#also (sorry i always tack on tags instead of commenting on my own posts) the fact that its a prequel makes the zeni thing more difficult

[knittinglizards]

i have started the woman called fujiko mine and am liking it. and i understand like why the change was made and think it suits the tone but this characterization of zenigata is. upsetting

[op-peccatori]

Hopefully, Yours (part 2) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 8326

Summary: It took some cake, a friend, and some impulsive behaviour, but they got there. (part 2 of Hopefully, Yours)

Warnings/Tags: making out, language, my cheeseball antics

a/n: I was afraid of opening this doc at one point because every time I did I added more words to it ;; Also accidentally deleted the first draft, so I hope I didn’t leave anything out for this one. 

[video]

After Hours | Victor and Y/n

200, 280 views • Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers 

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5100 comments

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somsom 5 minutes ago

They’re both so nice. Victor’s always made out to be this heartless CEO, so it’s nice to see this side of him :) 

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tooktiktook  7 minutes ago

hmmmMMM

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cheribb 15 minutes ago

their eyes said more than enough <3 <3

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saltqueen 16 minutes ago

what i wouldn’t give to have someone look that soft over me

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Victor eyed the cheerful grin splitting Jason’s face, just a little uneasy in his seat. 

While having eager eyes on him was not an unfamiliar experience, he’d never been in a position where he was expected to talk about his feelings on camera. Not that he was about to confess in front of the entire crew of the show, but when it came to you the lines always got a little too blurry for his comfort. 

He got a little too eager.

“Just be nice,” Jason had instructed gently, and Victor steeled himself. 

They started, quite predictably, by asking him about his ideal type. Resisting the urge to scoff, he tried to stick to the script he’d worked on with Goldman, who had insisted on being present for today’s shoot. Not that Victor was complaining; it wasn’t exactly part of the job description, but Goldman had been enthusiastic, which Victor could appreciate and would certainly reward. 

Goldman had also spent most of yesterday handling the public relations department in his absence, preparing them for his appearance on the show. A tentative plan would be sent to him by tomorrow morning. He had faith in them, believing that they would be able to make this look good for him. 

“Someone who works hard,” he answered, knowing you would laugh at that. “Who can be themselves around me, someone I can be myself around. Someone...kind.”

The times you’ve spent in Souvenir flit through his mind, some quiet and some full of bright-eyed chatter.

“You’ve known Y/n for some time, right?” the interviewer asked. She looked nice, but he’d been on the block long enough to know that even the kindest faces can often hide the sharpest teeth.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s a very kind person,” he said easily. “One of the most hard-working and inspiring people I’ve ever met.”

You would surely gape like a fool after  seeing this. It was a little embarrassing, but Victor was determined to leave your image shiny after this. He would not have any words of his twisted to give you a bad name. If it got even a fraction of his feelings across, well, that was a bonus he wouldn’t mind having. The intimate setting of the ferris wheel had seemed to help some, but his admittedly indirect confession didn’t reach you as he had hoped.

God, but his father would love this.

“Did you have fun on your date?”

“It was lovely.” They tacked on another question and he nodded. “I...yes, I’d love to do it again.”

It was a little curt, but he didn’t really get what Goldman had meant by ‘nod tenderly with a far-off look.’

What would you think of that?

The interviewer raised a brow, her smile widening. “Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

For some bizarre reason, the first thing that had come to his mind at this question was his inexplicable need to check your social idea every day. And the way his heart beats just a little faster when you’ve posted a new picture. How, in moments of weakness, he’d given in and saved a few to his phone. Even a mental reminder of it made him a little hot under the collar.

There were many things he couldn’t even begin to try and explain when it came to you.

Really, the list is endless.

Victor’s current favourite was the video you’d uploaded of eating the tiramisu he’d cooked. He watches it at the end of a bad day and just like that, he feels a little better.

“I think anyone who ends up with her would be the luckiest person in the world,” he said honestly. “She’s beautiful in every single way.”

The last three words were supposed to have stayed in his head, but saying them felt natural. Goldman seemed to approve, shooting him a discreet thumbs up.

When you walk in, sleep-deprived and grumpy but trying to hide it, thinking he won’t catch on as if he isn’t running sharp eyes over every inch of your face. When the first sip of your coffee is too eager, leaving your tongue burnt and him with a pressing need to soothe it with his own. When you eat too much sugar and complain about a stomach-ache; he scolds you for it, but his arms are left straining with the need to wrap themselves around you.

He cherished these moments and wanted every single one all to himself. 

She makes me greedy.

“Would you want to be that person?”

Victor laughed, light and incredulous. 

Yes. Yes. Yes. 

“I guess time will have to answer that question for us,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, leaving it at just the right note to keep viewers hanging—right along with him.

lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

Hope y’all enjoyed the episode! #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp sooo really sorry about this but we’re kinda dying over here

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs Victor’s acc is still private. Maybe there’s something there? 

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@berryberry But Y/n’s isn’t private, and there’s nothing there. Give it up guys, they’re just friends. 

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bandanaman @headaccs

@hotsauce bruh that look?? was not friendship 

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce those words?? were not friendship

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srirachafire @hotsauce 

@headaccs @berryberry you two?? are hopeless romantics

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lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

@headaccs honestly? me too D: 

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bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp !!!!!! asdfgdvsd

Closing your Moments and the entire thread discussing the episode, you flop back down onto your mattress. Reaching for your newest plushy, you hug it tight, perhaps a tad too aggressively. 

It’s odd. You struggle between the visceral sort of pleasure that comes from a job well done—because the response is terrific—and the trembling nerves that come from watching yourself on a date with Victor.

Watching the episode had been harder than you had expected; you hadn’t quite been expecting the way Victor was looking at you—the intense gaze was a little too convincing, and watching it from the audience’s perspective was flustering. 

You spent most of it trying to suppress the inconvenient surges of hope, telling yourself it wasn’t real.

There really was nothing to know. The ferris wheel shot had ended there because you had nothing to say to Victor’s answer. You don’t know if he was referring to his past or his present, but the look in his eyes made it clear: his feelings were still there. Instead of pressing him, you chose to stay quiet, exhaustion clear in your face and sinking deep into your bones.

Victor had seemed to understand and maybe even appreciate it, probably not wanting to discuss it either, and only insisted on dropping you home. The ride to your place had been mostly silent, but you had tried to ask him his thoughts on the day and the shoot. He kept his answers concise, appearing a little distracted, which was so unlike him it made you wonder if he regretted opening up.

You’d spent the entire ride trying to quell the delicate little thing trembling in your chest.

The next video started while you were lost in your thoughts, and it happens to be your individual parts. Curious, you lean in, wincing slightly at the way you were fidgeting. 

And then they switch to Victor. You both had to wear the outfits from the date for these, but you still weren't quite expecting the impact his voice alone would have on you. 

And as always, those fierce eyes have you freezing in place.

“Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

He looks unfazed by the question. Of course, they go over the questions with you beforehand, but you still remember how nervous you’d felt when asked how you felt about him; Victor’s eyes flick towards the camera, filled with intent, as if addressing you—and you close the laptop with a snap, your throat tight.

You don’t have to watch that right away.

You had been very careful about what to say, how to act, channeling your inner-Victor to adopt a marble-smooth expression. Say nice things about him? Easy, you didn’t even have to make anything up. Imply just enough to keep people guessing. 

Keep your unwanted feelings to yourself. 

Palm coming to rest over your heart, pressing down as if it would alleviate the ache there, you try to sort through your thoughts. You never really thought there was a chance, but to hear it confirmed was a blow you weren’t prepared for. 

It’s ridiculous to feel so insecure, you think. You feel like you lost a competition you had never even had the chance to compete in. And over an unnamed, mysterious figure? So silly! 

But another part of your mind says it’s okay to feel this way, that it’s only natural. You’ve had such strong feelings for Victor for so long. And all of these feelings, the good and the bad, are yours; the wounds of your heart, the light in your laughter. Fighting them would only make you suffer. The love and the hurt are part of you, both important in their own right.

