#just not sure how expensive it would all be to pour a footing and hook up utilities and everything

[beansnpeets]

Feeling really not great today. Last night was having a sharp pain in my left lower abdomen, I'm guessing ovary related. Different than I've had before. It's still there this morning, but duller. Quieter. Just feeling crampy and bleh. Thankfully it'll be a quiet day at work today, but I'd still rather be sitting in the comfort of my own couch rn.

[bubblybubbubs]

Stuck With Me (3)

Summary - Draco’s POV on losing his soulmate

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count - 3.5k

AN- I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 1  2 

taglist - @lonely-kermit @lifeasdreamgirl @mera-shifts @abbyloubaton @clumsilyclueless @confusedscreaminggremlin @seanh-boredom @weasleysmalfoyxstyles @thefandomplace @mayempress @shadyrose66622 @jay-jay-love @ktvia @lovebynorth @sweet-creature98 @remmyswritings​ @chaoticgirl04

Sometimes Draco thought about how different his life would be had he not left you, had you not gotten hurt and lost your fucking memory.

It was truly ridiculous, the universe was actively conspiring against him, he was sure of it.

His current living situation just proved that further to him. “Wake the fuck up.” Blaise said slowly pouring water on his face even though Blaise himself was evidently groggy. “I will kill you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Draco was unsure as to why Blaise had chosen to live in a crappy apartment when his family Manor was free. He missed his silk sheets and expensive pillows. Yet sadly the ministry had decided they wanted to take that leaving Draco on Blaise’s smelly consignment store couch. Had he gotten completely cut off by his family? Perhaps, it would make the disgustingly plain beans and toasts they ate daily make a lot more sense. He’d hate to think that Blaise fed them this by choice.

“Guess who wrote.” Blaise said, wiggling a letter in Draco’s face.

“Loud ginger?”

“Loud ginger.” He confirmed dropping it in on Draco’s face. “You should answer her before we get a howler, then we’ll really see how loud the ginger can get.” Draco looked at the letter, Ginny’s name was scrawled on the envelope and the aggressiveness of the signature made him heavily considering not opening it but the possibility of getting a howler from her convinced him otherwise.

Draco,

You are the worst and I hate you. I’m not sure if you care anymore given that you have refused to make contact with her but y/n is doing fine. I mean sure she’s been asking about her soulmate and lying to her is slowly killing me, but I’m glad you and Blaise are having fun in your bachelor pad and that you have successfully cleared your amnesiac soulmate out of your head.  

Looking forward to hearing your pathetic excuses,

Ginny Weasley.

It was way too fucking early for this.

-

Things were strange.

You had gotten most of your memories back but everything was very different than what you remembered, everyone was different after the war.

The Weasleys, oh the poor Weasleys, they were like your family but the life has been sucked out of them without Fred. They had all tried to hide it from you, they believed you were already going through enough and you didn’t need their problems too. Ginny especially, she hadn’t left your side since you woke up. You kind of felt bad for Harry because whenever he wanted to spend some one on one time with Ginny she always insisted you tagged along.

For example whatever the fuck this current situation was.

“I’m really sorry Harry.” You whispered to him. “I told her I’d be fine alone.”

At first it had sort of made sense how careful everyone had been around you, but at this point it was exhausting. You would walk into a room and it would just go silent. You lost your memory, not your basic communication skills.

“It’s fine, I understand Ginny can be quite persistent.”

“What about me.” Ginny said hooking her arms with the both of you.

“Just that I don’t think I should be going on your dates anymore, it’s kind-“

“Ginny.” Harry said interrupting you pointing towards a boy down the street. He was blonde and lanky, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

You had seen Ginny mad, in fact it was one of the first things to come back to you. Her calm fury was something that hadn’t remained constant since she was young and right now you saw it on her face as she stared daggers into the boy.

She scoffed. “I’ll be back.”

“This might take a while.” Harry said quietly, shaking his head. “Come on we can meet Ginny there.” You stole a glance across the street as Harry dragged you away. Ginny was yelling at the boy but he didn’t seem to care because he wasn’t looking at her he was looking at you. You felt your face heat up and you looked away from him following Harry. “Who was that, should I know him?”

Harry paused for a minute.

He had that face that people had whenever they were walking on eggshells around you.“He went to school with us but I don’t think you two were ever friends.” The way he didn’t look you in the eyes screamed to you that he was lying.Harry was always a horrible bloody liar.

-

It was really hard for Draco to process what Ginny was saying. Her anger had gone right to her face and Draco had been silently betting with himself as to how long it would take for her face to turn the same color as her hair. “Your face is really red.” Draco said, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Are you drunk.” Ginny said stoically.

Was he? It was likely, he honestly couldn't remember the morning or yesterday. The days were sort of blending together.

“Malfoy.” Ginny said. Usually when people used his name they were yelling at him or were angry at him. But Ginny said it with pity which somehow felt worse.

“I don’t get why you're doing this to yourself.” She said. “You’re miserable.” He deserved to be miserable.

“It’s for the best.”

“How’s that.”

Draco had no interest in divulging his feelings to weaslette of all people, but it seemed his judgement was slightly impaired by the alcohol he may or may not had been drinking. “I’m going to fucking Azakban Ginevra,I just dont see the point in telling her I’m her soulmate and possibly facing rejection just for me to be thrown in Azkaban for the rest of my life.” Draco huffed. “Even if she somehow forgave me, I doubt the dementors will be allowing conjugal visits.”

“There are no more dementors at Azkaban, Kingsley got rid of them.”

Now normally Draco was against hitting girls but he was considering it heavily. “Thank you Weasley. I feel way better, I’m sure Azkaban is a paradise now. Remind me to send Kingsley a thank you letter.”

“Draco.” Ginny said.

Gross, hearing Ginny say his first name with pity felt even worse.

“You’re not going to Azkaban, Harry agreed to speak at your trial.”

“Oh great he’ll testify to the one time I helped him, I’m sure it’ll cancel everything else out.” He said. “I’m not a good person Weasley, that’s why I know I’m going to Azkaban, because I deserve it.”

“Is that why you’re staying away from y/n?” Ginny said even angrier than before. “Is this some sort of self punishment.”

Draco stayed quiet.

“Merlin, Draco go to fucking therapy.” Ginny huffed. “You’re not the only one that’ll suffer because of your self pity. She needs her fucking soulmate back, as much as I hate you for everything you’ve put her through I can’t argue with the fucking universe and neither can you.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have fucking gotten involved with her in the first place, it’s only put her in danger.” He took a deep shaky breath. “And her losing her memory was the universe’s way of telling me to stay away.”

He had known for a long time that she was too good for him  

It was dark and he was tired, turns out making potter stinks badges and teaching all of Slytherin clever chants was demanding. Draco wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings as he walked back to his dorm until of course he heard quiet sobs. He was a firm believer that crying in public was pathetic, especially in a hallway where anyone could stumble across you. And he might’ve told them that had it not been you. He had been thinking about you, not that he would ever tell anyone that ever. But how could he not, you were his soulmate and that had to mean something.

He barely had time to think as his feet moved on their own bringing him in front of you.

“Why are you crying.”

Merlin, could he have been any less compassionate.

“Why do you care Malfoy.” You said.

He hated the way you looked pretty even if your eyes were all puffy and your face was all red.

“I don’t.”

He did. He even started to walk away for dramatic effect of course.

“I’m scared.” It felt weird to hear sincere words from you that weren't you yelling at him, and he hated the fact that he didn't hate it. “Harry has his first task tomorrow he could get hurt or worse.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Don’t tell him I told you this but he has to be some sort of invincible to defeat Voldemort at the age of 1. Don't you think?”He could hardly believe the words he was saying.

“I suppose you’re right.” You finished off.

Draco sat tensely, he wasn't exactly sure what to do. He couldn't hug you could he? No that would be seriously overstepping. You would probably punch him in the face, again. After all you had been the one who wanted to forget about the whole soulmate thing and of course you were a halfblood and a gryffindor on top of that. It would never work.

For once he hated being right.

-

You were actively weighing how likely it was for Ginny to kill you if you woke her up.

Very, is what you eventually came up with. Maybe you could play the amnesia card.

“What do you want y/n.” Ginny grogged from under her. “I’ve been listening to you shifting around for the last hour.”

You had been staying at the Weasley’s and you had absolutely refused to take Fred’s bed so that had resulted in a cramped hammock floating in Ginny’s room.

You turned around to face her with a sorry look on your face.

“Did I know that boy, the one you were yelling at.” You said. “I just feel like I knew him.”

Ginny was quiet the same way Harry was. “No.” She said turning away from you. “No you didn’t.”

“Ginny-”

“Y/n please don’t.” Ginny said, cutting you off. “It’s not for me to tell, if it was believe me you’d already know.”

“I want to go.”

“Go where.”

“To Hogwarts.”

It was embarrassing. Everyone had gone already; they had been able to at least attempt to cope with the trauma they had endured. And you who couldn't even remember the bloody war couldn't work up the nerves to go.

Ginny stared at you for a bit before muttering. “Hermione and Ron are going soon, they’ll likely let you join them.” You were about to make an argument about going on your own before Ginny turned back around nonverbally telling you that the conversation was over.

You still couldn’t sleep and not from lack of trying. Your mind was whirring, ever since you had seen Ginny yell at the boy your lack of memory seemed to be feeling different. And your fear was beginning to settle in, your doctor said that some memories may never come back and that thought made you sick to your stomach. You didn’t feel all that different, Ginny said you were the same whenever you asked. But she could be lying (since she seemed to be in the habit of doing so these days) and you would never know because you had amnesia.

-

Draco was regretting not taking his plea deal. He would much rather be sleeping in Azkaban than waking up on Blaise’s concerningly uncomfortable couch to an angry looking ginger towering over him. No one seemed to value his rest and it was getting ridiculous. He pressed his eyes closed and pull his blanket further over his face in hopes that maybe Ginevra would disappear. Sadly that was not the case and Ginny ripped the blanket off of him leaving Draco quite cold.

Ginny stared down at him as she stood impatiently at the foot of the couch.

“Blaise someone broke into your flat.”

“I noticed mate.” Blaise said who looked just as exhausted hunched over his coffee.

“We need to talk.”

“We talked remember, or were you drunk too?”

Ginny did not look amused and Draco almost felt bad for being so difficult but then he remembered he didn't care.

“Y/n’s going to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. She’s likely going to get her memories back.” Ginny said. “Thought you should know.”

Draco sat up. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ginny said taking a deep breath. “You need to be there.”

“How so?”

“She’s going to remember all the shitty things you’ve done to her and are yet to apologize for and you’re going to lose your soulmate for good.”

“I don't see how me being there will change that.”

Ginny didn't answer him rather she walked towards his chimney. “You know what, screw you. I truly do not care if you go, I just thought you should have the choice that's all.”

Ginny didn't look at Draco, rather giving Blaise a short nod before using the floo to go back to the Burrow.

Draco let himself fall back down to the couch as he listened to Blaises loudly chow down his cereal.

“So are you going to go?” Blaise said his mouth still full.

He felt bad for Blaise’s mum all that money on etiquette lessons for what?

“No.” Draco said, burying his head in his pillow.

“You’re a tosser.”

“I can live with that.”

He could and he has. If he had a sickle for everytime he was called some variation of ‘tosser’ he certainly would not be sleeping on Blaise’s couch.

“I’m calling Pansy.” Blaise didn’t scare him, not in the slightest. But Pansy was another story, Pansy scared everyone, especially the people that loved her which sadly included Draco. “I will kill you.”

“You’re just saying that cause you know she’ll knock some sense into you.”

“I have a lot of sense.” Draco groaned. “In fact I have too much sense.”

Blaise ignored Draco’s exaggerated groans as he called Pansy.The call was short or maybe it was long, all Draco knew was that Pansy was standing over him with that look on her face.

“I’m not going, and you’re not changing my mind Pansy.”

“Blaise leave.” Pansy ordered.

Blaise looked insulted. “This is my house.”

“You call this a house?”

Blaise huffed mumbling under his breath curses at Pansy.

“That was rude.”

“So you're going to lecture me on rudeness now, that's rich coming from you.”

“I dont care.”

“You look and smell like shit, I can tell you ‘don’t care’.” Pansy said.

Never in her life had Pansy been one to sugar coat things and apparently she had no intention of starting to do so. Draco was going to argue it was the couch but he realized he couldn't remember the last time he showered so he kept his mouth shut. Draco a year ago would’ve drowned himself in the black lake had he known he’d come to be like this.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m pulling the card.”

“Pansy no that’s not fair.” Draco said sitting up.

“Fair?”

Poor choice of words.

“Draco, do I have to remind you my soulmate is dead, I stopped feeling tugs and being able to talk to my soulmate when i was 13. Your soulmate is alive by some fucking miracle, and frankly you’re being a selfish prick.”

“Oh.” He always hated when Pansy talked about it. Not because he didn't care but according to Pansy because he cared too much and the last time he had shown any sign of pity towards Pansy it had not gone well for him.

“What lies do you have Ginevra feeding her, does she think she has no soulmate, does she think her soulmate is dead?”

“She doesn’t think she has a soulmate.” Draco said in a low voice, he wasn't proud of what he was doing but he also knew he had no choice. “She was in her coma during the tug. I figured by the time the next one rolls around I have something figured out.”

“And what about you.” She asked. “She may not remember you but you’ll remember her, you'll never forget that you have a soulmate out there that you refuse to see.”

“I won't let myself ruin her.”

“She’s a grown woman, I find it demeaning that you don't see her capable of making her own damn choices.”

“What?”

“You think she'll hate you, you think she’ll be ruined, you think she’s better off. What about what she thinks? You think she'd be okay with you slowly killing yourself?”

“You're a bitch Pansy.”

“So I’ve been told.” She looked towards the clock.

“Come on lets get you something to eat.”

She reached her hand out for Draco to grab.

“I can walk to the kitchen without holding your hand thank you very much.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed onto Draco’s arm.

“What are you-”

Draco’s sentence was cut off by Pansy apparating them both out of the loft.

-

Draco had gone to his fair share of therapy, did it ever work? no, Draco would rather die before talking about his feelings with a stranger but he had been taught his fair share of anger exercises . And Merlin did they come in handy, truly it was the only thing keeping him from throttling Pansy as she stood there with a smug face looking at the rubble that once was Hogwarts.

“Pansy.” Draco said slowly.

“Shut up, look she’s right there.”

“I’m not ready Pansy.” Draco said wiping his palms on his pants out of stress. “I wanted to bring her flowers.”

“flowers?”

“Forget me nots.” He said with a sardonic dry chuckle. “It was our unofficial flower, ironic isn’t it.”

“The fact that you have an unofficial flower makes me want to throw up.”

“I need flowers.” He said. Pansy groaned before searching the grass. She picked up a dandelion swirling her wand transfiguring it into a bouquet of forget me nots.

“Here, go.” He was about to give another excuse but Pansy apperated away. The one time he needed her she leaves.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to approach her without seeming like a stalker.

His thoughts were disrupted by Hermione and Ron walking up to him. He wanted to turn around so bad but he had no doubt that if he did so Hermione and Ron wouldn’t hesitate to curse him.

“Granger, Weasley.” He said sticking his hands as deep as his pockets would allow him.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” Hermione said.

Draco shrugged.

“Just go talk to her.” Ron said.

“Thats why Im here.”

Ron mumbled something under his breath but Draco didn’t feel like fighting Weasley.

Draco had never felt such anxiety because of another person. He had always been confident and walked around like he owned the world, but now he felt scared.He watched you as you traced your hands across the bricks of Hogwarts, his steps faltering as he came closer to you.

“Hi Y/n.” He called out.

You turned to look at him. Draco’s heart felt heavy at the way you looked at him, not any recognition in your eyes. You had once looked at him with such love, then such hate but now you looked at him with nothing. because right now that’s what he was to you, and it broke his heart.

“You.” You said stepping closer. “You were the one talking to Ginny.”

“I wouldn’t really call it talking, she yelled I stood there.”

“Ginny does that a lot.” You shrugged.

“Yeah.” He said.

You spotted the flowers in his hands.

“I’m sorry, who did you lose?”

His hands tightened on the flowers.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You said. “I lost my friend Fred, and my memory. But I don't feel like I lost it since I can't remember ever having it. But I miss Fred.”

He studied every centimeter of your face noting the subtle changes he didn’t notice the last time he saw you as you rambled on about Fred anxiously.

“You.” He said voice wavering. “I lost you.”

You stayed quiet for a second.

“I’m sorry I-“

“don’t know who I am?” He said with a dry laugh. “I was sort of expecting that.”

You didn’t say anything studying his face for anything that sparked a memory in you.

He dug through his jacket pocket pulling out a photo.

His hands were sweating and he tried his best not to touch your hand. Partially because he didn’t want you to feel his sweaty hands and because he feared he would break down at the realization that you were finally here in front of him.

“I’m Draco and you’re my soulmate.” He said

-

AN THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART THE LAST PART WILL BE THE NEXT PART

[themaribatpit]

Fiasco At The Wayne Gala

Author’s note: This story was written by DC Fanboy and proofread by Maribat fangirl, as a reaction to Style Queen.  Maribat fangirl has been hard at work on Chapter 6 of “Hanging by a Thread”, while DC fanboy needed a break from the angst.  This is the result, enjoy.

Content warning: A dash of Chloe salt, mostly Audrey managing to piss off everyone. Ships: Jason Todd / Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Dick Grayson / Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain / Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake / Bernard Dowd (mentioned), Bruce Wayne / Selina Kyle.

Fiasco at the Wayne Gala

Jason stood at the driveway to Wayne Manor, bored out of his mind as he waited for Marinette to arrive. Another Wayne Gala was underway, with Gotham’s elite pouring into Wayne Manor. Marinette said she would be arriving with her roommate, Zoe. He took out his phone and messaged his girlfriend asking where she was. He was interrupted from his thoughts when a rude woman cleared her throat in front of him.  Jason was just able to look up from his phone before he was berated for not paying attention to her. 

“You! Valet! How dare you play on your phone when you should be attending to us guests?” the woman screeched. Jason cringed and immediately placed his phone back into his pocket, just as he was about to argue with this banshee that he wasn’t a valet, he was rudely interrupted again with another screech. “How unprofessional! Notify Bruce Wayne that I, Audrey Bourgeois have arrived,” she waved her hand as if to shoo him away.  “Now go and park the car before I fire you.” She tossed her keys to Jason, before promptly walking away with her chin held snobbishly high.

Jason looked down at the keys in his hands. He looked at the woman walking away and then towards her car, a jet black convertible. He walked around the vehicle, admiring the exquisite European sports car. A mischievous grin grew on his face as he looked back at the keys in his hand, he jumped in over the door into the car and started its engine. It roared to life, Jason couldn’t resist stamping both his feet on the accelerator and brakes at the same time. The tyres screeched from the friction, spewing smoke behind him. He then spun around, performing a doughnut around the driveway. He left behind a trail of black tyre markings on the asphalt below. Jason stomped his foot onto the accelerator, all the way to the bottom. The engine roared in response with an immediate burst of power, rocketing him out of Wayne Manor, speeding off into the distance. 

Meanwhile, Dick waited for the cloakroom attendant to return. In his hands he held Barbara’s coat. Him being the gentleman that he was, he volunteered to bring it to the cloakroom for her. As he patiently waited at the counter, he heard a throat being cleared behind him. He chose to ignore it but then the voice grew louder. He elected to ignore it again, but the person behind him then shouted “You!”

Dick turned in surprise, he looked around to the source of the voice, a woman wearing a black, white and gold ball gown with a white fur coat in her arms. Beside her was, what he assumed to be, her daughter. She wore a matching dress and an entitled look on her face. He looked around, thinking and hoping she was trying to talk to someone else.

The woman then threw her coat at Dick, it draped over his head completely. He looked as if he was wearing an expensive ghost costume, as the coat hung over his head. The rude woman continued, “Now put this in the cloakroom, bring me the ticket when you are done and make sure nothing happens to it.” Dick didn’t say anything at that moment, he hadn’t fully registered what had just happened. “It is an expensive Arctic Fox coat, if anything were to happen to it I will make sure Mr. Wayne fires you.” She stomped off with her daughter in tow, the two walked past Barbara with Haley napping on her lap. The two scoff in disgust at the sight of the dog, “Disgusting, don't you think?” Audrey asked her daughter.

Chloe repeated the sentiment, “Absolutely, Mother.” 

Audrey nodded towards her daughter in approval before turning back to face Barbara, “Now get that mangy, misshapen mutt out of here before we file a complaint and get that thing put down!” she threatened before walking away. 

Haley whimpered from the scary lady’s yelling, Barbara’s eyes narrowed as her hands moved to cover Haley’s floppy ears, “Oh no you did not just threaten Haley.” 

