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mountainsandmayhem · 4 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing.

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin.

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club.

The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about.

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met.

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud.

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me.

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home.

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it.

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again.

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone.

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste.

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time.

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants.

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges.

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive.

“I can too!”

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?”

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.”

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?”

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.”

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.”

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

“I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated.

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.”

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.”

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle.

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask, “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?”

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours.

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.”

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.”

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream.

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.”

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years.

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo.

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him.

You

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night.

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!”

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.”

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.”

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.”

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs.

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?”

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?”

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?”

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind.

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.”

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!”

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes.

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops.

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself.

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile.

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo.

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man.

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning.

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve.

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it.

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear.

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in.

Spanking, five.

Whips and Crops, five.

Paddles, five.

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point.

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five.

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel.

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied.

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours.

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you.

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call.

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears.

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs.

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller.

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel.

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips.

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you.

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on.

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently.

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives.

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging.

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table.

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms.

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

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variousqueerthings · 5 months ago

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i do think that specifically david tennant being very openly supportive of the trans community has had an interesting effect -- because usually im kinda like "it is nice to know that people whose work i enjoy don't want me dead" and that's kinda my level of (at this point) quite cynical engagement with what a celebrity or artist does or does not think about transness, because these days it feels like it's almost fashionable for well-known (or post-well-known) people to come out of the wordwork and say what they think about trans people, which can get very stressful in its own way (the amount of headlines that try to be misleading or just plain don't say and so you're just like "ok i guess this week i have to find out if [spins wheel] thinks i deserve rights")

but david tennant has a different feeling to it. and to be fair, there are plenty of people with skin in the game, who absolutely deserve to and ought to speak out on behalf of their children/partners/community/friends/family/etc. and im always happy to see these people speak, and dt is included in that list as well

but david tennant is veeery specific in this here country of terf island, in which the labour party will openly state that it will allow certain book writers to affect their policies on trans people, and that's partly because of the effect above in which "having opinions on trans rights seems to be a celebrity game that keeps you relevant, which includes ex prime minister tony blair making his opinion known (hint, it wasn't a good one)" but also because david tennant is known as a national icon to rival that of whatsherface

he was the main actor on doctor who, in the top three, if not very top of british broadcasting iconography that exists. he's one of this generation's most famous shakespearian actors, the other thing that this country-as-culture is most proud of. he's a mainstay in children's film and tv, a standout in modern british crime drama (broadchurch, des), and that's not mentioning things like jessica jones, good omens, and star wars

this guy has no social media, and some of the biggest cultural capital in the uk today -- labour i believe it was made a twitter joke about him ousting the current prime minister as the doctor ahead of this week's election, because that's an iconic scene from doctor who

which means that when he openly calls transphobes whingy and asks them to shut up, there's a bit of a ripple... i mean what are you gonna do, get angry with the doctor? from doctor who??? the man who played a definitive hamlet????? the man who's just done rave reviewed performances of macbeth???? scrooge mcduck????????? this man who occasionally guests on cbeebies???????????

said prime minister and his party and hosts of transphobes go absolutely crazy every time he makes an appearance wearing new trans ally apparel, as if a. he sees any of that and b. it's a dignified response to a man saying, in essence, "i would like my kid to be safe and happy"

david tennant constantly making these statements, again and again, is a powerful voice in the modern fight for trans rights in the UK, in some ways unfortunately, because you wish trans people could have been heard before it got to this state and that it wasn't about being famous, but to be fair, he's also making that point again and again

it kind of feels like the first time in a long time that there's been proper pushback against transphobia in this country from a perspective that the transphobes can't dismiss so easily -- they can try but like. again, one side is a bunch of raving nonsense-spouters on a joke website who mostly belong to a party that's about to get decidedly ousted from the political scene, the other is beloved national icon and star of stage and screen, mr david tennant

of course, it doesn't hurt that the three main actors of harry potter and everyone else who's majorly involved in doctor who, past and present, is also supportive of trans rights, which maybe there's a separate point to be made about the strangeness of a mainstream tv show becoming a cultural battleground for peoples opinions on equal rights, especially now with ncuti gatwa at the helm, because i think some of what ive seen in relation to dw is more extreme than any piece of cultural media ive been alive to witness bigoted reactions to (including star trek), and ncuti gatwa as a black queer man is taking a hell of a lot of flack that is racist and homophobic

but labour... if you're inviting random artists to give you opinions on trans rights, david tennant is right there, and you know he'd make sure to bring along trans rights activists and professionals to get the space in the room they ought to have had all along

#david tennant #it's just... as a phenomenon #also on some level i believe this is partially Because he doesn't have social media #he's not getting into pointless arguments on stupid websites #he's saying his piece and then going home or to work or wherever else he goes on the daily #which really just highlights how absurd it is for people to go on rampages on said stupid website #what are you Doing all day????#because dt is living his best life as a trans ally

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sunsetsimon · 4 months ago

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i love your stuff about big eater simon with a reader who doesn't eat a lot, but i was wondering if you could do something with a reader whose appetite is as big as his?

☼ quality time is simon’s main love language, and eating is one of his favorite things to do, so being able to have you keep up with him in terms of appetite? he’s even more in love than he already was before.

it’s no surprise that a man his size with his lifestyle has to eat a lot to maintain himself, but i think people underestimate how much simon can really eat.

he’s not big on eating out, so most meals he’s making himself unless you offer to cook instead. a normal breakfast for him would consist of 5 or 6 eggs scrambled (or over-easy depending on his mood), at least 4 links of sausage, a side of potatoes, and some mixed veggies. sometimes he’ll even have baked beans and toast as well before topping it off with a homemade protein shake.

your grocery bill is hundreds because of how much the two of you eat, which he pays for of course, but he tries to be really good about using all the ingredients you already have at home to not be wasteful.

☼ so when big si is scarfing down his breakfast, his heart just swells seeing you keeping up with him. it’s a bonding experience for him to sit next to you while eating meals, talking about your day or watching a show in between each bite. your plate isn’t as big as his of course, but watching you eat a bigger amount of food makes him feel whole. simon just wants you to be happy and healthy, and knowing you’re eating well just marks those things off of his list.

plus he has so much fun cooking with you! he isn’t the best chef and only has a few things he knows how to make, but being led in the kitchen by you is so hot to him. he's a man who can take orders, but fuck they're so much better when they come from you.

☼ he eats pretty healthily for the most part, but he loves snacking. you can't be sitting on the couch for more than 10 minutes before he's standing up, "do you want some donuts, love?"

"simon we just ate dinner 20 minutes ago."

"okay... so is that a no?"

"hmm.. no, give me a few."

he chuckles as he already knew your answer, grabbing his favorite snack of white powdered donuts and cold milk to share with you. the entire bag ends up gone in that one sitting, and he just complains about how it's not his fault because they're so small! even though he purposely grabs the mini's every time, saying it'll make him eat less - yeah right.

☼ it's a breath of fresh air for him to be with someone who doesn't judge him on his consumption, he's just a big hungry man. although he has normal confidence and understands he has to eat a lot to maintain his shape, it can make anyone feel a bit insecure hearing comments of "wow you're eating all of that?!" si loves to indulge on anything food related, so the second you mention wanting something he's ready to go get it!

☼ also, he totally studies the menu before he goes anywhere new. opening the safari app on his phone, there's at least 1 menu to a restaurant in his tabs at all times. while trying to choose where to go for your dinner date, he's searching every restaurant, naming dishes off the menu he thinks you'd like. the choice is always yours though! he just wants to eat with you :)

#ah something i relate to #me eating meals suited for men his size um #glutton simon <3 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #sun's ☀️

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sailorrhansol · 5 months ago

Text

Blood & Popcorn | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader

❀ Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn.

❀ Word Count: 11,315

❀ Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

❀ Type: Smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice. Alternating POVs and some time skips.

❀ A/N: This is another work coming from a conversation with @daechwitatamic who at this point, I think had been the driving force behind all three random one shots I’ve written. I apparently can’t say no when she asks for something :) so anyway, here is simp Lee Chan and simp reader because ???? And yes I'm posting this at 11:30 pm at night who cares there are no rules!!!!!!!!

❀ A/N 2: Also thank you to Jo for reading this before hand because it would be otherwise largely illegible. King Julian is on the way, bestie.

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Read Next: Still Watching?

“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.”

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?”

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.”

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?”

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match.

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly.

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him.

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says.

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.”

Our thing.

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there.

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories.

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn.

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away.

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place.

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm.

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.”

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.”

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?”

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin.

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.”

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.”

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care.

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone.

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.”

“I mean if you’ve got a date.”

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him.

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe.

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual.

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so.

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else.

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.”

“Shua is a good guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah he is.”

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying.

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s.

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years.

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience.

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home.

Wanna start coming here after class?

You did. And you had.

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim.

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words.

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.”

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?”

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.”

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.”

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out.

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.”

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath.

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?”

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.”

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.”

“Isn’t that like… a movie?”

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it.

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?”

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then.

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you.

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets.

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back.

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.”

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?”

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.”

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.”

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.”

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.”

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend.

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.”

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it.

The window of opportunity is gone.

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different.

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must.

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place.

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long.

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress.

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach.

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him.

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground.

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod.

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor.

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner.

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink.

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?”

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.”

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.”

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.”

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.”

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room.

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.”

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to.

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.”

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs?

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?”

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back.

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.”

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.”

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl.

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!”

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room.

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet.

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.” For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.”

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall.

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute.

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade.

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence.

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.”

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.”

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know.

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then.

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual.

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky.

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer.

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head.

“Why would I do that?”

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.”

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?”

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.”

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable.

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for.

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed.

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.”

“I’m here.”

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.”

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!”

“For sure.”

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame.

Chan can’t do this.

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all.

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast.

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment.

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.”

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.”

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.”

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.”

“Understandable.”

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people.

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone.

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call.

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours.

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart.

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now.

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has.

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you’re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.”

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person.

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing.

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except-

“Chan?”

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow.

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?”

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch.

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?”

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again.

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.”

“I-”

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe.

“Oh, Bambi.”

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will.

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning.

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time.

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip.

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes.

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth.

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.”

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him.

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years.

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.”

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.”

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you.

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.”

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.”

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take.

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, haloing him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence.

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him.

“Kiss me,” you beg.

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze.

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again.

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.”

“Chan.”

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.”

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.”

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.”

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe.”

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple.

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm.

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast.

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.”

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.”

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath.

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan.

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut.

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking.

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.”

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him.

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving.

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break.

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently.

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.”

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.”

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.”

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.”

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you.

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly.

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you.

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy.

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.”

“Oh?”

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.”

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.”

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?”

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.”

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?”

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again.

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?”

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.”

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.”

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance.

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.”

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess.

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier.

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.”

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?”

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?”

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.”

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible.

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch.

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?”

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm.

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?”

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?”

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.”

“Oui.”

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.”

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.”

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower.

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.”

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you.

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.”

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#lee chan smut #chan smut #dino smut #dino svt #svt smut #chan x reader #dino reader #dino fanfic #svt fanfic #sventeen smut #minors dni #minors do not interact

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thevoidstaredback · 3 months ago

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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Danny didn't know how he was doing it, but all the acting classes he never took were really paying off!

'Fake 'til you make it and hope you don't get caught' is a great motto to live by and he is prepared to defend this hill with what's left of his living life.

By some miracle, Alfred hadn't kicked him from the haunt, instead giving him all the same permissions Dick, Barbra, and Tim have! He was warned about going to the Bat Cave for any reason, though. Not like Danny had any plans to enter Bruce Wayne's haunt. No thank you.

Speaking of Mister Wayne, Danny was so ready to be away from him. Just knowing they're in the same building was setting him off!

Bruce Wayne, on TV and in the eye of the public, was a man grieving his lost son. He's a playboy and a philanthropist who couldn't tell you left from right, but he's also Gotham's White Knight; her prince. A family man who's lost yet another of his family and doing his best to move past it.

In private, at least as far as Danny could tell, Bruce Wayne is a pessimist and a narcissist. He's a man desperate for a family, but unwilling to let anyone close, pushing everyone away and keeping them no closer than arm's length. He's stuck in the past, unable to move past mourning his parents and now his son. He is much more Batman than Bruce Wayne and it's only a matter of time before the two worlds collide disastrously.

Danny wouldn't know, but he can make a pretty educated guess on the matter.

Throughout the entire dinner, Danny had been observing everyone. He analyzed how they interacted, how they held themselves, how they ate, and how they reacted to his and Mister Wayne's conversation.

His main focus is Dick. Dick will always be his top priority, but Tim had quickly been added to the list. Barbra wasn't nearly as high on his list of people to take care of, but he was going to offer his help should she ever need it.

Especially because she snuck a nervous glance at Miaster Wayne when he mentioned Oracle.

He hadn't intended to stay the night in Gotham, but he wasn't going to turn away the opportunity, especially because Alfred was very insistent that Danny and Dick stay. And Tim and Barbra asking them on patrol? They both had pretty good puppy eyes, but Danny wasn't the one who made the mistake of looking at them.

Regardless, Nightwing being in Gotham for the night presented the Bludhaven Goons the perfect opportunity to commit crimes unpunished for the night. It wouldn't take long for the news to get out. Danny had fully planned on Phantom being there, flying over to work in Bludhaven before returning at his normal time, but Tim and Barbra convincing him to be on comms presented a bit of a hiccup in his plans.

Dick finding out about Phantom was inevitable. In fact, he didn't plan on hiding Phantom, but the times where Dick or Nightwing were awake never matched up when Phantom was out.

Okay, so maybe he was hiding a little bit.

Tim and Barbra finding out, on the other hand, was a bit of a problem.

Phantom was a hero in Amity Park, Illinois for only a little while before disappearing. He wasn't hugely known outside of the town or ghost hunters, not doing anything to warrant attention from the Big Leagues. (Nothing they knew of, anyway) It was unlikely that anyone outside of the niche group even knew his name, let alone what he looked like or how he worked.

Still. Tim figured out Nightwing's and Batman's identities, probably Batgirl's, too. And Batman is notoriously known for his paranoia and for somehow knowing everything and having a way to counteract it.

Mister Wayne is already looking into Danny, likely having already stumbled across the Missing Person report that wouldn't have gone through, ending up at a dead end. He'd easily put Danny and Phantom together as related somehow, if not being the same person.

Tim, similar to Mister Wayne, needs to know everything. The difference is that Tim's need to know is obviously a trauma response. Something that Danny would like to help him with, but that's beside the current point. It'll take maybe five minutes for Tim to find out everything he can about Phantom and Danny, especially now that he knows that Danny used to be a vigilante.

Sure, Danny could try and hide Phantom from them, but being on comms with them for the night would alert them to even the smallest fight. He's not a loud person, much preferring espionage and stealth over physical altercations, no matter how much his track record disagreed.

So, he's now presented with a choice. Introduce them to Phantom despite telling them that he was done being a hero, or leave Bludhaven to the mercy of her underworld for the night.

He was never quite able to leave stuff alone.

Sam had called him a tutelar.

Whatever that means.

Why couldn't these decisions be easier? Can't he ever have a Cinderella option? Why can't he ever just not decide?

Part 14 Part 16

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poisonheiress · 10 months ago

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Someone needs to say it: The "Heaven is actually bad" plot line that Hazbin is based around is useless when you spend more then 2 minutes thinking about Vivzie's Hell and her characters.

Besides it being much too early for this idea, the revelation that Heaven or at least the beings running it aren't good people has little to no impact when the people who are being harmed by this are all horrible people. Stay with me here. None of these people are people who were unfairly brought into hell and we are never ever introduced to someone who was either. Why should we care that Heaven is "evil" and blocking redemption when all the sinners in hell we see are the worst of the worst who would have never gotten in even if it was fair.

For the "Heaven is bad" plot line to actually work, you need people who were just one sin away from Heaven, who would've gotten into Heaven if circumstance hadn't forced them down a path that stole it from them. You need characters who aren't comedic villains but land in the middle of morally grey. Those who deserved to be in Heaven but because Heaven refused to consider their circumstances, they were tossed to burn with people much worse than them. Those are the people who should be your main cast cause those are the people who would actually be impacted by Heaven being bad/ Heaven lying.

Angel dust, for all his trauma, was still part of the mafia and likely had killed people before (showing to almost take joy in it). Husk became an overlord and gambled souls, so he had to have had blood on his hands before hell. Alastor is a serial killer, and the list goes on and on. Sure, these characters are (somewhat) interesting, but they don't make for good characters to have when the key plot line is that Heaven is a scam. Even if that fact is true, none of them were ever going to get there in the first place and this is something we also se in every single background sinner shown in Hell too. They were never close to getting there, so why would they or we care that Heaven is bad when all sinners are shown to be horrific people who are at best in the dark grey area of morality.

