all really— save for how he sputtered in search of some semblance of a viable reply.

“What do you… what are you trying to imply? Are you saying you think of me as a friend or—“

He gets interrupted by the sound of you giggling. “Well, the meaning can be whatever you want it to be!” you exclaimed, the tone of your voice a little mischievous as you continued, “so just let me know which one, okay?~”

#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#tenma sumeragi #sumeragi tenma #cafe: dessert menu

111 notes · View notes

phantomato · 3 years

Text

Uber

Nottmort (Tom Riddle/Nott Sr.), Modern Muggle AU, ~2k words

Thanks to @yletylyf for kicking around this idea! Tom drives an Uber in the Bay Area. Thoros & co need a ride.

—

Abraxas and Orion are bickering over luggage in the background when your Uber pulls up. Black, of course, so it’s a Mercedes that will smell a little too much like leather cleaner when you get in, but none of you have ever ridden in an UberX or, god forbid, an Uber Pool, and you’re not about to start.

Your colleagues—never forget, you are not friends, no matter how much time you spend with them—slide into the back seat before you can even begin to help load bags into the trunk. You’re left alone with the driver, and though he offers to help, you haven’t let yourself sink that low as to make this man pile all of your shit in his car while you sit around and watch. And anyway, it feels like the polite thing to do. More than Abraxas or Orion, you’ve been raised to be polite.

So you fold yourself into the front passenger seat, too kind to push the seat all the way back and give yourself the leg room you need even if Orion, behind you, is just 5’8 to your 6’3, and smile at the driver as he confirms your destination.

He’s pretty. You’ve been in a lot of Ubers and you’ve never seen a driver this pretty. Is that classist?, you wonder to yourself, remembering something you read in Vox the other day. Probably. Nevertheless, you’re taken by the curve of his mouth, the sweep of his dark hair, and you throw a smirk over your shoulder at Abraxas who you know must have also noticed.

“Traffic to SFO will be busy,” he says regretfully, and you roll your eyes. Orion refuses to take the early morning flights, unwilling to wake at 3 AM, and you’re always stuck with these long, miserable Uber rides down from the city to the airport. “And Terminal 2—right in the middle of it. There’s construction around those doors, if you haven’t been there—”

“We know,” Orion butts in rudely, shutting up your driver for the few minutes it takes to get out of your neighborhood.

You use those few minutes to swipe through your phone. Email—nothing important. Messages—you clear the notifications. Your Instagram is alight with people reposting the same infographic about voting rights and you make a mental note to kick some money to that non-profit that’s been all over Twitter lately. You close out apps and end up back at Uber, watching your car’s laggy progress through the San Francisco streets. Your driver’s name is Tom, the app informs you. It’s a nice name.

You clear the side streets and Tom offers amenities. “If you want any water, there are bottles in the cooler between the seats,” he calls back to Abraxas and Orion, “and mints in the cup holder. You can adjust the air conditioning if you like, and there’s a charging cable attached to the back of my seat if you need it. Would you like to choose any music?”

“No,” Abraxas says, and whether he means the music or the entire spiel doesn’t really matter, given his withering tone. You look back at him, trying to convey ‘Be nice’ with just your eyebrows, but Abraxas is fussing with his hair and ignoring you.

Tom’s one of the chipper ones, it turns out, because he takes the rejection in stride and shifts to the dreaded personal conversation. “What do you all do for a living?”

“Ah, we invest in companies, mostly start-ups,” you say, trying to avoid—

“Venture capitalists!” Tom guesses, and he’s right but you hate the term and its connotations. So what if you are all white men whose family money has bankrolled tech speculation? It’s what anyone with half a brain would do. You donate, you read the liberal news—at least, you think that’s true for all of you, though Orion was friends with that Republican mayoral candidate and Abraxas’ father sponsors that conservative think-tank and…

Ah, fuck. “Yeah, pretty much,” you agree, hating yourself.

Behind you, Orion digs his AirPods out of his pocket. You hear the snap of the magnetic lid as he closes himself off to the world. Abraxas is slouching, the hem of his third-favorite cashmere cardigan catching on the seat behind him, and you realize that you’re alone in this conversation.