Knowing all of that doesn’t make it easier, though. 

After all, Victor had alluded to his feelings on camera, to your face. Knowing him, he would never do that unless he was sure about the person. 

“This fucking sucks,” you admit out loud, and at the heels of your words come the tears. Because, to make it even worse, people really seem to think it’s you. 

You can’t blame them, because even you had been taken in by his soft looks. Anyone watching would believe he’s smitten with you. Good for the show, terrible for you. 

You’re not strong enough to reply to them, to tell them you aren’t that fortunate, and have been hoping Victor, or someone from his team, would put a stop to it. 

But there hasn’t been any word from them and you curse out loud at the fact that he expects you to do something about it. As if there’s any more emphasis needed, your phone vibrates. Unlocking it with a miserable sigh, you scroll down quickly.

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Minor [19:40]: am I watching this right? Boss, are you dating the CEO? PLS SAY NO

Chik [20:21]: You bitch. When were you going to tell me you snagged THAT? So I was right back then, ha! Anyway, you two are adorbs. The puppy eyes are disgusting. I’m proud of you.

Chik [20:22]: also...deets. Now. I’ll even throw in a please!!! 

Lucien [20:40]: Well, now. I seem to have missed out on quite the opportunity.

Kiro [20:45]: I wish you’d invited me. But I guess it wouldn’t have mattered. I hope he makes you happy, Miss Chips! He better, or else ;P

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Frowning at the texts you scroll back up, hoping, hoping, hoping, and at the sight of the name that always sits at the tip of your tongue, you curl up tighter.

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Victor [21: 05]: Are you okay?

Y/N [21:20]: I’m fine. Moments seems to be blowing up, haha. Did you watch the episode?

Victor [21: 20]: Yes.

Victor [21: 21]: Did you?

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You pause at that, looking guiltily at your laptop. You had, sort of. Fighting off your own thoughts had taken up most of your attention. Resolving to watch it again—a clear display of previously dormant masochistic tendencies, roused by Victor— and actually pay attention this time, you turn back to the screen.

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Y/N [21:22]: Yeah, but not the individual parts. It was nice, they made it seem so real! But we’re going to have to say something to let them know there’s nothing like that.  

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You wait anxiously for a reply, a part of you clearly suffering from delusion hoping he’d oppose that. When there’s no text from him for a few minutes, you plug your phone in to charge and get out of bed, heading for a quick shower before you get something to eat.

Heartbreak hasn't been enough to curb your appetite, and you feel more than ready to let dessert have the chance to make you feel better.

Who needs Victor when you have cake, right?

Just as you’re halfway through cutting a slice of the cake Jason—well, his team—had sent as thanks, trying to keep your thoughts away from the bottle of wine you‘ve got tucked away, your doorbell rings, breaking the melancholic silence of your apartment. A part of you wants to roll your eyes at your dramatics, while the other feels you have the right to wallow for as long as you need to.

The irrational side of you stirs once more, conjuring thoughts of Victor rushing over, and you peep through the hole with a wildly thumping heart. 

Lucien’s serene smile chases those thoughts away, and you open the door with a sheepish grin. 

He looks a little tired, his dark bangs ruffled; unlike his usual sharp appearance, he looks impossibly soft in his barn red sweater and comfortable looking track pants. He’s also got a folder tucked under one arm.

“Hi!” 

“Sorry to drop by so late,” he greets you, his warm eyes bringing you a little comfort instantly. “But you mentioned you’d be working on Miracle Finder tomorrow and I wanted you to have the chance to go over my remarks before that.”

“Lucien! Thank you,” you insist, waving away his apology. “Would you like to come in? I’ve got cake.” 

He searches your face for a moment, and his eyes narrow the slightest bit. You feel a little self-conscious in your over-sized sweatshirt and shorts, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in various states of disarray before. 

“Can’t really say no to that. Let me get my laptop,” he finally agrees. You wait at the door as he gets it, before leading him in. But you notice his curious, inquisitive looks, so subtle and so Lucien, as he toes off his shoes.

“Everything okay?” You reach for another plate, cutting a second slice as Lucien takes a seat at the table. 

“Yes, of course. It’s just,” he hesitates, and there’s that odd scrutiny again. “I wasn’t expecting you to be alone.” 

“On a Sunday evening?” The first bite of the cake tastes like sweet comfort over the taste of despondency, and you send a silent thanks to Jason. “I spent the day napping.”

“Well, after the show I just watched,” he says, quite slyly in your opinion. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d be home.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in dating shows.” You’re aware your tone is more than a little petulant, but Lucien only laughs around a mouthful of the cake. 

“I am if you’re in one,” he retorts. “This is quite nice, by the way.” 

“The director, Jason sent it. And, honestly, it wasn’t planned. We were supposed to have Kai and Hollow on, but they ended up clashing horribly. Jason asked me and Victor was around, so…” you trail off, uncomfortable. 

“Is that why you texted me that day?” He seems to have remembered your message, and you wince slightly. You had texted him later with an apology, but hadn’t really expected him to cotton on. He doesn't look mad, just expectant.

“Well, yes, but Jason wanted, he wanted Victor.” Stumbling over your words, heat suffuses your skin as you flounder for a moment.

Lucien watches you with the eyes of a fox and the understanding of a good friend. “Just Jason?”

“Huh?”

“Was it just Jason who wanted Victor?” he asks, tilting his head as your mouth purses. 

No, no, of course it wasn’t. You stare down at your half-eaten cake, the other half of it beginning to churn in your stomach. His small, soft smiles. His scent. His rants on street food and the way he dragged you away from food that would ‘absolutely make you ill, you absolute dummy’ as Jason resigned himself to having to cut all of that out. It all comes back in a rush, your head left feeling heavy.

And then it feels the weight of a hand, as Lucien reaches over to pat it gently. “Never mind. Why don’t you get your organizer and we can go over tomorrow’s episode?” 

Relieved, grateful and slightly emotional over his silent acceptance, you rush to your bedroom to find your notebook and laptop, barely catching the light of your phone screen before it went black. Unplugging and checking it as you exited the room with your materials in hand, your train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

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Victor [21:59]: Do you really believe that?

Victor (2 missed calls)

Victor [22:15]: Y/n.

Victor [22:16]: ...Did you fall asleep?

Victor [22:18]: Dummy. Goodnight. 

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Unwilling to delve into what his first text means, you shift your thick planner in your arms and type a quick reply. 

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Y/N [22:19]: Hi! Sorry. I went to get something to eat and then Lucien dropped by. We’re going to get to work haha ^^

Victor [22:19]: …

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You wait for a whole minute before Lucien calls for you, and let your hand fall, phone locked, with a sigh. 

Well, at least he’ll be happy to hear you’re working hard.

Sinking into familiar, engaging discussions with Lucien is easy. Even with the thoughts of Victor looming at the back of your mind, you straighten out a plan for the shoot. Lucien listens to your input carefully, adding his own notes as you squint at yours. His voice, familiar and soothing, lulls you, distracting you from yourself for a short while.

Before you know it, it’s eleven and you’ve got a fantastic plan in hand. 

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” you say for the second time in a minute, and he gives you an exasperated look. “And thank you.” 

“I’ve told you, there’s no need for all that between us,” Lucien repeats, crossing one long leg over the other as he adopts a thoughtful look. “However, perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity regarding one thing.”

“What is it?” 

You were prepared for a philosophical question. What he comes up with is, in your opinion, way more difficult to answer. 

“Why aren’t you with Victor?” he asks seriously. You blink, uncomprehending.

“Like, right now?” 

“Right now, or in general. I didn’t think he would just...let you be,” Lucien mutters the last part under his breath, but you still catch it. He continues to say something about possessive bastards, but you’re not touching that.

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” you say, slowly, with a nervous laugh, shoulders hunching a little. “All of that was just for the camera. Victor and I aren’t like that.” 