If you look at it from the "angel's are unfairly killing sinners" route, it still doesn't work. If the angels are killing them, what makes it different then the sinner on sinner violence that hell is full off? Why is them dying by angels this bad thing when they are just as likely if not 10x times more likely to get knifed in the back by other sinners in hell the other 364 days, especially when everyone here apparently is just as horrible as the next person. You cannot condemn the angels for killing demons and then make a joke of out sinners killing each other and never show sinners who doesn't want to kill people. Life either matters or it doesn't and when the main cast doesn't even show a care for life (outside of Charlie's who's entire flaw is her naivety), why should the audience.

On top of that, Vivzie's whole overpopulation aspect and the Heaven plot line would connect better if she actually had people like those I mentioned above, people who stole to survive but got tossed out cause stealing is technically wrong, people who killed another to protect someone else but were still sent to hell because even though they saved that person's life that person wasn't supposed to be saved, people who passively engaged in sins but never really did anything harmful under them. This would add into how Hell is so overpopulated and highlight why its so important that Heaven is evil/ why Charlie's plan isn't just a naive pathetic fever dream.

In the end, Vivzie should have never made Heaven the central plot of this show nor tried to assign this blatant good vs evil to that conflict. Neither her characters nor her writing choices are able to respond to this conflict in a way that will end or even tell the story in a satisfactory manner.

#anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #also I am not just talking out my ass for this #I had/have this same problem in one of my original works #where I had to make the relationship between Heaven and God and cambion a lot more complex then just oh this side bad this side good #and thats what you have to do as a fucking writer is ask the hard question and be ready to scrap characters and ideas to answer them #When you deal with human characters nothing is black vs white and the minute you claim it is #you have failed

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dolcekissy · 3 months ago

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addicted , ღ

kitty!reader x fwb!rafe

: ̗̀➛ rafe being totally obsessed with you but will never admit it.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ main masterlist | kitty!reader x fwb!rafe masterlist

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes smoking and mentions of sex.

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rafe had never met a girl that couldn't give two shits about him, until he met you. you know what you want, who are you, what you like, who you like, what you fuckin' hate, who you fuckin' hate.

you've always been so down to earth. always wanting to party, not giving a shit what other people think about you. down to smoke a blunt at anytime, anywhere. especially those cherry flavored blunt wraps you always smell and taste like when you kiss him or when you walk past him, it keeps him craving you. he likes that you have fun and do what you like, unlike the other bitches that are put on this earth to be one of 2 things ─ a whore or a fucking loser.

rafe has grown to be obsessed with you, hyper fixated on you. the fact you aren't like all the whores and fucking losers that are dying to be with him, the ones he fucks once and kicks to the side. he doesn't know how to handle you or why he feels the need to chase you around like a lost puppy.

he just can't leave you alone, the fact you aren't quick to fall for him is something he hates yet loves so much. you're addicting, which is why he's one ─ in your room laid up in your bed sharing a blunt with you, right after fucking the shit out of you, and two ─ gently rubbing at your soft vanilla & wood scented skin after texting you at 2 something in the morning,

"fuck & smoke?"

read 2:13 am

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"rafe?" he looks up at you staring down at him, watching you take a drag from your freshly lit blunt. you gesture the blunt to him and he takes it, taking a long drag and letting the smoke sit in his lungs. he sighs at the taste of that stupid cherry flavored wrap that will always remind him of you.

when you first started messing around you would always make him leave right after. but lately you've grown to like his company. you like being able to fuck, smoke, and touch on one another then make him leave.

he lifts his head watching you stand up adjusting your soft black tank top, eyeing your figure in the mirror infront of you. his eyes trail down to your ass barely covered by your lacey black underwear that compliments the shape of your ass so well. he watches you fix your hair and wipe the dried running mascara off your face. he finds it so sexy knowing he makes you feel so good you cry.

"you're so pretty." he says to you softly. you turn around and look at him, smirking. "yeah?" you say quietly moving back over to your bed, sitting next to him. you watch him place his hand on your thigh, drawing circles and writing his name, laying his head back down on your bed.

"yeah." he moves his eyes to yours, your eyes low and already turning glossy and red. he swears your eyes when your high is a blessing and a curse. you could make him do anything if you looked at him like that all the time.

rafe also knows what he wants, what he likes, who he likes, what he fuckin' hates, who he fuckin' hates. he hates the fact that you're at the top of his 'who i fuckin' hate' list.

he doesn't necessarily hate you in a 'if murder wasn't illegal this bitch would definitely be gone' type of way, he hates that you're all he thinks about. he's always thinking about the way you look at him, the way you smell, how good sex is with you. he hates that you don't think about him like that. you could go days without talking to him and you wouldn't even notice. he hates it, yet it's so addicting.

you move rafe's hand off your leg standing up again, grabbing a random vinyl from your shelf filled of vinyls and placing it on your record player. turning the volume nob up just enough to hear it quietly play. music fills your ears, breaking the silence in your room. when you and rafe are together the silence is never awkward or weird, it's always comforting and calm. rafe has grown to appreciate that. he'd rather sit in silence with you than have some bitch barking in his ear.

you sigh making your way back over to your bed and sit next rafe who is totally hogging your blunt. you grab the blunt from his hand flicking the smoking object, watching the ashes fall onto your ashtray. you take another long drag and move to straddle his waist. giving the blunt back to him.

"hi" rafe says quietly, grinning softly at you while rubbing your hips. "hi, rafe." you say returning his grin, laying your head on his chest.

you lay there like this for a few moments, listening to his heart beat and the music playing in the background. you close your eyes starting to nod off, his gentle touch relaxing you.

"don't want you talking to other dudes anymore." you open your eyes and sit up looking at him for a minute before scrunching your face up in confusion, a small smile on your lips.

"aren't you the one who said no relationship n' feelings n' shit?" you say laying back down on him.

"mm, jus' cause i don't want you talking to other guys doesn't mean we're dating. jus' don't want you to."

you sit up once again placing your hands on his stomach, running your nails over his skin. you watch him place the blunt on his lips taking another hit. he always looks so good like this.

"and since when are you allowed to tell me what to do n' what not to do, mr. cameron?" you ask playfully.

"mm, since right now." he says moving his hand from your hip to your ass, squeezing it.

you take the blunt from him taking a long hit before grabbing his face and kissing him, blowing the smoke into his mouth. "mm, i don't think so cameron."

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#outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe x reader #kitty!reader #i need him #so bad

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spitdrunken · 10 months ago

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THIS IS INCREDIBLY SELF-INDULGENT BUT. MY BLOG!

notes: power imbalance, sexual harrassment, murder mentions.

rotating a thought in my head where 'you' are an increasingly popular erotica writer from the pride ring. with writing, you've hit a bit of a niche, as a lot of the big porn producers (VoxTech's subsidiaries) are not exactly known for their riveting dialogue or personalities. no one's there for anything more than that, but there are demons who do want a bit more 'meat', so to say, with nowhere else turn. that is where you come in!

it's not enough to make a steady living off of, not even when you start taking incredibly specific commissions, but it's never been more of a hobby anyway. you are completely anonymous online, keeping care to use throwaway emails and accounts for everything. still, voxtech's products are utterly inescapable: it's either using them, or using nothing at all. (and those rumours about their boss vox having complete control over his technology, even after selling, has to be a rumour... you hope.)

meanwhile, as your penname continues to grow more and more recognizable, it falls in the vees' meeting room. valentino's immediate suggestion is just to kill you. people in the comments keep comparing his dialogue to yours. what the fuck is that about? who the hell watches porn for the DIALOGUE in the first place?

velvette, while shrugging her shoulders, only adds that their new releases tend to go trending, prior to release. fucking far from the top of that list, but still. trending is trending.

vox, sighing internally, plasters a smile on his face. there's really no need to kill new up and coming talent, val. we should suggest them to work for us instead. and if they don't... we can simply prevent them from working. they'll make up their mind, then.

you return to your laptop to an utterly inescapable pop-up describing the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to work at voxtech! it's a whole wall of text, describing your pay (higher than you would have expected), where you will be living (in one of the appartment buildings owned by voxtech), and when to head to their main office. there is no word on denying the contract, an utter impossibility, it seems. not that you'd dare. vox's and the radio demon's showdown was the talk of the ring for days, and apparantly, all that rancour was the source of alastor denying a contract of his own. that really is more shit than you can handle in your undead life now. so, you take the job.

as your stories are starting to get heavily promoted, velvette absolutely insists that you add in at least a couple of looong clothing descriptions, based on her tastes. she's such an overwhelming, pushy presence, that it's hard for you to say no. she goes on about how, if it gets popular enough, people might be interested in somewhat similar outfits. probably not, though, let's be honest with ourselves. she makes you model them, all the while telling you that you really wouldn't be allowed to breathe in the direction of her studio otherwise. when you ask her why you absolutely have the one modelling, she just rolls her eyes. you based large parts of their appearances after you, didn't you? might as well make you look the part.

valentino is one of the worst parts of the job. compared to everyone else, he hardly pesters you, but he's still a terrifying presence. he'll give you 'suggestions' and make you steer your work in certain directions, getting too close and blowing smoke into your face. he gives a graphic description of how he jacked off to one of your stories, just to see your response. (this is a lie: why would he jack off if he can just call some stupid whore over to do it for him? also, he doesn't read.)

if a part of one of your stories ever gets a 'porno adaptation', he's having you play the part of the director, and has you sit in during the entirety of the viewing. you can tell he takes great pleasure out of any of your discomfort, or any of your fumbling- until it's too sloppy, and then he gets mad, of course, and you end up leaving the room with shaky legs.

vox seems to be the nicest one out of the three of them. really, he's only ever been courteous to you. but you've seen him flip his lid during the aforementioned 'radio demon fiasco', which you have been wise enough to never mention, so you still walk on eggshells around him. he can also get pretty pushy about deadlines, so you're not taking any chances.

he insists on having semi-regular meetings with you about the sales figures of your most recent works, wherein you also have to describe your process on other projects and pitch new ideas. frankly, you wish these meetings could be an email! but even when you tried to broach the subject, telling him that, surely, the company leader's time is much more important than this?

he simply brushed you off, telling you that he can decide for himself who and what to spend his time on, thank you very much. now, please continue. he'll inform you of the latest kinks and dynamics that have been most popular, though with some peculiar additions as well. you swear that, sometimes, the main character really does seem to resemble yourself in those suggestions, and the love interest a member of the vees...? you're certain you're just imagining it.

#hazbin hotel x reader #valentino x reader #vox x reader #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel #i just like the thought they're all a little TOO into you. sighs longingly #cha.vox #cha.velvette #cha.valentino

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sylusheart · 4 months ago

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`sylus: a character study

finally here with the sylus post as promised <3 if you haven't already, do check out my caleb post. in this post i'll summarise the current theories/speculations regarding sylus, however with all the new confirmations and reveals a lot of the previous theories have been debunked so i'm only going to include whats still relevant as of now. and don't worry, even in the future if most of these theories are complete waffle i'll still leave this post up, as well as my caleb one and any other upcoming lnds theory posts. as always, if i miss anything or if you want to correct anything please fill free to mention it in the comments <3 also this includes spoilers for love and deepspace veresion 2 so if you haven't finished the new updates yet and don't want to get spoiled pls look away!!! but if you're thirsty for more sylus content buckle up and keep reading, let's start... ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

ᰔ the meaning of sylus' name

starting things off simple let's look into the meaning of his name. 'sylus' can mean "from/of the woods", or more specifically the name sylus/silas originally comes from the short form of 'silvanus' which means "protector" or "guardian" (of the forest). funnily enough, this has clearly been depicted throughout he main story so far as he's been watching over mc from the very beginning. it's also said that silvanus can appear as someone who is unfazed and daring with a rebellious soul and is willing to explore the darkest woodlands - which sort of links back to how sylus is so comfortable in the N109 zone despite it being a terrifying place to others and outsiders.

ᰔ the flower in his trailer represents mc

i've seen a few people point out that the untouched flower in his trailer represents mc. seeing as sylus is the ruthless leader of onychinus he's clearly meant to be seen as someone who is unforgiving and rather rash. but amongst all of the deadliness shown in his trailer, a lone flower sits unharmed as he walks past, suggesting a softer side to him. we can assume that him avoiding to trample over the flower was intentional because he steps over his wanted poster, this small detail in general shows how he holds a tender and respectful side that he reserves for mc. ultimately, it shows how sylus is a multifaceted character - he voluntarily avoids the flower, willingly choosing to be tender even when no one was there to witness so. not to mention, on the recent stream one of the kitties (blurple) said that sylus had rescued it when it found itself on top of one of the buildings (probably in the N109 zone) and he gently set it down to a safer place on the ground after telling it that "kitties don't belong here". to me, he comes off as a man that is unforgiving when need be, he's not going to start terrorising everyone because of how he tends to behave. he seems like someone who prefers not to cross over lines unless someone has crossed his first - that's to say, he won't act hostile or irrational unless he has been wronged first. but of course, many people who know of him can find that difficult to believe because all of the stories they hear about him don't tend to have a civil ending. it's sort of like he only shows his softer side in private, which makes sense if you think about it as he probably has an endless list of enemies and the last thing he needs is having someone/something close to him used against him for blackmail or whatnot.

ᰔ sylus' heartbeat, is he actually human? i remember that before sylus came out a lot of us seemed to think that raising his heartbeat would be worse than how it already is to try and raise zayne's, although if you've tried to do it you'll notice his heartbeat tends to be very fast almost all the time. his heartbeat in game is about 90-105 in the morning and then in the afternoon/evening time it ranges between 100-164. even though it varies, it's still a faster heartbeat than the norm. but why is it more faster later on in the day? i mean it could be because he has a preference for doing things at night which explains why his heartbeat seems to be more active during those later times of the day - but regardless, it's still overly fast.

a resting heartbeat usually ranges between 60-100bpm, unless of course excercise becomes a factor - but even then sylus doesn't go red or show any physical signs that can explain why his heartbeat is so high. so the only explanation as to how his heartbeat is so fast is because he simply isn't human. but to be fair, a crow's heartbeat is usually between 150 to 200 on average when awake and can rise up to 600 when resting, but then again just because his familiar/pet is a crow and he's associated with crows it doesn't exactly confirm that he himself is a crow-human... hybrid. so... then what is he? well, there's a part in the main chapter, a flashback of some sort, where mc is reliving a memory for a bit. she's seen to be holding a hand - a hand that doesn't look very human - and called it "sylus". the creature seems to look like a wanderer, and if it really is sylus but in wanderer form, i presume he''s stuck in the transition stages (if you're familiar with zayne's dawnbreaker lore, this'll make more sense) from human to wanderer as mc can still recognise him (?) as she's holding his hand (we assume) it might be that she's resonating with him? perhaps this halted the transition process or something... but it's not clear enough to indicate what exactly is happening, from what we can tell mc appears to be covered in blood and they both seem to be injured but other than that the whole ordeal looks quite bizarre.

within the main story chapter we also see the little girl describe sylus as a monster with horns and huge wings who can never die. from what we've seen of sylus' regeneration ability (his self-healing) during that part when mc shot him (actually, it was sylus who pushed down the trigger, using mc's finger but i'll go more indepth on that below), and he healed only moments later - further proving the little girls rumor that sylus is invincible. the other attributes in her description (horns, big wings and being a monster) seems like she's just describing a devillish like wanderer, which sort of sounds like how sylus would be if he were to be one...

if we go back to the experiments involving core fragments, the people who participated in the experiment said that one is to "implant a core in a person't heart" and the other is to "implant a consciousness in a high level wanderer body" and so from here we know that mc is the former and sylus could possibly be the latter, that is - if he truly was one of the test subjects.

also, in the destiny cafe he has an interaction that says he likes observing humans and also says that things without heart are more loyal.

going back to that main story scene where there's a memory/flashback of mc and the wanderer-like being, we see the creature hand over something to mc which looks like a sword with his claw-like hands. the bottom looked like it was inlaid with a red core a red ruby, so if this wanderer thingy isn't sylus himself perhaps it was sent by sylus (?) somehow… which could be why mc says his name. the wanderer asks mc to hold it tightly and at this point (if this wanderer really is sylus) he hasn't completely transitioned into a wanderer yet as he can still talk to mc.