Well, fuck it. If those two pricks are going to make you call the Uber, deal with the reimbursement paperwork, and sit in the front seat, you’re going to talk to the driver and make this car conversation as painful as possible for them.

As if reading your thoughts, Tom does the one thing that guarantees a terrible ride: he pitches his app idea.

“You know, I’m also a software developer,” he says, which is at least more promising than when someone isn’t, “and if I had the kind of funding that companies like yours provide, I would absolutely make this app.” He proceeds to describe something completely inane, the type of exclusive, niche social networking app that hasn’t had legs since before the Trump presidency and you would be content to let him drone on, to let Abraxas keep melting into his own seat and to let Orion channel his anger through a knee driven into the back of yours, but—

But for all that Tom’s idea is stupid, he has the energy of the best pitches you see. His energy is infectious. His eyes light up, he gestures with one hand, and when he stops to take a drink (one of those water bottles with a built-in straw, which you associate with joggers and your lamest employees but which does very different things to you when it’s Tom’s mouth wrapped around the top) you’re transfixed by the wet sheen over his chapped lips.

And so, yes, maybe it’s mostly lust, and maybe this is a sign that you need to download Grindr again, even if only to jerk off to the dick pics you’ll get, but you start to actually talk to him.

“There’s no future in niche social networks,” you say, halting Tom in his tracks. “There will always be new ones, don’t misunderstand me, but the broader landscape is saturated by the top names, and they’ll buy out their competitors if they need to. Perhaps you can topple Tumblr, but that’s not a path to profit. If you want to impact the social market, you need to pinpoint the novel interaction model that you want to offer and make yourself buyable.”

“Buyable,” Tom repeats, like he’s never been interrupted before. He probably hasn’t. The first rule of Ubering around the Bay Area or the Valley is to never engage the app pitches, and Orion has started kicking your seat for your transgression.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “You want to be bought out and brought in at a high level. The giant that eats you may or may not use your idea, but you’ll make a comfortable sum as a consolation prize.” You’ve helped companies through this before. You’re flying out to New York this week in part because one of your investments is considering purchase offers and you want to strategize in-person. The founder is dallying, sending emails about independence and integrity, and Orion will bully him into selling while you and Abraxas negotiate the best terms for the contract.

You can feel Tom’s eyes on you. Abraxas might be calling “Thoros…” from the back seat, and Orion might be attempting to annihilate you with his gaze alone, but you’re smiling at that handsome face behind the wheel and hoping for an accident on the 101.

Unfortunately, you make it through San Bruno without running into more than the usual level of traffic, and Tom’s pulling up to your terminal much sooner than you would like. Abraxas and Orion jump out of the car with uncharacteristic speed when it stops, Orion even moving to stand by the trunk in readiness to take his bags. You delay.

“Do you have a business card?” you ask, when it’s clear Tom’s waiting on you.

He fumbles to pull a wallet from his jeans. You can’t quite get a view of his ass as he does, but that doesn’t stop you from looking.

His card is bent at the corner, printed cheaply, and probably from his last job. You’re pretty sure that company doesn’t exist anymore. Tom taps the phone number. “I can be reached here,” he says smoothly, but his professionalism cracks when he adds, “by call or by… text.”

You know what sort of texts you’d like to receive from him.

Pulling out your own card case, you hand him your card. “Text me,” you say, your voice just this side of appropriate, “any time.”

Tom visibly swallows and jumps out of the car. You take your time getting up, and if your cashmere sweater—Margaret Howell, not that Elder Statesman piece of shit Abraxas is wearing—ends up in the footwell of Tom’s passenger seat, well, you’ll be back in SF next week, won’t you?

“Thanks for the ride, Tom,” you tell him as you take the handle of your luggage, letting your fingers brush his. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“Yeah,” he nods, and you don’t care that Abraxas is snorting behind you, he’s been judging you this whole trip and he lost out on a hot guy’s number as a result. “It was…”

“Thoros,” you interrupt him before he can ramble and psych himself out. “My name is Thoros, and I really would like to hear from you.”

Tom looks at you then, and you see him pull together the same sureness that drew you into his initial pitch. “I’ll text you about the app.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it.