“But you have feelings for him,” Lucien points out, cutting straight to the heart of the matter and yours. Really, this is almost cruel. Lucien turns to face you fully as you sigh and sink back into the couch. 

“I do.” It’s the first time you’ve admitted it out loud. Sure, some of the people in your life have had an idea, but you’ve never said it. Lucien seems like a good person to start with. “But he doesn’t feel the same way, so.” 

And you’ve never said that out loud either. It hurts, as you put it out into the universe. As if shying away from it before would have increased your chances. 

Lucien looks at you oddly. “Did he say that? Because the way he looks at you says otherwise. It’s quite embarrassing.”

You feel heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“I’ve never told him how I feel,” you mumble, pressing the side of your cheek into the soft fabric, hoping it would swallow you up. 

“Then how do you know how he feels?” Lucien continues to probe, and you exhale forcefully because it’s so clear to you; why isn’t it ever as clear to everyone else? 

And Lucien is supposed to be your smart friend!

‘Well, there’s also someone else in his life but I can’t exactly say that.’

“Because it’s Victor,” you declare with an emphatic sweep of your hands, hoping it would somehow get your point across, that it would explain how unattainable he is. Just as you do, two things happen successively. 

One: Lucien looks at you as if he wants to boink you on the head or laugh really loudly. He does neither, but his mouth twitches violently.

And two: there’s a series of loud, heavy knocks on your door, before the culprit seems to remember you have a doorbell and rings that instead. It only rings once, but you can sense that the person is still there.

Exchanging alarmed looks with Lucien, you rise to your feet and shuffle towards the door.

“Let me,” Lucien murmurs, stopping you before you can reach the entrance, and steps forward to look through the peephole. His only reaction is a quick, sharp exhale before he steps back to unlock the door. 

Without telling you who was just knocking at your door like a maniac. 

“Wait, who i-” the words fall away with your panicked thoughts, as Lucien opens the door to reveal your uninvited visitor.

It really is Victor this time, with his chest heaving as if he’d run up the stairs. Victor, with his inky hair pushed back carelessly, in dark grey sweats and a light grey t-shirt and indoor slippers. 

Victor, with a furious look in his eyes as he pushes past Lucien, who looks a little too entertained in the face of such ire. 

“Sorry to intrude on your cosy evening,” he says, after a short pause, through clenched teeth. You stare at him in disbelief, unable to form actual words at the moment. It feels as if a concentrated storm itself has swept into your living room, ready to swallow you up. 

Of course, a part of you would be more than okay with that. Even with that knife-sharp glint in his eyes, you can’t help but want to throw yourself at it, let it graze the softest parts of you, in an emotional variation of bloodletting. 

Sometimes you surprise yourself with the things you think.

Maybe you should’ve changed into nicer pyjamas after all, damn it.

“Victor? What-is everything okay?” You look him over carefully, seeing no visible signs of injury. The stony look on his face, however, keeps you from coming too close. What could you possibly have done now?

Swiftly, you run through a list of work-related tasks. Nope. Nothing. You’ve been sure to give it your all this week just so Victor wouldn’t feel the need to call you.

Even now, though, something under your skin starts buzzing, as it always does when his entire attention is on you.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” he says mutinously, crossing his arms over his chest. Okay, you’re sensing more than a little hostility here. 

And, because life is unfair, bitchy is also a good look on Victor.

“Well,” you draw out, looking past him at Lucien, who shrugs lightly. Victor frowns at the exchange. He levels a downright lethal glare at Lucien, who tilts his head in clear interest. Kinda hot, but you should probably keep that to yourself lest you push Victor to the point of spitting fire. “It’s...late...and you’re here…?”

That has his mouth doing that little spasm it does when he’s pissed. “And I notice I’m not the only one. What, is it just me who’s barred from coming to your place this late?” 

“Well, n-no,” you stammer, looking once more at Lucien who seems content to watch and be unhelpful. “But Lucien was just here to talk about tomorrow’s episode.” 

Why are you here? 

The question seems to hang in the air, unsaid yet clear. 

Victor says nothing, standing tall in your living room like an indignant matron. You feel helpless, confused, elated and increasingly offended because of the implication in his words that only catches up to you now.

You pick the path of offense.

“But what, exactly, did you think Lucien was doing here?” you ask, your tone turning decidedly cooler. He returns your glare. Behind him, you see Lucien trying to hide a smile. “You seem to be under the impression that I make it a habit of entertaining people in my evenings?” 

Victor blinks at that, arms coming loose, and you hold up a hand.

“And even if I did want to have friends over at night,” you say loudly, through gritted teeth. “What business is it of yours?” 

“It’s inappropriate,” he insists. 

“No, what’s inappropriate is you coming into my house and telling me who I should, or should not, be spending time with, regardless of the time.” Much to your frustration, you find yourself blinking back tears as your voice cracks towards the end. 

Victor deflates at that, the ice in his expression melting in the face of your furious tears; Lucien, concern clear on his face, takes a step towards you. Your eyes squeeze shut, as if that would hide you from them; anger and embarrassment war within you at not only crying in front of Victor, but to have a quiet Lucien witnessing this ridiculous drama. 

Where did your peaceful day go?

You hear footsteps, hesitant and barely audible, come closer, feel the heat from a body as it nears yours. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” It’s Victor.

Your eyes snap open to the sight of his back, your feet carrying you forward without the aid of your thoughts, a hand curling loosely into his t-shirt. 

Leave? Just like that? 

He stops in his tracks, looking back down at you in surprise. You’re not sure what he sees as you keep your eyes fixed on his shoulder, but it makes him sigh softly.

A thumb wipes under your eyes, gentle, and strong arms wrap around you carefully, pulling you into an—unreasonably broad, you think—chest; his comforting scent envelopes you, pulling you back from the edge. 

It’s frustrating. You want to yell at him for barging in like a lunatic. But you don’t want him to leave. You want to sink into his steady embrace and allow the solace it brings.

With your face pressed to his t-shirt, you miss the way he looks back at Lucien, who nods and turns to leave, but not before holding Victor’s gaze for a moment longer—you don’t see the warmth drain from his face, the vicious warning warning clear in his eyes. 

Victor pulls you closer, nodding once. 

If Lucien’s answering smile is a touch more resigned than amused, neither of them can really acknowledge it. 

You try to pull back when you hear the door close gently, but Victor cards a hand through your hair and you slump back into his embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stroking your hair, with a gentle hesitance uncharacteristic for the decisive man. “That was...extremely inappropriate of me. I should not have done that. I can leave. I should.”

He should. But neither of you move. His heart beats a little faster, the sound clearer the longer your ear remains pressed into his chest. 

With cotton in your mouth, your mind totally mush with the knowledge that Victor’s hugging you, and with the little voice yelling that he does not get to hold you after driving you to tears—it takes you a moment to form a response. 

But you can’t resist. “So what you’re saying is you made an impulsive decision.” 

The soft motions of his hand pause before he huffs into your hair. There’s no other response, and it makes you smile a little.

“Why did you?” you finally ask. Victor quite visibly lost his cool. While he did seem to have something against Lucien, this was a bit much. You hadn’t been aware that the hostility ran this deep.

He tucks your head under his chin, the arm around your waist tightening, and as the anger subsides, your face begins to heat up as you realize how intimate this is. But Victor seems content to stay like this, and your heart hammers when you feel something brush the crown of your head. 

“Dummy,” he mutters, and yes, his words are slightly muffled by your hair, and you feel the urge to stick your head in the refrigerator. “You had that guy over this late at night. Do you really need to ask?” 

“It’s just Lucien,” you respond, and this time he lets you pull your head away to look at you with abject disbelief. 

“Just? There’s no just with that guy.” He seems serious, so you swallow the laughter bubbling up.

“Lucien is a dear friend,” you assure him. “You were really that worried about it?”

“Worried,” Victor repeats, staring at you. Your confusion is clear in your face, as the feeling that you’re missing something creeps in. “Worried. Yes. I was worried.” 