so if the creature/wanderer really is sylus, from what we can gather - sylus was turned into a wanderer. if mc didn't kill him, then he might've completely turned into a wanderer, which is why he said "because if you don't, there's no going back", and so sylus in his wanderer form handed mc the weapon when he was still conscious so that mc could pierce his heart and prevent him from becoming a wanderer and losing consciousness. though it doesn't look like she chose to kill him and instead opted to resonate with sylus which ultimately made his self-healing ability increase/double in power. at the same time this pulled on the energy from mc's aether core and altered the heart in sylus body, reshaping it in such way that he can now regenerate/self-heal. it also paused his transition into become a wanderer. as pointed out, this only happened because of mc resonating with sylus - which is why the voice in mc's head tells her "it's your power", because without her sylus wouldn't of gained such abilities and be able to manipulate with his evol as much as he can now. maybe the real reason why he wants to resonate with her so badly is because he wants to give mc her power back so that she can be as strong and as powerful as she once was. i'm not saying he feels 'guilty' for mc choosing to use her abilities to save sylus' life but i feel like he feels as if its his time to pay his debt to her and give her back what was rightfully hers, even if that meant he'd die in the process (which most likely will happen if he were successful). the part in the main story where sylus is on a throne and he uses his evol to pull her onto his lap and then allows her to point a gun at him and shoot him, he notes her hesitation and clasps his own hand around hers - and if you look closely in that scene he pushes down the trigger himself (pressing down on her finger) so that the shot goes through his chest. maybe he thought her power would restore to her if he was killed by her hand. when she realises whats happened, she feels immense guilt and regret, believing she was the cause of this. mc says something like "you can't die yet" in a way as if she's known him forever and not for the few hours/days we are shown in the story so far. he makes a remark, and talks a little smug over mc feeling bad for what happened. at this point, he's probably realised that his evol was beginning to take effect because of the failure to resonate with mc - meaning he was going to regenerate and not die like he assumed he would.

going back to that wanderer memory/flashback, after mc resonates with the sylus-wanderer it must've reversed the wanderers body back to human. the use of her evol in all of this must've altered fate and went beyond the rules of the unprecendented and unparalleled, sylus has also said "someone has already overcome fate" and that people have done it/conquered fate before him (source: abyssal chaos) most likely referring to how mc changed his fate so that he wouldn't turn into a wanderer. he also says something about being told a blood-soaked disaster would be waiting for him, but he twisted fate by bringing a blood-soaked disaster to other people. it seems like to me, that there is a possibility for loopholes and changes of destiny in the deepspace but it's not something that can happen so easily.

sort of like how zayne was punished for defying astra, mc must've payed a price for going against the laws of fate to save sylus. i guess this means her paid price was the result of her death as she must've been overly exhausted from the loss of energy spent to save sylus.

sylus also said mc owed him a "farewell ceremony bigger than death" because the love-hate story between them has not come to an end yet, even if she died first. i haven't read his anecdotes yet but i've heard that he searched in all the galaxies across time and space to find the mc again, only to find her in linkon city (similar to xavier's situation with mc really).

ᰔ the significance of sylus giving mc wine someone pointed out that when sylus gave mc the wine it was somewhat similar to hades giving persephone the pomegranate seeds. if you're unfamiliar with hades and persephone's story to put it short, when persephone was going to leave hades gave her pomegranate seeds and she consumed them without much thought only to later realise that she was now unable to leave now that she had consumed food from the underworld, ultimately meaning she had to stay with hades forever. i really like this theory because it does really amplify sylus' possessiveness. not to mention one of his chat bubbles is literally a pomegranate... if that doesn't solidify this theory i don't know what else will.

ᰔ so was sylus also experimented on? a lot of the scenery associated with sylus seems to show much about cages/being restricted/tamed/tied up, it could possibly nod towards being experimented on (like how mc was) which is why sylus tells mc that they are the same and true kindred spirits. even if he didn't go through the exact same experiments mc was put through its possible he went through something similar. he does have aether core inside of him after all, just like mc, and i highly doubt he was just 'born' with it, it must've been planted there by something or someone or maybe it has something to do with one of his past lives (?).

ᰔ sylus and astra, what's the extent of sylus' evol? now onto some juicy stuff, i've seen some talk about sylus being astra personified and although sylus being astra might be a little far-fetched, i do think there's some sort of connection. in zayne's foreseer myth, there's a part that says “astra gifted one of his eyes to the foreseer. by walking the winding path of time did the foreseer understand its passing.” since zayne still sees his alternate lives when he’s dreaming, it’s safe to assume that he’s still connected to that foreseer eye, but what about the other eye? isn't it strange that it's only one of sylus' eyes that glow... when mc asks sylus if his eye is an aether core he doesn’t say yes, he responds with “something like that”. if the foreseer’s eye sees one’s fate then sylus’ eye sees one’s true desires - as evident through what we see in the main story. there's also a part in zayne's last myth that sort of links back to this: “it’s said the god wields the power of yin and yang, governing life and death.”

we know astra granted his eye to zayne, but what about sylus? was it a gift too or did he steal it? and again, it's possible he was a victim of one of the experiments that happened all those years ago.

now this brings attention to rafayel's heart. was that astra's too, the aether core? if mc has an aether core, and sylus and rafayel have one too… perhaps these are all just fragments of the real aether, and maybe there's 5 fragments in total meaning xavier and caleb may have one too... mc is also heavily affected by sylus' evol which is probably due to her playing a part in how strong it has become or because his evol in general can mess with anyone regardless if they're an ordinary evolver or not. it's pretty obvious at this point that his evol is most probably the strongest we've witnessed yet, not only does he has multiple abilities and an aether core, but some of mc's power too (if the wanderer = sylus theory is correct). it's also important to note that sylus' self-healing ability which essentially allows him to survive death is similar to how mc could come back to life after the many experiments she was put through that killed her each time, i guess this confirms that the only reason sylus obtained this ability in the first place was when mc chose to save him and resonate with him once upon a time. unlike mc, he remembers everything - or so it seems. to mc his words may seem cryptic, but he probably does know more than he lets on and he just chooses to be very vague with what he says (probably out of protection, it seems he wants answers - perhaps after he gets his answers he will be more open with mc and trying to get her to remember).

ᰔ sylus and caleb/ever group (?) in the main story, when speaking about ever group sylus seems to regard them in distaste. of course, as onychinus and ever are two different groups entirely, we can assume they're also on two sides and are potential enemies. sylus makes it seem as if he's quite familiar with them, probably having dealt with them on a few occasions, but with the way he speaks of them i presume they weren't very delightful occasions. there is a part where sylus says to mc, "the people closest to you might be the ones who want to kill you the most.” which could refer to josephine and how she quite literally participated in the experiments that repetitively killed mc. but i primarily think this line has everything to do with caleb. i get the sense that the only reason sylus can know caleb is through ever group and we all can tell caleb is associated with something bigger than the aerospace academy. so if caleb truly is part of ever group, then we know one potential reason as to why sylus dislikes them, or more specifically caleb. there's also an official artwork (see below) that has a white, red-eyed snake wrapped around caleb's arm. the snake could very much represent sylus in a way. the art itself can allude to when mc went into the no hunt zone. she takes on the role as a sinner by pretending to betray the hunters, and as caleb is speculated to be the guy in the shadows in chapter 8, there's a possibility that sylus might be forcing caleb to pretend to be dead/betray mc which is why he is maintaining a low profile. as sylus is the snake and has control over caleb like a puppet with strings, in the art we can also see that both caleb and mc are tempted to eat the forbidden fruit - however, mc is able to freely do so whereas with caleb’s side of the art it looks like he will get bitten by the snake if he even dares to, it's as if there are consequences if mc ever finds out that caleb is actually alive.

that's all i've gathered for now <3 i'll update as i find more and read more of his cards (as well as the new world underneath stories... i haven't read those yet) but it might take a while for me to update because i'm swamped with work :T but anywho, thank you for reading :3 pls let me know your thoughts! (⭒•͈ 𓎺 •͈ )

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princessmisery666 · 1 month ago

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Maverick's Annual Scavenger Hunt - Part 1 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: Everyone wants to win the scavenger hunt prize. Two heads are better than one, so teaming up with Jake should be fun. Right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing.

W/C: 2.5k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. Small Parts/Mentioned: The rest of Dagger Squad, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, Penny Benjamin.

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote. Mentioned: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x Penny Benjamin.

Notes: Reader has a call sign.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

It was a silly game, and you felt ridiculous asking for “Sandals for Maverick.” without any concrete evidence that you were right.

But the Foot Locker sales assistant smirks, “I’ll go get them.”

You sigh happily at not having made a complete fool of yourself.

Each year, Mav invites a select group to participate in a scavenger hunt. He always makes it challenging. Three random objects are to be retrieved and brought to him to win the prize. The prizes vary each year: extra vacation time, an assignment of the winner’s choice, and one spectacular year, the use of Mav’s F50 for an entire weekend, was a reward.

This year, due to Maverick’s legendary and not generally sanctioned exploits landing him in hot water with Admiral Simpson, it is an all-expenses paid trip to the most highly acclaimed spa in the country. Technically, it had been a trip for him and Penny, but as always, trouble found him. He was lucky to have only his vacation canceled and not be court-martialed. Penny wasn’t happy, even less so when they couldn’t get a refund.

The Dagger Squad are this year’s lucky participants, and two winners will get to stay at the luxury resort for three nights. Mav had dropped hints for the month leading up to game day, and it was up to the squad to figure out what three items were to be found and where.

Sandals were your first thought, and as you rushed to the mall, you had enough time to figure out the other two items. Now that you know your first guess is correct and the sales assistant hands you a brand new pair of Havana’s, you feel a little more confident with the rest. But there is one hiccup to address.

“I know you’re there, Hangman,” you sigh, slipping the sandals into your backpack and zipping it up.

Jake saunters around the display of Air Jordans, arms folded, leaning against the metal shelving. “What gave me away?”

You aren't about to admit you've noticed the fawning collective trailing behind you as you made your way through the mall. It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t because of you but the handsome pilot following you. Instead, you snark, “I’m pretty sure they can smell your cologne on the moon.”

He laughs, and as always, it annoys you to no end that your snide remarks never seem to bother him. It’s the school playground all over again. The more you try to discourage him, the more he digs his heels in.

“I like that you know what cologne I wear, Cosmo,” he grins.

You love your call sign - head in the clouds, always wondering how the universe works - but how does he make it sound so dirty?

His smile is dazzling and you know very few people who can resist it. It takes a lot of effort, but you manage it with a roll of your eyes.

Strolling out of the store, you sigh, “What’d you want, Hangman?”

“I thought we could team up,” he suggests, chasing after you. “After all, the trip is for two, and I already figured out one of the clues, and you just acquired the second.”

“What did you find?” you ask.

You don’t need to see the suggestive eyebrow wiggle. It's in his tone, “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

The eye roll produced by his comment gives you a headache. “Has that line ever worked for you?”

It's a rhetorical question, but he answers anyway. “You’d be surprised.”

You probably wouldn’t be. The company he keeps isn’t exactly looking for Mensa-level conversation. He zeroes in on the ones that, like him, are looking for a no-fuss hookup, and you assume the easiest and cheesiest pickup lines, accompanied by his Hollywood smile, work every time.

“Easy and cheesy,” you snicker to yourself.

“Huh, what?” he asks, jogging slightly to fall in line beside you.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, what do you say? Teammates?”

“I have enough of you in the air as your WSO, Seresin, not sure I wanna spend a weekend in a spa with you.”

It’s partly a lie. Jake isn’t so bad when he’s in the air. He was born to fly, and he’s at his most comfortable when he’s doing what he loves. You’d never admit it, but that's when you like him the most. He’s tolerable when he’s in the cockpit, but maybe that has more to do with the fact you can’t see his face and be blinded by his pretty eyes, tanned skin, and perfect jawline.

He jogs ahead, blocking your path, and you have no choice but to stop. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” he pledges, crossing his heart. “You won’t even know I’m there. I have a book I want to read, two new albums I need to listen to without interruption, and a podcast to catch up on. I just wanna relax and eat chips.”

“You eat chips?” you ask and can’t stop your eyes from wandering down the tightly fitted black t-shirt.

“I do,” he chuckles, gently lifting your chin so you're looking at his face again.

Crap! Say something horrible to him before his ego gets too big.

Indelicately, you slap his hand away, snarking, “You read?”

“I do.” He nods, and you think he actually looks offended. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He’s right, and that’s been a calculated decision on your part not to get to know him. You are already the outsider, arriving at Fighter Town after the Dagger Squad had become the infamous Dagger Squad. They invited you into the fray with open arms, and you never felt like a newbie, but you didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the dynamic. Being one of Jake’s conquests would put you firmly in the mission accomplished column, and you didn’t need nor want that kind of reputation.

You contemplate his proposal, astounded that you're even considering it. If you win, you’d decided to invite Phoenix as your plus one but hadn’t yet extended the invitation. If your suspicions about Phoenix and Coyote are correct, and Phoenix were to win, you would not be the Lieutenant’s first choice.

A weekend of peace and quiet sounds like bliss, and if Jake has all those things to keep him occupied, you’d only really need to see him while traveling to and from the place.

“Okay,” you say, finally. “We can team up, but I swear if you get in my way, I’ll…. I’ll….” You can’t think of a good enough threat, and he interrupts.

“You won’t need to do anything to me because I won’t get in your way.” He crosses his heart again, “scouts honor,” holding up his left hand.

“Wrong hand, dipshit.”

He laughs, digging in his bag and pulling out a carton of ice cream. It's a plain white tub, not branded, because it’s from Antonio’s, the hidden gem in town. But there’s a sticker on the lid with fancy cursive print that reads Maverick’s Scavenger Hunt 2024, the same sticker on the bottom of the box containing the sandals.

“Sandals for his first official date with Penny on the beach,” you grin, telling Jake the clue you’d figured out. “She got glass in your foot, and he had to carry her a half mile back to the car.”

“Ice cream for his apology to the lactose-intolerant Admiral after he took her on a joyride in his F18,” he explains the clue that led him to ice cream. “I’m not sure about the last one.”

“It’s perfume,” you told him. “After the F18 incident, they were banned from seeing each other. Obviously, they still snuck around, and she sprayed her perfume on his flight suit so she’d always be with him in the air.”

“That’s actually kind of adorable.”

“Come on, sappy pants,” you say, deliberately knocking into his shoulder as you walk by him. “We’re gonna win this thing.”

“Sappy pants?” he grumbles but willingly follows.

Winning was the easy part. Spending three nights at a luxury hotel with Jake will be harder than sustaining G-force. Though you are loath to admit it, he’s too easy on the eyes, too much of a flirt, and his unexpected gentlemanly behavior of holding doors, carrying your luggage, and buying your breakfast at the airport is melting your resolve to stay away from him.

The first sign that the weekend would become a catastrophe was when you checked in. Mav had requested that the booking be changed to a twin room, but the email must have gotten lost in the ether because the room is still a king, and no twins are available. You should have checked the finer details before agreeing to be partners.

It’s fine. You’ll deal with it and won’t let it ruin the rare weekend off.

Your first personal mistake was thinking you could survive a weekend with Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin when he wasn’t required to be in uniform. He stripped down to his boxers a minute after entering the room - “wanna wash off the commercial flight smell.” He was less than ten minutes in the bathroom and exited with his hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel and another one snug and low on his hips.

This is going to be torture.

“Promise is a promise,” he says, walking to his bag on the table, “I’m taking my book, and you won’t see me again.”

Damn it. You wouldn’t mind having him as your view for the day.

“You can take the bed, by the way,” he says. “I’ll ask for more blankets and crash on the floor.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t need to do that, but what's the alternative? You can’t share a bed with him. It would be too close without being close enough.

You smile, grateful. “Well, in that case, dinner is on me.”

He matches your smile, and you think there’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks, or it could just be the heat from the shower. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Urgh. Why does he always have to ruin it? Implying that your intentions are more than a friendly gesture. “Not a date. Just dinner.”

“Shame,” he shrugs. “But yeah, okay, dinner.”

“I’ll make a reservation in the restaurant for seven.”

Jake heads directly to the pool, finds a sun lounger, and delves into his book. Within the first ten pages, the main protagonist is killed off, and his intrigue peaks. He’s happy to wile away the afternoon, topping off his tan and finishing the novel before dinner.

Another five pages in, he spies you exiting the hotel, book in hand, towel in the other, and oversized tee skimming the top of your thighs.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself.

You look around the pool, and while plenty of loungers are available, you make your way over when you see him. He sits up a little straighter, tensing his abs - giving you a show that he’s pretty confident you want.

“Hey,” you say, “sorry to interrupt.”

“I’ve had worse interruptions,” he smirks, eyes slipping down to your thighs and back up again.