—

Bonus:

“You know,” Abraxas drawls as you sit in the United club lounge, gesturing lazily with his overpriced airport Fiji water, “if you tip him too much it’s like you’re paying him for sex.”

Orion looks up from his phone then, removing one earbud for the first time since he put them in. “I’ve paid more for sex with less attractive men.”

“Welcome back,” you say, “I didn’t realize you had paid any attention.”

“Someone would need to not have eyes in order to miss how hot that Uber driver was,” he bites back, returning to his phone.

“Well, I’m tipping him extra anyway,” you announce, confirming Tom’s five-star rating. Should you write a review? Is that too much?

Abraxas, with a grumble, declares, “I’m telling Alecto not to approve this expense.”

—

Bonus bonus:

Your phone buzzes at the end of dinner, the celebratory affair to close the sale which someone had insisted must be at Lilia, even though Abraxas doesn’t eat carbs and you would have preferred to grab a slice at Scarr’s rather than haul out to Williamsburg, anyway.

It’s Tom. Of course it’s Tom—you’ve been texting all week, and between a few late-night flirtations and one very bald statement of interest, you’ve got a date set for when you’re back home. You’re going to Mensho Tokyo, since he lives in the Tenderloin and you live… vaguely around the Tenderloin, at least, you tell people you live there when you want to seem cooler, and Tom is the type of guy that makes you excited to stand in line for hours to get seats. You’re already thinking about whether you might put your arm around him while you’re waiting, and you unlock your phone to see what he’s saying now.

It’s a picture message.

A picture of Tom, wearing your Howell sweater and no pants and oh god oh fuck—

“Was that Uber driver’s dick?” Abraxas whispers, next to you, and you curse your luck. “Remind me to call the next Uber, Jesus Christ.”

#tom riddle #nott sr #nottmort #muggle au

4 notes · View notes

dinoyoongi · 4 years

Text

Confirm or Deny (6) - Final

SYNOPSIS: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Angst

WARNINGS: Language, brief mentions of sexual situations

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHORS NOTE: The ending is here! Thank you so much to everyone who has loved and supported this story! I’m sorry that it took so long to get the ending written but I hope it’s as satisfying for you to read as it was to write! I know a few might be disappointed with it - that’s understandable - I did rewrite this chapter several times and cut out a lot that I had originally planned but ultimately I think I wrote an ending fit for me, Joonie and Sweets. <3

__________________________________

“Y/N?” Your chin snaps up at the sound of your name, eyes wide at the polite, smiling face of the young receptionist at the desk in front of the room. “The director will be ready shortly. He apologizes for the delay and appreciates your patience.”

Exhaling in relief, you bow in understanding, returning her courteous grin quickly before turning your eyes down to the screen in your lap. On your phone, Tom Hanks strides to the stage to the applause of the audience, the camera panning to different nominees in this final, ultimate category. The quick shot of BTS – of Namjoon's nervous but elated grin – makes your heart knock against your chest hard. Tom Hanks prattles for a few seconds about the achievements of the nominees before he's handed a golden envelope.

“And the Grammy for record of the year goes to … BTS!”

You don't realize you're holding your breath until you're on your feet and screaming, lightheaded and breathless from the lack of oxygen. Hand slapping over your mouth to silence your hysteria, you ignore the concerned calls from the receptionist and shakily lower yourself back onto your seat. Though seconds have passed, the group hasn't found their way onto the stage. Instead, they remain in the audience, huddled in the tightest of hug. Not a single one of them has a dry face.

You included.

They did it. Holy shit. They won a Grammy – the biggest Grammy of the night. This would make it their second after picking up the award for best group earlier in the morning. But record of the year … it's the award. And they did it. Namjoon did it.

There's a gentle tapping on your shoulder. When you glance up, you can barely make out the blurred silhouette of the receptionist through the haze of your tears.

“Are you okay? Do I need to call anyone for you?”

“N-no, I'm fine, I-I just-” you stop yourself, eyes falling down to the phone screen. She follows your gaze, mouth opening in understanding when she sees the seven of them on the stage. Her shock is quickly replaced with a warm smile. “I'll be quieter. Sorry.”