“Where did she go? I can’t see.” Dick asked, the coat still covering his head.

Tim stood near the food table, enjoying canapés and several other hors d'oeuvre while waiting for his date, Bernard, to arrive at the gala. A loud voice caught his attention mid bite, “Is that you Timothy? Oh it is you.” He looked up from his plate to see an obnoxious woman wearing sunglasses indoors, at night. 

“Do you remember me? I’m your Aunt Audrey.” the woman spoke.

Tim cringed internally, remembering the woman from past events. A horrible woman if he remembered correctly, always sucking up to his parents, pretending to be their friend. Most of all he remembered the constant attempts at matchmaking, doing whatever she could to pawn her daughter off to the Drake family to gain their favour. He quickly swallowed the appetizer in his mouth and answered “Hello Aunt Audrey.” with a strained smile. His mind was in a flurry, trying to think of a plan to get rid of her. 

“Oh how handsome you’ve grown, why don't you spend time with my daughter? I brought her here today.” she suggested, her voice devoid of any sincerity. 

Tim slowly backed off, looking around the room hoping to think of a plan to get her to leave him alone. “Well...you see…” he tried to stall for time. He then spotted a familiar plume of blonde hair standing near the performing band and rushed towards her. “Steph! You gotta help me!” he croaked. 

She turned in surprise, “Tim? You okay? What's wrong?”

“Pretend to be my date” he blurted out.

“What?” she cried incredulously, “No, I’m dating Cass. What would Bernard say?” she responded angrily.

“Please, I’m begging you. At least until this crazy woman leaves me alone,” Tim explained, “she’s been trying to hook me up with her daughter for years.” Tim grabbed on to her arms and gave her a shake.

“What is this, some kind of fake dating storyline? Did I wake up in one of your K-Dramas?” She answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She then peered over his shoulder to see two women in hot pursuit, shoving guests aside. She was already feeling her mood sour from their presence.

“You owe me for this, understand?” Stephanie said, her fingers jabbed Tim in the chest before she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Thanks, I’ll pay you back some day.” Tim then held out his elbow for Stephanie, which she held on to. 

Tim and Steph slowly walked up to Audrey, “Aunt Audrey, I’d like to meet my girlfriend Stephanie Brown.” He gestures towards his friend. Stephanie then kissed Tim in the cheek, trying her absolute best to not show just how irritated she was at the whole situation. 

Audrey’s eyes twitched at the sight, but it was unnoticeable under her sunglasses. “Nice to meet you too Stephanie.” she greeted, venom dripping from her voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I will attend to other guests. It was nice meeting you again Timothy.” She then stomped away with Chloe in tow.  

The two then breathed a sigh of relief as they were left alone, “I need a drink” groaned Stephanie, as she held onto her forehead. “I just hope that Cass didn't see....that.” She turned around to see Cassandra Cain right behind the two, a frown on her face. 

Both Tim and Steph both held up their hands, attempting to placate the girl in front of them. “Tim needed a fake date to get rid of a crazy old hag.” explained Steph, as quickly and concisely as she could. Stephanie gave Tim the evil eye, thinking of all the ways she would hurt him if his fiasco cost her her relationship with Cass. 

Cass spun her finger on the side of her head.  Tim and Steph released a breath they both had been holding, worried of what Cass’ reaction would be. Fortunately for them, Cass was able to see the whole thing. From watching Tim’s desperate plea, to the subtle signs of discomfort as the two spoke to Ms. Bourgeois. 

Damian clung to the edges of the party, he detested these events. However, as the son of Gotham’s Billionaire he had no choice but to attend. He wandered around, hands in his pockets, he hoped he could find a familiar face in a sea of strangers. Perhaps Gordon or Grayson would let him pet Haley, it would at least help pass the time better. 

For someone unaware of who he was, one could possibly mistake him for a delinquent. Then again, he was the grandson of the Demon. He spotted the dog on Gordon's lap, and made his way towards her. He was then intercepted by a raging woman pointing her finger at him and calling him a trespasser and an intruder.

The gall of this woman, he clenched his teeth and yelled back. "Shut up you hag, I live here!" 

The woman expressed a loud gasp, "How dare you call me that? Do you know who I am? I am Audrey Bourgeois, director of Style Queen."

Damian rolled his eyes, "What? A magazine giving fashion advice to shriveled old hags like you?" he shot back.

Audrey Bourgeois snapped, she yelled at the boy at the top of the voice "How dare you!"

Damian shouted back "How dare YOU! Do you know who I am?"

Their shouting match had drawn the entire attention of the ball room, eyes drawn to the argument unraveling before them. Tim and Dick walked closer, hoping to get a clear view of what was happening, and to intervene if necessary. Who knows what would happen with Damian around?

Alfred ignored the chaos unraveling around him as he pushed a food trolley through the ball room. However, a young woman with blonde hair rushed in front of his trolley. "May I help you?" He asked.

"My mother is being harassed by some miscreant, go get rid of him." Chloe growled towards the butler.

"Very well." Alfred complied and began walking to the two shouting their lungs off.

Damian spots the two former Robins approaching and calls out to them, "Grayson, Drake, tell her who I am and get rid of her."

Both Tim and Dick narrowed their eyes, annoyed about how all attention was now on the two of them. The two looked at each other, annoyed at their younger sibling. 

Tim had a plan to redirect that attention and knock Hell Spawn down a peg, "Who are you?" he asked. 

This infuriated Damian, he roared "Traitor!" and was about to throw fists at Tim before Alfred stepped in between them.

"Please, let us all calm down and enjoy this fine evening." Alfred attempted to calm the entire situation. 

"Not until you get rid of him!" Audrey yelled, pointing her finger accusingly at Damian.

"I'm afraid I can't do that Madam." Alfred deadpanned.

Audrey stomped her foot in anger, then she pointed threateningly at Alfred. "You're fired!" she yelled.

Alfred sighs and answers in a monotone voice "Madam, with all due respect, I don't work for you. I work for Master Wayne, and in turn I also work for the young Master Wayne." He gestured to Damian, who stood there angrily with his arms crossed.

Audrey Bourgeois recoiled in shock, she attempted to come up with a retort. Alfred continued, "As per the young master's wishes, please leave the premises immediately."

Audrey gritted her teeth, "Fine. Call the valet to bring my car over." She commanded before marching off.

Alfred and Damian looked at each other, intrigued at the request for a valet. "Pennyworth, we don't have a valet for this evening, do we?" asked Damian.

"No Master Damian, though I suspect we may have a case of grand theft auto on our hands. I shall go check the cameras for our culprit.” Alfred furrowed his eyebrows and left for the Batcave.

Marinette and Zoe stood near a window. Marinette was worried, Jason was supposed to be at the party. He did not answer any of her calls or reply to any of her messages. She paced about, worried Jason was away dealing with an emergency. 

Zoe on the other hand was red with embarrassment and shame. She was unfortunately related to the two wrecking balls tearing their way through the gala. She hoped to any and every deity above that they would prevent her mother from noticing her. However, this was to no avail as Zoe was spun around forcefully.

"...Zoe! Why did you not greet your dear mother?" Yelled Audrey.

Zoe began sweating bullets trying to think of an answer while being berated by her mother and half-sister. "I-I uh, I just got here." She shakily attempted to explain herself.

"What are you doing here Marinette?" Growled Chloe, annoyed at how such a clumsy girl would be even invited to this event. 

Marinette put the phone back into her purse, "I was supposed to be here with my boyfriend, but I can't find him and he won't answer the phone."

Chloe laughed at the girl's plight, "Who would even date a loser like you? Any sane person would leave you."

Marinette gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, much to Chloe’s delight. Her contained rage and shame were interrupted as Audrey began complaining about a valet.

"Where is my car? Where is that damn stupid valet?" Audrey shouted. 

Zoe and Marinette looked at each other, confused at the mention of a valet. "There was a valet?" Marinette asked nervously.

"Of course there was." Audrey told her. 

"Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous," ranted Chloe, "He did not even dress properly and now he can't even deliver mother's car. Where is the idiot with the white streak of hair?"

Marinette and Zoe raised an eyebrow at the specific mention of a white streak of hair. 

"At least it explains what Jason is up to." Marinette thought to herself, "They won't be getting the car back for a while, if at all."

Alfred had reviewed footage of the driveway earlier that evening, and had discovered Jason was the culprit. Alfred sighed as he picked up the telephone and attempted to call Jason. Just like Marinette, Jason was not answering his calls. Alfred then contacted Jason through his Bat Communicator.

"What's the emergency, Alfred?" Answered Jason.

Alfred could hear the sound of a roaring engine and wind whipping through the air over the communicator. "Master Todd, you are the emergency. Please return the automobile to the manor.

"Alright, I will if you bake me two dozen cookies. Just for me and no one else." Negotiated Jason.

"Very well, Master Todd." agreed Alfred "Now please return the vehicle." Alfred closed the call and made his way to the ballroom.

Jason turned the steering wheel of the car harshly, sending it to a tight drift, making a turn back towards Wayne Manor. "Alright you two, we're getting cookies!" he yelled to his passengers beside him.

"Yaaaaay" cheered Roy along with Lian on his lap. 

Back in the ballroom, Alfred asked the guests to quiet down for he was making an announcement. "Esteemed guests, allow me to introduce Bruce Wayne.'' He stepped aside and gestured to Bruce atop the stairs with Selena Kyle. The two slowly walked down the stairs, and  thanked each of their guests for attending the gala. 

Audrey Bourgeois pushed past several attendees to get a closer look. Other guests gave her space, not wanting to incur her wrath. As she reached Bruce Wayne, she shoved Selena aside and wrapped herself around Bruce's arm. Taking extra attention to make sure her chest rubbed against his arm. 

Zoe sped to the bathroom in absolute shame after watching her mother attempt to flirt with Bruce Wayne. Marinette remained by the window, waiting for Jason’s return. She was then approached by Alfred, holding a small basket of fresh cookies. “Good evening Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I just spoke to Master Todd, he is on his way.” 

Marinette glanced at Audrey Bourgeois still attempting to flirt with Bruce, “the sooner he gets here the sooner she leaves.” she comments. She notices the cookies in the basket.  “Can I have a cookie?” she asked, salivating at Alfred’s baking.  Tikki peeked out from her small bag, enticed  by the smell of the cookies.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Master Todd, I made these in order to entice him to return the car. Undamaged, I hope.” Alfred explains.

Fortunately Jason arrived at that moment, with Roy and Lian in tow, their hairs were messy from the wind. Alfred gave Marinette the basket of cookies and asked her to give them to Jason while he notified Ms. Bourgeois that her car had arrived. “Jason, where have you been? I've been trying to call you all night!” Marinette yelled.

Jason scratched the back of his head, “about that, some crazy lady thought I was a valet.”

Marinette crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, “I heard. But that doesn't mean you can take her car.” she huffed.

“ ‘Sup Little Wing,” Dick greeted Jason, “heard about your joyride from Alfred. How was it?”

“Awesome,” Jason replied, reaching into the basket of cookies. Roy, Lian and Tikki were already enjoying their share.

“Now that you’re back, that crazy woman can now go.” Dick said

“What did she do?” asked Jason curiously, hoping there would be a good story.

“For starters, she thought I was the cloakroom attendant. She threw her coat over my face, she pissed Babs off by calling Haley a ‘Misshapen Mutt’. Then she tried to hook her daughter up with Tim. On top of that, she managed to royally piss off Damian.” Explained Dick. 

Jason’s jaw dropped while chewing his cookie, a few crumbs landing on the floor. Before doing a spit-take with the cookie in his mouth, he burst out laughing.

Meanwhile Alfred walked up to Audrey Bourgeois, who was still clinging onto Bruce Wayne as if her life depended on it. “Ahem, Madam Bourgeois, your automobile has arrived. Please kindly leave the premises.” interrupted Alfred. 

“Come now, Brucie Darling. Are you really going to send me away after all we have been through?” Audrey asked coyly. 

Bruce took a deep breath, “Ms. Bourgeois, please leave. As you can see my date, Ms. Kyle, has been very patient with you.” He points with his thumb behind him towards a glaring Selena.

Audrey growled loudly, “Fine, we are leaving.” She stomped out the front door. “You, Valet! What took you so long?” she demanded an explanation from Jason. 

Jason spoke to her with his mouth full, spewing crumbs everywhere. “Having dinner, what's it to you?” 

Audrey and Chloe recoiled at Jason’s bad manners, as a force of habit Audrey yelled back “I’ll have you fired for this.”

Jason continued undeterred, still answering with his mouth full of cookies. “Well shit, too bad.” 

Frustrated at his aloof  response, the two quickly got into the car and drove off. Everyone but the two Bourgeois noticed a large scratch and several dents along the side of the sports car as it drove away. “Yeah, uh, forget you saw that. Let’s get back to the party shall we?” suggested Jason. Everyone laughed hysterically at the wild night, now that the human wrecking ball had left. 

As Marinette walked back into the manor, she pouted at Jason for keeping her waiting. “Come on now Pixie, are you still mad at me?” Jason asked.

“Yes, you stole someone’s car, drove off to who knows where. You didn’t answer any of my messages or calls. I was really looking forward to enjoying the Gala with you.” Marinette complained. 

Jason ran in front of Marinette, stopping her in her tracks. “Look I’ll make it up to you Pixie, I promise. How about a dance then? The night is still young.” Jason said, offering his hand to Marinette. 

Marinette contemplates for a moment before reaching out to hold his hand. “Fine, but this doesn’t mean I forgive you yet.”

The two then walked to the centre of the ballroom and danced the night away.

[mayrubyy]

Clouded III

➻ Pairing- Chanyeol x Reader  ➻ Genre - Angst + Fwb! 

➻ Word Count - 3.7k  

➻ Rating - (M) Warning! this contains strong language, fwb, sexual and angst themes that are intended for mature audiences. Please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with the said themes and if you’re under 18! 

A/N - hey guys, so.. it is time to say goodbye and i was always full of hope and love for this series. sadly, it won’t see the light of day like i hoped for but in all it’s unfinished, glory, i present to you ~ Chapter III of Clouded.

This is my last post. So, farewell. 

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.  ･ ｡ × fragments=͟͟͞͞evanescent-lucid͟͟-transcending × ｡･ .  

Wayfaring aimlessly, you were drenched from head to toe and your senses were heavily distorted. The icy pellets of rain were unrelenting, not gentle in the slightest as they slapped against your skin. Streaks of lightning pierced through the forlorn sky in iridescent veins of electric and purple.The wind kept howling around you, the violent rainstorm having no mercy as it obscured your vision. Cars were zooming by at full speed, splashing puddles on to the pavement in their wake and when thunder roared above you, it sparked some kind of urgency in you as if the universe was telling you to take that one step forward, one step closer to starting a new chapter of your life– only you couldn't fathom that by doing so you were inviting trouble. 

All you could think of was Chanyeol and you found yourself knocking at his door, in the dead of the night.

Moreover, being completely soaked to the bone and nearly shivering to death wasn't fun. A mild wave of panic coursed through your body when you realized he wasn't answering the door. You rang the bell a few more times, begging, hoping and praying he was home. 

But, it was all drearily for nothing. 

Just when you were about to give up, you heard him shuffle. His footsteps thundered across the hallway and with a hasty turn of the knob, the door was ineptly flung open. The light fixtures in the foyer did little to illuminate his features, flickering about as they swathed his tall form in subtle hues of orange and gold. Chanyeol stood before you like a tower, silhouetting the buttery glow of his apartment and for a fleeting second, you couldn't decipher anything. Your mind was swirling in a heart stopping haze, his cologne dominating your senses as you stood there, wavering under his gaze. He rubbed his own bleary eyes, looking dazed and spaced out in the soft light, hair a complete mess, perhaps from wearing headphones. His breathing was erratic, chest tight against his shirt as it rose and fell, elucidating he had dashed all the way to get the door. To get to you. 

"Y/N?" He faltered, gaping at you with furrowed brows. "Wh-what are you doing here?" He asked you, dipping slightly to look at the expensive watch that adorned his wrist. "It's like one in the morning," ruffling the crimson locks away from his face, he tilted his head to the side like a lost pup and an awkward wave of silence crept between you two. The frigid air was stinging and your damp shirt was unpleasantly clinging to your body, the dewiness itching and nibbling away at your skin. Quivering in your bones, you wrapped your soaked arms around yourself and stuttered through chattering teeth. 

"Ch-Chanyeol… I'm c-cold."

"Fuck– my bad." He shuffled from one feet to the other before cautiously leaning towards you. "Here, let me–," then carefully draping his arm over your shoulder, he lead you inside, the warmth of his body effectively engulfing you as he did. The minute you set foot in his apartment, you were taken aback by how huge and spacious it was. And oddly enough, it was welcoming and cozy– just like him. 

It wasn't an ordinary apartment at all. It was rather luxurious for an undergrad and you could say you were mildly shook. You caught a whiff of coffee coming from his kitchen and some beats blaring through the headphones that sat tacitly on the counter. He was after all, much to your relief at home and completely immersed in music. That's why he couldn't hear you ring the bell or knock the door. He clumsily hooked his leg around the scaffold of the stool and dragged it closer to the island. Gently squeezing your shoulder, he ushered you to sit and after you quietly perched yourself down on the stool you looked up at him. His gorgeous pair of eyes sparkled as they met yours and deep in your heart, you felt relieved for having someone like him to rely on. A shoulder you could lean and cry on. 

"You, alright?" he asked you, concern swirling in his dark orbs. You kept your head low and nodded while he paced towards the coffee-maker and quickly grabbed a mug from the cupboard. He poured the hot liquid into it and scampered back to you. "You might want to have some. It'll help you warm up." He mumbled, voice deep and soothing to your ears. His fingers brushed softly against yours as you took the mug from him. "You probably need a warm bath too. I'll be right back." And with that he hurried away again, disappearing into the bedroom this time. He seemed anxious and quite restless like he didn't want to linger around you. 

You began to fret you were bothering him for turning up unannounced and so out of the blue like this. For a good moment you were contemplating whether to leave again. The door was right there, maybe you should...but your limbs had failed you. Your joints were beginning to ache and there was a sharp pain seeping through your nerves from the cold. Feeling defeated and worn out, you winced as you brought the rim of the mug to your lips and sipped quietly. The warmth from the coffee slowly began spreading down your throat and into your empty belly.

Your eyes flickered around the apartment as you placed the mug back down on the counter. A huge shelf made of glass had intrigued you. It was filled with action figures, a collection of sorts, of Chanyeol's favorite manga and anime characters. There was a record player sitting by the same shelf which had a robust and vintage feel to it. And, a glass door beside it leading further into something that looked like a mini studio, with guitars racked neatly in a corner and some dreamcatchers celestially hooked to the wall above them. The other end was adorned with the One Piece flag hanging on the wall which confirmed his addiction to all things Japanese. It was adorable. You squinted through the glass door again and found a desktop– an iMac sitting right in between the space with acoustic diffusers surrounding it. You could tell Chanyeol was very passionate about music. You had once heard him play the guitar at a local club on a weekend but you didn't know he had a whole studio in his exquisite apartment like this. 

Your bestfriend Kyungsoo had told you that Chanyeol was from an affluent family. He was in the Basketball team along with your boyfriend Taehyung. Highly competitive and charming to a fault, musically talented and really tall, kinda clumsy with a goofy grin and big fluffy ears– that was all you really knew about him. 

It was at a party after a match that Baekhyun had introduced you to each other. And, all you could vaguely remember was playing beer pong and getting drunk out of your mind. Taehyung had abandoned you in the middle of the party and the next day, you found yourself waking up on top of Chanyeol. It sure as hell was fucking awkward, you recall. Although, he had chuckled nonchalantly and assured you that you were just woozy and beyond sloshed. That you held him tightly and wouldn't let him go till you were out cold and passed out on the couch. Chanyeol went as far as calling you cute that day and you felt your face go embarrassingly crimson and returned him with a sharp punch to his gut, making him groan frantically. He did put up a dramatic show that day because he loved attention and took much pride in teasing you. 

Quickly enough, your little encounters with him followed. You ran into each other at the games a lot. More mini trips to 7-Eleven at the campus, talking about music and other things that amused you and you came to realize that you both had a lot in common. You were beginning to grow fond of his company everytime Taehyung left you hanging. And whenever you'd get anxious you'd end up texting Chanyeol asking if Tae was at the game. 

Chanyeol would facetime you and tell you that guys like to go into their little caves from time to time. That it wasn't anything you should be worrying about. Although, to your shocking revelation, it was far from an ordinary man cave. Your world turned upside down after Chanyeol ran into your boyfriend making out with one of the cheerleaders in the locker room. 