You nod encouragingly, and take a quick step back when he laughs. It isn’t one of his airy laughs, that escapes him when he finds something funny. It’s low, almost strangled—and then he steps forward, expression melting into sheer intent. 

When he speaks, his voice is a full octave lower and it scrambles your brains with shameful ease.

“Since he was the one you considered over me for our date that day. Yes, I suppose I was worried,” he muses, matching every unsteady step you take backwards with one towards you. You refrain from pointing out that it was for a show, and all too soon, the back of the sofa hits your hips and Victor looms over you. 

You tuck the part about him knowing you wanted to ask Lucien first away for later. Victor, his soothing scent, the heat from his breath, his tempestuous gaze—your senses flood with him.

“Y-yeah. But you didn’t need to be, he always helps us out,” you point out confusedly, and he gives you a familiar, unimpressed look that brings a small, and odd, measure of relief. 

“What kind of a person would I be,” he says, and your stomach swoops as he leans over you, hands resting on the top of the sofa as you lean back. “If I let dangerous men like him think they have a chance with you?” 

“Dangerous? He’s…” The rest of his words catch up and you can’t think, tongue struggling to form coherent speech. “Not...dangerous?” 

“Too dangerous,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your temple. Something in the back of your throat trembles. “Even if I don’t have the right, I…”

He doesn’t continue.

Holding your breath, you count to five before releasing it, pulse beating an anticipatory beat in your veins. “Why should anyone think they don’t have a chance with me?” 

You know he hasn’t, but with how everything in you stills after asking that question, you wonder if he stopped time.

You’re not sure if it’s the right question to have asked, or the worst.

But it gives him pause, and when the tip of your tongue slips out to wet your lips, his eyes slide down to your mouth. A large hand slides up your spine to rest at the back of your head, your skin erupting with goosebumps at the touch. 

Your lips part on the softest sound and it makes something rumble in his chest, quiet but clear with how close he is. 

It gives you what you’ve been dreaming of—Victor’s lips falling over yours, soft, with a rushed breath and fervent eyes, something desperate at the edge of it. Everything goes quiet, with only your blood pounding in your ears. It feels as if every inch of you is awake in a tingly sort of way, your thoughts deserting you at the way he looks at you, ready to devour. 

There’s hunger in his eyes, and you feel faint when it hits you.

It’s also his answer, you realize, mouth opening to say something, anything, and he pulls you back, kissing you fiercely. Something in you caves, spilling into your blood, setting it alight with a burst of sparking desire.

Victor kisses with his entire body, like he does everything else: controlling every inch of it, sweeping your mind clean, licking into your mouth with the determination that drives his every action, to conquer.

But you’ve been determined to match him since the day you first met him, all too eager to push back and clash. You don’t mind the clack of teeth, the lack of rhythm, and Victor only presses in harder as your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers weaving into his hair. Your tongue is a sly thing that licks along his, your mouth a clever warm weapon that sucks at it, and he unravels. 

Hands that were so careful lose their caution as they dig into the sides of your hips, slinking down and hooking around your thighs as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“You’re not stopping me,” he rasps against your lips, almost questioning, pupils blown wide. He looks so good you might just lose your mind, and this is after a kiss.

Taking a page out of his book, you kiss him again. 

He carries you around the sofa—with a strength you’ll be sure to admire deeply once you’ve regained the ability to form thoughts—even as he sucks bruises into the delicate skin of your neck, sitting down with you sinking into his lap. 

You’re shivering, you realize, at this sudden fulfilment of a desperate, impossible wish. Your knees press into the sides of his thighs as Victor kisses the corners of your mouth, the curve of your upper lip, the plush, swollen jut of your lower lip—and you feel deliriously drunk. 

He watches you carefully.

“Oh,” you say, half-slurring, kissed stupid. “That’s why.”

“Hm,” he agrees, nuzzling the side of your face. His eyes are bright, his arms a grounding touch around your back. “No one should think they get to have this.” 

“No one but you?” It’s meant to be clever, sharper, but it comes out shy instead. He nips at the shell of your ear, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it. 

“If you allow it,” he confirms. He presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear.

Something swells within you, sweet, sudden and threatening to dissolve you into tears. It breaks open, everything you’ve worked so hard to suppress spilling out like hoarded treasure out of a box now too small to hold it.

“I like you.” It comes out in a rush, and you slap your hands over your face. This time, his low chuckle rings clear in your ears. But when your breath hitches on a sob, his grip on you tightens, lips finding your forehead. “I really like you. So much. I have for a while. At the fair, all of it, I wasn’t...wasn’t acting.” 

“What, and you thought I was?” He looks a little offended when you take a peek at his face. But the sight of his ruffled hair and kissed-puffy lips sends a hot, thrilled jolt through you, and you have to restrain yourself from pouncing. “I have many skills. Acting, admittedly, is not one of them.”

“I thought maybe it was a hidden passion or something,” you mutter, trying to repress a wet laugh at the withering look he gives you, gentle hands wiping at your eyes. “What, you were great!”

“Nope. That was all real,” he declares, pulling you in to rest against him, your head on his shoulder. You feel a little awkward, but that’s mostly outweighed by how much you want to stay here. “...well, maybe I was a little…”

“Nicer than usual?” you offer, and he huffs into your hair. “Cheesy, like you binge-read several romance novels the night before?”

“Cheesy?” He protests, and you laugh with warmth building and rushing through you. “I thought you liked all that.” 

“I do.” This time, the kiss he presses into the crown of your head is firmer. 

“Then I’ll do it.” You look up at him, a little enchanted, a little bewildered, but the former wins out as the corners of his mouth curl up. “Every silly thing you want to do. Oh, and I really like you too.” It’s almost a scoff, but the tremor in his voice and the flush that spreads across his skin speaks his truth.

“Really?” you ask, your grin a little mad and ridiculously beatific. It feels unreal, the joy and relief spreading through you; he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” Victor asks, and the solemn sincerity in his voice prompts you to deliver a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek, just because you can. To your unending joy, the lobes of his ears are almost impossibly red. 

“Never,” you assure him, peppering more kisses over his skin, fascinating by the sight of him pinkening. A thought strikes you, dampening your rising spirits. “I thought...thought there was someone else.” 

He makes a soft, surprised noise in his throat, disbelief winning out over the tenderness for a moment. “Who?”

“I don’t know!” You press your face into the side of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent, hoping it would help with the remnants of hurt. “Some mystery goddess.” 

He’s quiet as you nuzzle his rapidly warming skin, feeling the first hints of sheer mortification settle in at the way your voice just cracked. He whispers something. 

“Sorry?” 

Victor clears his throat. “Just you.” He buries his nose in your hair before you have the chance to lean back like you want to. “It’s only ever been you.” 

Not expecting the sincere confession, it feels as if the breath was punched out of you.  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

He toys with a strand of your hair, curling it absently around a finger. “I didn’t want to overstep. And to make you feel like you had to reciprocate.” 

You stay silent, sensing that he has more to say, even though you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

“I’ll admit that I feared you would feel pressured to be with me. And that would...I would rather see you happy with someone else, than see you miserable with me.”

“I could never be miserable with you,” you protest at once, feeling almost offended by the mere suggestion. 

“I’m not...I know I can be difficult.” The words fall out in a rushed exhale, as if he wants to get them out before they can be swallowed; you feel weak with the force of your emotions. “But I can try for you. I did that day. I wanted you to relax, to have fun, like you do with your friends. I didn’t want you to be so...cautious.” 

It’s true, you realize guiltily, that there are times where you can’t completely relax in Victor’s company. Those are the days where your feelings sit a little heavier in your stomach, when his words strike a little sharper. The thought of disappointing him, of doing something not to his taste, of judgment, held you back. 

But the day of the fair had been different. He met you halfway, maybe even more than that, and never said a word of complaint. You’d assumed that had been for the camera, though.

“Please,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and you realize you’d said that out loud. “No, that was…” He lowers his gaze, long lashes fanning over the tops of his cheekbones. “That was to show you that you can have fun with me too. I...like you. The way you are. Every bit. The determined, unyielding parts.”