She giggles. “Don't worry about it. If you need tissues or anything, come see me at my desk, okay?”

Unable to suppress the elation, you grin as you nod, pushing the pods further into your ear and jamming the volume up button on your phone as loud as it would allow. Namjoon is already speaking and the sound of his voice immediately conjures the waterworks again. He stutters over a few pronunciations and has to pause every so often to wipe his tears, but his speech is beautiful and poignant. The words are straight from his heart, straying from any kind of notes or script that the group might have drafted on the chance that they'd actually win.

“Of course, we love and appreciate our fans – our ARMY – dearly. But we also want to thank everyone behind the scenes – our loved ones who we might have neglected and hurt in our path to get where we are. We hope that you're proud of us and that you'll stay … sweetly … by our side.”

The sobs come easily. Instantly.

Sweetly. He's talking directly to you – his Sweets.

You watch with loud sniffles until their speech is done, until they're carrying themselves off of the stage, until the last musical guest that you honestly couldn't name begins to perform. Your finger pushes at the power button on the side of your phone and when the screen fades to black, the reflection that stares back at you is a haggard mess. Grabbing a few tissues from the nice receptionist and cleaning yourself up before the most important meeting of your life is probably the best idea. But you can't seem to move.

Walking into this building a few minutes ago, you were sure of what you wanted – a fresh start, a new path, all slates wiped clean. Joining P NATION would do that for you. And this was everything that you wanted. It's everything that you've worked for.

But maybe … maybe you want Namjoon just a little bit more. You don't even know if a future with him is something that's feasible, or if it's something that he still wants. What if Big Hit refuses to let the two of you be together? What if P NATION refuses to let you date at all?

Once again you're faced with the possibility that you might have to choose the two things you want most in your entire life – your idol career or Namjoon.

You finally pry your hard stare from the phone. Looking up, there are two doors on either side of the room. One door – the door that you entered in – leads to the lobby, to the exit. The other door leads to the conference room where you'll be meeting with the directors of P NATION.

Your stomach twists, your throat suddenly tightening with the urge to vomit.

“Here,” the receptionist's voice cuts through your anxiety. She pushes a wad of tissues in your direction. When you don't move to accept them, she clicks her tongue in amusement and plops down into the chair next to yours. You're startled when she reaches out with the tissue to dab at your face gently, using the slightest pressure as to not totally destroy your makeup. “You look conflicted. It's not usually something I see from potential trainees … or in your case, idol, I guess? Most if not all of them are excited and confident and anxious to sign a contract. You … you look like you're going to toss your cookies all over the carpet. No offense.”

Despite your inner turmoil, you feel yourself cracking a smile. “None taken.”

“What your company did to you was disgusting,” she says casually, leaning over your lap to toss the tissue in a garbage bin. You blink at her in surprise. Not many people are bold enough to bring the incident – or incidents, because there were quite a few – with Hot Star to your face. “I grew up in the states so the extreme response to a dating report here just baffles me. Seriously. In the west, we want our favorite celebrities to date and be happy and healthy. We actually ship celebrities together. I remember growing up being totally in love with Freddie Prinze Jr – you don't know who that is, do you? She's All That? Scooby-Doo? None of this rings a bell? Okay, it doesn't matter, anyway – he started dating a co-star from one of his movies and I was their biggest cheerleader because I could see how happy he was. And you know what? Those two actors are still married to this day and I'm still rooting for them.”

Her rant is punctuated with a triumphant crossing of her arms as she leans back into her seat. You're confused as you gape at her. What is it that she's trying to tell you? If Hot Star and Big Hit hadn't intervened and the fans hadn't been so crazy, you and Namjoon would have a successful marriage?

She chuckles when she sees your confused expression. “Sorry, I know I'm a bit extra sometimes. My point that I have failed to get to is that … Hot Star has serious karma coming their way. I think you have the potential to do amazing things with your career. And I know from the look on your face that you're two seconds away from bolting but why don't you stick around and at least hear what they have to say?”