You shake your head, smiling lightly. “I couldn’t get a reservation. There’s a wedding rehearsal dinner, so we can’t dine in the restaurant, but we can order room service.”

He nods, “I’m in.”

You look down at the title of his book, and your smile grows. “I’ve read that one,” you comment, “it’s a good one, enjoy.”

You don’t pause long enough for him to say more and take yourself to the other side of the pool, dropping the towel and book onto a free bed. He watches, unashamed that he’s staring, as you pull the t-shirt over your head and reveal a simple black bikini.

“Fuck,” he says, mentally telling himself to calm down.

You make yourself comfortable on the bed before opening your book.

He never should have asked to partner up. He’s a man with little willpower and knows he doesn’t have it in him to not hit on you. “Way to torture yourself, Seresin.”

You feel him staring from across the pool and hope your heavily shaded sunglasses hide that you're also stealing glances at him. You regret bringing a romance novel because, of course, the main character is a cocky, blond cowboy, and your brain immediately Jake codes him.

Your phone chimes, startling you as if someone physically scolded you for staring and fantasizing about your Lieutenant.

>Phoenix: How’s it going? Kissed him yet?

<Cosmo: What?! No.

>Phoenix: He kissed you yet?

<Cosmo: No, and he won’t. More importantly, I don’t want him to.

>Phoenix: 🙄please. You’ve been crushing on him since you arrived. Go for it. No one has to know.

<Cosmo: Why do I suddenly feel like this is a set-up?

>Phoenix: You have to know none of us even tried looking for the stuff because we wanted you to win. Who do you think told Jake the ice cream answer? Coyote. Who do you think told Jake where to find you at the mall? Me.

<Cosmo: What? Why?

>Phoenix: Baby, I love you, but you can be so blind sometimes. You like Jake. You can deny it all you want but I think you're being stubborn because you don’t want him to be able to say I told you so.

<Cosmo: Phoenix, honey, I love you too, but setting me and Jake up so you and Coyote have a couple to double date with is not going to happen.

>Phoenix: We’ll see. Love you. Have fun. 😜

“I need a drink,” you say, slamming your book closed.

Jake watches you typing away on your phone, a slight crease in your brow. It’s adorable, and while he daydreams about what he could do to smooth it out, he receives a text.

>Coyote: Proposed yet?

<Hangman: Screw you. I’m not that into her.

>Coyote: 🙄please. You’re so blinded by how much you’re into her you can’t see how much you’re into her.

He doesn’t have a witty retort because he’s confided, seemingly too much, in Coyote. Coyote’s encouragement won’t help matters, and he promised himself he’d behave. You have rejected his advances more than once, and he needs to accept that nothing is going to happen.

>Coyote: Seriously, dude, now is the perfect time to show her you’re more than your smart mouth and shiny abs.

Jake needs to shut this down before Coyote twists his arm just enough to convince him.

<Hangman: Hi Phoenix 🙄.

>Coyote: She says hi and go get your girl already.

Jake closes his book. He won’t be able to concentrate now. He sighs loudly, “I need a drink.” When he looks across the pool again, you’re pulling on your oversized tee and collecting your things.

Part 2 - The Full Seresin Service

Tags + Info

@alexxavicry / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess / @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @dempy / @atarmychick007 / @genius2025 / @kmc1989 / @alipap3 / @emorychase

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #fic #tgm #fluff #tgm fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #coyote #phoenix

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ppumeonae-bigvibe · 6 months ago

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cherry on top

↖ navigation: seventeen masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: bf! seventeen ot13 x gn! reader

↬ tags: established relationship? yes!, kissing mentioned (hehe!), quite wholesome, my list my rules!, reader uses lipsticks (not implied, but a regular user of lipsticks/ tints/ gloss)

summary: seventeen buying reader lipstick!

𐙚 those who know which color suits you, even your favorite types 𐙚

ᯓ★ seungcheol, jeonghan, mingyu, myungho

the sister-havers are understandable: they have sisters for siblings so they would know a thing or two (before you jump at me, yes i do know vernon and seungkwan have sisters so hear me out); and whereas for minghao? i'm so sure my man is born a fashionista so makeup would be easy for him; and for seungcheol i think that clip of him explaining the different perfumes/ cologne is enough for me to put him here

you don't have to tell them: they would be able to pick a similar or the exact shade right off the bat just by looking at your lips; call it unexplained hidden knack or that special eye for choosing makeup products

purposely (sneakily) grabs you by the chin to kiss you full on the lips just to see how good the product works; love love loves to watch you put on makeup and would gaze at you as you went about your business

bonus if they know color theory, or suggest different shades they think might look good on you (and i'm certain it will)

"you like it?" you swiped a sheen layer of gloss on your lips, before turning to your smitten boyfriend for approval. he does a once over, smile widening at the sight of you. he pulls you in by the waist lovingly, "i like that very much. now, give me a kiss!"

"no! you're gonna ruin it!" he rolls his eyes, "i'll buy you another." he knows you couldn't resist, so before you open your mouth to retort, he yanks you towards him and captures your lips. "i'll buy you as many as you want, so long you keep letting me do this."

----

𐙚 those who has some clue and tries to buy something you like 𐙚

ᯓ★ joshua, soonyoung, jihoon, vernon, seungkwan

i know vernon has a younger sister and kwanie has sisters, but hear me out: i don't think they are that interested in makeup products at all hence they are here; for joshua because he is such a gentleman he would take pictures of your lipsticks to know which ones to get, similar for hosh and wooz i think they would make sure you're physically with them so they don't get the wrong ones

because they aren't sure of the exact type/ shade/ tint, he would make the effort to know your favorite brands and colors at least so that he could go get them when he goes out shopping for your gifts <3 !! he wants to surprise you too, and might throw in other skincare products they are more confident in getting

call it algorithm influencing, but he sometimes sees the targeted ads on your phone and makes a mental note to ask you about it

very much prefers you in your natural state, but loves it when you doll up for them/ yourself because you are beautiful in their eyes (have you seen them barefaced wts!!)

"you like this one?" he leans over, his taller frame standing out painfully in the makeup section. you nod your head, "yeah? looks good doesn't it?" you swatch another color on the back of his hands and he observes closely, "this one has sparkles in it, but it's a lot more lighter than the other other one."

"i can't decide which one to get though." you frowned the back of his hands are littered with various shades, matching yours. he shakes his head, sporting a silly grin, "it's okay! we can browse longer. let's get something you really like."

----

𐙚 those who don't know, but buys something anyways 𐙚:

ᯓ★ junhwi, wonwoo, seokmin, chan

dedicated to the brother-havers and single children: i feel that these bunch of people are the group of people who don't know much about makeup and are perhaps less interested in it as you are; might even be clueless about it

they seem like the type to ask many questions about why some products are matte or glossy or why are they so liquid-y or why has there got to be many shades (in the sweetest and non-annoying way)

very green forest behavior when they know not to mess with your makeup products and to keep them stored away neatly

call it algorithm influencing, but when he spots some makeup brand promoting items, he'd come and ask for your opinion (so that he could take you out and buy it for you uwu)

unexpectedly i think somewhat related to makeup, wonwoo or dino feels like the type to enjoy doing facials with you

"i'm not sure if you like this, but i overheard you telling your friends you were running out. thought this might make your day." his heart was beating out of his chest, but he plays it cool by gifting you a small bag. you excitedly take it from him, and he relishes in the way your eyes practically light up. looks like he bought the right one.

"oh baby, thank you!" you hug him tight and he reciprocates the gesture, an affectionate beam all over his face. "it's the one i told you about! no way! you got it!" he exhales dramatically, "anything for you my love."

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

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ohtobeleah · 2 months ago

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Day Three [Protect Thy Savour]

Summary: When Jake and Hollywood are enjoying a fire in the comfort and silence of Jake’s courtyard, Hollywood reminds Jake that nothing was ever his fault.

Warnings: PTSD. Shared Trauma. Jake Seresin x F!Reader. Mentions of Captivity. Survivor’s Guilt. Mental Health

Word Count: 0.9k

Whumptober Prompt Day Three: Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Bruises Masterlist

“I wish this moment could last forever.” Time is a strange thing. When you’re waiting for something good to happen, it can often feel as if time is dragging on. But when you want it to slow down? It goes by in the blink of an eye.

“We can stay right here, like this, for as long as you want Hotshot.” The odd part is time isn’t real. It’s a concept imagined by scientists based on the imperfect movement of Earth around the Sun.

“Hmm, sounds perfect,” So why do people put so much importance on something that’s just a theory? The simple answer to that loaded question….is that it’s sometimes all people have.

There’s never enough time. Work, friends, being held hostage in the middle of nowhere for months on end, life, death. Something always cuts our time short. So our best bet is to make the most of the time we have. Or we can strive to make up for lost time. But sometimes, if we’re really lucky….time stands still.

The crackle of the fire pit filled the comfortable silence you and Jake shared. His courtyard had become a space where the two of you would go to fill the empty void you both shared. The void where innocence and hope in humanity once resonated within your souls.

The orange hume cascaded down your shared silhouettes in the midnight darkness. Still, it could never be as dark as the pit of hell the two of you had shared.

“Your hair smells nice.” Jake sighed as he held you close to his chest. Your back was pressed firmly into him as he let the side of the concrete seat hold both his and your weight. His arms hung around your shoulders as your fingers danced up and down his forearm.

“Black plum and vanilla,” You replied, a little drowsiness in your tone. “It’s new, Phoenix made me this basket full of products, said it was a pamper kit.” You chuckled softly, the kindness of those closest to you hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Jake didn’t reply, he simply stayed holding you close, afraid that if he were to let go he’d wake up and still be in that godforsaken cell he spent months being jealous of the rats that got to come and go as they pleased. It had just been one of those days. One where Jake couldn’t for the life of him quiet the voices in his mind. The voices that told him everything had been his fault. That he was responsible for all your pain and the trauma that would follow you for a lifetime.

One of those days where if he closed his eyes and never woke up, Jake wouldn’t mind. He’d welcome the sweet release of death if it were to take him tonight. The only person who kept him sane enough to remember to breathe was you.

“Hey Seresin?�� You mumbled as you snuggled a little deeper into Jake’s warm embrace.

“Yeah?” Jake replied as he felt tears welling in his eyes as he let his chin rest against the top of your head. Your touch was grounding, all-consuming, settling. It was the only medicine Jake would admit he needed. The anti-psychotics, the pain meds, the sleeping tablets, he didn’t need any of them in his damaged mind. All he needed, all he wanted, was you.

“It’s not your fault,” Battle. Fight. Win. Loose. These are the words we use when someone is diagnosed with an illness or disease. People tend to use militarised language that implies it’s a fair fight. “None of what happened to us was your fault.”

But when it comes to life and death, what does winning really look like? Is a person you love a loser for dying when the outcome isn’t really in their control?

“What happened to you, me, us, none of it falls on your shoulders, Jake,” You continued as the crackle of the fire filled the silence. Jake never responded, all he did was hold you closer, hold you tighter. His tears streamed down his cheeks freely, to the point that when they fell your hair sucked up the moisture.

“I love you–” Jake whispered as the heat from the fire and the warmth of your heart kept him sane. “Thank you,” He followed up as he placed a simple kiss to the spot where his tears had fallen on your head. “I love you with everything I have, with everything I’ve lost.”

“I love you with everything we’ll build together,” You mumbled as you moved Jake’s hand up towards your lips. You couldn’t help but to leave a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I Promise.”

When it comes to medicine, who’s to say what’s winning or losing? There’s just as much value in trying again as there is in letting go. Letting go of suffering, regret, pain, fear. Instead of saying someone we love is battling, beating, fighting, winning or losing, why don't we just tell the truth?

That its not always a fair fight.

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

#ailesswhumptober #ailesswhumptober2024 #leahs Whumptober Masterlist #bruises // jake seresin #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #whump writing #whump community #whump prompt

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felinefractious · 8 months ago

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i really dont know much about maine coons but they look super cool, what are the "maine coon features" you mention in your post about people thinking their longhairs are maine coons?

The appearance of the Maine Coon is supposed to be a well-balanced. The head and muzzle should be squared with a clear stop. Ear tufts should be distinctly present.

For the sake of showing the Maine Coon is classified as a “semi-longhair,” so they aren’t supposed to be a giant puffball like the Persian or British Longhair.

I’m having a hard time explaining it in a way that I feel makes sense.

The French registry LOOF has some excellent illustrated standards for some of their breeds. Cedarseed has also put together an excellent visual guide to various breeds available for purchase as an e-book or physical copy.

It’s an awesome, huge resource that I can’t recommend enough both for the feline artist - be it big cats, other wild cats or our domestic buddies - or the purebred snob afficiando likes myself.

On the left we have Honey Sushi, a Domestic Longhair available for adoption mis-labeled as a Maine Coon mix and on the right we have Tigerfeet Billie Holiday the Maine Coon.

Honey’s ears are too wide-set and rounded, he lacks the characteristic ear tufts and his muzzle is not well-defined. His whisker pads kind of just blend into the rest of his face as an entire unit compared to Billie distinct muzzle that leaves no question where no question as to where it starts and ends. Billie also has the squared head of the breed while Honey does not.

Tallulah Gin is listed as a Maine Coon x Persian mix, although she is most likely a Domestic Longhair. Her coat is an excellent example of what a Maine Coon’s coat shouldn’t look like - not that anything is wrong with her beautiful fur, it’s just not Maine Coon fur.

Compared to this Maine Coon from The Opal Temple. You can see that the topline is smooth and “short” but the fur gets gradually longer towards the belly and pants where it achieves maximum fluff. Also note that the Maine Coon’s head doesn’t disappear into a Lion King worthy mane, the ruff is more moderate and follows the same pattern as the rest of the coat of being short up top flowing downward into the longer part of the coat.

There are random-bred cats with one or more of these “Maine Coon” features, and there are Maine Coon’s which are more moderate or more extreme and don’t meet the standard to a T.

I can show you pedigree Maine Coon’s with wide forehead, tall ears, insubstantial ear tufts, proportions not well-balanced or however many faults you want to list.

I can also show you random-bred cats with squared heads and muzzles, well-spaced ears, a coat that’s short in the right places and long in the right places and falls just so.

I’ve met cats where I’ve been told they’re a Maine Coon mix and I don’t go “Oh obviously” but “Yeah, I can see that.” This isn’t commonplace, but it’s happened a few times where the cat has been passable as a poorly bred Maine Coon or mix.

But what gets me is so often I see people - online and in person - who say their cat is a Maine Coon or Maine Coon mix, they sweat up down and sideways that it must be true because the cat looks so much like a Maine Coon…

And then the cat is the moggiest moggy to have ever moggied. Not a single Maine Coon feature in sight, unless you include long fur - and some of them don’t even have that! Is the resemblance that they’re both cats? Is that what you’re seeing?

If you’re going to try to sell me on your cat being a Maine Coon or mix at least show me you have a basic understanding of the breed’s conformation and show me what features make you feel that way about your cat that don’t include “big” and “fluffy.”

#anonymous #asks #cat breeds #maine coon

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wardenparker · 2 months ago

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Love Potion Number 9

Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 15.4k Warnings: Not too many! Alcohol, food mentions, some fakey suburban witchcraft stuff written by an actual pagan, probably incorrect descriptions of a town that actually exists. Making out and undressing. Mentions of protected sex. Summary: Halloween is a really big deal in your hometown, and this year your sister is in town to celebrate with you. But what you don't know is that she isn't the only old familiar face around. Your childhood crush Will Miller is back, too. Notes: Happy Spooktober everyone! We're starting off nice and fluffy this year, with a little love for the older Miller brother. We're starting the spice level out low 🧡

Red Feather Lakes might be a small community, but for the little corner of Colorado where you grew up, Halloween is a way of life. The annual kids parade on Elf Lane, and Main Street Trick or Treat are the highlight of the year, and the costume party at town hall is not to be missed.

This year is the hundredth anniversary of the big Halloween shindig and on the night before, which is making such a splash around town that people are coming in from all over to see what the town council has managed. Even your little sister is back in town, which is how the two of you ended up on the back porch of your parents’ house drinking margaritas and eating cold pizza way too late at night, catching up and reminiscing about Halloweens of years past.

“Don’t you remember that night that Ben Miller scared the ever-loving shit out of us?” She snorts, feeling tipsy and better than she has in a long time. This little trip was needed. Especially since she has some news that might change the dynamic of the next time you get together.

“Which time?” You raise an eyebrow at her and pour the last of the pitcher of margaritas evenly between your glasses. While most of your friends — and even your little sister who is your best friend — had grown up and left town, you had come back again a few years ago after a change of careers. Seeing her again at any time of year that isn’t the winter holidays is such a treat. “The time he jumped out at us in that King Kong mask up in Elf Lane? Or the time he tried to climb in the kitchen window dressed like Freddy Krueger and dad nearly clobbered him with a baseball bat?”