He kept it from you for two weeks before fidgeting and stuttering, then finally spilled everything out and suggested you moved on from Taehyung. That it was for the best. At first you thought it was some kind of a pathetic joke but turns out, it wasn't. 

You'd never felt so broken and so ditched. You felt ridiculed and helpless. Taehyung never really cared to bring the matter up. And when you asked him if he was seeing anyone, he simply told you not to be ridiculous, persuading you to drop it with all things romantic and velvety later on. You were starting to feel sick of his behavior. Of course it was you who was being delusional and not him shoving his tongue down someone else's throat. It must have been so easy for him, right? 

As the weeks flew by, your mind hopelessly drifted back to how your boyfriend would rather spend the weekend with some chic who'd had sugar, spice and everything nice and honestly, it wasn't fun or healthy for you to fret over him anymore. It made you dizzy, made you want to throw up. He was cold blood lying through his teeth. He was cheating on you and you'd had just about enough. 

Barely hours ago, you'd stormed out of Taehyung's apartment after having a nerve wracking argument with him. Completely blinded by rage you wandered forcefully in the streets until it had started raining violently. And then it dreadfully occurred to you that you had absolutely nowhere to go. Kyungsoo wasn't in town and the last person to cross your mind was Chanyeol. His apartment was around the corner and of all the people, you never really fathomed you'd end up knocking at his door all doused and a drenched mess like this but here you were.  

You balled your fists and sniffled quietly, trying to stop the tears that were welling at the corner of your weary eyes. Chanyeol was still nowhere in sight while the beats continued blaring from his headphones from the other end. You wiped a lone tear that had trickled down your right cheek and returned your attention to the white foam swirling delicately in your mug, trails of steam dancing above it. 

"Y/N?"

You heard Chanyeol's voice echo from within the room. You quickly placed your elbows on the counter and ducked your head to conceal your tears away from him. 

"The bath is ready. You'll find the clothes on the dresser. And, I– uhm, I have some bath bombs. If you wanna use them. Go ahead." Chanyeol reappeared scratching the back of his head, his lips had curved into a daffy smile. 

"You have a...g-girlfriend?" It wasn't that you were curious but you knew you shouldn't have blurted that out so mindlessly. It was obvious. It was so goddamn obvious. He's a young adult, a drop dead gorgeous one for fuck's sake. He plays basketball and guitars, has got a whole studio of his own and must have plenty of girls over. You couldn't have been more nuts to ask him that? You mentally shrug and cuss at yourself. 

"What?" Chanyeol looked at you as if you were delirious. "Uhhh, no? I don't." He mumbled, a huge pout adorning his lips. "I'm not.. really.. in a good headspace for love." He crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "Also, love is fucking illusive, you know?" 

Illusive? Is that even a word? You both eyed each other intently and the more you looked at him the more you were mystified by his words. You bit your lip quietly and urged him to continue, "tell me more."

"How about you get out of those clothes first." Chanyeol's voice was barely a whisper. He then furrowed his brows but his expression quickly morphed into an awkward one like he was ready to pull his hair out. "I mean, you must be cold –not that– I– fuck–.." 

Another wave of awkward silence crept between you two and he began pulling at his hair frantically. "That sounded awful.." He stomped about cursing and letting a string of fucks slip out of his tongue again. He then collapsed to the floor and hid his face dramatically in his hands. You couldn't help but chuckle at his actions and wheezed loudly enough for him to peek from between his fingers to look back at you. He slowly loosened up and smiled quietly to himself. "I'm serious." He walked towards you and sat himself on the stool, "don't want you falling sick, babe." 

Chanyeol looked at you adoringly, the apples of his cheeks were glistening, still blushing pink. "You done with that?" he pointed at the mug. You took one last sip and nodded, never taking your eyes off him. "I am." You pushed the mug towards him and his fingers found their way around the porcelain again, brushing softly against yours like they did the first time. You mouthed a soft 'thank you'. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips while you continued gazing back at him, mesmerized by his pink fluffy ears. A hearty smile fluttered on his lips as well as yours. He wrapped his long fingers snugly around yours and whispered back to you, fondness gleaming in his eyes. 

"Don't worry about it, baby."

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The lump in your throat was gnawing its way slowly down to your chest as you helped yourself out of your damp clothes. Your head was starting to spin again when you finally caught a glimpse of your disheveled state in the mirror. You mocked yourself cynically and wondered why Chanyeol wasn't mortified, hadn't gasped and shut the door back in your face. You looked ghastly but he was being far too sweet with you. He was gentle as ever, taking your icy hands that had gone numb into his huge ones, rubbing them together to get them warm and whispering sweetly and huskily that it was alright, that you were safe in his hands now. 

The more you looked at yourself the more you felt exasperated like you were wallowing away in wades of self pity. Your eyeliner was smudged around your dreary eyes as though someone had beaten the living crap out of you. And, being alone by yourself again only allowed the bitterness to creep back into your heart.

'Love is illusive' Chanyeol had accented and you couldn't help but dwell on the thought as you ensconced yourself into the steaming tub, allowing the lush scent of lavender to cloud your senses. The water soaked and engulfed you in a lukewarm trance, washing away the remnants of the rainstorm that had pierced your fragile skin not merely an hour ago. 

"Love's like a game– a game you just can't win." 

Chanyeol's words echoed in the back of your mind. He kept citing whilst showing you the way to the bathroom. He can't just be saying that to make you feel better would he? He looked pretty suave and confident saying he didn't have time for romance but then again with a charming aura like that he could get any girl at any shack. It would be his call. You had no hint or clue about his past flings although he'd grown to be so close to you. However, somewhere deep in the pits of your broken heart, you felt like you've known him for years even though you'd only started talking to him merely months ago. 

As much as you wanted to drown your thoughts into the night in the tub, you couldn't keep him waiting. If it wasn't embarrassing enough he'd heard your stomach growl to which he had softly grazed your cheek with his thumb and asked you to hurry up, rasping away that he'd cook you something. You were in fact enthusiastic about wanting to give him credence for his witty nuances about love and join him back in the kitchen. If you were a damsel in distress– Chanyeol was your knight in shining armor. You chuckled at the thought and huffed away, blowing and lifting some of the delicate foamy bubbles that were settled on your knees. 

Perhaps, it really was time to turn the page to a new chapter in your life. "Fuck you, Tae." You spat bitterly, soapy suds slithering down your dewy, glistening body as you rose to your feet, planting them firmly on the ceramic underneath. "Fuck everything." You crouched again and pulled the stopper out, watching what was left of the effervescent mixture of lavender whirl about and get sucked into the drain, taking along with it parts of you that you no longer wished to carry the burden of. 

You felt like you deserve the chance to clear yourself of this mess and you were willing to explore what the universe had to offer you now. If it had so spurred you into risking hypothermia enough to end up at someone's door who could in fact be your saving grace. Someone who believes that love is all but a load of bullshit, then maybe Park Chanyeol might actually be the one for you. And, you could definitely rely on him to help you piece your broken heart together without having to worry about the perpetual matters of love. You wanted to step into the light, without having to look back again. 

And you were glad you could seek the light past love and its hazy horizon for once.

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A hoard of concerns were lurking before you. With all your clothes soaked and dirty now, including your garments, you stood in front of the dresser, scratching your head in confusion. 

Huffing away, you put Chanyeol's t-shirt on which had engulfed you completely, all the way down to your knees. The most frustrating part however, were the shorts he picked for you. They didn't sit at your hips at all and had drooped down your legs the minute you put them on, instantly piling at your feet. 'How the fuck am I supposed to secure this?' You fretted, shrugging as you picked them back up. 

You tried again but failed miserably. It would be fucking awkward walking back into the kitchen, dressed only in his shirt. You had absolutely nothing on underneath. Fuck. It's not like you were going to touch him or anything. You can manage this and maybe he won't notice, right? It was your last resort and you quickly had to make your mind up. Out of nowhere you heard your stomach growl again. It was either do or die now. You had to decide. 'I'll keep my distance from him and he won't bat an eye' were the words you chanted to yourself before leaving the bedroom. 

As you walked back into the living room, your ears were invited by the soft music playing from the record player, the one that was by the glass shelf. You stopped by the dining table facing Chanyeol's back who was busy in the kitchen. The aroma of pancakes whiffed through the air and the atmosphere was perfectly cozy. Although, you didn't dare move from the table and decided to keep yourself away and at a distance. Then Chanyeol turned around and his eyes flew wide open in surprise. 

"What the fu– ...you startled me." He yelped, placing the pan back on the stove and clutching at his heart. "I thought I already had you stricken with horror when you first opened the door," you snorted, "I looked horrendous, didn't I?" Chanyeol simply shook his head in denial and retorted with a playful smirk. "You looked quite hot. I'm not gonna lie."

"Shut up, Chanyeol." You felt your face flushing an awful shade of pink at his remarks. "It's the truth, babe." He quipped, whirling about and chuckling away as he returned his attention towards cooking the pancakes again. "Come here, you need to eat!" he called out and your limbs immediately went limp. 

"Um, can you place it on the counter for me?" you purred, requesting him in your humblest tone. "I'm..kinda.. in a fix here." Your voice wavered and when Chanyeol turned around to look at you again, he grinned sheepishly. "What's wrong?" he asked you as if he had no clue what you were going on about.

"It's an embarrassing...outfit situation." You cleared your throat and Chanyeol quickly mouthed an 'oh'. "It doesn't sound like much of a problem to me." He rasped, dripping maple syrup on pancakes. "Your belly needs some food and that's more important." He then brought the plate with the freshly made pancakes and placed it on the counter and ushered you warmly to join him at the island. His voice suddenly grew a little stern. "Come on now before it gets cold." His sudden strictness made you chuckle. He possibly can't get more adorable than this, can he?

"Fine." You faltered in your steps and met him at the island. Thankfully, the structure blocked a good amount of distance between you two. When you settled down on the stool, he handed you the fork and you started taking measly bites out of the plate. Chanyeol watched you intently, his arms were propped up against the counter, hands cupped around his face as he gaped at you in awe. "Stop looking at me like that. You're making me nervous." You mumbled in between bites. He gave you a squinty eyed grin before snatching the fork away from your hands and making you gasp. 

"Geez baby, you're supposed to wolf it down." He cut through the pancake haphazardly and jabbed at a huge chunk, "like this." He then shoved the massive bite into your mouth and a muffled moan left your lips as you swallowed it down. "This will fill you up." He then glanced  at your lips coated with the sweet syrup hazily and mumbled huskily in his deep voice. "God, I could fill you up."

Of course you were going to choke upon hearing what he had just said. You wheezed frantically and couldn't pluck enough courage to look him in the eye anymore. Your heart thundered in your chest as you squirmed and scooted anxiously away from him, a faint blush spreading over your cheeks. You could tell he was violently biting down on his bottom lip, shutting his own eyes close, as tightly as he could. 

You both were awfully quiet again. Too embarrassed to take the conversation any further. But then Chanyeol interjects, breaking the awkwardness, "I didn't mean to…" 

 "D-don't.. worry about it," you bite on your own lip and jab at your pancake with your fork. He looks at you cryptically, "are you sure?" 

You nod your head and lick your lips and when you do, something triggers Chanyeol and he quickly gets off his stool and much to your relief walks back to the stove with an excuse to make you more pancakes. You try to gobble the rest of the pancake as quickly as you can while trying your best not to dither about what had just happened. As soon as you're done, you pick your plate up and scamper towards the sink but Chanyeol blocks you. "Woah, hold up. You're not done eating until I say so." He looms over you and his voice is yet again, stern and you push him away and boy you wish you didn't. 

The second your palm came in contact with his abs  through the fabric you knew you fucked up. You could feel the ridges and he was so perfectly packed and built. The girls at uni, they were right. Park Chanyeol was irresistible and you were only inches away from him.

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A/N ~ 

this is it guys. it’s broken and full of errors lol. i lost the doc that had everything written beyond this.  i had wiped my drive for work last year and other reasons. anyway,  i’m happy you made it this far with me in this clouded journey. if you wish to find out what happens after, feel free to ping me i’ll sum it up for you, sweet & short, only if you really wish to find out how these two end up haha. but yeah. this is it. i haven’t got anything else to say. so yeah, stay safe and most importantly, be happy. love y’all. <3

Taglist ♡  @loeyprivvv @littleflowercrown13 @wifechungha  @rashidamesrur  @mindofthescattered @zessafg @always-wishing-for-rain  @brazilianbasicbitch @kpopfessions-blog @baek-byunies @j-pping @godexosblog @hansolturnt @anyh0w @fire-poppyqueen @smolmel @nanasupremacy​ @chanyeolparkriswu✧  Note - If I have forgotten to tag anyone! I’m sorry, I lost the doc where I kept track of you guys so, this is all I got. 

[honghunni]

San Daddy top Oneshot (MLM)

requested

Contains:

Choking Daddy kink Scratching Restraint Public teasing after care suggested but not shown unsafe sex.

You met San a while back and had been talking kinda casually and hooking up whenever you could. You hadn’t really done anything super exciting, just normal vanilla sex when ever you got the opportunity as there usually wasn’t time to prepare for or do anything else. San lives with his members and you have a roommate and are both pretty busy so it didn’t happen often. It’s a bit stressful as everything has to be a bit secretive, you know what people can be like with their favourite idol. Luckily San knows a lot of exclusive places that people can’t exactly crowd around or get into unless they know someone, so he’s able to take you out occasionally. You like those places a lot since they are expensive.

Tonight San asked you to meet him at a restaurant at 5:00pm. It is currently 5:20pm;

He is late.

Usually you would be inside before he arrived and vice versa, but after a recent sasaeng incident they weren’t letting you in without San.

After some time you felt someone practically fall on your back.

“I’m sorry!” They said sounding almost like they were dying from being out of breath.

Obviously it was San.

“It’s like 10 degrees I’ve been waiting outside for like 20 minutes they wouldn’t let me in because you weren’t here.” You ranted at him

You were going to continue berating him until you saw the way he was looking at you.

“How am I supposed to be upset with you when you look at me like a sad lost puppy?”

You both walked in, San tripping a little bit at the enterance.

You went to this place a lot but you were always dazzled by the interior, it really didn’t look like much on the outside as it is intentionally inconspicuous.

“I won’t give you a limit this time you can get anything you want I feel bad for being so late.” He said spinning the menu on his finger

“It’s ok really, but since you said that I want this!” You pointed to the most expensive thing on the menu and you could see San’s soul leave his body through his eyes while reading the price.

“O-okay..” he said with a very dejected sigh.

You felt a little bit bad but the excitement of getting to eat a huge expensive meal overrided that very quickly.

“How has everything been going? I heard you were planning comeback.”

“Yeah we are but the usual publisher doesn’t want to do this one so we have to find another and the dance is a lot more complicated than the others so we’re constantly arguing right now and-“

As soon as you asked that a huge stream of words just poured out of him, he must not have had anyone to talk to about this.

After a few minutes of venting San simply put his head in his hands and sighed.

“Is this why you were late?”

San looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Did you forget you asked to have dinner with me because of all this? So you realised last minute and rushed here?”

San starts playing with the salt shaker on the table

“I debated not coming because I want you to always see happy San and not sad San but I also really wanted to see you but I forgot to message you and I couldn’t cancel because when I realised it was too late and-“

You placed your hands on his face

“Just forget everything that’s bothering you right now, ok? You’re here now and I require attention and you can’t give me attention if you’re stewing.”

The food came out and it looked even better than it did on the menu which literally never happens so you were very excited. San started tapping his feet while he was eating, it’s a sign he’s content but it is a little bit annoying so you put your feet on his to make him stop. He slid his feet out from yours and put his on top instead, smiling at you. It quickly became a game, one that you were clearly going to lose if you played by his rules. When he went to do it again you swiftly but gently put your foot right between his legs, he flinched so hard he hit the table with his knees and choked on his food. He leaned in and whispered. “You can’t just do that to me with no warning, what are you trying to gain?”

“What do you think I’m trying to gain?” You hissed.

San reclined back into his chair

“You know I actually already rented a motel, the members are all taking a break from eachother and they don’t expect me back for 3 days.” You knew exactly what he was suggesting because of how he was eyeing you. He suddenly started taking food off of your plate and put it on his. “You’re going to want to eat less, also I’m not letting this go to waste it cost me too much.” San spooned a huge amount of food into his mouth. You wanted to eat all of it, but honestly the meal you chose was too big for you anyway and now you have ‘extra plans’ so it’s probably best. He wrote an address down on a piece of paper and handed it to you like he often does, he stood up and leaned over the table close to your face. “Leave 10 minutes after me.” He quickly checked to see if anyone was obviously looking and kissed you on the forehead before leaving.

When you walked out there was already a taxi waiting to take you. It didn’t take too long for you to arrive. As soon as you walked into the door San hugged you tightly. “You take longer than I do, go wash up first there’s spare toothbrushes and stuff.” You went into the bathroom and San sat on his phone; after some time you walked out and he quickly got up for his turn and left his phone unlocked. You thought it would be harmless just to quickly look at what he was looking at, just a quick glance since you don’t really think it will be anything interesting. You read aloud to yourself what was on San’s phone screen. “San x Seonghwa daddy kink.” You quickly realised what you just read out loud and grabbed the phone to read the rest of the page. You felt a bit jealous, you were right here yet he was reading stuff about fucking someone else. You blinked and suddenly the phone wasn’t in your hand anymore, San had snatched it from you, he ran out so fast his hair wasn’t even dry it still wet. You won’t lie he did look kinda hot like that. He looked at his phone seeing what you were reading. “Why are you reading about you and Seonghwa? I’m right here! Are you bored of me or something?” San looked dismayed. “N-No I don’t read them for that reason.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I read them to see which members the fans want to see me interacting with and just to see what they are writing about.” “Is that really all? Are you into anything written in that fic?” You barked.

“Actually…I do like some of it,”

His answer both did and didn’t surprise you.

“And I also read them for ideas of things to try.” He took your hand and guided you to sit on his lap. You asked “What do you want to try?”

“I don’t know how much you read but I’m curious about pretty much everything that was on that page.” He held you close to him.

Since you had nothing to lose you decided to try.

You whispered in his ear “Daddy.” You felt his entire body tense. You looked at him and giggled a bit. “Do you like being called daddy?” He didn’t say anything he just started kissing you; a lot more amorously than you were typically used to. It was as if you suddenly triggered something in him you had never seen before. He pulled away. “Are you ok with pain?” He asked abruptly, you were already slightly out of breath. “I think I am but I’ll tell you if I really don’t like something.” He instructed you to take off your clothes and of course you agreed, he took off his shirt also. He grabbed the tie laying on the bedside table, he tied your hands together tightly with the tie. “Is that okay?” He asked. “Yes daddy.” You replied, as soon as you said that you felt the tie pull a bit tighter suddenly around your wrists. He tenses every time you call him that. He he ran his fingers through your hair lightly tugging occasionally and checking to see if you were receptive to it. He grasped your hair hard with one hand making you kneel in front of him and with the other hand taking out his dick. You couldn’t really react to what happened because he’d already forced himself into your mouth slowly fucking your throat. Despite the typical stereotypes of tops/doms being somewhat silent, San is very vocal, in part because he is sensitive, you were used to it but he was much louder than usual; clearly really enjoying being aggressive with you. After some time he finally let you breathe, loosening his grip on your hair.

“Are you okay?” He was checking on you again. “I didn’t say stop.” you responded. San shoved you onto the bed and hastily fixed the tail of the tie to the bed. He grabbed the bottle of lube that was provided in a complimentary basket by the motel and put it on his fingers. He gently inserted two of his fingers up to the second knuckle into you carefully sliding in and out. He was going almost painfully slowly, enough pressure for you to feel it but not enough for you to really get off on it. You were desperate for him to do more. "Please" you said, looking at him so he knew what you were asking. "Please who?" San snickered.

"Please Daddy." It was definitely more embarrassing to say this time, but you kind of liked that. He went faster and deeper. At some point he added a third finger, you're not really sure when he did that but you definitely noticed it after a while. He stopped after maybe 10 minutes, he looked at you and the condoms that were in the box with the lube and then back at you. "What if we didn't use one this time?" You had never really done it raw with San before, or anyone, but you thought about it for a bit. You definitely liked the idea of him cumming in you.

After you told him it was ok he grabbed your thighs and pulled you towards him positioning himself between your legs and placed his hands beside your head. He leaned down putting his weight on you and kissed you while gently stroking your hair.

He moved down and softly licked and kissed your neck and then abruptly bit down hard and pulled your hair. He started biting up your shoulder and neck making sure he was leaving marks. Still biting down on your neck he eased himself into you. He sat up, held you down by your neck and fucked you slowly. "Can I do it harder?" San was already sweating a bit.

"Uh, of course you can you don't even have to ask."

San smiled a bit at your answer and tightly squeezed his hand around your neck fucking you much harder than before, his other hand, slightly shaking, gripping the headboard for stability.