Her palm rises to your line of vision, a compact mirror and lip tint sat on top in a peace offering. It only takes you a few long seconds to reach out, hesitantly accepting the items with a gracious bow of your head. You're given one last encouraging grin before she stands up, bows and retreats back to the desk at the front of the room. Lowering the cosmetics into your lap, you exhale a shaky breath and pick up your phone. Though you had deleted his contact from your phone, there was no way that you didn't remember the number by heart.

You let the words flow into your fingertips, jerking your thumb to the send button before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Y/N,” the receptionist calls for you. Her eyes meet yours. “They're ready for you.”

__________________________________

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Jungkook is chanting breathlessly to himself as he grasps Namjoon's arm for support, the group shuffling quickly into the backstage area. The leader wobbles, his legs feeling as if they're made of jelly; all of his limbs feel as if they're suddenly jelly. The only part of him with substantial weight is the shiny, gold gramophone statue clutched tightly in his right hand. There's chaos as they step into the dressing room – managers, stylists and various staff shouting victoriously, some of their faces drenched with happy tears.

After all this time … they did it. The Grammys were something that all k-pop stars only fantasized about and BTS - Namjoon and his brothers – now hold two of them.

It's a feeling that Namjoon can't comprehend. It's a feeling that's too overwhelming for his body. He wants to do everything; wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants to hug every single person in the room, he wants to tell everybody he knows. He wants …

Oh. His chest dives when your face appears in the back of his mind. This is usually when you're calling him to congratulate him, to tell him how proud you are, to remind him how hard he worked for it, to promise him a more intimate celebration when you get to spend more time together.

From the wild thumping of his heart, it's easy to decide what he wants to do the most.

Ignoring the craziness of the room, Namjoon drops onto the couch. The award is yanked out of his grasp but he lets it go, reaching instead into the pile of cellular devices left on the coffee table to collect his own phone. Booting it up, he's not surprised to see his inbox already flooded with congratulatory messages and voicemails.

However, it's your message that sits right at the very top – two minutes ago – that surprises him the most.

Congratulations, Joonie. I am so proud of you. And when you want me, I'll always be by your side.

He reads the words again. And again. And again. Over and over until the dark font transforms into a blurred silhouette from his tears. One of the members – he can't distinguish who at this point – yanks his limp body into a hug, assuming that their leader is emotional from the fact that they just made history.

That's what he should be emotional about.

But all he can think about is you.

You, who had been with him since he joined Big Hit, who trained with him and grew with him. You, who supported him more than any person on this planet. You, who swore with your entire life that BTS would win Grammys. You knew it was going to happen and he wanted to prove you right.

How can he feel victorious when you're not with him?

Rising to his feet abruptly, Namjoon seeks out his manager. Upon seeing the fierce determination in his gaze, the main wrangler of the seven idols feels his cheerful grin drop. Jerking his head into the direction of the hallway, Namjoon has made up his mind.

The company will be furious; they'll fight it as much as they can. The fans will be devastated and betrayed, some might even boycott. The boys – though they'll support him no matter what – will be understandably concerned. This is a decision that effects everybody and the only person Namjoon cares about, the only person who can make the decision … is you.

__________________________________

“How does everything look?” Mr. Park, also known as freaking Psy, asks politely, leaning in your direction from across the table. Your eyes quickly skim the first few pages of the document again. You're not familiar with a lot of the legal terms and you'd be lying if you didn't admit that there were parts of the contract that sounded slightly confusing. But for the most part – from your experience with your past contracts and your knowledge of the industry – the agreement is great. Way better than anything you ever imagined prior to walking into the building today. “Is there anything you'd like to edit? Any clauses you'd like to negotiate?”

You clear your throat, wishing your nerves would give you a break. “It all looks great, honestly. I'm really thankful for this opportunity.”

Psy frowns. “I sense a but coming.”

“No, no” you assure him with a shaky chuckle. “I'm definitely signing. I'd be crazy not to. This is such a great contract, more than someone like me could have ever hoped for after … you know, all things considered. I just … I do want to request one clause be added.”

Every pair of shoulders at the table straightens up, pens being pressed to paper and fingers set atop of their laptop keyboards at the ready.