You stare at him.

“The hurting, unsure parts,” he says, a little quieter. “The silly, ridiculously cute parts—don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” you ask, your overworked mind trying to process his words, knowing your smile is probably embarrassingly dopey. 

He scowls at you. “Just be yourself with me. Dummy is fine.” 

“Victor,” you exclaim all of a sudden, startling him. “How am I supposed to stay standing in the face of you saying things like that?” 

He rolls his eyes again. “First of all, you’re sitting right now, and I don’t plan to let you move for a while.” Predictably, you feel a little lightheaded at that. “And as for the future...then don’t try to stand, dummy. You can just rest here.” He pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, patting it firmly.

“I’m going to die,” you say with absolute certainty into his shoulder. “I can’t survive this.” 

“You have to,” he mutters dryly, tucking you more firmly against him. “Haven’t you seen the discussions? Our ‘love story’ can’t end in your death, too many would be left devastated.” 

“Including you?” The look you direct at him is positively vulpine, and he snorts, pushing your head back down. Bully. 

The titillated fluttering in your stomach makes you smile.

“...I can’t become a widower before we even get married,” he says solemnly, and you can nearly feel the blood drain from your face as you rear back. 

The corners of his mouth twitch with something like mischief, and the smack you deliver to his bicep is perfectly justified. 

The undoubtedly chiselled muscle you feel very briefly will also require further rumination once you’re alone.

He’s cracking marriage jokes, no doubt referring to the few comments gushing about a secret wedding. An hour ago, you had been under the impression that he was madly in love with some mystery figure. 

Like a bird just freed, your heart flutters at the thought of him having feelings for you.

“Say it again.” 

To his credit, he doesn’t do you the disservice of pretending he doesn’t know what you’re asking for. He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the side before finding their way back to yours. 

“I like you,” he says, a little lower, a lot deeper. “Dummy.” 

You wish you could see what your face was doing, because it makes his eyes go really, really soft. Now that you aren’t weighed down by the frantic need to hide your feelings from one of the most astute people you’ve ever met, you feel like you could float away the way you’ve seen Gavin do, just from how free and happy you feel.

“Just for the record,” you say quietly. “I like you the way you are too.”

“Hm?”

“Even when you’re being a jerk.” He tweaks your ear lightly, rolling his eyes when you giggle. Your heart beats a harsh beat as you try to come up with the right words. “But you’re also the best man I know. When you have it together, and when you don’t—I’ll be there for you. Always.” The way he’s always been there for you.

He kisses the tip of your nose, his pretty eyes a little shinier than before.

“We should aim for a real date first.” He sounds decisive, and a little hoarse.

“...I have a list of places I thought would be good for our first date,” you admit, eyes still locked with his despite your shy admission. He looks pleased, always happy when you take the initiative, and you watch his mouth do that tender thing for a second before leaning in for a swift kiss, catching his lower lip between your teeth as you pull away.

“Good.” His head falls back onto the sofa as your lips trail down his neck curiously, mouthing at the slope of his adam’s apple. Just because you can. “Send it to me.”

“Good,” you murmur, breath hitching in your throat as his hands curl over your waist, skimming the hem of your sweatshirt. “We’re doing this, then.” 

“Most definitely.” With how throaty his voice has gotten as you reach his clavicle, a gentle explorer, you’re not sure words will be your allies for much longer.

“Will you be my boyfriend then, Mr. CEO?” you ask playfully, tasting the words in your mouth. Victor makes a soft, content sound in his throat. 

“I’m all yours,” he affirms, relishing the words in his mouth, raising his head to look at you through hooded eyes. You both know it, just a little, but saying the words brings a giddy, vulnerable sort of feeling with them. “And you…”

With no need for hope, just certainty, you rise up to kiss him softly. 

“I’m yours.” 

BTS:

Goldman stares at Jason in horrified disbelief, shocked by the words that had just left the director’s mouth. He glances at his boss, whose only reaction had been to cock a brow. 

“Would you be open to replacing Kai?”

“I’m...not really one for such shows,” Victor says, quite delicately in Goldman’s opinion, knowing the man usually has no qualms about being savagely blunt.

“I’m aware. I just thought it would be something different, something that would let people see a different side of you,” Jason explains, still completely at ease. 

Victor’s expression makes it quite clear he doesn’t care about people seeing other sides of him.

“Who’s the other participant? Did Hollow come back?” Goldman asks, curious despite himself.  In his very personal opinion, which he will definitely be keeping to himself, it might be nice for Victor’s image if people saw he isn’t always heartless. 

“Oh, no. She didn’t,” Jason says pleasantly. But the look in his eyes is almost hawklike as he keeps them locked on Victor. “I asked Y/n to do it instead. She agreed.” 

Now, to the untrained eye, Victor gives no outward reaction to that statement. 

But Goldman sees the way his brow twitches, the way his lips purse the slightest bit. He wonders if Jason, as a director with many years of experience under his belt, caught it too. 

“She agreed?” Victor asks, sounding as if he doesn’t quite believe it. 

“Yes,” Jason answers, suddenly distracted as he glances at his wristwatch. He sighs, a touch too dramatic to be convincing, but Goldman doesn’t think Victor cares about that. “But I understand. We wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not interested in. I have to go check on her, we’ll keep you updated.”

Something is happening here, Goldman realizes. Jason isn’t rushing out, but seems to be waiting for something. 

Victor, staring at the surface of the coffee table, is struggling. 

Goldman struggles too. He struggles not to roll his eyes in abject exasperation, to pray for divine patience. Why is he like this? Of course, to step into such an obvious trap surely goes against all the instincts he’s honed over the years, but none of that matters when it comes to the delicate matters of the heart! 

Instead, he catches Jason’s eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes glinting. 

“But who else would you ask to step in on such short notice?” Goldman asks, pointedly. 

And finally, Goldman holds his breath as the ghost of a smirk passes over Jason’s mouth.

This is it.

“Oh, it shouldn’t be a problem. Y/n said she could call Professor Lucien, having already guessed Victor wouldn’t be, um, up for it. She really knows you well, huh?” Jason informs them cheerfully, and even Goldman isn’t expecting that. He thought Jason would go for the ‘who will help poor y/n’ route.

It’s obvious manipulation, and they all know it. Knowing Victor, he will stubbornly refuse to give in and suffer for it. At least, the way he’s glaring at Jason seems to indicate that.

Goldman rushes through several justifications in his head, forming a rapidly coherent argument as to why he should do it, carefully keeping ‘if you don’t want to see her with someone else, suck it up’ and ‘please, please, watching you sulk is really sad I can’t do it’ off the list. 

Surely, Victor wouldn’t let the sexy professor sweep you off your feet? He’s heard the man talk, that kind of smooth talk should not be allowed and holy hell, Jason has played this really well. 

“They do get along well, so it should work,” Jason muses, slathering a little more icing on his three-tier cake of clear-cut manipulation, drama, and subterfuge.

“I’ll do it.” It’s said through a tightened jaw, but it rings clear in the silence of the room. Goldman abandons his mental speech, head whipping around to stare at Victor.

“Oh?” Jason sounds genuinely surprised, as if he hadn’t been aiming for this from the start. 

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving no room for argument. 

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, oddly somber, finally abandoning the pretense. So he is in possession of some morals, who would have thought?

“Give me the briefing,” Victor says, shoulders set in a firm, determined line Goldman is all too familiar with. 

Jason relaxes into his seat, relief clear in his face. 

And as Victor turns to him, giving him specific instructions about his outfit, cologne and flowers, determined to do this right with that familiar, besotted spark in his eye, Goldman feels warm pride trickle in. 

‘We’re gonna get you the girl, boss.’

Aaaaaaand...CUT. 