He released his hand from your neck and gripped your thighs so hard you could feel his nails digging into your skin. He was going even deeper and his eyes keep fluttering closed and his moaning keeps getting lower pitched. You like how his voice almost sounds like a growl when he starts getting close.

He leaned over you again holding you to his body his lips up against your ear. "Beg for me to cum inside you." San dragged his nails down your side leaving welts.

"P-Please." You meekly pleaded.

He dug his nails into you harder, breaking the skin. "Do it properly." He said in a voice you don't think you ever heard come from him before.

"Please Daddy."

He grabbed onto your shoulders and fucked you harder than you think he ever has. It almost felt as if you were being punched in the stomach. You could hear his moans becoming more high pitched and his breath started becoming really shaky. You could feel him practically collapsing and he suddenly wrapped his hands around you tightly, biting your neck again. After a little while you felt him relax and he let go of your neck, San was panting heavily. He sat up after recovering for a few seconds and pulled out of you. He giggled a bit. "Wow, I came a lot, it's leaking out of you. You did too, I felt it when I was holding you." You saw he had cum on his stomach and chest from you and you did as well. He sat next you you and cuddled you gently. "Let's shower together." He said.

"But we both showered earlier," You said "It's a waste of water."

"We aren't paying for the hot water" San smiled.

[clanoffetts]

Like Real People Do, Chapter 1

Jango Fett x Kyra Esson (fem!OC)

meet Kyra here

series summary: Kyra Esson, a pilot trying to forget her past, takes Jango Fett up on an offer. It's supposed to be her last hurrah before she settles down, but she can't seem to leave the bounty hunter, no matter how hard they both try.

word count: 1.6k

warnings/tags: swearing; yearning; slow burn; fluff; uh oh jango catches feelings; eventual smut (but not for awhile); severe misunderstanding of Slave I’s layout 

series masterlist (coming soon)

The cantina is dark and dirty, the bass of the music making the ground vibrate and glasses shake on tables. Kyra is uncomfortable, too many people, too many dark corners, too much.

Her left hand reaches to the leather strap of her back, holding it tight, while the other rests on her holster that sits high on her right thigh. The only open spaces are seats at the bar, so Kyra wills herself forward through the thick of the crowd. The bar seats are worn, the leather of the round cushion is cracked and faded, and when she sits it is almost as if there was no cushion at all.

“Do you have Port in a Storm here?” Kyra asks the bartender, her smooth voice raised atop the music.

The bartender, a Mirialin man, laughs. “You want Port in a Storm?” He looks at a man sitting two seats down, and calls to him, “She wants Port in a Storm, can you believe it? The nerve of some girls!”

The man is clad in silver armor, accented in blue, maybe purple, Kyra isn’t sure which in the dim lighting of the cantina. He’s wearing a helmet, Mandalorian by the looks of it. He turns his head to look at Kyra, studies her for a moment and shrugs at the bartender.

“Port in a Storm, do you have it or not?”

The man nods, pulling out a bottle of the liquid and pouring some into a short glass. “Now let’s see you drink it.”

Kyra’s face doesn’t change as she lifts the glass to her lips, tilts the red liquid into her mouth and swallows it down. It tastes like home, for better or worse. Kyra isn’t sure which. No matter, she sets the glass back down on the bar, motioning for more.

“I think we have a native Pamarthen on our hands,” the bartender says to the Mandalorian, who seems as though he couldn’t care less. “Am I right?”

“Obviously,” Kyra says, quite obviously annoyed. The man can’t take a hint. “Now pour me another before I do it myself.”

She downs another glass of the strong alcohol before dropping credits by the glass, gripping her bag, and squeezing her way back through the people gathered around a DJ.

Kyra beelines for the Barloz-class freighter in the hangar across the busy street. Her black hair is shiny in the moonlight as her legs move quickly across the hot sand. It was supposed to get cold on Tatooine at night, she thought, but her cloak was lazily shoved into her bag when she felt the hot, dry Tatooine air earlier that night. She wished he had it around her now, especially shielding her face, as the gusts of wind pick up sand that scratches at her skin.

Almost there , she tells herself as she winds through the open hallways of the hangar building. Ah, there she is, the large silver and green Barloz-class medium freighter that had barely squeezed into the small hangar.

“Wouldn’t expect this bulky thing from a Pamarthen,” says a gravelly voice.

Kyra pulls her blaster from the holster on her thigh, whipping around to aim at the source of the voice. It’s the same Mandalorian from the bar, his armor gleams in the moonlight. The accents are blue, Kyra notes, as she trains her blaster at the T-shaped visor. “The fuck do you want?”

“Put away your blaster,” the man says, holding his hands up. “I simply wish to pick your brain.”

Kyra lowers her blaster, but keeps it gripped in her hands, pointing the barrel at the ground. “What?”

“You’re from Pamarthe,” he says. It isn’t a question, and his tone suggests that that’s all the information she should need.

“And?”

“I have questions,” the man says. “About Pamarthe.”

Kyra’s eyes narrow. “Then ask them.”

“Can we board your ship?”

“No,” Kyra says, careful to keep her voice strong and steady. “Ask them here or not at all.”

The man finally gives up with a sigh. “I need to make a deal,” he says. “I need a native Pamarthen to pilot a watercraft. I have a bounty on your world, but I couldn’t pilot a Pamarthen watership like a native.”

“Then why’d you take the bounty?”

A noise comes from the vocoder, Kyra thinks it’s some kind of laugh that’s been mangled by the tech. “Overestimated myself.”

“How much will you pay me?” Kyra thinks about the minimal credits left in her account after buying the new water tank for the ship and the boots she finally splurged on from her trip to Naboo.

“How does fifteen thousand credits sound?”

It takes all of Kyra’s strength to keep her jaw from hitting the ground. Ten thousand credits would keep her comfy for a while. “If you have fifteen thousand to spare, why take a bounty? I know there’s no one worth much more than that on Pamarthe.”

“That is for me to know,” the Mandalorian says. “Do we have a deal?”

“Maybe,” Kyra says. “I will find you in the morning, Mandalorian, when I have made a decision.”

He gives a curt nod, turns on his heel, and stalks from the hangar. Odd, Kyra thinks, but maybe that’s how all Mandalorians are. That’s what the stories suggest, anyway.

The lights on the floor of the ship light up as Kyra boards, the ramp closing behind her.  The gurgle of the water tank is a welcome noise as Kyra heads for the ‘fresher, desperate for a proper shower rather than a sonic one. She strips from the green wool cropped wrap that helps to bind her breasts in place. Then, the fabric strips that wrap around her wrists, holding her sleeves against her skin, a measure against the Tatooinian sand- it was no use. When the undershirt comes off, a layer of sand still coats her pale skin, the granules would leave scratches, no doubt. The cheap sports bra is shed next, followed by her boots and leggings, all joining the sweat-soaked, sand-coated pile of garments off to the side.

Kyra reaches for the entangled braids that sit at the base of her skull, freeing them from their pins, then their ties, and finally unweaves the two thick, black braids that were held tightly against her scalp.

Finally, Kyra steps into the shower. The water is nothing more than lukewarm, a heater is an unnecessary luxury for now, but the cool water provides refuge from Tatooine’s heat. The soap is unscented, leaving Kyra’s skin and hair the same way. Her skin turns red from the scratching of the coarse washcloth she drags along her flesh, rubbing against the sand in an awful sensation.

If this is their cold, she thinks, I’d hate to see what Tatooine calls hot. The white towel that matches the washcloth is snatched from a hook on the shower’s door. Kyra wipes her body dry in silence, the only sound is the water droplets falling from the shower’s surfaces and the water tank already working on purifying and recycling the water she just used.

In the small mirror on the fresher's wall, Kyra stares into her own eyes. Storm eyes, that’s what people on Pamarthe had called them, the cloudy gray of her irises looking like the sky during the rain season. She’d been jealous of the kids with ocean eyes, for the myths and stories say that true Pamarthens have eyes that reflect the surface of their oceanic homeworld. The children with green and brown eyes were accused of actually being from Kashyyyk or Endor, and the few lucky children with an alien parent to be born with a red tint in their irises had Port in a Storm eyes, the supposed sign of a Pamarthen pilot that could do anything, withstand anything. Parents did their best to dispel the stories, reassuring their children that they, too, can withstand anything despite something as minuscule as their eye color.

Kyra didn’t know of any storm worlds, only of rain seasons that were despised by many planets. And that’s what she felt, staring into the mirror, into her own storm. Her shoulders shake with a shiver, snapping her from her memories and into the present, into the tiny ‘fresher of the Barloz.

Red marks covered Kyra’s skin, tiny scratches from the sand are prominent against the veins that shine through what a Rodian on Jedda had called ‘paper skin’. In the right light, Kyra looked as though she was fitted with wires like a protocol droid, with her veins so visible underneath her ghostly skin that had always refused to tan. Nothing’s wrong with her, the doctors had said.

Folded neatly on the foot of the bed is a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. The sweatpants are a bit much for the weather, Kyra thinks, but they’ll do. The towel around her body moves up to encompass her long hair, twisting up to sit at the crown of her head to dry while she sits and analyzes her datapad.

“Ten thousand credits,” she murmurs to herself, looking over tables of numbers detailing expenses of necessities and luxuries. “What could I do with ten thousand credits?”

The answer should be clear: find a hut in the middle of nowhere and wait out her days, but she’s too restless . No matter how hard Kyra tries to close the blast doors on that side of herself and shoot the control panel so she could never access it again, it never works, something malfunctions, and she finds herself in a cockpit. And that’s what she’s doing again, with this Mandalorian and his offer. It’s too good to pass up, Kyra thinks. And she’s doing it again, telling herself this is the last job, it’s simply too good to pass up and she’ll settle after this one, because surely nothing would top this job. Just like nothing could top the job for Hondo, and, yeah, Cid’s topped Hondo’s, but nothing would top Cid’s job, except Mando’s offer, so why not accept Mando’s offer? Surely nothing could top it.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Entitlement

Yandere!Hawks x fem!reader

Warnings: yandere, yellow sour fruit, dark themes, semi dubious consent, swearing

A/N: I started this before Halloween and just never fucking finished it but I figured that if I got one post out, might as well follow up with another. It was a bit rushed and the smut is short because it’s my bedtime but HEY! I’m DOING things!

Your keys clanked inside the glass bowl you threw them in as you sighed and walked into your apartment, holding dirtied white heels in hand and wearing disappointment across your face. The night’s events hung heavy on your shoulders which you tried to rub away while flopping down on your living room couch, but the tension was persistent. You had decided to go out, how very unlike you, but seeing as it was Halloween and it had been ages since you’d even spoken to your friends, you had figured that it might’ve been good to at least socialize a tiny bit. They took you to a party at some venue you’d never heard of, in a neighborhood you’d never been to, and the moment the crowd of costumed drunkards swallowed your friends was the moment you knew you wouldn’t be seeing them again.

You’d been left so alone, so exposed in your short white dress you’d thrown on just to look cute, the one you thought only your friends would see before they told you about the party. A sinful angel was the joke you were going for, but your joke had grabbed the attention of a few too many people and you were left to be incredibly uncomfortable. Friendlier celebrators were too touchy, brushing up against your exposed shoulders and offering you knowing smiles, as if you and any lingering stranger shared some sort of secret. One of your secrets was that you were distressed and didn’t want anyone you didn’t know to even look at you, your heels hurt, and the beer stench wafting through the air was giving you a headache. You really had to give yourself credit for how long you stuck around even though none of your friends were there to bear witness, but now you had to pay for persevering with sore feet and the feeling of being, well, lonely.

Lonely. You snorted. How you could feel isolated after receiving, what, attention?, was laughable. It was that sort of feeling that got you glancing at your window, waiting for movement. It wasn’t all the time you’d spot him, or maybe you’d gotten used to your outside disturbances, but ninety-nine out of a hundred times you did see something, you’d immediately pull your curtains together, however you thought that… perhaps… had you seen movement, you’d leave your curtains drawn apart.

Movement, however, didn’t come. That wasn’t uncommon. Your stalker, if that was what you could call him, was a very busy man, and on a night like tonight, it would be likely that he was on duty. It was either that, or he finally gave up on you, which would be a win for you for sure, but that didn’t stop you from walking to your balcony door, standing there for a moment, and sliding the glass open.

Cool air enveloped you as you walked barefoot onto your patio. You traced your fingers along the metal railing that kept you safe at ten stories high and glowered down at the busy street filled with teetering, costumed night crawlers. You glanced back inside to the empty loveseat that was practically calling your name. What was a lonely night if not one that involved relaxing indoors with a cool breeze blowing in while you had a nice drink in hand. Rubbing at your shoulders once more, you turned back inside. You told yourself close the door behind you, close the door behind you, but you gilded into your kitchen without touching the glass panel, leaving your unspoken invitation open.

Swiftly you poured yourself a glass, grinning stupidly at yourself for using something expensive. It was a ‘treat yo-self’ kinda night, wasn’t it? You adjusted the elastic straps that kept the white feathers strapped to your back and danced back into your living room, humming slightly as you took your seat.

You curled your toes around your soft throw and lightly dipped at your beverage as goosebumps appeared on your exposed legs. It took less than two minutes for a loud thud! to break your peace, although that wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“You’ll catch a cold if you leave your windows open all night long.” The upbeat voice rang out from your patio and a second wave of goosebumps met your skin— that wasn’t from the cold. Boots sounded off the approach of your intruder, and you pulled your throw farther up your legs, already second guessing yourself. Hell, you knew it was bad having him here, you knew he was sick, and you knew that letting him keep you company wasn’t helping him in the slightest… but the other secret you’d kept to yourself at the party was that even though you were vastly uncomfortable, you wanted the attention, you wanted to be touched, you wanted to feel good, but you just didn’t want to be around people you didn’t know. Hawks knew you, at least, Hawks was familiar to you. As horrendous as it was, he was the easy route. He’d provide you with anything you would ask for if that meant that he could be near you, and sometimes you couldn’t help but take advantage of that, especially when you were feeling vulnerable.

Hawks’ head appeared out from the dark, a grin already playing at the corner of his mouth. Once he was inside, his crimson feathers ruffled, twitching off the residual cold of the night. His face was flushed, whether that was because he’d been flying in such brisk weather or because of the circumstances playing in his favor, you didn’t care.

“But that was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You sipped your beverage, not bothering him with a reply. You could tell by the look on his face that he already knew, and even if he tried to hide it, his excitement was strongly apparent. He pushed his visor off his head and placed it on your shelf, already making himself comfortable.

“Do you want me to make you a drink?” You offered, staring down into your glass. You shifted in your seat, noting the sudden warmth that flooded your body. God, you were a disaster.

“Do you want to make me a drink?” He asked as he shrugged off his coat and crept closer to your couch. You looked up to him, at his stupidly handsome face, noting how big his wings made him look to you even though he had a smaller, unintimidating frame. You shook your head. “Then I don’t want a drink.”

How he could still be there with you when you were showing the least bit of hospitality baffled you. Even still, letting him in was better treatment than how you’d handled him in the past. You’d screamed at him, threatened to out his behavior to the world, and continuously shot him down, but of course, he’d always look forward to these one percent days.

“No plans tonight?” You pulled your legs inward to make room on the couch. “You’re not dressed up.”

“Nah, I’ve just been out and about. Lookin’ for trouble,” he said as he folded his wings in and plopped down beside you, his knee brushing up against your foot. “I was at a little club earlier this evening. What was it— The Cove?”

You gulped, damning him and cursing yourself. That was the name of the party’s venue. “Hawks, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Hm? Doing what? Making sure you’re safe?” He lazily rolled his head at you, chocolate eyes scanning your form. You inhaled deeply and pushed your legs into his lap, your throw falling to the floor. “Making sure nobody touches-“ he grinned “-my little angel?”

You sighed as gloved hands founds your knees and his thumbs began tracing gentle circles into your skin. There was no use arguing with him, you’d done so countless times before and that was when you weren’t in need of some company.

“I love the costume, by the way,” he said, reaching up to touch your phony feathers. “I’m kinda honored by it.”

You scoffed at that, though it was fervently ignored.

“-but if you wanted to fly, you know I’m always here for you.”

His hand trailed down to your shoulder and up to your neck. You winced before leaning into him, into his touch, the tension in your back only growing more obtrusive. You closed your eyes and rubbed your shoulders.

“You okay?” His hand met the back of your head and tugged on your kicks like he knows you liked.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.”

“Stop.” You groaned and pushed his hand away.

“Do you want me to stop?” Hawks brought his hand to his mouth and bit his fingertip, pulling his glove off. “Or do you want me to give you a massage?”

You furrowed your brows. That sounded so nice and by the dreamy look in Hawks’ half-lidded eyes, you could tell, he was not going to take no for an answer. “Let me take care of you, hmm?”

You let up, reaching for the uncomfortable straps for your wings, but Hawks worked his hands faster, hooking his fingers around the elastic and pulling down your shoulders slowly, taking the time to run his thumb down your arm, relishing the prickling goosebumps you were unwillingly giving out at his contact. You were touch starved and he knew it.

The cheap wings were discarded to the floor and Hawks made a circular movement with his hands, ushering you to turn over for him. He pulled your legs out and sat on your ass, brushing his hands across your back.

“The lotion is-“

“-in the bathroom cabinet. I know.” Hawks wasted no time clambering to and from your restroom and soon he was back to the best seat in the house. Shamelessly, he unzipped the dress, taking his time to admire your back, bare and beautiful to him. Cool, lotioned up hands pressed into you and you couldn’t help but let out a low groan at the contact you hadn’t known how much you yearned for. He hummed in approval as he covered your back, making sure to smooth his palms over your pressure points. His hands cleared up to your shoulder, eliciting a moan from your as he palmed that area you were keeping your troubles.

“So tense, angel,” he mused, pushing down harder on you, “you should really let me do this more often.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you shot back, though your voice was muffled by a couch pillow. He snickered and rubbed you down, stopping right above your ass to massage circles into the sides of your tailbone.

Hawks touched you with languid pleasure, lingering on places you gave him more of a reaction. At the pace he was going, you were sure you could have fallen asleep while he touched you, and maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing, but that would be impossible when your stalker had a one-track mind.

Hawks gripped hard onto your sides and pulled you up to press his bulge into your ass. Beside yourself, you rolled your hips to you rubbed against it, prompting Hawks to let out a groan.

“God, that’s hot,” he breathed, lifting your dress so your ass was on full display to him. He gave it a slap, compelling you to yelp out to him. He chuckled and squeezed your cheek, grinding against you. “You want more, baby?”

“Don’t call me baby-!” That rewarded you with another spank, causing your body to tremble against him.

“Aangeeel,” he drawled, stroking your pussy through the dampened material of your briefs. “You want me touch you?”

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and pulled down, sighing at the sight of his ultimate pleasure. Fingertips slid up and down your glistening folds, making you twitch before he baited your entrance.

“Hawks,” you whined, dipping your hips to try to catch your desire, “don’t tease.”

“Tease?” He swiped right past your clit, snickering when you hissed. “I’d never.”

Both of his hands brushed down to you thighs while he rubbed his scruffy beard against your cheek, humming as if he was doing nothing, as if you weren’t wet and waiting for his tongue, his touch, his anything.

“Tell me you missed me, baby,” he purred against your slit. You moved to to catch his tongue, but he only snickered at your lame attempt, squeezing your thighs and clicking his tongue. “Ah, you give a little, you get a little amiright?”

He raked his nails across your skin, enjoying the sight of your fragile flesh reacting to him. “So go on. Why don’t you tell me how badly you’ve craved me since I’ve been away?”

“That suggests that you’ve been away,” you growled into the pillow in sheer defiance. You knew, you knew what game he was playing. He was going to taunt you until you were so desperate, so needy for him, until you were sopping wet without him even touching you. It’d happen plenty of times in the past, and you were already letting him do that now. You couldn’t let that happen. You didn’t care. Nothing was going to change the way he felt about you, nor you him.

You hoped he couldn’t hear the roll of your eyes as you finally muttered, “I missed you. I craved you.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at your lack of enthusiasm and you felt the heat of his presence disappear. Fuck.

You turned to see him leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, arms crossed, waiting for your attention.

“Hawks?” It was stupid, it was childish, but you knew he had a point when he said ‘you give a little, you get a little.’ He did give you a back massage… and he didn’t even have to come in the first place! God, he was playing brat and you were letting him get inside your head. If you weren’t so needy…

You found yourself crawling over to him. It was exactly what he wanted; you giving him a pathetic and desperate display and though you hated yourself for it, you could drink about it later. You ran your hands up his chest, leaning against his neck as you say, “I meant it.”