The Millers were your next door neighbors growing up, and you had spent a lot of time together since you and Will were in the same grade and your sister was the same grade as Benny. For a while when you were kids, the four of you were inseparable.

“That time that he snuck in and grabbed our ankles from under the bed.” She laughs, even though at the time it hadn’t been funny. She had cussed him out and Will had actually knocked him upside his dumbass head a few times after he had calmed the two of you down.

Snorting at the memory, you take a big sip from your crazy straw and laugh from somewhere deep in your belly that you swear you had forgotten. "You screamed so loud you woke up Mrs. Peterson two houses down. It was amazing, but I still wanted to kick Benny's ass."

“Will did.” She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her margarita. “I can’t believe it’s been so long. We were fucking kids. I think that’s the moment I lost my little crush on Benny.”

"When you realized he was never going to stop pranking you for shits and giggles?" Chaos has always been Benny Miller's energy. You will agree to that completely.

“Yeah.” She blows out a sigh and shrugs. “Worked out for the best, I guess. At least I don’t have to sleep with one eye open.”

"Maybe not the best..." You shoot your sister a smirk. "I heard from Janie Calitri that he's doing MMA fights now." Gossip is just about all there is to do in a town as small as yours, and that multiples exponentially when the gossip is about your small-town heroes. The Miller brothers are solidly near the top of that list. Everybody in town loves them and remembers them fondly. Even if Benny was a little shit.

“God.” She blows out a laugh that is half surprise but mostly resignation. “MMA? I guess that’s the next step after the army.”

"Seems like it." It isn't worth mentioning that you also heard in the same conversation that Will Miller is now a firefighter or personal trainer or maybe both. Janie hadn't been clear on the details except that she'd somehow seen a picture of him looking drool-worthy on Instagram shared by a gym. But Will Miller had always been drool worthy. Even when you were gangly, awkward teenagers.

“So, how are you liking living here?” She asks, taking another sip and glancing around the screened in porch and then back at you. “I know that wish I live closer - I do too, but please tell me you’ve been going out and dating?”

“Please tell me who I’m supposed to date in a town of less than five hundred people where we know everyone already and they all know us?” The best you can do is shake your head and take another long sip of your drink. “I don’t mind being back and I actually really like my job, but I basically hang out at home with the dog all day since I telecommute. Mom and Dad will probably never retire just because they hate being bored, And they go line dancing or to the movies or to the bowling alley all the time.” Snorting again, you shrug. “Our parents have a way more active social life than I do.”

“Come on, you used to have huuuuuuge crush on Will!” She yelps it out in disappointment. “You mean you didn’t jump him when he came home from the Army without that twat he was going to marry?”

There it is, you think with an internal sigh. The downside of having your little sister as your best friend is that she knows literally everything about your life — and the things she’s somehow missed she just barges into the middle of. “No, I didn’t. Though that girl was fucking awful.” She was some girl he’d met in a bar while he was in. Someone who just wanted to go around making sure everyone knew how important she was as an Army Wife, while not wanting to do a thing to help her serviceman partner. Will’s PTSD had been terrible back then and she had done less than nothing to help. The day he blacked out and almost attacked a man in the grocery store in town, it was you who talked him down and helped him out of the panic. Not her. She had gone back to the house and packed. “He’s moved again, anyway. He’s living with Benny in Florida.”

“What? No way.” She scrunches her nose and makes a face. “That sucks. You would have married him and had his babies in a New York minute if he would have looked at you.” She sighs softly. “Where in Florida?”

“Sarasota.” You answer far too quickly, and duck your head away and when she raises both eyebrows at you. “We…may follow each other on Instagram still. Not that we ever talk.”

“And how often do you stalk his page?” She demands, smirking slightly at the way you are avoiding eye contact.

“I see on my feed when he posts something new,” you defend, concentrating very hard on petting your parents’ dog at your feet. “I don’t go stalking him.”

“But I bet notifications are on.” She snorts and grins when you shove at her. Only tipping sideways slightly but manages not to spill her drink as she rights herself. “Yeah. You still drool over William Miller.”

“Childhood crushes die hard.” It’s a weak defense, and you would more accurately call him your first love, but she isn’t wrong. You definitely still drool over Will Miller.

“God, do you remember when we were going through that little goth phase and decided we were witches?” She cackles. “We should whip up that love potion we had a recipe – I mean spell for.”

“The foolproof one you got from some rando on MySpace?” It had sounded genius back in the day. Absolutely brilliant. To two preteens from a middle-of-nowhere mountain town, it had seemed perfect. “It was so useless, wasn’t it? With just cooking herbs and normal stuff in it?”

“Yes! But that’s not the point.” She sends you an exaggerated pout. “The point is to do something. Start working on your love life.”

The look you give her is incredulous at best. “By making…weird love spell tea to lure Will Miller back to Colorado and into my chronically single arms?”

“Absolutely!” She giggles like it’s the funniest phrasing she’s ever heard, but she wants to do it. “We should do something silly and fun. Doesn’t matter if it’s not going to work.” She grins. “We will just be summoning our Practical Magic sides again.”

Maybe it’s the margaritas. Maybe it’s that tomorrow is Halloween. Or maybe it’s just that you missed your sister. But whatever it is, you tilt your head to look at her and end up grinning. “If you tell me you wrote the love spell down somewhere I’m going to laugh my ass off.”

“Oh I made a Grimoire.” She tells you, looking both pleased with herself and a little embarrassed. “I was really into it!” She huffs when your eyes widen and she throws a napkin at you.

“You were, but do you think it’s still upstairs?” The idea, silly as it is, seems to itch something very intriguing in your tipsy mind.

“Let’s go see!” She drains the rest of her margarita and slaps the cup down. Now that you are not protesting the entire idea, she is ready to make this happen for you. “We will make Will Miller fall in love with you

******

"Come oooooon!" Benny is flopped on his back on the sofa in the apartment he shares with his brother, staring up at both the ceiling and at Will's incredulous face. "It's gonna be even better this year, and you pulled the short straw at work last year and couldn't come home with me for Christmas. Mom will flip her shit if you come home with me as a surprise. She'll be so excited dude."

“It’s Halloween.” Will snorts. “You’re just going to pass out or eat all the candy and scare the shit out of the kids.” He could go, but giving Benny a hard time right now is much more fun.

"Yes." Benny waves his hands, outstretched arms punctuating his point like a giant bird's wingspan. "Yes exactly. What else would I do on Halloween? It's going to be amazing." They grew up loving the holiday, loving their town's traditions, and always putting their full effort into costumes and parties. Halloween in Red Feather Lakes is really its own whole world. "Which is exactly why you should come home with me and enjoy yourself for once."

“I don’t find scaring the shit out of the neighbors to be a good time like you do.” He points at finger at his mischievous younger brother. “You climb under their beds this time and they’re liable to shoot your dumbass.”

Benny's face splits into a grin. "If that's what I gotta do to get your ass alone with her for any fucking reason, you bet your ass I'll do it." he promises, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Who?” Will demands, even though he knows exactly who Benny is talking about. The same girl he has casually been bringing up for the past six months every time he talks about home. You.

"The girl you were in-fucking-love with for every year of your life ending in teen." Benny deadpans, and moves to sit up from his place on the couch. "Don't you ever want to find out if it could actually happen?"

“Except for the fact that she was never interested in me.” Will reminds him, knowing that it is a moot point once Ben Miller has made up his mind about something.

"I still don't buy that." The younger Miller brother sits up fully and somehow manages to spring up from his seat without a massive rush of dizziness. Pure luck. "Dude, just come home with me for the weekend. Mom will flip her shit to see you and cook whatever you want. Isn't that worth the trip in and of itself?"

“I haven’t had her meatloaf in a long time.” He admits, knowing that he could use the break from work and bullshit. Frankie is busy with his girl and the babies and there isn’t a fight coming up for a few weeks. “But I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe I could just stay home. Have a break from you.” He teases.

"If you stay here, Pope is gonna drag your ass to some club to wingman for him." Benny points out, already smirking victoriously. "Mom's meatloaf or Pope's cocky ass bullshit? It's not a hard choice, bro."

Will rolls his eyes, aware that he’s not lying. Santiago has already been talking about some club where the drinks are hot and the women even hotter. It’s not really Will’s kind of thing. “You’re driving.” He snorts, giving in.

Cackling with glee, Benny loops his arm around his brother's neck and pulls him toward the back of the apartment. "I already bought your plane ticket, asshole. You were coming whether you liked it or not, now pack! We gotta be at the airport in three hours!"

“Shit.” Will hisses at the impulsiveness of his brother, but he grins. He will take the weekend to recharge and refocus. If he just happens to chat with you and see how you’ve been, that will just be a happy coincidence.

******

Though you aren't technically hungover, the headache that has lingered all morning isn't going away as you head into town with your sister. Breakfast was a trial for her queasy stomach but she seems to be in lighter spirits now, chattering away as you head together toward town hall. Apparently she had thought it would be a blast to sign you up as volunteers to help decorate the place for the big Halloween party tonight, even though you aren't quite sure why.

“We just need to get the last ingredient while we are in town and we will brew the tea before the party.” She chatters happily after tucking her phone into her pocket and linking her arm through yours.

“And what, pray tell, is the last ingredient?” It had taken over an hour of routing through her old room and closet to find the teenage grimoire aside by that tins you had been exhausted. So it was agreed upon that the witching hour would be three in the afternoon instead of three in the morning like the lame, adult witches you now are.

“Fresh thyme to chase away the bad vibes of previous relationships to usher in true love.” She hums, shooting you a grin. “And I want a special shout out at your wedding.”

"You can give a speech and take credit," you promise her, rolling your eyes only gently. She seems utterly convinced that this will work and what the hell – it's been a long time since you did something dumb with your kid sister just for fun.

“Oh I absolutely will.” She snickers, bumping her shoulder against yours playfully. “And you will absolutely be doing Will.”

“You can see the future now?” You tease as town comes into sight. She’s so determined that you have half a mind to ask if she’s been conspiring with Benny.

“No.” She rolls her eyes. “I wish. I would be hitting the lottery just often enough to not be suspicious.”

“We’d become aces in sports betting.” Much good may it do you. Having enough money to take care of yourself didn’t make your last relationship work.

“Yep. One hundred percent.” She snorts, knowing her team always loses. “Become ladies of leisure and live on that round the world cruise ship. Place our bets online and live off the proceeds.”

"That's the retirement plan." You tell her sagely, and the two of you end up in giggles as you park the car on Main Street, halfway between town hall and the general store. You'll need both before you head home again.

“Plus I figured we could get some of those Halloween sugar cookies.” She admits with a grin. “And a last minute bag of mini KitKats.”

"That's why you're my favorite sister." The grin you beam in her direction is bright, and because she's your only sister, you're both laughing when you climb out of the car.

“Might be because I’m your only sister.” She hums smugly. “So let’s go do this decorating so we can get our munches on.”

"We're getting popcorn, too," you bargain, matching the long strides of her legs as you hustle down the street together. "So when we dip out of the party early tonight we can turn on horror movies and make popcorn."

“Carmel popcorn?” She counters, waggling her brows.

"Okay we're getting two kinds of popcorn."

The laughter that follows the two of you lasts all the way into town hall where party decorating is well underway and several people are already walking around with pieces of their costumes on. Your parents are both already there, helping some members of the town's council to hang streamers and a group of kids from the local high school are making signs for their charity fundraiser. It's a homey, welcoming atmosphere and you breath in the scent of pumpkin spice potpourri when you come further into the big function room.

******

“Come on man.” Benny hustles Will through the baggage claim, neither one of them packing anything that needed to be checked, but you have to go through that area to get to the rental desk. “We need to get our car.”

The hour drive from the airport in Laramie, Wyoming doesn't bother them. Red Feather Lakes was always a beautiful place inside of beautiful mountains, and being able to surprise their mother would be worth it. Ever since their father died any chance they get to see her is doubly worthwhile. It was more the nuisance of paperwork that both Miller brothers disliked. They'd rather just step out of the airport and be at their childhood home again.

“You’re driving.” Will tosses Benny the keys and smirks when the younger man groans. “Fine.” He huffs, pouting slightly. He had obviously wanted to work on something for his scare plan tonight.

"Driver picks music." Benny declares, regardless of the fact that it goes completely against their usual bargain. If Will is going to make him drive, he's not going to listen to Queens of the Stone Age for the entire drive.

“Whatever man. Just don’t fucking put on Miley Cyrus.” Will opens the backseat door and tosses his bag in. “You call mom, make sure she is home?”

"I texted her to ask what time she was going into town to hand out candy to the trick or treaters at her shop. It's still early enough, she'll be home." The florist shop that Dana Miller had managed for their entire life was squarely in the middle of the town's before-dark trick or treating event where little kids could go storefront to storefront to get candy from business owners, and she had never missed a year with the kids. These days she would finish that up and then head over to town hall for the party right after.

“Okay.” Will nods as Benny hops behind the wheel and cranks the car up. “We drop our bags and see if mom has some candy for later?” He has a wicked sweet tooth, although he never admits it

"Yes, we'll see if she has your mini Snickers, you overgrown child," Benny teases as he peels out into the road.

“You know you eat about half of them.” Will huffs, always annoyed when he goes to get some of his favorite candy and the little shit has eaten all of them.

"She got my Reese's." The younger brother of the two brothers announces happily. "I'm all set. The kids may not get any candy, but we will."

“Of course she does.” There’s no spite in his tone even thought it’s always been obvious that Benny is the favorite. It’s only because he’s the baby of the family.

"Don't pout." Benny throws his brother a smirk. "I bet if you go next door you can get all the treats you want."

Will groans, but he doesn't say anything. Since he's agreed to come, his brother has just intensified the comments about you and it does him no good to try to argue against him. He will just keep on so he's trying to ignore it.

The drive is reasonably marked with snark and ribbing, and when Benny pulls the rental car up in front of their old house it feels a little bit like coming home from bootcamp. That was the last time they had really surprised their mother with an arrival. "C'mon." Benny shoves Will and climbs out of the SUV. "Quiet. Get your shit."

"Jesus.' Will rolls his eyes but silently creeps out of the vehicle. "I think mom will notice me at some point." He points out. "It's not like the time you tried to have Aaron Rodgers live with us without telling our parents."

"His parents' divorce was vicious, he needed someplace to go." Benny defends, though he does make Will shut up before he very carefully opens the door in his best effort to be silent. He even avoids the creaky fourth plank in the entryway floor that sounds like a cartoon coffin swinging open. But the dog spoils it almost immediately with barking his head off.

Will's shoulders shake in silent amusement as Benny makes more noise than the dog trying to shut him up. Only getting the barking to stop when Scruffy comes into view, sees it's his second and third favorite humans and immediately rushes over to beat his tail against the walls as he jumps up for love and kisses.

"You ruined it!" Benny is huffing at the Malinois, but he's still bent over giving him all the cuddles he could possibly want when their mother appears around the corner.

Dana Miller is wearing her Halloween apron with an episode of Supernatural playing on the kitchen television, flour in her hair and even on her cheek when she unceremoniously drops the towel from her hands at the sight of her boys. "Benjamin Miller is this why you wanted to know about my schedule for the day?" She crows, before hurrying forward to wrap both of her sons up in hugs. "Almost gave me and the dog a damn heart attack, come and hug your mother."

"Hey ma." Will smiles as he scoops her up, even though her own grip on him is bone crushing. She's not a frail woman, despite being petite. "Ben thought we should surprise you, so send him the medical bills."

"I will, don't you worry." She squeezes them both tight, one after the other, and doesn't mind the fact that she's a little teary eyed at the sight of them. "What's the occasion then, besides Halloween? Or are we just giving your old mother palpitations for fun these days?"

"You know Benny." Will snorts. "It's all fun and games for him." His tone sounds surly but now that he's here, he's happy Benny dragged him along. It's been too long since he's seen his mother. He needs to make more of an effort.

“It is.” She knows that. Her younger son’s whimsy is something she loves about him. “But it got you both home, so I’m very happy about it. How long are you staying?”

"Just the weekend." Will shrugs apologetically. "I have to be back at work Monday afternoon."

"How is the firehouse?" Dana ushers her boys toward the kitchen after they drop their bags at the foot of the stairs like they always did after school every day. Old habits die hard.

"It's.....fine." The truth is, he's not exactly happy there anymore. There's been a change of command and for some reason, he clashes with the new fire chief.