“This might sound silly coming from me and it might be a rookie mistake to request this at the contract signing but … I want to be able to date. I want to be given the chance to have a normal, healthy relationship whether it be private or public – and I want to be the one that chooses which. When there's news about me dating, I want you to ask me first and I want you to have my back, to publish what I say and not what you think will get more attention with the media. And you can refuse, you can even add a clause that says I'm not allowed to date but to be honest, even if you tell me no, I'm still going to do it. You can rip up the papers right now if that's what you want to do. I just want to be transparent with you. I've given up so much and I don't want to give up anything more. That's the decision I made for myself before I came through these doors.”

The speech is long and you're winded when you finish, leaning back against the chair with what you hope is a quiet exhale. At the end of the table, there's a light giggling. Before you sat down, you were fully under the impression that you'd be meeting with Hyuna because it was her name on the business card that was handed to you. You knew there would be other people involved but you didn't expect it to be Psy and his entire legal team. For the majority of the meeting, Hyuna stayed silent at her end of the table, only nodding or laughing or frowning when appropriate. She offered you nothing except for polite smiles when your gazes accidentally crossed paths. Admittedly, you were confused about her role in your signing but just having her there – someone who was in your exact shoes but had the guts to actually stand up for her relationship – made a world of difference in how comfortable and confident you were speaking right now.

“I told you,” Hyuna chuckles, pursing her lips cockily and throwing a sly head tilt to Psy. Your nerves intensify as you snap your neck to the man who nods in agreement. “I told you that you should have just added that clause to save some time.”

And just like that, your mic drop moment is gone. You feel yourself trembling as you lower your eyes to the table. They knew you were going to ask for it. They were going to add a clause so that you wouldn't ask for it.

“When you say that you want to be in a relationship, do you mean that you want to be in a relationship with Kim Namjoon of BTS?” Hyuna asks curiously, fingers twirling a pen as if this this meeting wasn't about to be the cause of your impending heart-attack. Namjoon's name being spoken only adds to your panic.

“Does it make a difference if I say yes?” you stutter, your voice small.

“You said you want to be transparent with us. Don't back down now,” she warns. The sound of her pen dropping to the table is like an foghorn directly into your ear canal.

“Okay, yes. I want to be in a relationship with Namjoon,” you admit. Maybe you're just searching for any sign of discomfort in the room but you swear that you hear the hiss of someone taking in a breath. You continue anyway. “I'm not saying concretely that I will be. It's … complicated between us. But I love him more than anything else and if the chance to be with him again presents itself then … yes, I'm going to take it.”

“Okay then,” Psy says, his eyes flitting to a few of the men sat next to him at the table. “Get to work. She can date whoever she wants, whenever she wants and we must consult with her about her personal matters before submitting any statements to the press. Y/N, anything else to add?”

Wait, what?

“Y-you're still signing me? You're … adding the clause?” you ask in disbelief.

Psy's grin is wide as he smiles. “Of course we are. We're signing you because we want your talent, not your freedom.”

“I didn't even have to convince him,” Hyuna chirps. Your eyes are wide and watery as you gape at her with awe. “He was on board the second that I mentioned your name. What has happened to you in your career is … disgraceful. Being kicked out of Big Hit simply for being a woman, being kicked out of Hot Star because your company choose to capitalize on your relationship instead of supporting you. I know you probably think that he's just scooping up jaded k-pop stars but we're not interested in you because we pity your unfortunate background. We're interested because we're in awe of how you keep going. You were at the top of the food chain of trainees at Big Hit and when you were transferred, you had to start all over again and you did it. You debuted. And when this industry kicked you back down to square one, instead of giving up on being an idol like most others would, you took my card and called us to willingly – once again – be the lowest totem on the pole. You've got the whole package – talent, looks and perseverance. You're going places farther than any of those girls in FRNZEE could even fathom and we want to be the ones that help you get there.”

You don't realize that you're out of your seat, that you're stumbling your way in Hyuna's direction until she's in front of you and you're swinging your arms around her neck. She's startled, emitting a soft oomph as she fumbles backward but instead of pushing you away, she pats your shoulder comfortingly.

“Thank you,” you sob into chest. “Thank you so much. You have no idea. I-I just … I don't-”

Gently, she pushes you away, her hand firm on your shoulders as she bends down to meet your eyes directly. With her other hand, she uses her thumb to wipe away what you know are disgustingly hideous mascara tracks. Her smile is blinding as she grins at you encouragingly.