You nuzzled yourself within the crook of his neck, peppering him with kisses. “I missed you. I really did, Hawks. And now, I want you so badly that it hurts. Please touch me.”

“You don’t mean it,” he said, though his hands caressed your back. “You’d rather me leave.”

“Hawks.” You brought your hand up to his face to turn him towards you. You gave him a light kiss, but he didn’t return it, still his hands ran across your body. It was a facade, he was playing you, and you were letting him. Your hand slid down his torso towards his trousers, not surprised to find his hardened erection poking out a tent in them, you began to stroke. “Keigo… please.”

A grin struck his face. Bastard. Finally, he leaned into your kiss, and you let his tongue explore your mouth while he undid his belt. You pushed your hands past his boxers and firmly grasped his cock. Hawks cooed. Like an actual coo, just how birds do. You could laugh if you didn’t actually get turned on by it.

You pressed into a more deeper kiss, gasping when he seized the back of your head. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling away and saying, “then show me, angel. Show me just how much you want me.”

He looked to your lips then down to his cock. You pouted. He smirked. “I can just leave.”

Yeah. You could. But you didn’t want that. You wanted him to fuck you. Beside yourself, you slid off the couch and took a position between his legs. You kissed his thighs, and using your tongue, you ran a hot strip up to his shaft. His wings bristled at the contact, encouraging you to lay your lips over the head of his cock. You lulled your tongue over him, enjoying the sight of his chest rising as you took your time pleasing him. His hands went to your head and he tried to push you down, but you sent him a death glare, opting to lap at his head before taking him in on your own accord.

“Mmmmm, you know exactly how to suck a cock.” He sighed as he gently massaged your scalp, while your tongue swirled around him. “Such a dirty girl, ready to please me when I give her a simple nod, isn’t that right?”

You hummed at the praise, not even minding the degradation. You dug your fingernails into his thighs and bobbed your head up and down his length, his subtle groans egging you on to take him in deeper.

“That’s right, you’re a good little slut for me.”

You moaned, the vibrations of your voice making your job all the more pleasurable for him. He weaved his fingers through your hair, hissing as you picked up the pace. He continued to curse at you, to dirty your name while you opened your throat up to him, taking him in completion.

“Fuck,” he growled, “waitwaitwait, ahah…” He pulled you off of him by a fistful of your hair and you scowled in disbelief back at him.

“What?”

“Come here.” He pulled you into his lap and forced his lips onto yours. He kissed you with fearless passion, lips molding to lips, teeth colliding with teeth. You tried to share you voice, to ask why he stopped you, but your words are lost to him. You felt his cockhead rub against your slit, and you know— he didn’t want his influence anywhere but inside your heat.

You dipped your hips and broke your kiss by moaning at his swollen member pressing into you.

“Oh fuck yeah, that’s my good girl. You know how great that feels? How tight you are for me? God, I missed this, babygirl.”

You rolled your hips, grinding into him, your pussy squeezing his cock with every word he spat in your direction. He felt incredible and you felt so hot while riding him, that you couldn’t help but laugh while wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Look at you enjoying yourself. I love seeing my angel happy. You know this could happen more often, if only you’d let me in.”

You had to remind yourself: Hawks was dangerous. His feelings for you were dangerous. Every time you let him into your home, into your body, you were allowing his delusions to grow to something more profound than they already were. You panted and stilled, raring yourself to pull off of him, but he grabbed you by your hips.

“Hawks,” you warned, scared he’d see both the reason and the fear in your eyes.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.” His tone took a darker timbre, his eyes growing wicked. The corners of his lips twitched up, his canine teeth appearing to be sharper, more sinister than usual. Slowly he leaned towards your ear, his hot breath sending a shudder down your spine as we ever so calmly whispered, “you’re mine, do you hear me?”

In one swift movement, Hawks picked you up and threw you to the opposite side of the couch, climbing on top of you before you could even think to move, caging you in by not only his arms, but his wings as well. His lips latched into your neck, his cock pressing right back into you as he sucked a red hot mark into your flesh. “Mine.”

You moaned and pulled at his feathers when he began pounding into you. He looked at you, drinking in your conflicted expression and returning it with one of sheer adoration, affirming you with sweet words as he completely ruined you.

“You’ll always be my girl,” he growled, his cock stretching you out while his thrusts grew more violent. Besides your knowing fear, beside the pain you felt as he slammed into you, you felt your stomach grow tense, you felt pleasure building up, and you couldn’t hide how great you felt because of it when you allowed yourself to whimper for him, displaying your dishonorable satisfaction by incomprehensible blurbles. “Say it, angel.”

“Yes, hah~hah~ baby.” You mustered out, not following his demand. He chuckled at your pitiful attempt and reached up to squeeze your mouth between his hand.

“Say that you’re mine, sweetheart. Say it and I’ll be good to you.”

“Mmmmpph Hawks~!”

Hawks grinned and shoved his tongue into your mouth, reaching down to cup your sweat-covered breast. He bit your bottom lip with bruising force—you might’ve even tasted blood— and pulled back. “Baby, my name tastes so good on your tongue, but that’s not wanna hear right now.”

“Hawks!” your cunt pulsated around him, massaging his ruthless cock. God, you were close, so close you were practically writhing underneath him, and all you had to do was say one little thing. You’d let him win once already tonight, a second time couldn’t be too harmful. “I’m yours, baby. Yours. I belong to you. Nobody can make me feel like this. It’s like we were… made for each other.”

“You got that fuckin’ right.” He reached down to rub furious circles around your swollen clit and that was your tipping point. Electricity seemed to shoot up from your toes and flare over your core, waves of pleasure dancing out from there. You cried out for Hawks not to stop and he obliged, making sure to swallow your mewls, placing sloppy open mouth kisses over yours.

He chased your orgasm with his own, but not before you begged him not to do it inside you. He groaned, but respecting your wishes, he pulled out at the last second, spilling his white hot seed onto your chest, hissing as he did so. He vocally panted as he took in his handy work, wiping the sweat off his forehead, grinning wickedly down at you.

His body fell on top of you, mushing the mess between your shared embrace. It was nasty. It was hot. It was trouble.

His fingers tip-toed across your arm before reaching behind your back to push room for him to climb behind you. He held you close, whispering in your ears sweet, delightful, dangerous things, praising you, loving you, owning you.

It was the bitter truth; you’d always be his. Since you finally admitted to it, he wasn’t ever going to let you go.

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING: @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter@unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @rubycubix @smbody-stole-mycar-radio@zellllyyyy @sarcastictextstuck @kpanime @captain-sin-allmight-queen@psionicsnow @wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn @im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai @eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello 

[heyhey-heyward]

attention

summary: you give Pope all your attention one Boneyard party, and he loves it.

word count: 2.3k

based off of the first half of this blurb I did a while back!

The Boneyard, though named ominously, was actually one of the least scary spots in Kildare County. Well, as long as a crowd of drunk teenagers didn’t scare you. It was one of the only spots where class didn’t matter, no one cared who filled their cup as long as they had a good time.

Pope Heyward didn’t drink, at least not often, but he frequented the parties on the beach. His friends were usually the ones to throw the parties and he was content to spend his time with them. Usually.

“Uh, guys? Who’s that?”

Pope interrupted John B’s story. His attention was no longer on the brunette, but instead across the beach on the group of Kooks that had just arrived. He recognized most of the approaching figures, Topper, Kelce, and Sarah, but then he spotted you trailing beside the blonde girl.

Kiara told him your name, and Pope repeated it quietly. He liked the way it fell past his lips, the way it tasted sweet on his tongue. His gaze stayed on you, even when JJ swung an arm around his shoulders.

“She’s hot.” That got Pope’s attention, because you were so much more than hot. His head swiveled toward the blonde so fast he might’ve given himself whiplash, only to find JJ looking at him with a smug look. “You should go talk to her.”

“What? No, no—” Pope started to deny, stepping away from JJ and sliding out from under his arm, but Kiara perked up.

“You should! She’s really nice, I promise.” The dark haired girl nodded, and Pope raised his brows in a silent question. Kiara didn’t talk about her Kook year often, and she definitely hadn’t mentioned you.

“If she’s so nice, then why is she hanging out with—” Once more, Pope started to deflect but was cut off, this time by what he saw across the beach. He was trying to use you hanging out with the very Kooks that made his life a living hell, but shut his mouth when he spotted your annoyed expression.

“Do you ever shut up, Topper?” He overheard you huff. In the short time that Pope’s attention had been on his friends, the group that you arrived with had taken up residence on some logs around a bonfire that someone had set up. Topper had sat next to you, and Pope turned back around at the exact moment you shoved the dirty blonde’s arm off from around your shoulders. He watched as you crossed the beach, a sour look on your face as you headed towards the keg.

“Yeah, you’re going to talk to her.” John B decided. He had never seen Pope so enthralled by someone before, and he wasn’t going to let him pass up the opportunity to get to know you. He nudged Pope in the direction you were and continued. “Go on.”

Pope shot his friends a nervous look, but continued towards you anyways. He tripped on the sand, stumbling a bit as he approached. He spun around in embarrassment, ready to give up completely but Kiara, John B, and JJ were all gesturing for him to continue on. With another nervous look, he turned back towards you, and he thanked whatever higher power was above that you hadn’t seen any of his mini freakout, too busy pouring yourself a drink.

You felt Pope’s presence before you saw him. At first, you thought it was Topper coming over to continue trying to convince you that Pogues were really as dangerous as he claimed, and you looked up to the newcomer with an annoyed expression.

Pope nearly retreated with his tail between his legs when you looked up from your cup with a scowl on your face. But then your expression softened to an almost apologetic smile as you seemed to take him in.

You realized quite quickly that it wasn’t Topper chasing after you, and instead another boy. He wasn’t a Touron, you could tell by the way he didn’t look completely lost—a little nervous, yeah, but he knew what was going on. He definitely wasn’t a Kook, but you had seen him somewhere before.

Pope still hadn’t said anything. He had been standing in front of you for what felt like hours without saying a word. It had honestly been a few seconds, and somewhere deep in his mind he knew that, but it was like alarm bells were going on in his head, screaming ‘you’re blowing it!’ the longer he stayed quiet.

“Heyward’s!” You exclaimed, a look of realization crossing your face. Pope honestly would have been surprised that you knew his name, but he was too distracted by the sound of your voice. It was sweeter than your name, and Pope knew he was completely hooked. “You work at Heyward’s, right? I swear I’ve seen you delivering groceries.”

“Yeah, that’s my dad’s business.” He nodded, probably much quicker than he needed to, but at least he was talking. Maybe he had a chance with you after all. “I’m Pope.”

But then he extended his hand. For a handshake. He had practically doomed himself. In the distance, he could faintly hear JJ’s raucous laughter at his expense.

By way of miracle, you didn’t laugh in his face and run back to your friends. Instead, you gave him your name and shook his hand with a grin. He felt like he was going to combust with your hand in his, and only when you retracted your touch did his mind clear.

“Do you want to go sit?” You boldly asked, and Pope nodded, not trusting his voice. You smiled at him again, taking a sip of your drink as you watched his jaw drop for a second. It was cute, you thought, how obviously you affected him.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He stuttered, feeling his heart beating nearly out of his chest. You thought he was adorable, and led the way to a sparsely populated bonfire. You didn’t know the Tourons that sat opposite you, but were more focused on the dark haired boy sitting beside you.

“So, tell me about yourself, Pope.” You tested out how his name felt on your tongue, and you were pleasantly surprised by the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. You listened with a smile as he told you about how he wants to go into forensic pathology, and though he thought he ruined it once more when he talked about the specifics of the job. Though he expected you to run off, you did the opposite by turning the conversation to his scholarship.

It was going great until Topper approached.

“If you’re done trying to prove a point, we’re heading home.” Topper looked at you with a bored look on his face. You scowled, knowing he was referencing your previous argument with him about Pogues.

“I’m not proving anything, Topper. And I’m not going back with you guys. I’ll walk.” You told him, turning away from him and back to Pope, wanting to go back to your previous conversation. Pope looked a little confused, but you could tell that he was mostly stressed about Topper’s presence. You knew there was a history of bad blood between the two groups, and though you had never been witness to anything, you had heard stories of Topper getting into fights with John B and JJ, Pope’s closest friends.

“Are you sure?” Topper asked, gaze flicking to Pope with a look of disdain. The dark haired boy felt a surge of courage run through him while under your gaze.

“Yeah, I’ll walk her home.” Pope cut in boldly. Then, as he realized his own words, he worried that he might have overstepped. There hadn’t been any indication that he would be doing so, but he really wanted Topper to leave and that was the first idea that popped into his head.

And for what felt like the thousandth time that night, you eased Pope’s panic with an unexpected move.

“See, I got it covered. Bye, Topper.” You waved sarcastically. While you spoke, you placed your free hand on Pope’s knee, an action that had his eyes widening. He was grateful you weren’t paying attention to him, because he was certain he looked like a fool.

Topper didn’t say anything else, instead he rolled his eyes and retreated back to the rest of the Kooks who were waiting for him. To Pope’s dismay, you removed your hand after he left, but it was probably for the best. He couldn’t think straight under your touch, and he had to put all his focus into not saying something stupid and embarrassing himself.

“Thank you, for that.” You genuinely smiled at him. You were in too good of a mood to deal with Topper, and the prospect of getting to spend more time with Pope was not unwelcomed. “He can be such a dick sometimes, you know?”

And because things had been going so well, Pope decided he needed to put his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah, I do know. He beat the shit out of me and some of my friends a few days ago.” He figured it was probably so unattractive to you, that he couldn’t hold his own in a fight like JJ or John B could, and there he was, advertising the fact he got his ass handed to him. You frowned, and he thought he was done for, but then you were glaring at the back of Topper’s head as he retreated off of the beach.

“I can’t stand him, our parents are business partners so they think we’re going to be best friends, but he’s intolerable.” You groaned, turning back to Pope. Your expression had morphed into one of concern, soft eyes studying his face for signs of damage. You drank just enough to not question your actions as you reached a hand out to brush your fingers along his jawline, while Pope himself felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m, uh, I’m fine.” Pope cleared his throat after stuttering, and you grinned as you once more retracted your hand. Thankfully, conversation turned to a less embarrassing topic for Pope, and you chatted for another half an hour before there was another interruption.

“Yo, Pope, we’re headed back to The Chateau.” John B called out as he, JJ, and Kiara approached. You smiled at the girl, having had a few classes with her at the Kook Academy.

“Yeah, are you coming or what?” JJ was smirking, much to Pope’s horror. You stood up, brushing sand off of your clothes from sitting on the beach for so long.

“Are you still going to walk me home?” You turned to Pope with a questioning look, and before he could respond, his friends spoke up for him.

“Yes, he will.” Kiara replied at the same time as JJ and John B nodded their heads. You laughed at their antics as Pope climbed to his feet beside you. He shot his friends a glare, and after a short goodbye the two groups parted ways.

The walk back to your house was filled with mindless chatter, the both of you much too focused on the way your hands slightly brushed together. Your heart felt like it was leaping into your throat everytime your fingers brushed against his, and he was certain he was going to pass out. After what felt like an eternity, you gathered the courage to take his hand in yours.

Pope was so shocked he lost his footing and stumbled.

You giggled, but didn’t acknowledge it.

He felt like he was on top of the world, and simultaneously wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.

Eventually, you did reach your house, and Pope followed you to your front porch. Your parents were off on some business trip, so you weren’t worried about them interrupting. You took your time finding your keys, hoping that Pope would make a move. Instead, he said goodbye and waited until you slipped inside to head back towards the road.

Pope felt like he was missing something, like he shouldn’t be leaving without telling you how much your company and attention meant to him. But it was too late, you were inside already and he didn’t have the courage to go back and knock. He’d just have to pray that you’d show up at the next party where he would be able to—

“Hey, Pope?” Your voice had him spinning around to find you standing on the bottom step of your porch. He had been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard the door open and shut.

“Yeah?” He questioned moving to stand in front of you. You smiled at him, hesitating just a moment as a result of being under his soft gaze.

“You should probably ask me on a date now.” Your tone was light, though you were completely serious. You chuckled at the way his eyes widened, and he was nodding before he could formulate words.

“Uh, yeah, Yeah. I should.” He stuttered, a surprised smile making its way onto his face that made your heart leap. “So, do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Yes, I do.” You grinned, letting your own smile grow. You leaned forward, pressing kiss to his cheek before saying goodbye again. You had already exchanged numbers earlier in the evening, so he knew how to get a hold of you.

Pope watched in awe as you retreated back inside your house, and as soon as the door shut behind you, he was pumping his fists and cheering out of pure glee.

You leaned against your door as soon as you shut it, pretending not to hear Pope celebrating on your front lawn.

You both were smiling like fools.

[misskittysmagicportal]

All You’ve Got Is Gold Part 1

FandomAU!: Billy Delaney/Cormac McNamara x Female OC

Warnings: Slight NSFW, mostly steamy fluff.  Guys this ended up being long as fuck.  And it’s really only chapter one. Or Part 1.

Jeanie leaned over the bar at Ewan's to pour herself another whiskey, ignoring the bartender as he chastised her. "C'mon lass, don't the wee ones file in to the grounds tomorrow?"

"Wee?" she gulped around her swallow. "Ewan, they're pubescent. You know me though, I like to have a bit of a glow every new semester. That way the parents think I'm truly invested in the well-being of the brats." Jean waved her glass around in the air. "Ok, not brats. Most of them are well-behaved and genuinely interested in learning. Not like the little bastards in America. I'd have 40 to a classroom back there. Saint Fergus barely has 40 students in the entire school."

Ewan took it as a sign and gave her a generous pour one more time, "Heard you cannae keep any professors for the pay. But your husband-"

"EX. As of last spring," Jean corrected.

"EX-husband found some new blood in a few of his University students."

"Aye," Jeanie imitated the Scottish brogue with perfection. "They're all in the corner over there with Dr Purves now."

She had half a decade to assimilate to the culture of the small, boring town just outside of Aberdeen where she followed Gordon and married him without any family or a job. He became head of the Physics and STEM department at the University of Aberdeen, working on projects and female students alike. Jeanie, having abandoned her Master's in Education, was really only qualified to student-teach at a local boarding school. Before long, lack of interest and the economy drove the numbers down to four or five dozen and a position of Headmistress open. At least it was a place to live and an existence that kept her mind off everything else.

"I would say don't look now, because here comes one of his students, but my darling who can keep their eyes off him." Ewan pointed behind his friend with damn near literal hearts in his eyes.

Jeanie glanced over her shoulder as a young man, early 20s? She couldn't tell. But he approached her at the bar. Her first glance became a double, and nearly a stare. Embarrassed, she whipped her head around quickly and blushed in Ewan's general direction. "Sweet Virgin Mary," she exhaled under her breath.

"I normally go by Delaney, but I suppose in certain company Mary will do," a soft Irish lilt.

Jean slow blinked as the bartender broke into a cheshire grin. She took a deep breath and turned towards the man now beside her and held out her hand. Blood pulsing in her ears because.. he was stunning. "Brave of a Celt to set foot in the land of Picts. Even braver for him to be in the presence of the biggest asshole in all of Scotland."

"Well from what I've heard she's more of an Ice Queen than an asshole," he squinted before smiling brightly. Green eyes sparkling in the low light of the bar. "Your.. partner put me up to it anyways. You know, say the bit about the ice. Sorry," he blushed but still held on to her hand firmly. "I've heard you're rather pleasant from the others. Just aloof as it were"

"EX!" Ewan and Jean exclaimed together, and the young man blinked responsively. "No sorries. Cold-hearted bitch is what some of the 6th years call me when I confiscate their illegals. Headmistress Jean Turner, but the two friends I have call me Jeanie. Drink?"

"Just one? I'll take 5. I have to catch up with the others." He hooked a thumb at the group of obnoxious men groping the female students who hung off of them as if they were celebrities. Taking what he was offered, chugging it quickly and shuddering. "Billy. Delaney it is. Well occasionally."

Jeanie and Ewan watched as he basically pounded every shot placed in front of them. Squinting off and on, as if he was trying to adjust to the ambiance. "Is it hot? It's hot in here. God I hate people. Those people. I will never fit in with the misogynists and knobs who prefer rugby and football to actually learning about the world." He pulled at the collar of his sweater before taking it off and draping it over Jeanie's chair. He wore a striped tee shirt underneath "Sorry. Sorry. I've got my nose in tech and books and maths algorithms most days. I forget how to socialize, so I really just want to blend in with the norms."

"You.. are.. fit." Ewan sputtered.

Billy snapped back to attention, his mind having drifted off to the same group Jeanie's eyes kept staring at. "What?"

"He's saying you are fucking fit, mate" Jeanie gaped.