I know the last behind the scenes thing wasn’t really needed but I had to 

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Take it All Away: Chapter One

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden Rating: Mature Word Count: 4548 Alternate: AO3 Summary: When Robert goes out to a club, he doesn’t expect what happens. He should have been more careful, should have paid more attention. Now his life is flipped upside down all because of one stupid mistake. Warnings:

Rape/Non-Con

Non-Consensual Drug Use

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD

Blackouts

Memory Loss

Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Self-Harm

Panic Attacks

Other Additional Tags to Be Added (I will update this post when more are added)

Author’s Note: This is a “what happens if Robert is the one to get assaulted instead of Victoria” fic. I wrote this mainly because I wanted more hurt Robert (because I’m cruel and I like to see characters I love suffer.) I wasn’t planning on posting this until I was done with it but I wanted to post it before Ryan leaves the show and that is, unfortunately, coming up fast. I do have Chapter 2 and 3 done but that’s it. Updates will most likely be slow but I never abandon a story, so I’ve got that going for you. Also, my brother’s name is Aron so I’m not used to writing the name with two A’s (I actually often times forget that most people do spell it with two) so if you see at any time during the story I’ve spelt the name with one A, just let me know so I can fix it. This is my first fic in the Emmerdale fandom. I also live in America so I might get the slang they use on the show/things that are called differently here than in the UK, wrong. Hopefully I’ve obsessively watched the storyline enough times to pick up a few things, lol! I’m also not going to be able to remember to change the spelling of words that are spelt differently here than in the UK nor would I know all the words that are spelt differently (i.e. z vs s) so I’m probably going to just use the American spelling. I’m sorry if this bothers you. This is set around the time Robert, Aaron, Ellis, and Victoria go to that club except it doesn’t play out in this like it did on the show. Please enjoy!

Robert saunters down the stairs, fixing his tie around his neck. He can smell the toast Aaron has made and it makes his mouth water, stomach growling with hunger. Once at the bottom, he approaches Aaron and Liv, where they are sat at the kitchen table, eating cereal for breakfast.

“Good morning,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of Aaron’s head. He sits down and takes a piece of toast, taking a big bite out of it.

“Mornin’,” Aaron replies, mouth full of food. Liv gives him a smile but says nothing.

“I have a bunch of meetings today and then I have that late dinner celebration I told you about with a few of the new investors,” Robert comments.

Aaron nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

“So you’ll be home extra late then?” Liv asks, getting up from the table and grabbing her school bag.

“Probably,” Robert answers.

“Well maybe, Aaron, you could have tea with Chas then.” Liv shrugs on her bag. “Then I can have Gabby over without my annoying older brother hovering over us the whole time.”

“Aren’t you going to be late for college?” Aaron quips, giving Liv a playful look.

Liv laughs. “I’m just saying.”

Robert watches the scene play out in front of him, his own smile of amusement on his face. He’s always loved seeing the playful banter between Aaron and his sister. It often reminds him of how he and Victoria are sometimes. There’s just something gratifying about picking on your younger sibling.

Liv says her goodbyes and leaves The Mill. Aaron watches after her, a wistful smile playing at his lips. “What?” Robert asks him.

Aaron takes a deep breath and finally goes back to eating his cereal. “I’m just glad to see she seems to be moving on from that whole Jacob stuff.” He slurps his cereal as he drinks the milk from the bowl.

Robert makes a face at the sound. “She’s a strong kid. She can get through almost anything.”

“Well, she does have the perfect role models when it comes to getting through tough times,” Aaron says with a small, playful smile.

Robert chuckles. “If you say so.” He stands then, leaning over to give Aaron another kiss on the top of his head, grabbing a couple pieces of toast on his way. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*~~~*

Robert sits in a booth in the back of the Woolpack. He isn’t really looking forward to this dinner. He would rather be at home, curled up on the sofa with Aaron while they watch some corny film Liv picked out. He really hopes this doesn’t take long and comes up with a plan on how to make this whole thing go by as fast as possible while he waits. All he really has to do is eat a small meal while he schmoozes the guests of honor and buy them a few drinks. It should be easy.

That’s why Robert isn’t sure what to think when the children of the investors arrive instead of the men themselves. Two men and a woman who are probably about nine years younger than he is, approach him with wide smiles. He looks back at them in confusion, eyebrows knitting together. One of the men holds out his hand for a shake and Robert takes it. “Nice to meet you Mister Sugden-Dingle. I’m Lucas.”

The other man shakes Robert’s hand next. “Name’s Trevor.”

“And I’m Meghan,” the woman says, not offering her hand.

“Please, call me Robert.” Robert looks from one to the other. “Sorry, but I thought I was meeting-”

Lucas cuts him off. “Our fathers?” He chuckles. “Yeah, they thought we would have more fun instead.”

“But they’re the ones who made the deal,” Robert comments, incredulous. He’s starting to feel a little frustrated now. He didn’t come out tonight to entertain a bunch of young adults and if he’s being quite honest, it’s really unprofessional of the investors to send these three in place of them. “Sorry but,” Robert stands, “they really should have come out themselves.” He scoots out of the booth, grabbing his jacket. “It was nice meeting you but I think I’ll be off.”

“Woah, hold it.” Lucas steps in front of him. “We were promised a good time tonight; food, drink, the lot.” He smirks. “You wouldn’t want us to tell our dads that you skimped out on us, would ya?”

Robert isn’t sure what to say. He can’t lose these business deals, not if he wants the money from them. He and Aaron are trying to have a baby and they can’t do that if the new haulage company doesn’t work out. They’re desperate to make money, even if it means Robert has to entertain a bunch of children.

He sighs. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Lucas’ smile grows bigger. “Good! C’mon, let’s go.”

Robert stops them. “I thought we were only going to have a few drinks and some food?”

Trevor scoffs and looks around the Woolpack. “Not here.”

At that, the three of them turn and begin leaving the pub. Robert sighs again, heavier this time, and shakes his head, following behind.

*~~~*

Robert gets even more confused when the taxi pulls up next to a club. He gets out and turns to the group, asking, “Weren’t we just going to another pub or a bar?”

Meghan walks up to him and runs her hand over his shoulder. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Trevor smirks at him, wrapping an arm around Meghan’s middle. “Come on, Rob, lighten up a little. It’ll be fun.”

Robert bites his tongue, deciding that snapping at the little git wouldn’t do him any favors. Instead he says, “It’s Robert and this isn’t what I had in mind when I agreed to this.”

Trevor and Meghan laugh at him and start walking away to the queue while Lucas pats him on the back, leaving his hand at the nape of his neck. “It’s what our fathers want, Rob; for you to show us a good time and this is how it’s going to happen.”

He shrugs the man’s hand off. “I don’t really care what your fathers want. This is unprofessional to send you instead of coming themselves.” He looks the kid up and down in bewilderment. “I don’t really understand why they thought this would be okay.”

Lucas laughs, loud and obnoxious. “Because they’re too good for you, Rob. You’re some poor little pillock while our fathers are rich and powerful. Don’t you see, mate, they’re having fun at your expense.”

“They’re winding me up then?”

Lucas shrugs, walking away. “And the best part is, is you’re going to deal with it because you can’t lose this deal from what I’ve heard.”

Robert takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself. This whole thing is ridiculous but he knows Lucas is right. He is going to deal with it. He has to. His and Aaron’s future depends on it. So with another quick, calming breath, he follows along and joins the queue at the entrance to the club. It’s quick moving, so it doesn’t take them long to get in, the three of his companions being ID’d. Robert heads straight for the bar and groans when he feels Trevor’s hand on his shoulder.

“You’re buying us all drinks, mate, and trust me, Meghan can put them back like you wouldn’t believe.” Trevor laughs and orders the three of them drinks. Robert pays reluctantly, glaring at them the whole time, and sighs in relief when they decide to leave him alone for a while to head out onto the dance floor, drinks in hand.

Robert turns back to the bartender and orders himself a beer, pulling out his mobile. He quickly navigates to Aaron’s name and starts typing out a text, wishing he could call him just to hear his voice which he knows will instantly calm him down, but the music is too loud to do such a thing.