"Oh?" Their mother raises an eyebrow as she moves to the stove, immediately dishing up some of what she was cooking. It was going to last just her all weekend, but now that her boys are home it will be one lunch and that is perfectly fine. "What's caused the change of heart?"

"New chief." Will sighs. "He's a very 'my way or the highway' type."

"You never do well with that." The beef stew from the pot is ladled into bowls without hesitation or even consultation. The Miller boys are always hungry. "Benny honey, get the tray of rolls out of the oven," she instructs, setting the full bowls one by one on the kitchen counter. "Are you thinking of asking for a transfer?" She asks, bringing her attention back to her elder son.

"Problem is, there isn't anywhere to transfer to." He complains, having been really pissed about that when he had found out. "Not without a significant loss of pay or having to move to BFE Florida."

"BFE?" Their mother asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

"Military term." Benny supplies helpfully, shooting Will a grin. "Butt Fuck, Egypt. Means the middle of nowhere."

"Charming." Dana rolls her eyes at her sons. "Put those rolls on a plate, Ben. Will, there's sodas in the fridge if you want." She ushers both boys toward the table on the other end of the kitchen and puts the bowls on a tray. "So what will you do, Will? Have you decided? Or found your solution but pretended you haven't decided yet?"

"Honestly, I don't have a clue right now." He had stopped giving the talks at the different commands, finding it too difficult after losing Tom last year. "But I need to figure it out. He doesn't even respect my VA appointments."

"Maybe you'll find a little inspiration. A Halloween miracle?" She winks and laughs at her own little joke. "A little mountain air might help clear your head, at least."

He groans at her lame joke and shakes his head. "Sure, why not?" He snorts. "It's closer than a Christmas miracle."

"So you're coming to the party tonight, then." It isn't a question. She will be bringing her boys to the costume party since they're in town. "We'll have to get some costumes sorted out."

"We have them." Benny announces with a grin.

"You brought some?" She raises an eyebrow in interest as they start to eat.

Benny cuts his eyes over to Will, still ignoring him. "I brought some." He admits. "Planned it out for my helpless older brother."

******

"I love that we're grown ass women and still getting banished to the backyard to make potions on Dad's old camping stove." You snort, carrying the equipment out to the back porch where your sister is lining up all of her bottles of 'love potion' ingredients. "Feels very teenage of us. I love it."

"Mom said she didn't like the smell of the herbs." It was such a lie, but neither of you called her on it. It's more likely that she just didn't want to put up with your giggling and cackling as you 'brewed' the potion.

"She should just be glad that we didn't do this last night after an entire pitcher of margaritas." That would have been even more giggling and probably a disaster waiting to happen. "Alright, do we have a spell or something? What are we doing here?" Since moving past the silliness of it, you've come around to just embracing the absurdity of the idea. If like isn't about being ridiculous with your best friend, then what is it about?

“Well of course we have a spell.” She rolls her eyes and snorts like you are ridiculous for even thinking otherwise.

"Pull out that grimoire, baby sis." The table on the porch becomes your staging area and you set up the camping stove and pot then start to look through the bottles that your sister has brought out. "Fennel pollen? What the hell is fennel pollen?"

“Fennel, ground.” She snorts, pulling out a small container of the spice. “Substitutes are okay.”

"Why is there a piece of...is that from my prom dress?" A scrap of lace fabric is out with the bottles and you hold it up in confusion. "Are we like...burning things related to wedding dresses to summon a groom?" You ask, already bursting out laughing all over again.

“It’s a part of the spell!” She snorts, even as she starts laughing too. “It was the dance you and Will danced at, remember?”

“I remember.” How could you forget? Your whole friend group had opted not to have official prom dates but to all go together, and then everyone had paired off anyway. The memory of it — how Will had grumbled about why didn’t we all have dates, then? as the two of you sat at the table together, and how it took him half the night to dance at all — makes you smile softly.

“So this is the pinch of closeness the spell requires.” She tells you as she takes the bottle from you. “From the waist of the dress where Will held you close.”

“This is a really fucking specific spell,” you joke, actually feeling more warmth from the nostalgia than anything else. You had ended up having a wonderful prom with Will and that was the whole reason that your dress was still upstairs.

“It’s specialized to the couple so it’s more likely to work.” She points out practically. “Too bad I don’t have something of Will’s.”

“I mean…” Glancing next door, you shrug your shoulders and move to the end of the porch that bitts right up against the border of your properties. There’s no fence or gate or wall or anything, just two backyards running together. “Does something from his yard count?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs and shoots you a grin. “It couldn’t hurt.”

"Let's go see!" Ready to just throw yourself all in when the memories of prom make you all warm and fuzzy with nostalgia, you hop down from your back porch and slip over to the Miller's yard. It takes all of three seconds to find something that Scruffy left outside. Helpfully, it's one of Will's old bandanas that the sleek Malinois sometimes wears with his collar, and you pick it up with an air of victory. "Scruffy's doing his part for the spell," you call out, and hustle back to the porch.

Laughing, your sister shakes her head but takes the bandana. “Ode de dog slobber.” She jokes, although the bandana looks clean.

“Alright.” Back up on the porch, you motion to your sister with a flourish. “Break out the grimoire and let’s do this,” you proclaim, running your hands together.

"That's the spirit!" She reaches out and slaps your butt playfully and then turns to pull an old notebook out of the bag she had brought down. It might not be the spookiest but it was what she had as a teenager.

One by one each ingredient goes into the pot. A pinch of this, a dash of that. Mostly kitchen herbs, or the contents of a broken up tea bags. The live flame from the camping stove is there to singe the scrap of your prom dress. Will's bandana goes into the brew like a Hail Mary from his days as quarterback of the high school football team. By the time everything is in and your sister has read the makeshift spell aloud from her notebook with flare, you're both cackling with glee and feeling like there may really be something magical about Halloween after all.

“I feel like we should be wearing all black and living in a very mysterious house.” Your sister admits with a grin as she gives the ‘tea’ a final stir and pinches in the thyme that you had to buy earlier. “Okay, we let this steep one minute and then you drink it while saying Will’s full name after every sip.”

"You didn't tell me I had to drink it!" It's so like her to leave that detail to the very end, and you scowl at her for a whole three seconds. "I would not have put the dog's bandana in there."

She cackles with a slightly evil grin on her face. “How did you think it would work?” She demands, pulling it off the heat to let it steep as she pulls out your favorite old teacup. It was one that you had found in the attic years ago and rescued from the trunk to become your teacup.

"I guess I didn't give it much thought," you admit with a huff. Because you never intended to go through with it, but the prospect of having fun with your sister had won out.

She snorts and shrugs. “Maybe we add a little honey for taste.”

"Maybe more than a little." But the suggestion brings you both to the edges of giggles again, and you shake your head as she goes inside to retrieve the honey bear from the cupboard.

There's an odd moment of warmth in the quiet that follows, and you pick up the photo of you and Will from that prom night, savoring the nostalgia that blankets you like a gentle hug.

If you had known you were being watched through the window by an unexpected audience, you're not sure you would even have cared. Sometimes good memories are worth a moment to honor them.

******

“We don’t have to be there right when the doors open.” Will rolls his eyes as Benny hurries him along. Because of the military he has always been early for everything, but he’d spent too much time today by the window and then looking through an old box in his closet to even think about getting ready until his younger brother had burst into his room.

"If we want a crack at the punchbowl before Deputy Warren starts nitpicking at anyone who drinks, yes we do need to be there when the doors open." Benny contends. Pointing to the bundle of clothes on Will's bed, he frowns animatedly. "Get dressed, dude."

“You are gonna have a bottle out in the truck anyway.” Will points out, but he still gets up and pulls his shirt off. “What the hell did you get me for a costume anyway?”

"They had a costume for that Sons of Anarchy character you like when I went to the Halloween store." Benny tells him. He's already in his cowboy outfit and twirls his hat around one hand. "I figured if I got you a Disney outfit you'd refuse to go, and that defeats the purpose of coming out here."

“You know better than to get me some stuffy Prince Charming costume.” He snorts. He’ll be happy with the Sons outfit and he can slick back his hair, “I’ll be ready in five.”

"Good." Benny whirls around and stuffs his hat on his head. "You're driving!" He hollers back as he strolls out of the room. "I wanna pregame!"

“Shit.” He shakes his head and blows out a sigh. He has a feeling tonight is going to be a long one.

"I heard that!" Benny calls back, already heading down the stairs. He's going to enjoy the hell out of this weekend and is going to push Will's buttons until he figures out what it takes for his brother to enjoy it, too.

True to his word, Will is downstairs four and a half minutes later. His hair slicked back with some ten-year-old gel he had found under the sink in the bathroom and a silver chain that he had forgotten he had around his neck. He doesn’t have but two rings on, but one of them is a skull ring.

"You boys go ahead and have fun." Their mother is bustling around the living room, tidying up from the board game they had been playing before. "I'm going to come a little later. I want to catch the neighborhood trick or treaters before I leave the house."

“Are you sure?” Will walks over to her and drops a kiss on her head.

"Absolutely." She nods, giving her older son a squeezing hug. "The Olsens down the street always do a family costume and their granddaughter is just two years old now. I don't want to miss that."

“Okay.” Will palms the keys and looks over at his brother. “Ready, jackass?”

"I've been ready." Even the cowboy boots he borrowed from Fish are ready, and Benny slides right out the front door with a mock square dancing move, calling back: "See ya at the party, Mom!" And climbing directly into the rental car.

“Kill me now.” Will sighs as he shakes his head, following him out the door and closing it behind him. There’s already kids running up and down the streets with bags in their hands. Soon ghosts and goblins will haunt the streets and the witching hours for youngsters will begin.

******

"Oh wow..." Your sister gasps sharply walking into the town's Halloween party and seeing how much decorating had been done after the two of you left. The finesse, it seemed, was everything. A band composed of several town council members, the middle school principal, and the town librarian has set up on one end of the room to play the night away. Tables of food and drink line the opposite wall for new arrivals to mingle and find their courage, and some couples are already out on the dance floor at the beginning of the party.

Having doubled down on the idea to dress as Barbie movie characters this year, your sister rolls in as Cowgirl Barbie in her bright pink jumpsuit complete with bell bottoms and the kerchief around her neck with a grin on her face. She's always effortless, your baby sister, and instead of being huffy when she spots someone else in the same costume as her, she just sprints off to make a new friend instead. It leaves you standing in your pink and white gingham dress as classic Barbie just a little awkwardly by the door.

“Come on.” As soon as he finds a spot to park, Benny is rushing Will out of the SUV and towards the door. Eager to start the night off, even though he had been drinking on the way.

The party is in full swing already but the punch bowl is full, which is all Benny cares about at the moment. He heads straight over to get a black plastic cup and scrawl his name on it with a metallic sharpie when he hears his name screeched at top volume. Old friends seem to pour out of the woodwork to say hi, and practically before Will even hits the doorframe, his little brother is surrounded by a mob of people.

Will is more the type to ease into a room. The military training and life had led him to scout out exits and breach points. He finds himself searching those out and spots a pink gingham dress in the process.

"Oh shit!" Your sister has spotted him first, as she's facing the rest of the room while you were pouring two cups of punch.

"What?" You barely look up, making very sure that you don't spill on your dress. "Did you spot more Barbies?"

“No.” She shakes her head and grins. “Will’s here!” She hisses and motions you away from the table. “Go give him a drink.”

"Will's here?" There is hardly enough time to react before she is spinning you around and nudging you toward the middle of the room like she's going to shove you clear across the expansive dancefloor and straight into his arms.

When you turn around, Will swallows. The dress looks incredible on you and you look shocked to see him. He shuffles slightly, rolling his shoulders back as for once wishes he had a cigarette even though he quit eight years ago.

"Hey." One single, stupid word comes out of your mouth when you get within an arm's reach of him, still clutching both cups and trying to pretend your heart isn't beating out of your chest.

“Hey.” He reaches out to take the cups from you and stupidly takes both like you weren’t wanting one for yourself. “You don’t look like the Barbie dolls I remember Benny pulling the heads off of.” He jokes, flashing you a quick grin. “I think they were all yours too.”

With your cheeks instantly on fire, you manage to smile and shrug like you aren't well aware that Benny had a penchant for doll destruction when you were all kids. "Barbie is a state of mind," you tell him with an air of someone giving sage advice.

“That’s true.” He chuckles, glad that you hadn’t taken offense to that comment. He had almost stuck his foot in his mouth. “Besides, you make a better Barbie.”

It actually draws a nervous little giggle out of you, and you have to clear your throat to keep from looking or sound like a besotted middle schooler when you are a grown-ass woman. "It's good to see you, Will."

“Good to see you too.” He nods, handing you back one of the cups. “Here, I’m an idiot.” He snorts. “Don’t know why I took both of them.”

"You were trying to be helpful," you predict, seeing the impulse as one of chivalry, even if it wasn't necessary. "I, um...I didn't know you'd be home this weekend. What's the occasion?" It's your turn to be a little bit of an idiot, considering you're both standing in the middle of a party.

“Benny dragged me home.” He rolls his eyes, even though he’s happy that he has. You’re here. “It’s been one thousand sixty five days since I’ve seen you.” He blurts out suddenly, having calculated it earlier.

The way that tugs at the corners of your mouth makes your lips twitch up in a smile and all of a sudden you can't look him in the eyes momentarily. "You counted?"

“Always count.” It’s a habit that hadn’t been that noticeable in high school to careless teenagers, but that trait had been exacerbated in the Army. “Pretty much everything.”

"I know." A lot of people didn't realize, but you noticed. You always noticed. "But I didn't know you counted that." It was a little less than three years ago when you saw him last. After everything had gone to hell with his now ex-fiancée and he had left Colorado to move out east with Benny. Without a doubt, he counted because of the heartbreak, not because of you.

He shrugs and takes a sip of the punch. “You really helped me screw my head back on straight.” He reminds you. “Should have called you more when we moved.” It’s a half assed apology and he knows it. “Sorry about that.”

"It's fine. Not like we promised it or anything." You hadn't. It really was okay that he hadn't called. Your crush isn't his responsibility, after all.

“No, but I should have.” He repeats. “How have you been? Mom said you moved home?”

"Yeah." It isn't anything to be ashamed of and you won't pretend it is, even if the plan was for the move to only be temporary. "I work remotely and there was nothing keeping me where I was, so I came back for a while. It gives me time to save and really think about where I want to go next." The smile you offer him is small but bright. "How's Florida?"

“Hot.” Will snorts. “Muggy.” He shrugs. “Ben’s happy there, and our friend Fish settled down there too, but I don’t know.” This restless feeling has been getting worse since Tom died. He has a lot of guilt being around Molly and the girls. Even they were planning on moving soon. Wanting to be closer to the colleges they were choosing.

"You're not happy there?" It extinguishes your smile almost instantly, worried that he's made a decision that has made him unhappy and knowing that you were one of the people who encouraged him to stay close to his brother in the first place. Benny is his best friend, after all.

“I think I want a change.” He admits out loud. “Nothing horrible, but just…restless, I guess. Fish and his wife had another baby. Makes number three and I haven’t been on a date in two years.”

Before you can stop yourself, you're huffing at the idea that he somehow would have any trouble finding women willing to date him. "I'm sure you can flip the switch on that any time you decide to," you assure him, immediately taking a sip of your punch so you don't stick your foot in your mouth.

He shrugs again. “Maybe. But I don’t want to have to explain all my issues.” He shoots you a grin. “And all my scars.”

"You're never going to let me off the hook for that, are you?" Like you're seventeen all over again, you could just stick your tongue out and tell him to deal with it. "I warned you to use a pot holder, William. The fact that you thought you could take the cupcake pan out of the oven without protection is not my fault."

He chuckles, always loving the way your nose scrunches when you look at him like that. It’s why he always teases you about the scar on his palm. It’s barely noticeable now and he has more prominent ones, but he likes to bring it up at least once every time he sees you. “You told me the oven was off.”

"Yeah, the oven being off doesn't mean the pan instantly stops being hot!" It's so ridiculous to get into every single time, but he does love to bring it up. It was mother's day and he had wanted to do something nice for his mom, but now it's the thing to tease each other about.

“How was I supposed to know that?” He demands, even as he starts to laugh. It’s stupid now, looking back on it, but it had been one of those brainless teenage moments. “You didn’t even kiss it to make it feel better.”

“I—I didn’t—” The insinuation makes you fluster, skin burning hot all over again. “You didn’t ask me to,” you justify. If he had asked, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

“I thought that was like, an automatic thing.” The way your lips pinch together is adorable and he sends you a smirk. “Kiss it to make it feel better.”

“I mean…” You’re going to burst into flames any second, you can tell. Just burn to ashes on the spot. “I mean I guess, but—” You sputter inelegantly. “Weren’t you dating Annie Neville when that happened?”