"My body? I'm not really certain about that. I'm rather spindly wouldn't you say?” he shrugged while his cheeks flushed profusely. "My arms? Is it my arms? I swim. Clears my head from all the clutter." He was rambling now.

Jeanie and Ewan started laughing. "Relax! we're taking the piss, love. Your every move is being scrutinized. Now why abouts did Dr Purves send you over here? Surely he has fucking with me on his mind. Not unusual, humiliation has always been the name of the game."

Billy made a gesture that resembled adjusting non-existent glasses. He immediately dropped his hand and pulled a tenner out of his pocket. "To melt the ice, Gordon said. He gave me ten quid to hit on you."

"One of his students. What a lovely parting gift. I guess you're worth the loss of the house and the car," Jeanie stood back slightly to properly size him up.

Billy bit the entirety of his bottom lip, furrowing his brows, "I reckon you're worth more than a tenner to sleep with."

Jeanie blinked a few times, head tilted to the side to make sure she heard correctly. "SEX?!" she laughed, unable to help herself. "I don't exactly know what all of this," she waved her hand down his body, "would be doing even in the vicinity of sleeping with this," pointing to her own.

Confusion came over his face, "Am I supposed to be.. Is there something wrong with you that I don't notice? I, I can be kind of oblivious to loads. I think, really, Gordon goaded me into coming over here for my benefit as much as his amusement. I don't have too much experience, but you seem quite lovely you know. Your hair is," brows furrowed again but in thought, "Nicely red in this lighting. Reminds me of my friend from Ireland. Hannah."

Jeanie pinched the bridge of her nose as Ewan audibly guffawed from beside her. "Saints preserve us," the Scotsman said between gasps for air. "Donnae if you are taking the piss now, bloke, or are you really this bad at pulling birds."

Billy grimaced, the entirety of his face beet red. "Honestly, I never make it this far. I guess they usually pull me and I let them?" He started to fan his face, "seriously,,how fucking hot do you keep this pub?" His forehead bent forward to rest on the metal and wood counter of the bar.

Ewan covered his mouth and ruffled the curly head in front of him. "What a wee babby, Dr Purves sent into the lion's den. You just drank half a bottle of my best whiskey and mortified yourself in front of my favorite woman in this whole country. Maybe you ought to drink some water and have a sit for a few. We'll give you something to take to the bell-end in the back."

Jeanie and Ewan's eyes met, and she bit back a smile before leaning over to wrap an arm around her husband's latest protege. "Oh Ewan, I don't think it should be only a story. Why not give the evil genius a bit of a show. Right now he can see Mr Delaney is headed towards a spectacular crash. Im embarrassed. Mr Delaney's embarrassed. You're without very expensive whiskey. Gordon will never let anyone live this down for the semester."

She put her mouth near Billy's ear, "Ten quid is worth SOMETHING. Don't you think? Just look at me." He obliged quicker than she expected. Emerald eyes gazed upwards at her while the heart banged wildly in her chest. "What comes next?"

"I reckon I ought to put my arm on your waist. Right?" his voice now low in her ear and a hand slipped around her hips to draw her as close as possible.

No further guidance was needed as the liquid courage kicked in. Billy stood up and took Jeanie's face in his large hands before he drew her into a rather passionate kiss. Hers instinctively buried in his hair, their tongues dancing as the thought he hustled her entered the back of her mind. How was it that just a few minutes ago he looked ready to vomit at the thought of trying to come on to anyone, not just her. Now he was kissing her like they were Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Jeanie’s back slightly arched as Billy dominated her personal space with his height, a hand dangerously on the curve of her backside.

Ewan held his own face, eyebrows lost in his bangs as he watched the two of them go at it for well, he lost time. Glancing up he noticed just about everyone else in the pub was watching too. Gordon positively green with envy and turning purple with anger. Ewan saw him lean to a colleague and mouth, "That wasn't the fucking deal."

"Job done you two," he cleared his throat and practically shouted to break them up.

Jeanie's mouth was cold as it kissed the air. Billy had stumbled backwards a bit, mouth turned down ever slightly in a whoops motion. He walked, swayed really and floated by every single patron, including the group of men he came in with earlier. Fingers pulled at his bottom lip before he passed a devilish grin over his shoulder in Gordon's direction.

Jeanie and Ewan gobsmacked, but pleasantly amused, looked at one another. Mischief in their eyes as Jeanie noticed Billy's sweater draped over the bar. "Mr Balderston, I think I have a grad student to visit this week. It seems Mr Delaney might need his sweater because the Scottish nights get awfully cold."

Orientation came and went, and the students seemed to settle in quicker than normal.  Quite possibly because this was the lowest attendance in the school’s 150 year history.  They had been in danger of shut down, but Jeanie was informed that first Monday by the Board of Directors that an anonymous group of donors had decided, against their wishes, to purchase the school.  Even if no students came back the following school year, or they were down to only 15 or 10 or 5, Saint Fergus would remain open for unknown reasons.  

To say she was relieved was an understatement for Jeanie.  Much needed repairs were being made, and someone had come to put together a state of the art security system.  Which really confused the faculty and dwindling staff.  Who would steal anything from this junk heap?  Even their books were falling apart.  Except they weren’t.  

By the end of the first week, the girls in their dormitories and in the hallways were abuzz with brand new Literature and Maths books.  They were suddenly interested in Oscar Wilde and Pythagoras.  Jeanie watched as three 4th years sat in the windowsill and audibly cracked open their copies of “The Happy Prince,” stars in their eyes.  

“Have you ever seen anyone as good looking as Dr McNamara?  Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll pay attention to anything else but that voice,” she held her book against her chest.

“Oh c’mon Siobhan.  It’s all about the eyes.  I don’t think I’ve seen anything like them.  Proper green.  If he sticks around, I’ll tell Daddy to talk to all of his barrister friends. Get them to enroll their kids here next year.” 

The third girl was clearly in a daydream out the window, “All I heard today was blah blah blah ‘important in oratory history of Ireland’ blah blah.  Lemme tell you, he can give me an oral exam any day.”

Jeanie cleared her throat and the students jumped nearly a mile high.  “It would do you girls a kindness not to sexually harass our newest teacher at Saint Fergus.”  The smallest hint of a smile on her lips.  “Honestly, how is it that I'm headmistress here and have no bloody clue who this mysterious Dr McNamara is?”

“Well rumor has it, Miss, that he bought the school.  Dr Purves hired him for a project at the uni, and he asked to be right in the thick of the school.”  Siobhan shrugged.

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh he’s installing the security system and having a new science laboratory built,” the daydreaming girl chimed in.

“I thought it was a grad student that was teaching here this semester?  Have any of you heard the name Billy Delaney?  I’ve been looking for him the last week or so, but I can't find him in Aberdeen housing.  I’d like to return his sweater.”  Jeanie’s face flushed pink, and the girls all cast a knowing grin in her direction.

“Has Miss got a crush herself?” Siobhan teased.  “There’s no student teachers this year, but did you say Billy Delaney?”  

“Yes.  Does that name sound familiar to you too?”  

The girls stood and handed Jeanie paperback books one by one.  A stack of them, young adult novels that had grown incredibly popular the last few years.  A stone wall with a glowing green and gold light graced the cover.  “A Green Pool of Light: Emerald City to Oz  Book 1” blazed across the top in that standard stereotyped font that represented all things Irish.  The daydreaming girl, Aila Jeanie would come to find out, opened her copy and ran a finger down the page.  “Yeah, he’s like a gender bent Hermione in these books.” 

Jeanie frowned and flipped through the pages.  The girls all started to laugh, not mean-hearted but in the way kids do at adults when they become lost in the world of anyone under 20.  “That’s Dr McNamara, Miss Turner, and he’s living in the Boys Dorms.”

Jeanie blinked a few times, too many times in disbelief.  The girls dissolved into hysterics and headed off to their next set of classes.  Things maybe just got a bit easier but harder at the same time.

--------------------------------------

Jeanie stared incredulously at herself in the mirror.  When exactly was the last time she showed up to any man’s room wearing only a coat and her underwear?  Or well, a sweater in this case.  She waited until the school was dark and quiet, she couldn’t risk one of the students seeing her dressed this way.  On her way to do a dance of seduction.  No, that’s humiliating.  This was all humiliating.  

What in the hell am I  even doing? She thought.  But it was too late, her legs carried her into the halls and across the floors and up into the West Wing where the boys slept. Tip-toeing quick and stealthy to the only source of light on this side of the school.  

Jeanie took a deep breath and knocked on the open door.  His back was to her, sitting with one foot up on the chair, a knee drawn up to his chest in the most awkward of positions.  His dark head was bent over an abundance of little digital boxes spread across a desk that he tinkered with under a magnifying glass.  Several computers and laptops spread around the room running codes attached to various projects simultaneously.  Lost in his work, he ignored her.

Sighing heavily, Jeanie knocked louder this time.  She raised one hand up the door frame, leaning in the most tempting pose she could muster at 11pm on a Thursday.  His head popped up, and he only glanced over his shoulder in her direction before going back to his work.  

“Well took ye long enough to find me, Miss Turner.  Wanna see what I’ve put together for the school?”  he queried without paying any attention to her attire.  

Jeanie felt the bile rise in her throat.  How in the hell was she ever going to feel better about herself when this man wouldn’t even acknowledge her?  Was it too late to just slip back down in the shadows and melt away like she never existed?  Still she took a breath and made her way to the desk and stopped directly behind him.  She bent forward over his shoulder, her hair brushed against his face and neck.  There was a nearly inaudible hitch in his breathing as she picked up one of the boxes.  Did she make him nervous?  Good, she thought and chewed her lip to prevent a smirk sneaking through.

“Well Mr Delaney.  Or is it McNamara?” She studied the box carefully and poked at it with her nail.

“Doctor” he interjected huskily.  He was nervous.  “I’ve got a PhD,” he corrected.

“Are you even old enough for a doctorate?!” she retorted.

“I’m 24, thank you very much.  I suppose that’s quite young to have several PhDs, but I don’t really keep track.  If it makes you feel better, I'm also a chef. Cooking is just science after all,” he said almost dismissively.    “Oh, That is L.I.S.A. you’re holding.  Large-scale Interface Security Application.”

Jeanie snorted; she couldn't help it.   “Do you mean an alarm system?”

“No it’s a specified security application that only I know how to program and,” he caught himself.  “Yes.  It’s an alarm system.”  He rolled his eyes and gently took the machine back from her and placed it amongst the others.

“If you're working with Gordon on some kind of secret project, why are you teaching Literature?” Jeanie launched into everything without really meaning to. “You know Dr Delaney or whoever the hell you are, several of the girls brought to my attention that there’s a character in those young adult novels written by Hannah O'Flaherty. “A Pool of Green Light?” They are quite popular with our 1st-4th years.  You're Billy Delaney aren't you?  That’s why you gave that name in the pub the other night instead of your real name.  That being Cormac McNamara, am I correct?”  She placed her hands on hips hidden in the mass of wool and cable knit.  

"Delaney is part of my last name. Hyphenated.” once again correcting the headmistress.

 "Don't see much of that in men" 

"Well it and my brain are about all my parents left me,” he moved to face his chair towards Jeanie and abandon his project. 

 "Well I bet they're proud of you, Cormac. Or Billy.  Whatever.” she waved her hand dismissively.  “You lot discovered.. what's it called?" 

"Dimensional Dark Matter Transport with the possibility of Inter and Temporal" 

"I mean, Portals. Or to put it in tv nerd terms: Beam me up Scotty" 

"Precisely!” Cormac exclaimed and stood up excitedly.  “And your ex-boyfriend-" 

"Husband" 

“Yes, husband.  Well couldn't have been good at it if he's your ex.” He bit a finger absently, staring off towards the ceiling.  Then snapped back to attention quickly,  “Well he wants to find a way to make it.. Portable. Not just in plotted locations around the globe. And my business partners, em Hannah and Brett if you will, would like it privatized. Dr Purves, he wants the highest bidder." 

"Military?” Jeanie blanched at the thought.  Then her voice drifted off, “So the books ARE real.. You three are real.  Hannah hid the stories in plain sight for the entire world to discover"  And for the first time, she noticed a framed photo on the vast desk.  A trio of happy young people: red-headed girl, pretty with large blue eyes.  A floppy haired, tan surfer type.  And a tall, lanky boy with oval glasses and severely parted hair starting to curl.  Jeanie took the frame and traced her fingertip along the glass. “Sarah, Zack and Billy.  This is like finding out Harry, Ron and Hermione are living, breathing people.  And here you are, in my school.”

"I could show you if you want but.. Miss Turner, why are you only in a sweater?" Cormac stepped back and lifted his glasses and put them back down. He took them off hurriedly as if he was embarrassed to be wearing them.  Turning once more to face her "Is.. Is that MY sweater? You're only in. Jeanie, Where are your pants?" 

"Well I planned on seducing you Mr.." 

"Doctor" -

Jeanie sighed as if she had been defeated, "DOCTOR Delaney-McNamara" 

"Well Ive mucked that up I suppose,” a deep crimson set across his ears.

" I mean you can have your sweater back,” Jeanie arched an eyebrow seductively. Pulling the sweater over her head to reveal only a pair of her nicest black panties and bra underneath.  Nothing else.

"Thank you it's quite my favorite-" Cormac’s eyes widened when he noticed the headmistress in front of him wearing nothing but lingerie.  He squinted briefly while scratching his head.  “Oh.. Jeanie. That’s..” his voice drifted off lost in shock.

Ignoring the embarrassment growing in her chest, Jeanie crossed her arms over her chest.  “Why in the hell did you take your glasses off?”

“Oh, em.. Hannah always tells me I’m far more attractive without them.” he shrugged.

“Just like how Clark Kent is only slightly, by a molecule,” Jeanie pinched her fingers together, “less sexy than Superman with his glasses" 

"But his glasses are fake,” Cormac ignored the obvious joke.  “Right now I can just see shapes. Lovely, curved shapes! but only shapes." waving a hand in her general direction again.

Jeanie sat down on his bed without the sweater, to protect her now she just decided to go with her original plan. She crossed her long legs and leaned back with one hand back on the mattress. "Ok give us a look with the glasses on, Delaney.. Mcnamara?" This was frustrating.

"No, I reckon I'll have the kids call me Cormac" his hands on thin hips as he glanced upwards in thought

"Yes, erase that line of authority between yourself and 11-15 year olds. Don't underestimate them, Billy.  Or Cormac.  Or whatever.  You are probably the smartest professor Saint Fergus has ever had, but you’re handsome.  My girls will eat you alive" 

"I wouldn't go that far!" he was exasperated for some reason. 

"You have five PhDs and can’t even legally rent a car in America yet," Jeanie pointed out. 

Cormac waved her off dismissively.  “No!  Not the smart or genius part.  That is true,” he agreed without pretension. “It’s the handsome part,” he rolled his eyes in frustration.  

“Look McNamara, I can’t tell if you’re being humble or an asshole.  Your constant squinting and inflamed cheeks are ruining my perception.”

"Inflamed.." he touched his face  "It's rather distracting. You in your.  I may realize now that's your intent. I'm not really NEW to this, uh women coming on to me. It's just not always quite so forward?"

 "Had I known you were a doctor of  Quantum Mechanics, my approach would be a little less intense. 10 quid or not, you were the one kissing me last night." Jeanie got up off the bed "Ill go, but can I take your sweater with me? The students don't need to see this" 

"Oh, em do ya have to? You're already here, and I'm sure quite lovely to look at." 

"Cormac put your glasses on" 

"Really?" he was adorably confused "I would have to take them off if we-" 

"Have sex?" 

"I didn't mean to imply- I've never really-" he nervously put his glasses back on. Then started fiddling with his hands and chewing on one. 

"No fucking way!” Jeanie sat up quickly “But you're-" 

"Oh please don't say hot." 

"Well-travelled?"

"I am not completely virginal, I'll have ye know! I've done tings. SEXY tings. I've put my mouth and fingers in places on a woman. I'm just picky about where I’d put my penis."  

Jeanie’s amused now, she can’t help it. An eyebrow raised and a laugh ready to escape because he's pacing around and gesticulating wildly now. "Are.. are you getting more Irish?" 

"MAYBE I AM!" he shouted louder than he meant to, then unexpectedly pulled his shirt over his head.

Jeanie laughed at the absurdity now. "Cormac. Or Billy, whatever you are more comfortable with." She kneeled on the bed coming to the edge of it. "We don't have to do this. I'm not asking you to justify your virginity; that your business. It’s a patriarchal construct anyways to make us feel like we have to engage in sexual activity.  Then when we do, we’re trash.  It’s a no-win situation for anyone. I LIKE you. We have all school year to get to know one another better."

“I think Dr Delaney-McNamara, but Cormac works just fine for you” his tone all at once softer and deeper.  

There was a weird electricity in the air, which very well could have been the obscene amount of tech equipment in the small dorm room.  It could have also been that the atmosphere switched so fast from mortification to that moment your body knows something is going to happen.  Jeanie’s head began to swim when she realized the young man in front of her was unbuttoning his jeans to step out of them.  

“Bloody hell...” was all she could utter before he wrapped her up in his arms.  

Jeanie’s hand on Cormac’s hip and the other tangled in his hair as they found themselves in another kiss.  Mouths dancing together.  She sat back and pulled him down so that he was laying completely on top of her now.  His skin was hot almost like a sunburn.  Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Jeanie thought maybe a literal electricity had settled in him from using the portals so often all these years. Their tongues pushed back and forth, she realized his body began to feel similar to one of those static glass balls.  The kind you press your hand against and every single hair on your body raises?  It was strange and exhilarating and comical all at once. 

The thought was fleeting though because Cormac’s lips made its way down Jeanie’s neck.  The breath caught in her throat as he bit softly before trailing to her chest.  His large hand gripped the flesh of her hip, snaking it around to grab at her backside before settling it between her thighs.  The other struggled to unhook her bra while in their current position, his annoyance eliciting a giggle.  

Managing to roll them so that she was on top now, Jeanie deftly reached behind herself to finish the job.  Her breasts free, Cormac took one in his mouth.  His tongue was warm against her skin as he began to suck and lick at a nipple and the flesh around it.  Alternating between each hungrily, hand still lost in between her thighs.  A  finger began to trace the fabric of her panties.  

Audible gasp now, as Jeanie fumbled to reciprocate any way she could.  Kissing his forehead?  or rocking her hips against his hand, she began to float outside of her body. What was she doing?  Trying to feel wanted after all of this time?  Maybe give the other adults something to gossip about over the weekend.  Attractive new professor, the benefactor of Saint Fergus, fucking the boss his first week in.  Jeanie was his boss, but also his subordinate?  Because Cormac, with Brett and Hannah, owned her livelihood now.  

“What a fine mess we’re in, Delaney,” she managed amongst the new spate of kisses.  

Ignoring Jeanie’s frank statement, Cormac took to nibbling her throat again. Exchanging now for harder bites, just enough to let her know he had the upper hand. Fingers deftly pumping rhythmically with the pulsating of her body. He found that part of her with ease. The button Gordon never could without neon arrows. 

“I walked through an alien portal at sixteen and made one of the greatest scientific discoveries none of us can talk about,” That Irish lilt heavy in her ear. “A fine mess has been the last decade of my life, Ms. Turner.”   

There was almost a reckless abandon as Jeanie unexpectedly came. She cried out; it echoed off the dorm walls briefly before Cormac clamped a hand over her mouth. Their eyes both wide before they lost themselves in a fit of giggles. 

Lying beside each other now on the bed, Jeanie felt self-conscious while Cormac absently twirled a finger in her mass of red hair. She felt his green eyes staring as she traced the infinity symbol with the tip of a nail on his chest. Their breathing patterns quickly marched in time together.

“Not sure why I have a gut feeling your timidity was a fucking game,” Jeanie spoke without a hint of anger. More like curiosity. 

“Only just a little. I am far more capable of handling people in small doses.  There's a  certain anxiety hanging around the average university student. I finished undergrad in a year and graduate school in another. Never really fit in with most people my age. I thrived in a boarding college like this one. Never more than 15 children a class. Miss Murphy let me do as I please because I kept mostly to myself, even when she and the others were strangely codependent on my brain.”  

Cormac’s eyes still trained on Jeanie while he spoke. “I didn't mind. I DON'T mind. My tinkering and projects work bloody fantastic now!” he exclaimed with pride. Those long fingers combed through Jeanie's hair. His gaze became nostalgic, “I transferred my AI tech into the lab at Aberdeen.  There's my  personal version.  She's asleep right now,” he chuckled, gesturing towards the wall of monitors. 

Jeanie grimaced, “She?!” 

“Oh yes! SILVIA! I suppose she'll become LISA’s big sister.” 

“You invented a primitive android.” her response was incredulous.