“Welcome to the family, Y/N,” she says warmly. Those words send a trill of warmth down your spine. “Even though it was my suggestion, who you really need to be thanking is our CEO. I have a big mouth and I use it often but he's the one who ultimately makes the decisions.”

You nod, turning to approach Psy. Unlike with Hyuna, you reign in your raging emotions, opting to bow respectfully instead of launching yourself at him. “Thank you, sir. I promise that I'm not going to let you down.”

Rounding back to your side of the table, there's no hesitance when you pick up the pen to sign your name and stamp your seal. The group waits until your pen has been placed back onto the table before they're on their feet and cheering. Their applause for simply signing with you is more encouraging than all of your positive interactions you've ever had with the Hot Star CEO combined. Psy has the super sweet receptionist – who winks in congratulations before she leaves the room – bring in a bottle of champagne and Hyuna insists on snapping a photograph of you with your contract for your future trophy case in their talent room.

You've been in this room for an hour. One hour and it feels as if you've been handed this entire new world wrapped with a shiny promise of a great future.

There's only one thing missing.

__________________________________

ONE MONTH LATER

BREAKING: Y/N officially signs with P NATION!

Months after leaving FRNZEE and Hot Star Entertainment following the dating scandal that led to her being verbally and physically attacked by BTS fans, P NATION – the entertainment company that was founded by former YG artist Psy in 2019 – has announced on social media today that they've officially signed with Y/N! Y/N was ostracized in the k-pop industry after rumors of her dating BTS leader RM were confirmed by Hot Star but denied by Big Hit. Due to backlash, Y/N was ultimately pulled from the group's comeback. The controversy also saw BTS fans attacking the then-FRNZEE vocalist in the KBS parking lot during a Music Bank recording.

We can't wait to see what kind of music Y/N will be releasing under this new label. Stay tuned for more updates!

You roll your eyes, clicking off of the article and back to the influx of incoming messages. It was too much to hope for a quick “congratulations!” article, wasn't it? Scrolling through the messages, you feel slightly overwhelmed but in a good way.

Ji-na: I feel cool because I already knew but still CONGRATS AGAIN BABE! Happy for you!!

You're giggling as you type back a response to her and a few other people before clicking the phone off and setting it down to charge. Your eyes take a long moment to adjust to the dimness of the room compared to the bright lights of your phone screen. Today has been a whirlwind of messages and phone calls and more messages and more phone calls. You just need a break from all devices.

“Y/N?” a voice from the kitchen calls. You heave yourself onto your feet, padding a few steps over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. Per your contract with P NATION, instead of sticking you in a dorm, you're now living in an apartment building owned by somebody who works for the company. Your building neighbors include Hyuna and Hyojong who actually live on your floor and Jessi who lives a few up. It wasn't super spacious but it was cozy and private and yours. You sigh in exhaustion as you slump onto one of the stools. “Do you want mozzarella on your pasta?”

Elbows resting on the table, your chin propped onto your palms, you nod sleepily, letting your eyes flutter closed. “A lot of it, please.”

You giggle when you feel something press against your lips. Opening your eyes, you're not surprised to see Namjoon mirroring your posture, his lips on yours. He kisses you sweetly for another few seconds before pulling away. “You've had a long day. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Happy. Content. Hungry,” you say pointedly, grinning when his dimples dip from his laughter. “I'm so glad that you're here with me right now.”

“Me too, Sweets,” he says softly, sliding his hand across the table. You remove one from under your chin and meet him halfway, interlocking your fingers immediately. Like always, your heart pummels against your ribcage. It appears that Namjoon is always going to fluster you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Considering the scale of dramatic that was yours and Namjoon's breakup, you would've thought there would have been some epic reunion consisting of hours of conversation and arguments and agreements that would lead to the reigniting of your relationship but … there wasn't. When he got off of the plane after returning from America, the first place that he went to was yours. In Daejeon. You had been in Seoul for meetings the entire day and because of what happened, your mother wouldn't let him in the house. He waited hours on the porch for you to return – after he had just gotten off a thirteen hour flight – and when you finally walked up that sidewalk to see him dozing on the uncomfortable, rickety wicker chair …. you just knew.