He would have dumped Annie in a heartbeat if you had given him any indication you wanted him. It might not be something that would have been right, but it was the gods honest truth. He takes another sip of his drink. “Broke up with her two days later.” He doesn’t admit that he had broken up with her because she thought it was weird he would do something for his mom on Mother’s Day, but that’s not the point.

“Right.” Nodding slightly, the warm allure of deeply alcoholic punch sounds like a great idea and you sip. “I remember now. She bitched and moaned about losing out on boyfriend bragging rights.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” He cuts his eyes towards his brother. “And I grew up with that one.”

You follow his eyes and grin, seeing the gaggle of friends surrounding Benny. Including one hot pink Barbie jumpsuit. “Surprising no one, my sister has found your brother,” you hum in amusement. “I wonder what havoc they’ll wreak this time.”

“They might burn the town down.” He huffs. “Then Benny would expect me to put it out.”

“That’s right.” An innocent like sound escapes you. An assent. As though you didn’t order a copy of his fire department’s Hunky Heroes calendar last year under a different name just because his photo was your birthday month. “Firefighter. That seemed like it would be right up your alley.”

“Might be an ex-firefighter.” It’s always been easy to share with you. Which was why his ex’s comments about being closed off were so confusing to him. He shares. He just never shared much with her because she never seemed to give a shit.

“Really?” That surprises you, since giving back to his community has always been so important to Will. “You’re thinking of leaving?”

“Yeah.” He notices that you have finished your own punch, so he takes the cup from you and guides you back towards the bowl. “Just not sure where to go.”

“I’m not sure I’m the person to ask,” you admit, trying not to get all girlish and swoony at the gentle press of his hand on your back. “I just ran home to my parents when I felt lost.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He insists, his fingers twitching against your back. “Home is where you feel safest. It’s normal to want that when you are hurt. Emotionally or physically.”

“But it’s not where I want to stay.” Somehow talking to Will has always been easy. Even when you were in that place where you clammed up around him sometimes because your teenage hormones went out of control, you comfort and safety of him was enough to bring you back down. As it turns out, that’s true no matter how long you’ve been apart. “So we’re sort of in the same weird place.”

“Where would you go?” Will asks, comforted by the fact that you seem to be in the same boat. He’s always presented himself as very in charge and forward thinking, so finding himself floundering without a real plan was new.

“I have no idea.” It’s not a thing that you’re comfortable admitting, but somehow knowing that Will is feeling the same is a comfort. He always seemed so steady. “I just know that I’m not in the place I thought I would be by this age and I’m restless.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. “Benny keeps telling me that I’m ready for another duty station.” Being in the military required moving every three to four years.

“You’re not thinking about going back in, are you?” Between his chronic pain and his PTSD — both from military service — your expression turns to one of deep concern and worry at the idea.

“No.” He quickly shakes his head. “That ship has sailed.” Even if he could pass the fitness requirements, he’s too old to go back to being a Captain. His peers are all too far ahead. “Just feeling that need for a new adventure.”

“I fully understand that.” The itch is something you have always shared, back when you used to dream about leaving the mountains and seeing everything the world had to offer. Will had succeeded in that front. At least far more effectively than you ever had. “Maybe…” When he hands you a fresh cup of punch you pause and thank him. “Maybe our paths will cross again? Who knows.”

“You can work anywhere.” He reminds you with a grin. “You should pick a place and go.”

“I would.” You shrug half-heartedly. “But I never got the taste for traveling alone.”

“Where would you want to go?” He asks curiously, wondering where you would go, what you would want to see. If those dreams had changed since you were a child.

“The ocean? The forests? Desert or huge cities?” Feeling ridiculous, you laugh at yourself and just shrug. “There’s so much of the world out there and I’ve barely ever left home.”

“Tropics.” Will decides. “Salt and sand. Beautiful breezes and sun kissing your skin.” His idea might be influenced by his own location in Florida.

“Sounds perfect.” And if the idea of being there with him is in your head, you’ll swear it’s only because you’re talking to him about it right here and now. “But again…I hate being alone. So it’s sort of a moot point.”

“I don’t understand how you aren’t married.” That has mystified him for years. Always expecting to hear the news that you were engaged every time he called his mom. It had surprised him when he had ended up engaged and you still had not found a steady boyfriend, although you had both ended up in the same single status after a few years.

“I guess…the right guy just never came along.” You’d sooner die than admit that every guy you’ve ever been with has been accidentally compared to the man standing in front of you. “It happens.”

“Prince Charming?” He hates that he could never be that guy for anyone, but it wasn’t him.

“Prince Charming is overrated.” Sipping your punch, something about the whole thing just makes your heart clench and it feels like the world is taunting you even more than it was when you saw him walk in the door. “All I ever wanted was a partner I could be proud of. That seems to be too tall of an order.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Will admits softly. “I know plenty of men who would jump at the chance to be with someone who just wanted to have a loyal, loving partner.”

“I guess I just haven’t met the same guys as you.” It hurts your heart, clutches it and squeezes tight, that you never could bring yourself to admit that you liked him. Not out loud. Not to anyone but your sister. Wondering what could have been has poisoned your chances at finding someone else to the degree that you were doing a phony love spell ritual in your backyard less than three hours ago. He is literally everything you ever wanted and he’s standing right in front of you — but you can’t say the words. “Just like…” you swallow hard, shoving down the ache in your chest. “I know plenty of girls who just want someone honest and caring.”

“I’m honest.” At least he is in his personal life. Work is a different story, but he has regrets about that. “I care.” He shrugs, his leather wearing biker look making him look a little more dangerous than normal, but never as dangerous as he actually is. “Point me to the girl.” It’s an invitation, wanting to see what you would say.

“Will…” It feels like he’s just shoving the red hot poker of years’ worth of yearning deeper into your chest and you shake your head. “I’m just saying. It shouldn’t be so hard for you to find someone to make you happy. You’re a sweet guy and you always have been.”

He stares at you for a long moment, something curling in his chest, and he realizes that you will never admit it. “Had someone in mind when I asked.” He admits.

“Then you should probably talk to her about it, not me.” Ugly disappointment rises in your throat like bile and you shift in place uncomfortably. Of course he has someone in mind. He’s incredible and he deserves that happiness.

He decides to be a little more blunt than normal since you are obviously not getting the hint. “I am.” He tells you, lifting a brow at you in amusement.

"You—" No. No. You heard him wrong. You had to have heard him wrong. There is no way in the world There is no way because if that's true then how much time did you throw away by keeping your mouth shut? "No. That's—" Your head spins and you put down your cup, deciding that there is absolutely no need for alcohol when your head is spinning like this already. "What?"

“Circles and light and all that’s might.” Will murmurs, starting to grin. “Give me what I wish for tonight.”

"Oh....oh no..." The clench of panic that grabs hold of your chest when he starts reciting the damn 'spell' that your sister had written down in her notebook -- the ridiculous words you had been in giggle fits over in your backyard a couple of hours ago -- makes you take a step back from him as embarrassment settles into every bone in your body. "Did you--" Oh you're going to absolutely massacre your sister. "That's the most awful prank anybody could ever play on a person. Is my sister put you up to this I'm going to kill her."

“What?” Will frowns at you, confused as to why you look completely mortified. He had thought it was cute. “No.” He shakes his head. “Put me up to what?” He murmurs your name and steps closer to you. “She didn’t put me up to anything.”

"So it's...a coincidence?" You swallow hard, trying to wrap your head around absolutely any of this situation. "That my sister talked me into doing a stupid love spell on the same weekend you come home?" If you could curl up into a ball and hide forever, you would do it instantly. It still hasn't hit you that he's said out loud -- in a reasonably straightforward way -- that he's interested in you. "And that you heard me?"

“Benny insisted I come home this weekend.” Will defends, even though he had started to realize what the trick was this year and if it backfired on Ben - he was going to murder him. “I— I was in the backyard. I heard you and your sister giggling like when we were kids, so I pulled the board in the fence.” There’s a section of fence that you can remove a board easily and see into the other yard. He had never admitted it, but it was how he had often watched you while you were reading until he realized how creepy it was.

"What board in the fence?" There is a privacy fence that runs between your houses but for some reason it never really divided your yards, and you can't say that you ever thought about it very much before. Or now, clearly, since you're astonished to find out that it ever had a loose board.

“The one near the tree.” He licks his lips and has the decency to blush slightly. “It’s come loose since eight grade.”

The way your heels dig into the floor beneath you, it's like you're trying to dig a hole to the center of the earth to fall into feet first. "How...um...how much did you hear? Or see?"

“I just want to see you.” He admits, setting the cup down to shove in his pockets. “I heard the giggles and the ‘spell’. It was cute, reminding me of when you went through that phase in high school.”

"We...got drunk on margaritas last night and she managed to make it sound like a silly, harmless thing..." Mortified doesn't even begin to describe the way you're feeling. Your whole face is on fire with it. "I'm so embarrassed I could evaporate...I don't even know what else to say."

“It’s cute.” He insists, smiling softly at you as he shuffles closer. “I didn’t do some kind of love spell, but I was glad I heard yours.”

"You--?" Swallowing the lump of fear in your throat, you manage to not back up a step when Will comes closer. "You...were glad?"

“I am.” He agrees, his smile widening slightly as he reaches out and takes ahold of your waist and steps closer to you. “Because now I know that the crush I’ve had on you for most of my life hasn’t been moot.”

"You...what?" You gasp out, eyes shooting up to meet his when you finally realize what he's said.

“Guilty.” He hums, his smile managing to curve wider and he nods. “You’ve been that girl that I always wanted and never thought I could have.”

Something inside you swells, actually absorbing the words with the soft way he's looking at you. "All you ever had to do was say the word."

“You too.” He points out, lifting his brows in amusement. “Years ago.”

"Well how was I supposed to know?" You defend, finding that that feeling in your chest is bubbling and transforming into laughter and disbelief.

“You ask.” Will chuckles, leaning in and brushing his nose against yours. “You don’t rely on Love potion number nine.”

"You could have asked too." The warmth of him washes over you like the most gorgeous invitation in the world, taking your breath away and inviting you closer all at once.

“I guess I could have.” He admits. “Now I know.”

"So..." One of his hands is on your hip and he's bent down to keep your faces close, so all you have to do to hear each other is murmur. "What are we going to do with this new information?"

“I think we are going to have to leave this party.” He pretends to care about that, but there’s much more interesting things to do.

“Just like that?” Wherever he wants to go, whatever he wants to do, it doesn’t matter. Even the chance to be close to him in any way is worth it.

“You want to stay?” He asks seriously. If you want to stay, he will. Just for you.

“I…want to dance with you,” you admit, even though it feels silly. “Just once. After that we can go anywhere you want.”

“We can dance.” He agrees, chuckling slightly and nodding. “Let’s wait for the next song to start.” This one is a little more peppy than he would want for a dance.

“So Benny dragged you out here, huh?” He has his arm around your waist now and something in the back of your head tells you to just keep talking so you don’t start to worry it’s a dream. “Did he, um…did he…ya know…know?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” If he did, once things were official, he would probably crow and take all the credit for it. “Probably. I know he knew that I always had a thing for you.”

Sighing slightly, you shake off a laugh and bask again in the warmth of having him beside you. “I think our siblings may have meddled.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He rolls his eyes. “Can’t be mad at them, though.” He huffs. “Not when we would have been really bad about doing this ourselves.”

“Clearly.” You huff quietly. “We have been really bad about it.”

“Obviously.” Will snorts right as the song transitions into a slow song. “Ready to dance?”

“It feels like prom all over again.” When he holds his hand out to you, you settle your palm to his and try not to let out a shaky breath at how alarmingly right it feels.

“Do you know how badly I wanted to kiss you that night?” He asks as he guides you out to the floor and spins you around to fit into his arms like you’ve always belonged.

“How badly?” Giddy glee and joyful awe are starting to supplant the confusion and disbelief in your heart, and you melt into him when he takes your hand in his on the dance floor.

“Remember how you kept asking if your lipstick was messed up?” Will reminds you, the hormones and embarrassment of youth had seemed impossible to overcome, but now you are grown. If it doesn’t work out, hopefully you could remain friends, but he doesn’t foresee it being an issue. You know him inside and out. “I was trying to decide if you would slap me if I stole a kiss.”

“It…wouldn’t have been stealing.” Your cheeks burn all over again at the memory. At how pathetically transparent you had been — but apparently not transparent enough. “That was my very bad attempt at hinting that I wanted you to kiss me.”

“No, I got it.” He promises, his blue eyes flashing possessively. “But I’m man enough to admit I don’t want to kiss you with an audience.” He murmurs with a smirk. “Think we can wait that long?”

“It’s been like fifteen years,” you point out, smothering a laugh at how ridiculous that actually sounds out loud. And how badly you’ve wanted a moment just like this one for so much longer than that. “I think a few more minutes won’t kill us.”

“It might.” He teases. “You look even more beautiful than you did on prom night.”

“Are you…” A smirk broadens your smile exponentially. “Are you flirting with me, William Miller?”

“Flirted with you a lot over the years.” He snorts. “But yes I am.”

“I guess it’s just the first time I’ve noticed.” You laugh work. Self-consciously. “Or wasn’t convinced it was just wishful thinking.”

“So tell me the truth.” Will grins. “Did you really drink that concoction you and your sister brewed? It smelled worse than. Benny’s gym bag.”

“Of course I drank it.” One hand would clutch your plastic pearl necklace but you would have to stop holding his hand and that’s simply not going to happen tonight. Instead, you pout to pretend to be offended. “It’s called committing to the bit.”

“Dedication.” He laughs, shaking his head and pulling you closer. “Then I think you should be happy to know that it worked.”

“Oh yeah?” The grin on your face turns beaming all over again, but you can’t help teasing him. “That little love spell planted a whole lifetime of yearning in you?”

“Nah.” He admits that easier than he had expected. “Just made it easier to talk about all this.”

“It did.” As much as you hate to admit it, your younger siblings’ meddling may have paid off. And you are convinced they meddled together. “It did, and I’m not upset about that at all.”

“You shouldn’t be upset about anything, beautiful.” Will murmurs softly, rocking you to the beat and smiling into your eyes.

Shrugging slightly, you're actually able to sink into his gaze for the very first time and end up feeling that ache in your chest twist in an entirely new way. "I'm a little upset we wasted so much time," you admit. "But better late than never."

“Yes it is.” Will pulls you off the dance floor as the song ends and starts to head towards the doors.

If you could think about anything beside the feeling of his arm around you, you might have remembered to fire off a text to your sister that you are taking off from the party early. But then, if you could think about anything else you might have noticed your sister standing on the other side of the room with Benny, giggling like conspiratorial idiots.

But it doesn't matter at all. It doesn't matter, because when you and Will make it out into the chilly night air, his arm tightens around you and you slip yours around his waist. Twined together like you were always meant to be.

He had driven. So he has the keys to the SUV. Guiding you over to it, he frames your body between the door and himself, pressing closer.

Your pulse ticks up immediately, heart rate skyrocketing, but you don't hesitate. Not when the thing – the person – you've wanted since you were old enough to want anyone at all. You reach up, hands set on Will's shoulders, and use that leverage to pull yourself up just a tiny bit more. This time it's your nose that nudges against his, but you don't pull away.

“So pretty.” Will murmurs, leaning against you more, feeling your body against the length of his as he tilts his head and fuses his lips to yours. Years of wanting pouring into the kiss.

Your hold tightens on him, hands sliding around his neck and into his long hair as his own wrap around your waist to drag you flush against him. There is no hesitation for either of you, diving deep into the kiss and sharing a mutual, needy moan at the fast-beating desire in that first kiss. You've both kept it locked up for far too long to pretend anymore. Now that the flood gates are open it seems to be all or nothing.

For Will, sinking into your embrace feels like coming home. The instant acceptance and love that swells make him desperate for more as he starts to lick into your mouth deeper.

For the hungry way you start to devour each other, you may as well be the teenagers you were when this mutual infatuation first started. If anyone were out in the parking lot to witness it, you're sure you would have gotten cat called or interrupted with a loud clearing of someone's throat to be shooed away to a more private location. As it is? The relative privacy of the parking lot means that you forget yourself and are tugging on the strands of Will's hair as his hands start to map the curves and contours of your body.

Will groans into your mouth, his arms banded around you and holding you close before trailing over your dress. He’s not shy about touching you, cupping your ass and his hardening cock twitches against your stomach. The whimper that he pulls out of you is unapologetic, knees shaking even as you tug on his hair sharply to pull a groan out of him as well. This is much more than a kiss would have been fifteen years ago. Still just as needy, but deeper, more sure. Will knows what he is capable of.