“No no. SILVIA was a lie detector I installed artificial intelligence in to play ch-..” Cormac caught himself. For the hundredth time that evening, “I suppose. Yes,” he tapped a finger against the soft dimple in his cheek. 

“You suppose!” Jeanie reeled with laughter once more.  

Cormac’s face flushed pink, “You know what I did to you was just basic anatomy that’s easily taught by reading a damn book. I reckon you'd be interested in what else reading has taught me about a woman's body.”

And so it began. 

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 9

Buster hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and stared up with admiration at the 120-foot crane. Having been delivered to the set in multiple pieces by a fleet of huge trucks, the workmen had just finished putting it together. “Beautiful, ain’t she?”

At his side, Joe grimaced. “Did you have to?”

“ ‘Course I did,” said Buster. “How else are we going to lift the hospital off me in the cyclone sequence?”

“I just didn’t expect it … it’s so big, you know?”

“Damn right it is.”

“How much did it cost?” “How much did it cost? Really?” Buster said, feeling like Joe had just stuck a pin in his mood and popped it. “It cost what it cost.”

Joe rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at the crane. “I just wish you’d said something first. Harry’s worried about going over budget.”

“Tell him he can blow it out his ass,” said Buster. “I’m getting damn sick of Harry. Didn’t we all sit down and agree a cyclone was just fine?” He bit his tongue and didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ because if they’d stuck to the original plan, there wouldn’t have been a crane. He wasn’t sure how much the cyclone had run them so far, but it was already over $20,000.

“Yeah, I guess we did. Just try to—” said Joe. “Well don’t go overboard, is what I’m getting at.”

Buster, who had already handsomely paid to go overboard, kept his silence again. “Sure.”

They took a street car to K Street. The sidewalks were still busy when they arrived at the Senator theater around 6:30, everyone parading around in their Saturday night finery. She felt good about the ensemble she’d chosen, a short-sleeved dusty peach cotton dress with a mauve straw cloche hat and silk stockings. Inside, the Senator was cool. She’d been to a picture there only once before, but it was enough to make her fall in love with the place, which had been built just two years prior and was new like everything on the West coast was new. It was adorned in velvet drapes and jardinières heaped with fresh chrysanthemums, plush wall-to-wall carpeting, and fringed lamps, but her favorite feature was the painted dome and the enormous multi-tiered chandelier hanging from its center.

As she and the Kimbles took their seats in the balcony, she looked to the box seats on either side of the theater, half-expecting to see Buster in one, but she didn’t. Maybe he was in the crowd, but there was only so much gawking she could do before attracting attention. She saw him in person nearly every day now, but always at a distance and always when he was busy in front of or behind the camera. River Junction had been a bustle of workmen and noise in the mornings as they rebuilt sets for the cyclone and put together the biggest crane she’d seen in her life. Bert allowed her to take breaks a couple times a day to watch the filming. Even though she was behind the scenes now and could see everything, from the cluster of noisy cameras to the even noisier rain machines, the sight of Buster falling into a puddle up to his waist or being blown off his feet by a gust of wind was still a laugh. On Thursday, she’d been called upon to place an order for five large loaves of bread from a bakery, but they were spirited off to an unknown part of the set and their purpose remained a mystery. 

Her brief acquaintance with Buster seemed to have come to an end and she wasn’t inclined to press it any further, having made an ass of herself the first day in his dressing room and then later after the party at the blind tiger. It was enough that he knew her name. She’d begun hoping that the company would keep her on when they wrapped filming and packed up for Hollywood in a few weeks. The more she stuck around, the more people would know her face, and the more people knew her face, the greater her chances were of being recognized by a studio.

She shared Joe and Maggie’s jumbo box of Junior Mints as the lights went down and the opening short started. An organ in an arched box with pillars provided accompaniment. 

When the opening credits of Buster’s feature began, Nelly’s pulse quickened a little bit. It was surreal when he finally appeared on the screen, walking beneath an umbrella with his mother in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin; she’d gotten used to him as a flesh-and-blood person. She now knew how his production company made that rain and that there were cameras in front of him tracking his every step. She also knew that the person inside the truck driving down the street in the background was an extra. Nevertheless, the scene still looked believable, and pretty soon she was sucked into the story like the rest of the audience.

Buster played a brainy college freshman without a lick of athletic ability, which happened to be the only thing his girl cared about. He spent most of the picture trying out for sports to impress her and failing miserably. Buster often took two or three-hour lunches to play baseball with his production team, so Nelly couldn’t quite buy that he didn’t understand the rules of the game and couldn’t hit a ball to save his life.

As the movie wore on, she became aware—and it gave her an unpleasant sensation, like an itch—that he was better-looking than she remembered. It embarrassed her somewhat to see him in his skimpy track outfit. In one scene where he sat on the sidelines, the shorts rode up so high she could see where his tan ended and his natural skin tone, considerably paler, began. She was almost glad when the movie ended. The last few seconds had been queer, besides. The scene of Buster and his girl walking out of the chapel after being married had melted into a scene of them sitting at home while their children played in the background, then one of them in old age, before concluding with a shot of two headstones.

The organ died away and the lights went up. 

“What on earth did that ending mean?” said Maggie, with a look on her face.

“I don’t know,” said Nelly, but it had given her a bad taste. Judging by the expressions on their neighbors’ faces, they weren’t alone in their confusion. Even in Shakespeare’s time, everyone knew that you ended a comedy with a marriage. To do otherwise was to let your audience down. The abrupt, morbid ending brought her back to reality and reminded her that the real Buster was not to be confused with his handsome, whimsical on-screen counterpart.

Joe was the only one who seemed to find the ending funny and tried explaining it as they made their way up the balcony and down the stairs. Nelly was busy searching the exiting crowd for Buster’s face and only half listened. They made it out onto the sidewalk before she accepted she wasn’t going to see him that night. 

Maggie proposed getting hamburgers before they went home and Joe and Nelly agreed. They found a diner on L Street and sat in a booth with a checkered red-and-white tablecloth.

“So what’s he really like?” Maggie said, after their food arrived and they were tucking into burgers and coleslaw. She was a heavier girl, pretty, with auburn hair and freckles on her nose. Her claim to fame was that her maternal grandfather had been one of the original inhabitants of Sacramento when it was first incorporated. She’d asked Nelly the question before, but Nelly didn’t mind answering it again. Buster had rubbed off some fifteen minutes of fame onto her and there was no sense in not using them. Of course, she hadn’t told them that he was her savior the night of the party; in her untruthful retelling, Bert had played that role. They did know, however, that he had invited her to be an extra and that she’d baked him cookies after his accident with the baseball.

“Not much like that,” said Nelly. She looked up and scanned the faces in the other booths as if one might belong to Buster, but they didn’t. “He smiles in real life, but you know that, I’ve said that before. He can be very solemn. He’s not boyish like he is in pictures. I think he’s a kind person, mostly.” She was almost surprised to hear herself say it, but it was a conclusion she’d come to in spite of how he’d appalled her at their first meeting. He’d been a gentleman through and through when he rescued her at the party and took her back to his hotel room, and she couldn’t help but alter her opinion because of it. “He keeps a lot to himself and sticks to his own pals. And he’s very funny, just as funny as his movies.”

“He’s a real athlete too,” Joe said. “He can’t hide that.”

Nelly agreed. “Yes, he plays a lot of baseball with his team.”

“I liked the picture anyway. The gags were funny,” said Joe.

“It was alright,” Nelly said.  

Maggie added, “I’m still not keen on that ending.”

“No,” said Nelly. 

They ate their burgers and the conversation moved to the Senators game (everything was called Senator here since Sacramento was the capital) and how, according to Joe at least, the team hadn’t been the same since Brick Eldred (whoever he was) left. It was getting late by the time they left the diner, and they took a taxi back to 22nd Street, Nelly and Maggie deciding that they’d forgo the dance hall for the evening. 

Nelly had almost forgotten about Buster by the time she crawled into bed around eleven. She tried to drift off by boring herself with thoughts of baseball. Her father and uncle liked the White Sox, but she’d never really understood or cared for the game. Her only memory of the game she’d been taken to as a little girl was of eating hot dogs and popcorn and wandering the stands with Ruthie. Although she couldn’t say why, fantasies of men had not been satisfying since the incident with Tommy, not even her go-to of John Barrymore. The idea that a man might take up baseball or another sport he was abysmal at in order to win the love of a girl seemed laughable now that she thought about it, but Buster had done it—and more—in College. He’d even rescued the girl from his rival who was trying to ruin her reputation.

Her eyes shot open. She hadn’t thought of it until now, but Buster had rescued her that night at the blind tiger. Of course, he hadn’t done it out of a sense of love and there was no reading into the coincidence since the picture had been shot long before she’d met Tommy or Buster, but it struck her regardless. Maybe Buster’s pictures did reveal something of his character. As she puzzled over it, her thoughts got hazier and hazier, until finally she dropped off to sleep.

Note: Bonus update this week. I think you all deserve it after current events! Also, do admire this screengrab where Buster’s tan ends and his normal skin color begins. 

[sabraeal]

In Plain Sight, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Written for @k-itsmaywriting​‘s birthday! I hope that, despite how weird the world is right now, you have an amazing day!

Shirayuki understands how this is supposed to work. She’s seem movies after all-- Witness, of course; Sister Act 1 & 2, if only because Opa thought Whoopie Goldberg was a national treasure and Oma thought she was too young to be watching Ghost; and Our Lips Are Sealed about eight times on video cassette, since she’s old enough (and Opa resisted DVD long enough) have both VCRs and wholesome Olsen twins content as a part of her childhood.

(Her favorite formative twins were Annie and Hallie from The Parent Trap; they were red-headed, just like her, and one of them had a British accent. She’d been devastated to find out that not only were both of them American, but they were also only one girl. She’d watched Double Trouble to console herself)

In any case, she knows how this goes, at least narratively. She lays down in this amazingly comfortable bed, stares up at the ceiling in a tense yet melancholy fashion for hours, and dreams in plot-relevant flashbacks. Extra points if they reference the crime she witnessed.

The problem is: she didn’t. She’s just the unfortunate collateral to her father’s personal redemption. All the life ruining without ever being part of the A plot.

There’s an upside though: the second she hits that firm cloud of a mattress, she’s out like a light.

Absolutely nothing wakes her, but Shirayuki jolts into consciousness anyway, as unpleasant as any false start. She expects to be confused; she’s not a graceful riser to begin with, and every morning in temporary housing, she’d bounce off three walls at minimum trying to find a bathroom that didn’t exist.

(Well, the bathroom did exist, it just didn’t exist where it should, which was down the hall to the right, and was compounded by the door being in exactly the wrong place too.)

Instead, she knows exactly where she is. Knowledge which is quickly followed by the low-key, seething resentment for the man who put her here.

She groans, lifting her head from the pillow. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s just--

7:00, her alarm clock says. Tuesday, her brain provides after a long moment.

She should be getting up, habit told her. Getting her morning fix of avocado toast and orange juice with Paul Newman’s face stamped on it.

There’s worse ways to start your day than having a fine pair of eyes smiling at you, Oma would say.

What can I say? Opa’d grumble back, flipping through the paper. It’s impossible to compete with Butch Cassidy.

Her fingers curl into the sheets. There’d be none of that today. Agent Jiang-- Obi’s assistant had gotten her Simply Orange instead. A small mercy. It’s hard enough to be someone else when there’s still so much her clinging to the edges.

It’s tempting to linger in bed; she’s always been a morning person, up with the birds, but maybe Claire isn’t. Maybe Claire likes to stay up late and sleep in, sleeping past the three alarms she sets for herself. Maybe she likes to have waffles for breakfast, straight from a box, and drinks pomegranate juice. Maybe she doesn’t bike into the lab at eight because--

She groans. Because Claire doesn’t have a job. A thing that will have to change soon, since Claire has to pay for this house.

There’s a great deal of compromise that happens between bedside and bathroom; habit insists she needs to be fully dressed, ready to greet the day, but everything else--

Well, she’s not going anywhere is she? There’s no reason she couldn’t wallow in her pj’s all day

Standards, habit insists. But those belonged to Shirayuki, not Claire. Claire has no job, no friends, and nothing to do on a Tuesday morning besides--

Oh no, the recycling.

The bin is nearly two-thirds her height, but with only one day under her belt, it’s already overflowing. Good thing she’d looked at that brochure when it slipped out from between the takeout menus.

She shrugs her hoodie a little tighter, pulling it down over her leggings-- habit and hedonism settled on exercise wear as a happy medium-- and grips the handle, tugging it out the opening garage door, right into the fresh Texas morning--

And promptly throws her hoodie back into the garage. She might need that with the downright frosty temperature the house is set to, but oh, she was not going to cover her skin out here any more than necessary. Even now, she’s starting to sweat in impossible places beneath her leggings.

Hooking her palm back around the handle, she tugs the bin down the drive. Her gaze fixes to the pavement-- the last thing she needs is to trip right over herself on her own driveway taking out the trash-- and she doesn’t look up until she hits the sidewalk. It’s a struggle to get it to sit right-- these are proper curbs, white poured cement with squared edges meant to puncture cheeky tires; one of the wheels catches in a gap and refuses to budge until she hip checks it out onto the next slab.

She’s damp at this point, skin dewing with giant drops of sweat she’s tempted to shake off like a dog, but--

But Martha Kino has an arm slung along their fence, holding a tall glass of iced tea that makes her mouth water just to look at.

“Oh, um, good morning!” she calls out with a weak wave. “I didn’t, um, see you there.”

It’s only when Martha slides her gaze to her that she realizes her neighbor hadn’t been looking at her at all. Her mouth curves into a knowing smile at the sight of her. “Good morning, honey. You here for the show?”

Shirayuki blinks. “The show?”

“Mm-hm.” Martha takes a long drag from her straw, ice clinking against the glass. “Here it comes now.”

Shirayuki tracks her line of sight right across the cul-de-sac, squinting at half acre of immaculately trimmed, completely invasive Bermuda grass. Their front garden is well-kept, as well; thickly mulched with giant hibiscus blooming blood red against pristine stone facade.

Oh, and there’s a man as well. That’s probably what Mrs Kino is looking at.

He’s tall. No, tall is an understatement; he’s a giant, six foot four at least with shoulders to match. He’s trimmed with the same military precision as his lawn, clean shaven with an undercut that could scratch glass. Heavy brows draw sharply over his nose, forehead rumpling as he tears a box right down the fold--

Ah, well, all right. It’s not doing much of anything for her, but the Vitruvian man’s more ideal cousin ripping up boxes definitely counts as a show. Halfway through, he grabs the hem of his shirt, mopping his brow, and ah, hm, he could definitely have made money as an anatomical model. His rectus abdominis are, ah...very defined.

“Is he--” Shirayuki searches for the words-- “from around here?”

“Oh, him?” Martha’s gaze doesn’t stray for a second, not even as she sips at her tea. “That’s Scott. Aspen’s husband. They just moved in a few weeks ago.”

Shirayuki glances around the neighborhood. Seems like more than a few of her neighbors hope they’ll never leave either.

“Quite the pair, those two,” Martha hums. “She’ll be at the luncheon. I know you two will just get on like houses.”

More like houses on fire if she mentions she’s seen her husband’s floor show. “Oh, right. The um, luncheon.”

Mrs Kino grins as Scott hops back inside, out of this heat, just like she’s dying to do. “By the way, he mows the lawn on Sunday, just before lunch.”

“Oh, um, great.” She’ll be sure to miss it. “Can’t wait.”

It’s too early to bake cookies.

There’s not a baked good on earth that tastes as good two days later as it does fresh out of the oven; Shirayuki knows that down to her toes and bones, but still--

Stress baking. It’s a thing. And she doesn’t have to make anything right now. She could get all the ingredients together, just to make sure she has them. And then...just not do anything.

She can. Definitely. Absolutely. She’s Claire now. Claire probably doesn’t even like chocolate chip cookies.

Oh gosh, who is she kidding? Only monsters don’t like chocolate chip cookies. What next, Claire doesn’t like brownies? Apple pie? Snickerdoodles?

It’s a slippery slope, not liking things. Best to just keep it simple and eat everything, that’s what Opa always said at the church potluck.

The morsels and brown sugar already sit out on the counter when her phone lets out a piercing ting. She’s half tempted to ignore it; she’s having a contentious battle with the ten pounds of King Arthur flour that’s tucked away in her cabinet-- what was she thinking?-- and she refuses to show any fear in the face of baking supplies but--

Ting. No one knows her number. Well, no one except the government.She settles back on her heels with a sneeze. The government probably doesn’t take kindly to being left on read.

Her hands clap against her thighs, flour misting into the air as she leaves two partial prints right over the helical print. She frowns, plucking at the fabric, nose wrinkling as more powder burst into the air. Ting.

“I’m coming,” she mutters, stumbling over to the island. “I’m coming.”

Sugar Daddy i got just what u need pumpkin check ur email

The corners of her mouth dig furrows into her cheeks as she clicks on the notification. It’s the only message in her inbox, aside from the ubiquitous Welcome to Gmail spam and a few coupons for Banana Republic and a couple of other retailers. They’d taught her about this at orientation; they couldn’t do much about an empty inbox, but everyone had at least a few mailing lists they’d either forgotten to opt out of or regularly used.

Still...what about her said Banana Republic? She glances down at her spandex-clad legs. If they were going to go for a too-expensive clothing line, they could have at least sprung for Lululemon.

Ah, but that wasn’t the point. Marshal Jiang-- Obi hadn’t texted all...that...to show off some spam. Sitting at the very top of her inbox is a Cornell email address-- Cornell-- with an attachment.

Dear Claire, the message reads, We’re so sorry to see you go, but I’m glad we’re able to keep in touch. Of course we kept the copy of your old CV. Good luck to you in all your endeavors.

It’s signed by some professor; not high profile enough for her to have heard of, but she doesn’t doubt that he’s real, someone a curious party could look up on Cornell’s directory. Well, at least for the next six months.

The Columbia alumna inside her writhes in agony. Cornell. She doubts it’s a coincidence.

Me Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?

Not that she’s very, um, up on the specifics of such a relationship, but she’d been under the impression that sugar...children?...were supposed to be fully reliant on their sugar parent. Her mouth pulls thin. Already she’s thinking about this far more than she’d ever hope to.

Sugar Daddy a good daddy makes sure his baby can take care of herself ;)

This declaration is followed by a stream of emojis, ending with an eggplant and a peach, and she just-- doesn’t need to know. She wipes away the sweat that beads at her hairline-- from embarrassment, of course-- and downloads the attachment.

Me I’ll take a look. Thank you.

She sets the phone back on the island, face down, and glares. He can’t possibly be like this to everyone. People would complain. They wouldn’t just let him insinuate that he-- that they--

Ting.

Sugar Daddy good girl

All right. Maybe they would.

Shirayuki doesn't get homesick.

She’d been the first brownie to leap out of her car at summer camp; Opa barely had time to lurch into park before she was traipsing across the field, backpack slung over her shoulder and duffel bag dragging on the grass. Freshman year, she moved into the dorm by herself, pressing kisses to wrinkled cheeks as she lugged her suitcases onto the train; she’d almost forgotten to wave from the window.

But as soon as she lays down in bed, the lights snuffed out and the world still, it hits her. Just a soft roll of her stomach at first, the barest itch on her skin, like wearing a wool sweater on a spring afternoon. It’s fine; too much to ignore but nothing that would keep her up too long.

It doesn’t stay that way.

Her stomach clenches, tears pricking at her eyes, and it’s everything she can do to just roll onto her side, letting the chills wrack through her body. She shivers so hard her teeth chatter, and this-- this isn’t the gentle ache of nostalgia her books prepared her for. This is an illness, plain and simple, like when she caught norovirus in eighth grade can could hardly do anything but lay on the bathroom floor and wait for the next wave to begin.

This isn’t her, she isn’t like this, she doesn’t get like this, but-- but--

Before she always knew her home was waiting for her; she could leave but Oma and Opa would always keep the front lamp on, waiting for weary travelers and last minute bookings.

It’s different now that there’s no home to come back to.

7:00, her alarm clock says. She watches it tick over, like she has for every hour before it.

She must have slept at some point; it’s impossible that she’s lain awake, staring at the clock for eight hours. But that doesn’t make her any less tired, and so when her alarm starts up, beeps cutting through the quiet white noise of the air conditioner, she reaches out and slaps it off.

Shirayuki may not sleep in, but Claire is certainly warming to the idea.

Her notebook sits open on the island; neat, looping script stretches across the page, straining the boundaries of the blue lines that contains it. She’d done her homework yesterday, combing through job sites to find the most likely candidates. There’s five on her list right now, ranked according to preference, and oh, is Shirayuki glad she had the gumption to do this before, because this morning she feels like roadkill being scraped off the blacktop.