To Aaron: sent 19:24

Save me

From Aaron: received 19:25

Sorry, can’t. Got Liv and Gabby drama to deal with. I’ll tell you later. What happened?

Robert sighs to himself again and begins explaining to Aaron what is going on. He finishes his beer by the time he’s done typing it all out and sending it, finding himself ordering another one. He tacks on one last message, wanting to get across just how irritated he is.

To Aaron: sent 19:36

It’s frustrating and unprofessional. They’re treating me as if I’m some chav who doesn’t know what he’s doing

From Aaron: received 19:37

I don’t get it, if it’s that bad then why don’t you just drop ‘em

To Aaron: sent 19:37

Because we need this money, Aaron. It’s for our baby

From Aaron: received 19:39

But is it really worth it?

To Aaron: sent 19:40

Yes it is. Anything is for our baby

From Aaron: received 19:41

Anything? Because we’ve been there before, Rob, and look where it’s gotten you

Robert rolls his eyes at that, annoyance building up in him for Aaron’s use of his past to have a go at him again.

To Aaron: sent 19:42

This isn’t like last time. This is legit

Robert can practically hear Aaron’s scoff as he waits for a reply.

From Aaron: received 19:42

Yeah okay. All I’m saying is don’t do too many things you’re uncomfortable with just for this

To Aaron: sent 19:43

I won’t. Promise

From Aaron: received 19:43

I’ve got to go. Try to have at least a little fun, yeah?

To Aaron: sent 19:43

Impossible without you

Robert smirks as he puts his phone back in his pocket, knowing Aaron scoffs again as he shakes his head, chuckling slightly at Robert’s comment. He turns around and leans against the bar, watching the crowd as they dance wildly to the music that is playing. He shakes his head in amusement. There are so many people that are willing to make fools of themselves once a little bit of drink is in them.

Within fifteen minutes, Robert is well and truly bored. He hasn’t left the bar and he finished his second beer ages ago. He debates getting another but he’s not really fancying the idea of getting plastered tonight so decides to forgo it. The problem is, now, he’s stood by the bar with nothing to do but people watching and he doesn’t even have anything to occupy his hands with. Robert scans the crowd for Trevor, Lucas, and Meghan and spots them in a frenzied dance, looking as if they are having a brilliant time.

Rubbing at his eyes, Robert turns back around to face the bar and orders another drink, relenting to the fact that he needs to do something to get through this night. He wonders how long he has to stay for it to be appropriate to leave, and figures he’ll probably have to buy his “mates” for the night a couple more rounds. As if in answer, Meghan comes up to him and leans in close to his ear, speaking loudly to be heard over the music, and hand snaking its way around his waist. “‘Nother round on you, aye?”

Robert nods with an eye roll and waits for the bartender to come his way before getting his attention. He orders them a couple more drinks, handing over a few more quid than necessary to pay for any future drinks they might get. She walks away with a flirtatious smirk and wink and Robert feels his face turn into a grimace before he can stop himself. Megan throws her head back and laughs, the sound lost in the noise of the music.

He’s stood there for another thirty minutes before he decides enough is enough. This whole night was a waste of time and he’s tired, agitated, and just wants to go home to Aaron where he can snuggle up next to him in bed. Robert sets his beer bottle down on the bar and pushes off it, ready to go tell Lucas that he’s leaving when someone bumps into him, spilling half their drink on his shirt. Robert has to bite his tongue to stop the retort that wants to come out, his mood becoming even more sour. He likes this shirt.

“So sorry, mate!” Robert looks up from his soaked shirt to a bloke who is about his age. The man reaches out to wipe at the liquid staining Robert’s shirt before realizing that he doesn’t actually have anything to wipe it up with. He pulls his hand back, frowning. “Shit, I didn’t see you there.”

Robert has to take a deep breath before speaking. “It’s alright.” He turns in the direction of the toilets.

“Oi, let me help you,” the man says, walking beside Robert.

Robert holds his hands out, dismissing him. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Look, it’s my fault. Just,” the man puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping Robert from walking away, “I want to help.”

Robert resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Fine.”

They both head into the toilets where the music quiets to a low thump, Robert’s ears ringing slightly. He grabs a handful of paper towels and starts to dab at his shirt. “You’ve got to get the towel wet first.” Robert’s eyes snap up to the mysterious bloke who spilled his drink on him.

“Look, I’m just trying to dry it. I was on my way home.”

“But you don’t want it to stain,” the man says as he grabs more paper towels and wets them under the tap. “Here.” He reaches over and starts to wipe at Robert’s shirt.

Robert stands there, not really knowing what to do. He can feel the heat beginning to crawl up his neck at the other man invading his space, getting uncomfortable at the proximity. The only person who isn’t blood related to him (besides Diane, of course, but she’s like blood) who has been this close to him recently is Aaron. He grabs a hold of the man’s hand. “I can do it.”

The man shrugs, taking a step back and handing over the paper towel. “Suit yourself.”

Robert eyes him before looking back down at his shirt. It couldn’t have just been a beer that was spilt on him. No, it had to be some fancy, colorful drink that is surely going to leave a blotch of red on his shirt. He sighs in defeat, throwing the paper towel in the bin. “It’s no use.” When Robert looks back up, the man is biting his bottom lip and Robert has to roll his eyes at the sight. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Well, at least let me buy you a drink to make up for it.”

Robert’s shaking his head before the bloke even finishes his sentence. “No need. I was going home.”

“Just one drink.” The man is smiling at him.

“I’m married,” Robert says, pointedly.

The man chuckles. “I noticed, I saw the ring.” His smile grows, playful like. “Come on, it’s a harmless drink. Just to say sorry.”

Robert stares at him, debating. One drink won’t hurt, will it? It’ll please this man and it’ll give his shirt a little time to dry before going home. Sure he’ll still smell like a boozer but at least he won’t have to ride home in a taxi with a sopping wet shirt. “Alright, go on then.”

The man’s smile grows impossibly wide and he leads the way back out into the club. They push their way over to the bar where Robert leans down on it, arms crossed, and waiting for the bartender to make his way to them. “Name’s Theo.” The man, Theo , says, leaning a little closer to be heard.

Robert gives him a nod in acknowledgement. “Robert.”

Theo purses his lips, nods in approval, and turns back to the bar, the bartender asking for their order. Theo orders for the both of them and Robert quirks one of his eyebrows in question. “What?”

Robert shakes his head. “Nothin’. Just don’t want one of those fancy drinks.”

“You mean the ones with lots of colors and weird names?” Theo teases, laughing at him. “Don’t worry, it’s not.”

They don’t have to wait long before Robert spots the bartender coming over with their drinks. He’s about to reach out for his when he hears his name being called. He’s never rolled his eyes so many times in one night. Turning around, he faces Lucas who is perfectly bladdered. “Mate!” He wraps an arm around Robert’s shoulders, leaning into him. Robert suspects if he moved, Lucas would collapse to the floor by how much he was holding himself up on him. “We thought you had left.”

“Yeah, mate , I was just having one more drink then leaving.” Robert tries to push him off but he holds on firmly.

“You haven’t danced with us yet,” Lucas slurs, resting his head on Robert’s shoulder.

Robert groans in annoyance, pushing harder. Lucas stumbles back off him. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Lucas waves him off, sticking his tongue out at Robert, and Robert stares after him in uncontained disbelief. “Friends of yours?”

Robert turns back to Theo who is holding out his drink. It’s some blue liquid with one of those mini umbrellas in it and an olive, all contained in a cocktail glass. Robert hesitantly grabs for it, frowning. “No, thank God. I was just someone who could pay out on their drinks.”

Theo chuckles. “Then it’s a good thing I bought you yours.”

Robert’s eyes travel back down to his drink. “What in hell is it?”

“Just try it,” Theo says, smile playing at his mouth in amusement. “If you don’t like it then I’ll buy you a beer instead.”

“Didn’t I tell you I was going home?” Robert brings the glass to his lips.