It takes a long time before either of you are willing to part, and when that time comes you're panting desperately while you try to maintain any sort of composure. "I, um—" But your thought breaks off when you realize you just can't string more than two words together yet. All you can think is more.

He grins, feeling as disoriented as you look, but he's been trained to handle overwhelming situations. "We should leave." He murmurs before leaning in and stealing another kiss. "Before we get arrested for public indecency."

"At the risk of sounding very teenage." You can't help but giggle at that, feeling like you're bubbling over in every way. "My parents are home. So maybe your place?"

He chuckles and lifts a brow, considering all of his options. "We could do that. Or we could go get a hotel room."

"Beaver Meadows?" Raising your own eyebrow to meet his, you offer the first hotel you can think of. The resort ranch for mountain tourists is on the other side of town but it's better than driving an hour out to Fort Collins.

He tilts his head slightly, shrugging one shoulder. "That's up to you. Don't know how you feel about being in my old bedroom and possibly hearing Benny catcall outside the door." His younger, dumber brother absolutely would.

"I care less about Benny and more about having to look your mother in the eyes tomorrow morning," you admit, laughing at even the idea of it. "I don't think she needs to hear me riding you."

Will's eyes flutter slightly and he growls softly. "Hotel it is." He decides, nodding to himself. "Do you want to swing by the house and get something? Or we can both do the walk of shame tomorrow."

"Nuh-uh." You shake your head animatedly, reaching up to place a much softer kiss on his lips. "I'm not ashamed of you. I don't care how many people see us in the same clothes or figure out what it means."

He hums and his hand slides up your back as he steps back, pulling you with him to open the passenger door. "Then let's go."

"We do have to make one stop." When you climb into the SUV together, you buckle your seatbelt and sigh happily as his fingers tangle with yours. He raises his eyebrow again but you shrug. "Condoms. I haven't been on a date in years so I stopped worrying about birth control."

"Fuck." Will hisses under his breath, cock twitching at that new piece of information. He can't say that he's not disappointed to not be able to feel you bare, but your comfort is more important than his ideal night. "Condoms, roger."

"I know." You squeeze his hand, sharing the feeling that you would rather be as close as possible. "But I doubt we want to risk it without."

He huffs out a small laugh, tapping the steering wheel after the engine is brought to life and he puts it in drive. "Don't bet on it." He jokes.

Turning your head immediately, you stare at him for a second before letting out a shaky laugh. "Not the first time," you bargain, feeling warm and flush and...deeply giddy at the way things are unfolding around you.

He flashes you a grin, feeling just as light hearted. "Yes ma'am." He promises, squeezing your hand and then looking back at the road as he pulls out.

******

It's a quick drive, mostly because Red Feather Lakes is such a small town. There's a Halloween party going on at the resort that you and Will look like you're immensely prepared for, but you just check into the last available room and happily accept the pair of leys handed to you by the young desk agent.

Will might have paid for the room, but he lets you lead the way to the room. Wanting to watch your ass as you walk, and to allow you time to change your mind if you wanted. Just because you both have wanted to be with each other since you were teenagers doesn't necessarily mean you are ready to jump into bed with him and he would respect that.

"Here we go." The room at the end of the fourth-floor hallway clicks open with a tap of your keycard, and you nudge open the door to reveal the ranch-themed room waiting for you. The rug looks like cowhide and the bedhead has horns, but you're barely looking at it. Instead you turn around, much more inclined to take in the sight of Will Miller as you reach for his hand to drag him inside with you.

You are enthusiastic, making him chuckle as he closes the door behind him. “Nice room.” He hums, not looking around, but staring at you. “But this view is better.”

Completely addicted now that you’ve had a taste of him, you toss your purse onto the nearest table without a second thought and go straight into his arms. “I’m certain mine is even better.”

He doubts that, but the eagerness in your eyes makes him groan as he pulls you against him again. “You are so damn beautiful.”

“Please tell me you put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door?” Once you have him to yourself you’re not going to want to stop, so you’re damn well going to ask the question now.

He smirks and winks at you. “Of course I did.”

Your face splits into a grin. “You’re perfect.”

Will reaches up and caresses your cheek. “Shit.” His eyes widen. “We didn’t get the condoms.”

“Shit.” That grin slackens, and you realize along with a drop in your gut that you’d gotten so distracted by having Will’s hand inch up your thigh and under the skirt of your dress while he drove that you’d totally forgotten to stop.

“It’s okay.” He takes a deep breath, cursing himself for being too distracted by you. “You stay here. Get comfortable.” He points at himself. “I will be back in five minutes.”

"Thank you." Safety means the world to both of you, and you're not about to turn what could possibly be the best night of your life into the reason he resents you five years down the line when it results in a little kid and a marriage he would have felt forced to commit to. No way. If you and Will are going to be together you're going to make that decision together, not because of an accident.

“Five minutes.” He promises before he is out the door. He will make it in three and a half flat, but he adds extra time as a precaution.

As soon as the door closes behind him, you look around the room in a more flustered state of nervous excitement than you've ever been in your entire life. It takes about thirty seconds before you can think coherently enough to pick up the hotel phone and order a room service tray to be sent up -- ordering food that can safely sit until you're hungry and a bottle of wine to share because it feels more romantic that way. After that, you grab your phone from your purse and finally send that text to your sister.

Sissy: Don't wait up for me tonight. I left the party early.

Incoming text: You left with Will!!! Omgggggg it worked! You owe me that speech at your weddddddding!

Sissy: You and Benny are still on my shitlist. But yes. I left with Will. Happy Halloween, kid.

Instead of waiting for a reply, you put your phone on silent and tuck it back in your purse, sitting down amongst the pillows on the bed just seconds before the door opens again.

He’s out of breath and probably looked like a fucking idiot, but he doesn’t care. He’s got an entire box of condoms and he’s back before the time frame. “Got ‘em.”

"Four minutes." You grin, pointing at the clock on the wall. "I was just about to get undressed for you to have a fun surprise when you got back, but you're too efficient."

“Oh, don’t let me stop you.” Will throws the lock on the door and shoots you a dirty grin. “I like shows.”

"I did not think anyone was going to see what I have on under this dress," you warn him, but you shrug your shoulders and reach for the zipper of your costume. If he has a problem with the dumb saying on your little bootie shorts, you don't really care. They're cute and fun and that's what counts.

"I don't care what you have on under the dress." Will promises you. "It'll be on the floor soon enough." He strips off the biker vest and starts to kick off the boots he had worn with the outfit. They are his regular boots but they are laced up loose, so they slide off easily.

It's too unbelievable that you're actually undressing with Will with the purpose of climbing into bed together, that it almost seems like the tiny black booty short with the bright yellow Slippery When Wet logo on the ass that are revealed when your dress hits the floor, are simply there for comic relief. Like you need to break the tension of the situation and remember that you're just people.

You turn around to show him the lettering on your ass and he starts to chuckle. "Oh baby girl, I truly hope so." He pulls his shirt over his head, the last scar he collected on that botched job with the guys is healed, but it's still pink skinned so it looks alarming against the rest of his body. "I want to feel how wet you get."

"For you?" You grin, turning around to face him again. "It'll be record breaking, I promise." With just your bra and tiny shorts on, you start to climb onto the bed but pause when you catch sight of a new wound amongst all the well-healed scars. It doesn't matter what it is, or how he got it. You bend down, placing a soft kiss on the pink skin that stands out against his tan, and then settle your knees on either side of his hips. There are more clothes to shed, but the battle wounds that mark his skin are a stark reminder of how close you came to never having this moment together at all.

Will grabs your hands, holding them for a moment while he stares at you. The softness of your touch was soothing, and he lifts your hands to his lips. "You've always been there for me." He murmurs. "Now I want to see what we can be together."

"Truth is?" You squeeze his hands gently before letting go and letting your hands drop to his belt, toying with the buckle before he nods his consent and you start to work the strap loose. "I've always been yours. So whatever we're going to be? I'm all in."

"Me too." He can quickly agree with that. "I'll just – I should have asked you out when I came home from boot camp."

“It’s alright. We got here eventually.” His belt pulls loose from his jeans and you fuse your mouth to his, letting the kiss burn you and swallow you and take you wherever you’re going to go tonight. Room service will be left outside your door and you’ll refuel for round two when you’re ready.

Will touches you, mapping your body with his hands and memorizing every curve and dip with pleasure. Finally touching you like he has imagined over the years.

It’s far more certain than it would have been then. Wandering hands have purpose and searching kisses pressed against bared skin find their mark every time. Those damn condoms are probably the only thing that keep the first time from lasting more than five minutes — both of you are so touch starved that finally getting the touch you’ve been wanting feels exponentially more wonderful.

Will pants, collapsing against you before rolling onto his side and bringing you with him. One leg dragged over his hips to keep you close and your chest pressed against his as he catches his breath. “Fuck.” He chuckles, unable to stop touching you even though he’s exhausted from how overwhelming his orgasm was. “I think I died and this is heaven.”

“Noooo,” you giggle against his chest, damp with sweat, and leave a kiss over his heart. “If you died we can’t do that anymore and that can’t be the only time we do that.”

His eyes are closed and he smiles. "You mean we aren't both dead?" He jokes.

“No, babe.” You laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “You’re thinking of le petit morte.”

“Same thing right?” He grins, rubbing his hand up and down your slightly sweaty back. “We should have done this prom night.”

“Can you imagine?” The thought settles over you like a dreamy blanket. “We would have been inseparable.”

“We’d have four kids by now.” Will predicts. “I’d probably be a Major.”

“You think?” It sounds positively dreamy, you have to admit. Except for one detail. “I don’t think you would have stayed in. You’d have retired like you did anyway. But I like the sound of a big family.”

“Probably not.” He will disagree with you on that. “The stability for that many kids.” He points out. “I wouldn’t have chased contracts.”

“Well…” Knowing that he’s safer now and that he’s searching for a new adventure anyway, you offer him a smile. “Who knows what would have happened if we’d done this back then. But we get to decide what happens next.”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and pulls you closer. “We will have to talk about that.”

“Hold that thought.” Pressing another kiss to his skin, you crawl out from under his arm and wrap yourself up in a robe to slip out to the hall and grab the room service tray. You bring it back inside along with the bottle of wine and shoot him a grin. “I planned ahead,” you tell him, setting down the charcuterie tray on the room’s coffee table.

"You are perfect." Will groans, tucking his arm under his head and watching you with zero shame. He still can't believe you are here, even after taking off the condom to dispose of in the little trash can by the bed. "Are you hungry now, or do you want to wait?"

“Maybe we can eat and drink and talk?” It seems like a very civilized way to do it, even if you’re going to be doing some very uncivilized leering at the same time. Will looks even better with his clothes off than you ever dreamed.

"Bring it over here." He smirks as he pats the bed beside him. The bare spot noticeable now that you slipped out of it. "We can eat in bed just this one time, I think."

“Special permission for a special occasion.” You agree with a nod. The tray is beautifully set up but the cheese is set aside in a container on ice as you requested and the kitchen has sent up some chocolate dipped strawberries as well. “I guess they got our vibe when we checked in.” It wouldn’t have been too hard to do, of course, but it makes you smile as you slip back under the covers beside him.

"Wonder if they think it's an affair or elopement." Will takes the bottle from you, sitting up and quickly peeling off the foil to uncap the cork.

“Maybe.” The two wine glasses that came with everything are basic and a little on the small side, which is probably good for balancing everything in bed or on nightstands. “How very mysterious of us.”

"Very mysterious." Will agrees as he pours out the wine and sets the bottle onto the nightstand so it doesn't get knocked over. "I think their theories will only get more absurd the more noise we make." He teases, tapping his glass to yours.

“In that case I’ll be louder,” you tease, leaning over to steal a kiss before your first sip of wine.

He snorts and takes a sip of his wine. "I wonder if those shit heads set us up for this entire thing." He ponders. "The spell, being here and Benny reminding me that you had moved home. Knowing I would go into the backyard."

“Oh, I guarantee it.” Although you studiously avoid mentioning that your sister is already predicting a wedding. That is far too much pressure. “They’re going to gloat forever.”

"Jesus." He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Yeah they are. Unless we can get them together."

“Do we really want to do that, though?” It sounds amusing, but the logistics would be a nightmare. “They’d gloat and try to be cuter than us.”

"It would be mildly amusing." He chuckles. "But you're right. The headache wouldn't be worth it."

“But…” Glancing up at him, you take another sip of wine and reach for the tray to keep your hands busy. “We should probably talk. About…whatever this is.”

“We should.” Will agrees. His face pulls into something serious, wanting to take this conversation cautiously, not make demands or put too much pressure on you. “Do you want to go first?”

“I’m not sure I know where to start,” you admit, although it’s mostly out of fear that you’ll ask too much and scare him off.

“Do you see yourself staying here?” He asks. “Would you want me to move? Try long distance?”

“I never intended to stay here. It was supposed to be temporary and I’ve been here for years.” The offer to have him move is unexpected, but more than anything you know that the third alternative won’t be satisfying or comfortable for you. “I don’t think long distance would be ideal, but I know that moving in together right away is way too much to ask for.” The two of you slowly start to snack on your tray and you consider him beside you. So incredibly handsome, loyal, and always a pillar of strength. “But…if you wanted me to come out to Florida, I would.”

“Ben and I bought a house.” He explains. “It was cheaper than renting and it’s one that needed some work.” He shrugs slightly. “If you wanted to come to Florida, you have a place to stay until you decide if you could stand me long term or not.” He huffs out a laugh to keep it lighthearted.

“I’m not worried about that.” Slipping your free hand into his, you lace your fingers together and give it a gentle, encouraging squeeze. “It’s…sort of a relationship test drive. Dive into the deep end and see how we do. When we’re ready to say it’s working, I can officially make the move.” In your heart you know it will. It’s all you’ve wanted for so long that you’re willing to fight tooth and nail to have it. To have him.

“That would be good.” He agrees with you about being cautious, even though he believes it will work out. “Especially since you are mobile.”

“My office is wherever I am.” You nod and press a kiss to his hand before letting go again. “And where I want to be is with you.”

“So why don’t you come visit me this next week?” He offers. “You can see where we live. See if you like it.”

“I feel like I should pinch myself.” When you smile at him, it is bright and warm, tinged with disbelief. “Teenage me is getting everything she ever wanted.”

“That’s a good thing, baby.” He reminds you. “You should have everything you want.”

"So should you." As far as you're concerned? Having him completes that list of wants in a way you never expected. You had given up on the dream of Will Miller years ago, only to find your world turned upside down and the man of your teenage dreams in bed beside you.

“Right now, I can’t think of anything else I want than what I have right here.” He murmurs softly.

"Oh yeah?" You face splits into a grin all over again. "Well, I'm very glad we agree."

“So now that we have a plan, what else?” He picks up a cube of cheese and pops it into his mouth. “Do you want to go on birth control? Do you want to use condoms? Do you want to start working on kids?”

"Those are three very different options." The casual way he tosses out kids as an option makes your ears burn like they're on fire and your heart skip two beats. "Offering me space in your house and talking about kids while we eat snacks in bed after the first time we have sex?" You giggle softly, brimming with disbelief at how right it all feels. Still, you have to tease him. "Might as well whip out a ring or plan an elopement, Miller."

“Jewelry stores are closed.” Will hums and smirks at you as he takes off the skull ring he still has on his finger. “But this could work.”

That light, ribbing tone evaporates from your voice and your eyes widen, flicking between his face and the ring. "Are you...do you really mean it?" Instead of being high and laughing, your voice cracks in shock, but only because you've hit another level of shock and awe in what was already a perfect night.

He has only been partly joking, but the second your eyes go wide, he realizes that he’s serious. He’s known you all his life, he’s loved you for most of it. If Tom’s death taught him anything, it’s that he never knows when his ticket might be punched. Why shouldn’t he be serious? “We could get you a real ring later on.” He rationalizes. “But a skull ring is appropriate for Halloween.”

"How about this?" The way you just want to leap forward and say yes and dive in headfirst is the sex and the wine and the fantasies talking. Will deserves all of that, but also the measure of love that is support and care. He deserves someone who is going to take care of him. And if you're going to be that person, you want to do it right. "I'm going to wear this skull until we decide that we're ready for me to move to Florida once and for all. When that happens, we can go ring shopping and start talking about kids. How does that sound?" You really don't think it will take long. Not with the way tonight has gone. "If that's in two weeks or two months or two years, it doesn't matter. We decide together."

“That sounds perfect.” He flashes you a perfect set of white teeth with a gigantic smile. “Happy Halloween, baby.” He murmurs before he presses his lips to yours, thinking that Benny’s Halloween prank might have actually been a good one this year.

------

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