There didn't have to be a spectacular speech or declaration of love – you already knew you loved him and that you wanted to be with him again.

So here you were. Together.

Together – the word makes your chest clench in relief.

You eat your pasta takeout at the kitchen counter, taking turns feeding the different noodles to each other between catch-up conversation. You tell Namjoon about the concept meeting that you had earlier in the day, the meeting that would decide in what direction you want your sound to go. He tells you about the amount of celebrities – specifically ones that have stuck their noses up at the boys in the past – that are flooding Big Hit with collaboration requests following the Grammys. And when you finish up with dinner, you both retire onto the sofa. Namjoon loads Netflix and turns on a random documentary although you both know damn well that you'll only watch it for maybe twenty minutes before your restless hands and yearning lips find another way to keep each other occupied.

Tonight, though, you're surprised when he whips his phone out in front of your face. “We don't have any recent pictures together. Let's take a selfie.”

Your hair is in a messy bun and your face is bare but who are you to deny him anything?

Leaning in, Namjoon presses his lips against your cheek. You smile bashfully, assuming the picture will turn out incredibly sweet, until he uses his free hand to squeeze your cheeks together. Before you can protest, the blinding flash of the camera captures the moment. You massage the skin that was pinched when he releases you, muttering grumpily as he coos over how adorable he thinks the picture is.

“This one will be perfect,” he mumbles to himself before his fingers start moving across the screen keyboard.

You squint in confusion. “Perfect for what?”

He pretends to not hear you but you get your answer only two minutes later. The pings and beeps and notifications on your phone begin to chime rampantly again.

Ji-na: OMG NAMJOON IS TOO CUTE. YOU GUYS ARE TOO CUTE.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously at your boyfriend who lounges next to you, phone in one hand while the other kneads a spot on your ankle where it rests on his lap. “Why does Ji-na think you're too cute? What did you do?”

Namjoon chuckles incredulously. “Wow, that didn't take long at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, he presents you with his phone that's loaded to his Weverse account. There's one post from Namjoon, added two minutes ago. The goofy selfie of the two of you with the caption: I've been an idiot – she has always been my Sweets. Congrats, babe.

“Namjoon!” you shriek in alarm, shooting up into a sitting position. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

You gawk at the man as he chuckles calmly, pulling himself off of the sofa as well. Why would he do that? And how can he be so calm? Doesn't he realize that he posted it? Doesn't he realize what he just did?

“I … Joonie, I don't understand. Help me understand. Why did you do that?”

He takes your hand in his, pushing the pad of his fingers into your skin soothingly. “I told myself that if I was lucky enough to be with you again, things would be different. I wasn't going to make the same mistakes I did last time. I don't want us to hide. I don't want us to be a secret. I know that there's going to be backlash from this – especially because of my reaction last time – but I just want to be with you, okay? Is that okay?”

Is it hot in here? You feel like you're melting.

“Joonie, of course it's okay. There aren't going to be any label issues on my end and of course I want nothing more than to be public with you – it's what I've always wanted – but … have you cleared this with Big Hit? With the boys? What's going to happen now?”

He gives you his wide, closed-mouth smile, the one that makes his dimples deep. “What's going to happen is that we're going to be happy. Together. I'm going to own up to my mistakes and take responsibility for not fighting for us the first time around. I'm going to endure the backlash with the boys at my side and … we're going to be Joonie and Sweets no matter what anyone has to say about it. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip to stop the sudden onslaught of tears. Joonie and Sweets. It's all you've ever wanted.

He sighs. “I know this is going to get us both in a bit of hot water but I'm done hiding.”

Crawling closer to him, you snuggle into his side, sighing in contentedness when his arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“I'm okay, Joonie. I can take whatever is thrown at us but I just have to confirm one thing for whenever my manager eventually calls,” you tell him. His eyebrow lifts questioningly. “We're both in the relationship this time, right?”

He rolls his eyes once before lunging at you, fingers digging into your sides in merciless tickles.

- T H E E N D -

311 notes · View notes