He doesn’t miss the way Theo’s eyes travel the length of his body. “You did and that you’re also married.”

Robert licks his lips. “I don’t cheat.”

“I never asked you too.” Theo gives him a quick nod, directed at the glass still by Robert’s mouth. “Drink.”

Robert shakes his head and sips at the liquid, swallowing thoughtfully. He gives it a second, dragging it out just to annoy Theo who looks at him expectantly. Finally, he shrugs. “It’s not bad.”

Theo nudges him. “See, I told you you’d like it.” The man takes a sip from his own drink, another one of those colorful ones.

“This,” Robert gestures between the two of them, “me drinking this thing, stays between us, yeah?”

“Mate, I’m probably never going to see you again after tonight. Your secret is safe.”

Robert huffs, shaking his head, and drinking more of the blue liquid. Theo watches him from the corners of his eyes, smiling flirtatiously at Robert every once in a while. By the time Robert is done with the whole thing, he’s a little more than just tipsy. He carefully sets the glass down with shaking hands. “How… how much alcohol was in that thing?” Theo shrugs and Robert frowns at him.

“You alright, mate?” Theo asks him, hand landing on Robert’s shoulder.

Robert almost falls to the ground, losing his balance as the room starts to spin. “I…”

He hears Theo laugh beside him, the sound almost distant. “You’re completely pissed.” He puts one of Robert’s arms over his own shoulder, helping Robert keep balance. “Let me help you to a taxi.”

Robert stumbles along as the room continues to spin out of control, leaning onto Theo. His stomach is doing flips and he seriously starts to think he’s going to be sick all over himself when the next thing he knows, he’s in a taxi sat next to Theo. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as his body starts to relax into the seat. “Did I tell you where I live?”

Theo watches him but Robert can’t focus. “Of course, you did. That’s where we’re headed.”

Robert shakes his head, his movement feeling sluggish. “I don’t… I don’t remember telling you.”

When he blinks next, he’s in some kind of lobby, sitting in a chair. He looks around, confused, sweat covering his entire body as he shakes uncontrollably. He’s having a hard time focusing on things, his vision blurry and unfocused. Every once in a while the room will sway and it’ll make his stomach feel like it’s doing somersaults. Robert looks around the room for a bin he can be sick into just in case, but can’t find one.

Theo strides up next to him, lifts his arm, slinging it over his shoulder once more, and helping Robert out of the chair. “Come on.”

He’s cold, that’s why he’s shivering. He’s naked and he’s cold and where is he? Robert looks around again, limbs feeling heavy, and he’s in a room, a hotel room by the looks of it - he doesn’t remember how he got there - with Theo sitting on the edge of the bed, back towards him and fumbling with his… his trainers?

“Wasn’t I going home?” He’s confused. Robert meant to go home. Why is he here? Did Robert tell the taxi driver to bring them here? No, no Robert wouldn’t cheat on Aaron. Not again. Not ever again.

Right?

“Theo…”

Theo turns to him, pulling his shirt over his head. He leans over, kissing Robert softly. “Shh, it’s fine.”

Robert blinks and groans as his heart pounds in his ears. His head feels like there is a hammer inside of it and his body is sticky with sweat. He’s lying on his stomach and Robert groans, the light overhead making his eyes hurt. He tries to bury his face into the pillow but grimaces when his face is met with wetness and the stench of vomit. Turning his head back to the side, his eyes roam over the room. He was expecting to see his bedroom, Aaron next to him, but is confused when he sees unfamiliar wallpaper. Where the hell is he?

Swallowing, he makes to get up, arms feeling weak as he tries to push up. When he bends his right leg to get leverage, fiery hot pain shoots up from his back. He hisses and immediately lies back down, breathing hard. That’s when he realizes it doesn’t just feel like sweat that has made his body sticky. There’s another semi-dry substance on his back and between his cheeks. His stomach churns and Robert has to swallow multiple times to try and keep from being sick, something he has obviously already done but can’t remember doing so.

Did he really get drunk and bring a stranger to a hotel room? No… no, he only had a few drinks. Definitely not enough to get shit faced. No, something else… Theo, Theo had gotten him a drink. Did he get drunk from that one? He couldn’t have. It didn’t taste very strong and besides, he wouldn’t have slept with some random bloke. He doesn’t do that anymore. He knows he doesn’t. Then… then the only explanation is…

Robert groans again, feels the bile rise up his throat, and jumps out of bed to try and make it to the toilet in time. He doesn’t and he ends up vomiting on the floor, pain shooting throughout his entire body. His legs shake with the effort of keeping himself up, one hand supporting his weight on the nightstand. He can feel something dripping down the inside of his thighs and Robert really needs to get out of there.

Frantically, he searches the room for his clothes and when he finds them, he pulls them back on with great effort, trying to ignore the pain his body is in. When fully clothed, he stumbles out of the room and makes his way slowly to the front desk where he tries not to show his discomfort. “Hi, checking out.”

“Name?” the receptionist asks him.

Robert hesitates, not knowing what name Theo put the room under. “Uh, I don’t know what it’s under.”

The receptionist frowns at him and Robert feels his face grow hot in embarrassment. “What room number was it?”

Robert shakes his head. “I-I don’t know.”

Her frown grows more prominent. “Do you have the card key? I can’t check you out if-”

Robert’s stomach flips again. “Just never mind.” He pushes off the counter and heads to the front doors, ignoring the woman’s calls. They’ll just have to figure it out themselves.

When he exits the building, he isn’t expecting it to be pitch black out. Screwing up his eyebrows, he looks at the time on his watch and groans in dismay. It’s half past one in the morning. Aaron is going to be freaking out. Robert quickly gets a taxi and tells the driver where to go, wishing he would drive faster as Robert pulls out his mobile. He has a few texts from Aaron.

From Aaron: received 23:02

Where are you?

From Aaron: received 00:24

When I said to have fun, I didn’t mean stay out this late, Robert

From Aaron: received 01:13

If you think I’m waiting up for you any longer, then you’re wrong

Shit. How is he going to explain this to Aaron? When he said he was going to be home late earlier, he had meant ten maybe eleven at the latest. Not almost two in the morning. Aaron is going to kill him and then when he finds out why Robert was so late, he’s going to resurrect him just to kill him again . Robert has to come up with an excuse and it has to be one that Aaron will believe. Aaron can never know he cheated again.

No, wait, he didn’t cheat. He… he can’t remember but he knows he didn’t cheat. That’s right, he already came to that conclusion earlier in the hotel room. Robert lays his aching head on the window, getting confused again. No, Theo… Theo gave him a drink. That’s when he started to feel weird, after he had drank it. So something… the drink. The drink had something to do with what happened. He can’t remember.

With a pain filled moan, he rubs at his face tiredly. The taxi driver is saying something to him, something about getting out and paying him. Robert lifts his head and looks out the window, eyebrows furrowing. He can’t be home yet. He doesn’t even remember half the drive there.

The drink must not be entirely out of his system yet.

Whatever was in the drink must not be out of his system yet.

Robert struggles out of the taxi and pulls out his wallet and pays the taxi driver. He stumbles up the drive, to The Mill, and fumbles with the keys for almost two minutes before he finally gets his coordination correct to unlock the door. When he enters, everything is quiet and Aaron is nowhere in sight. Glancing at the stairs, he contemplates attempting to climb them but his legs are shaky again and the room is spinning once more.

He barely makes it to the sofa before he collapses on top of it and passes back out.

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: I haven’t written in months and I feel like the beginning of this chapter shows it, but hopefully it got better as it went.

I have so many British Slang/words links saved that it’s ridiculous.

Also, yes, I know how unrealistic it is for investors to send their kids to the dinner celebration. That’s the wonderful thing about writing. I can have anything happen even though in reality it would probably never happen, lol!

Thank you for reading! I hope you stick around even though I know nothing about the UK and how you all talk. If you want to give me any pointers, please feel free. Am I using too much slang? Should I use arse instead of ass? Let me know! I’m always willing to learn. ^_^