Still, she worries at her lip as her laptop boots up, peering over her list. In the cold light of the morning, five seems too few, but...desperation hasn’t set in yet. She’s allowed to still have standards.

Wrapping her hands around her mug, she glances at the next page: another list. No, a set of instructions. Edit CV. Write cover letters.

Shirayuki groans. Even with the bullet points she left for herself, composing cover letters is a circle of hell all its own. With only three hours of solid sleep under her belt, it’s an insurmountable hurdle to getting hired.

“Right,” she murmurs, hooking an ankle around a stool and pulling it under her. “Editing it is.”

She clicks on the pdf Obi sent her, scrolling down and--

“Oh no.” She rears back from the screen, heart pounding. “No, no. There’s got to be a mistake...”

“Hey, baby,” Obi’s voice rumbles through her speaker. It’s thick and warm and would be utterly distracting if she were in any less of a crisis. “A little early for a b--?”

“What happened to my papers?”

“Uh.” All the suggestion in his tone evaporates. “What?”

“My papers.” Her hand grips the phone so tight it creaks. “They’re gone.”

His end goes silent. Silent enough to make that weird click, like the line’s cut out, and she pulls back to check--

“Someone stole your passport?” He laughs, incredulous. “Some sort of luck you have, Miss. Barely had it for a day and already you’ve gotten your identity stolen.”

She blinks into the barren air of her kitchen. “What?”

“You know,” he hums, too amused, “I picked out a cute house in the suburbs for safety, and here you are, getting robbed. Did you leave them in your car? Or did you just go out--”

“N-no!” She’s honestly half tempted to say what car, until she remembers the tasteful mid-sized SUV in the driveway, the one she’s still been calling the girlfriend car in her head, and realizes-- it’s hers. She’s the girlfriend.

Except she’s not. At all. Which is fine! She doesn’t even want that! If she’s still thinking about what his mouth feels like as he wraps them around his words, then--

She really can’t be thinking about this right now. “I mean my papers! I just looked at my CV and it’s a page!”

He hesitates, though not enough for the line to click again. “Isn’t that long enough?”

“CVs aren’t resumes,” she informs him patiently, pen twisting between her fingers. “They’re dick measuring contests--”

Her teeth snap around the words, but oh, it’s too late. They’re already out there in the aether, and he’s laughing.

“Now there’s something I didn’t think I’d hear out of you, Miss.” He doesn’t need to sound so pleased about it.

“It’s something my old PI used to say,” she mutters. Oh, Garak would be so proud of herself if she knew. “It’s not very polite, but she’s not, um, wrong.”

“I’m sorry the US government made you under endowed.” His words practically rattle as he says them. “It’s not the size that matters, Miss, but how you use it.”

“Obi,” she huffs. “All the work I’ve done for the past ten years of my life now is attributed to my birth name and my birth name only! According to this CV I have the same level of experience, but less papers than an undergrad! And you can’t tell me that any of these are searchable on PubMed.”

And none of them are first authors, is what she doesn’t say. It’s a petty thing to worry about when her entire academic career is functionally extinct.

“Hm.” His fingers drum quickly on a table. Desk? It’s strange not knowing anything about the man who is her only lifeline. “I’ll look into it.”

“I don’t want to be, um, alarmist, but I can’t get a job with this.” Her hand shakes as she scrolls down her screen. “No one is going to hire a post-doc with a one page CV.”

“Don’t worry, Miss. There’s a plan for this, somewhere.” She can feel his grin when he says, “You can’t be the first academic who’s had to go into hiding.”

She smiles, despite herself. “Considering some of the conferences I’ve been to, I can believe it.”

“Besides, you could always apply to pharmaceuticals.” The very word is like a donkey kick to her gut. “The pay’s supposed to be better--”

“I can’t work for Big Pharma.”

He hesitates. “You...can’t?”

“Obi, they make little old grandmas pay eight hundred dollars for insulin!” She presses a hand to her chest. “Banting and Best didn’t sell the patent for one dollar so that people could get gouged by--”

“I get it, I get it,” he assured her. “Preaching to the choir. But as a safety, I’m sure you could find one that isn’t stealing candy from babies.”

She huffs. “I doubt it.”

He rasps out a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. As I said, can’t be the first PhD on the lam.”

Her mouth twitches. “Just yours?”

“You are certainly some kind of education, Miss.” He hums. “Give me a day. See what I can turn up.”

“You have two,” she informs him magnanimously. “I have the luncheon tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.” She doesn’t need to see him to know he’s lounging, smug like a cat post-canary. “Looking forward to joining the neighborhood’s Ladies’ Committee?”

“Ha ha,” she drawls flatly. “Very funny.”

He is unnervingly silent on the other end.

“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice certainly does not fill with a nervous quaver. “You guys don’t have things like that around here.”

Obi hums, humoring her.

“W-what would they even do?” She picks nervously at the sticker on her laptop, prying up part of NVIDIA. “Plan potlucks? Organize the Neighborhood Watch? Cotillions?”

She doesn’t know how he makes his grin so palpable over 4G. “Looking forward to your debut, Miss?”

Shirayuki scowls down at her screen. “I think I’m firmly up on the shelf, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I have cookies to make.”

[lihikainanea]

Tiger being in little space and doing something nice for Bill. Wether it’s getting him a gift or cooking him dinner for no reason. Maybe when he gets home and sees the gift he gently pushed her on the couch and maybe in return, he fingers her and makes her feel good. Whispering things like, “thank you, sweet girl. I love the gift and I absolutely adore you, thank you” while never breaking eye contact. Whispering sweet thank you’s until she’s shaking from pleasure. Just being all gentle and shit

Anonymous said: I’m so sorry for this but Bill finger fucking Tiger while wearing that nice ass watch because he KNOWS how crazy it makes her. He was confused by her attraction to it at first, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t use it to his advantage.

Oh god please I need just a moment to calm down all the delicious, insane thoughts running through my head right now.

INHALE. EXXXXXHHHHHAAAAAALE.

We talk a lot about the magic of Bill’s mouth, don’t we? We do. But that boy’s hands--oh my fuck, that boy’s hands.

Alright, so that watch Bill wears a lot? I’m pretty sure it’s IWC. IWC men’s watches, in general, retail for a cool $30,000-$40,000 USD for a base model, and that’s just....unf, that’s a lot of understated bling on that thick wrist. But maybe it’s an automatic which can be a little tricky sometimes, and when he was travelling he reset it to match the timezone he was in, but he reset it between 4AM and 7AM that day which actually kind of fucks up the mechanics on automatics (what? I love watches.) And since he’s been home, he’s been meaning to get it fixed but just really hasn’t had the time to find a licensed repair shop and his favourite watch has just been sitting there for like, a month.

And my girl tiger--listen, tiger loves his hands, his thick wrists. Loves the look of a real expensive watch on it. It’s a kink she hasn’t really told him about so maybe this is all a little selfish on her part.

But she nabs it one day, takes a day off work, and goes to get it fixed. And she hovers, stays at the repair shop and stares at the guy like a fucking hawk, because this is Bill’s favourite watch and it’s worth like, more money than tiger makes in a fucking year. But the dude is legit, he’s skilled, and in no time at all Bill’s favourite accessory is ticking like new. She brings it home, mildly paranoid to carry it in public for the 45 seconds it takes her to walk to her car.

Once she’s home she puts it back in its box, sets it up real nice on his pillow, and she doesn’t say a thing. And because she’s super soft for her big dude, a little extra sappy for him lately and she has the whole day off anyway, she goes shopping and gets all the fixings for his favourite dinner. He has some afternoon meetings that run a bit late so she has plenty of time, and she sets up in his kitchen to cook his favourite.

By the time he walks in she’s already a little tipsy, she’s in his shirt and just looks adorable, smiling big at him from the couch. His entire apartment smells delicious, and as he makes his way to her tiger’s heart skips a few beats. God he’s beautiful. In fitted jeans that accentuate just how long his legs are, a beautifully tailored cognac leather jacket around him, a t-shirt that dips into a bit of a V so she can see his collarbones...Bill is a masterpiece. Her best friend is so goddamn beautiful, and now he’s smiling his small lopsided grin at her as he toes his shoes off and makes his way to the couch.

“Hey kid,” he murmurs, and he crouches to put his hands on her legs, lean in and give her a sweet kiss, “It smells incredible in here.”

He smells incredible. Like soap and clean and comfort, and tiger reaches for his hand to thread her fingers with his--his hand is warm, just like she knew it would be.

“I made you dinner,” she mumbles, “Your favourite.”

And something about the way he’s looking at her makes her blush. Bill has that knack, that talent of focusing on you so that you feel like you’re the only person in the universe who matters. He smiles gently at her, and her cheeks heat up even more.

“I’m so spoiled,” he scratches lightly at her thighs, “Thank you.”

Another soft kiss, one that tigers pulls him back into for more.

“I’ll make you a drink,” she says. She doesn’t ask what. After a full day of meetings, Bill always likes something strong--a boulevardier, a negroni, something hard hitting. He always insists that tiger makes the best drinks, ones that could knock a man dead, and he never refuses whatever she mixes up.

He stands, stealing a kiss from her when she does too, then retreats to the bedroom. She smiles to herself, walking to the bar cart as she waits for him to see what’s on the bed.

She busies herself with mixing his drink, even when she hears his footsteps approaching. She doesn’t jump when she feels his arms loop around her, his hands held out in front of her, holding the watch. He tilts his head, nuzzling her ear as she shivers.

“It’s working again,” he purrs, turning the watch over in his hands.

“I um,” she can’t stop the shudder running through her as she feels his hot breath on her ear, “I got it fixed for you.

She muddles a sugar cube in the glass, adding a dash of bitters. She grabs a bottle of rye, pouring a hefty glug--measuring is for idiots--into the glass.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he murmurs. She bites her lip, adds some Campari to the drink and grabs a stirrer. His hands still in front of her, she has to stop the whimper from escaping when he rests the watch on his wrist, turning it over to latch it. Those fingers, long and slender and beautiful working deftly around the small clasp. She holds the drink up to him when he’s done, and he brushes his fingers with hers as he grabs the glass, turning her gently to face him.

“Thank you,” he says, taking a sip, “And thank you.”

She blushes, just under the intensity of his stare. He leans down to kiss her again--slow and languid and passionate--and she can taste the whisky on him.

He pulls away and grabs her hand, leading her to the couch and coaxing her to sit. She does, but he kneels in front of her. He reaches for the waistband of her pants, hooking his fingers in and dragging them down slowly. She wants to ask what he’s doing, but she’s already pretty fucking small for him and she just wants him to call all the shots. Every last one. It doesn’t even matter what he’s doing, because she wants it done to her regardless.

“You spoil me, sweet girl,” he purrs, and you know, the thing with Bill is the attention to detail. He knows tiger really likes it when he takes her panties off--loves the feeling of it, the visual of it, so he doesn’t drag them off with her pants. He leaves it separate, because why rush things?

He moves her legs further apart, gazing up at her as he places a kiss on her mound. Hooking his thumbs into the sides, he slowly drags her panties down her legs and off. He pauses, takes another slow swig of his drink as he stares at her.

“This was so nice of you, tiger,” he says, and he uses his left hand to slide up her thigh--the cool metal clasp a contrast to his warm fingers, as he trails them to her core. She gasps as he runs two fingers gently up and down her slit, enjoying the wetness on his fingers. He lifts his glass to his lips again, before leaning over and licking the soft part of her belly under her navel. His other hand wraps around her ankle, bending one of her knees and putting her foot on the cushion.

“Better view, this way,” he winks, and she can feel the heat start to creep up her cheeks--but it’s gone a second later, her focus switching back to the gentle circles his thumb is pressing into her clit.

“I love this watch,” he continues, another slow sip of his drink, “I think it looks pretty good on my wrist, don’t you?”

Tiger can’t speak, letting out just a small squeak as he slowly pushes two fingers inside. She sighs, quivering, as he crooks them and drags against that spot deep inside her.

He leans forward, nipping at her lips and capturing them in a searing kiss.

“Look at it, kid,” he coaxes, pressing on her chin with his thumb so she’s looking down. She watches his fingers, glistening with her slick, as then pump slowly in and out of her--the watch on his wrist, the thick leather band and the shiny metal of the clasp. If she listens real close, if she can hear beyond the filthy sounds his fingers are making as they push back into her--she can almost hear it tick.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he whispers against her lips. She’s beyond the point where she can talk--so instead he reaches back, sucks back some of his drink into his mouth, and then forcefully crushes her lips to his. He fists the back of her hair in his hand and tiger is suddenly so tuned in to everything--the taste of rye and cigarettes on his tongue, every knuckle and groove of his fingers as they keep up their slow torture, the ticking mechanics of his beautiful timepiece. She can hear and smell and feel it all, as her lower stomach clenches.

He leans back, enjoying the show of his fingers coated with her wetness. He drives them in deep, speeding up his pace as his thumb reaches for her clit. He rubs it in circles, softer at first but building the pressure as he can feel her clench around his fingers. She whimpers, reaching for something to hold on to and he gently pushes two fingers into her mouth. She moans, grabbing at his forearm between her legs to make sure he doesn’t stop--and with a loud whimper, a big heaving shudder, she comes. He feels her clenching around his hand, squeezing his fingers as she bites down on the ones in her mouth, before she eventually just goes limp against the couch. He grins softly at her, kissing her stomach before downing the rest of his drink in one shot. he pulls his fingers from her slowly, leaving the ones in her mouth and kissing her lips gently.

fuCK we have a watch kink.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Warming Comforts

For @lemonfodrizzlecake

~~~~~~~~~~

The freezing water splashed against the sturdy boat, creating a beautiful song of the sea. It was pitch black outside, though only four in the afternoon, but with it being winter on the Arctic Ocean, sunlight was a rare treat. In fact, Ford had calculated that they would not see any sunshine until the last day of February unless they traveled south.

While it was true that he was more sensitive to the cold and always wore several thick layers to contain more body heat (why else would he wear a turtleneck and trenchcoat in the middle of summer), there was something awakening about the bitter icy atmosphere, how it made his every breath visible, how it pricked his cheeks and nose, turning them red, how if wind cursed them it would send shivers down his spine and ruffle his charcoal-gray fluff for hair.

Ford smiled and peered through his telescope again, the night sky being cloudless and perfect for star mapping. While he appreciated and missed the Northern Lights, it was difficult to study the representatives of Abraham’s descendants with so much commotion in the air, so the aged scientist took advantage of the quiet inky black sky and used his lantern to make a map of the stars, a fun activity that Ford was sure the children would want to see when he was finished. He pulled himself away from the telescope and began to make some marks on the dark-blue paper on the railing.

“BOO!”

“GAH!”

Ford jumped from fear at the sudden noise and misplaced his footing on the slippery dock. With one hand stupidly on his hip for a weapon due to reflexes, his body was too busy panicking to keep him from toppling off the boat and down into the sea. He heard that voice yell again - but this time in pure fear rather than trying to put fear into someone else - just before he splashed into the freezing water.

Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, lost of all his hands and face. His torso, protective with an undershirt, two sweaters that Mabel had made for him, and a thick blue hoodie, were still somewhat warm, but it wouldn’t be long until the water would seep through and freeze his chest and stomach, but right now his legs and arms were in quite a bit of pain. Ford wanted to gasp in shock, but he was quick to realize that would mean breathing in sea water, so he focused his pain into moving upward and soon he broke the surface and coughed as he wiped his face dry of beads of water behind his glasses.

“STANFORD! Stanford, I’m sorry, are you okay?!”

“Stanley, I’m fine.” Ford chuckled; he was initially extremely irritated but the way his twin was freaking out and was completely resentful for a small prank gone wrong made up for it. Really, he was just cold. No permanent harm done. “Just throw down the rope, will you please?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Stan sounded like he was calming down, but Ford wouldn’t be surprised if he was shaking as much as he was right now.

Stan, meanwhile, was scrambling for the rope and working to throw it down so his brother could climb back up. Trust him to only intent to make his brother jump and prove a point that his tunnel vision when working is really that bad, only to plunge the brainiac into the Arctic Ocean. He could still fix this; once Ford is safe he can change into dry clothes and sit by the wood-burning stove with a cup of coffee, the heating pad, and some blankets. Hey, at least it was a legitimate excuse not to push himself so hard.

The youngest of the two by fifteen minutes tossed down one half of the rope and held on tight, brazing himself for the sudden weight to cling on. “Here you go, Sixer.” A few seconds passed and no response came. No call, no tug on the rope, not even a splash to clue Stan in that his brother was even trying to grab the rope. “Ford, you okay?”

Well, no, he wasn’t okay, he was freezing cold, but he would be soon. Worried the nerd was way too cold to speak or move, Stan picked up the lantern and shined it down to see the ocean that surrounded them. His heart plunged into his stomach when he didn’t see Ford in the water. All that was visible to his eyes were some icebergs that decorated the sea. “Stanford! Talk to me!” Stan demanded.

Ford might be a jerk, but not this big of a jerk. Stan quickly shed his beanie and long coat (he needed something dry to wrap his brother in when they came back), then he tied the rope to the dock, letting it trail down into the sea, and he grabbed a flashlight from out of his coat. No sense in jumping into the ocean if he couldn’t see. All within five seconds of realizing his twin was nowhere to be seen, Stan dived into the ocean.

He ignored the way he nerves howled in agony and shined the flashlight every which way underwater to find Ford. He squinted at a dark shape and swam towards it, a little too far away to see, but then as the light shined on scaly skin Stan got a glimpse of what he was up against and it took everything not to waste his breath growling. Speaking breath, he was running out of it. He swam up to the surface, directly below his enemy to recharge his batteries to fight the best he could, then he dove again, this time more determined than ever to not break the surface again if his twin wasn’t doing so with him.

Ford’s neck and limbs were bound in the tentacles of a giant squid. Unless Stan was mistaken, this was the same giant squid that greeted them as dinner when they first began their journey. Didn’t this gross unwrapped sushi have anything better to do than stock them like a big crazy fangirl? Stan dove down as the monster hissed angrily at the intruder. Ford was still struggling, but he was slowing down and his eyes were shut.

Stan pulled out his pocket knife and slashed a tentacle and tried to free his brother. The squid squealed in pain and let Ford go, who was weak and limp from the lack of warmth and oxygen. Quickly delivering a left hook to the squid’s big eye, Stan wrapped one of Ford’s arms around his neck and swam upward as fast as he could.

The moment they broke the surface they both gasped and coughed furiously. Stan used all of his strength to hoist Ford towards the rope, who grasped it and began to climb with Stan’s help. Thankfully they both managed to climb up onto the boat, soaking wet and horribly cold as a gust of wind blew by, but they were alive. That was the important thing.

On his hands and knees, Stan grabbed his coat and helped the quivering Ford out of his dripping wet blue hoodie and into the dry coat. “C’mon, Sixer, let’s get you warm.”

Hazed and weaker than he would like to be, Ford mindlessly nodded and let his brother take charge. Stan was put on protective auto-pilot, and despite being cold and weak he did not rest as he walked them both inside the small cabin of the boat and helped his brother get well.

The wood-burning stove cracked with fire in the corner in the kitchen, the couch right by it for cozy relaxation. Stan made his brother stand next to it and he quickly threw in three more planks of wood into the fire to make it hotter and fueled for a long time. Stan then fished out Ford’s thickest pair of yellow-plaid pajamas and fuzzy knitted socks (Mabel never rests) and made Ford change while Stan turned on the heating pad and decided that now was as good a time as any for dinner. Rather than coffee, Stan stood only a few feet away from his twin as he fixed some tomato soup and dug out some bread and made grilled cheeses to go with it, keeping an eye on Ford’s skin and how it was slowly not looking as pale as it did.

Ford sat on the couch as his mind was slowly coming back to himself. It then suddenly came to him in an instant that Stan was still wet and freezing, risking a cold if he didn’t change quickly. “Stanley, you knucklehead!” He scolded and jumped up from the couch, leaving the damp coat on the floor. He marched over and swiped the wooden spoon from Stan’s hand and pointed to the doorway leading downstairs for the bedroom. “Go change! You’ll catch your death in this cold.”

Stan snorted and rolled his eyes with a smile. “Whatever, I’m fine, I wasn’t in there as long as you.”

“I don’t care, go change!”

“Alright, Ma.” Stan punched his shoulder lightly as he walked off to change. While the warmth of the hot stove as he cooked did help, he couldn’t deny how much better he would feel to be in cozy pajamas rather than freezing wet clothes.

Soon in Mabel’s pink goodbye sweater (it’s cold, he has to) and dark-gray sweatpants with socks and slippers. Ford turned off the stove and poured the tomato soup into two mugs and had the sandwiches on plates. He nodded to the couch by the fire and instructed firmly, “Sit.”

Stan shrugged and did as he was told as he swiped the fuzzy hand-knitted blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over his lap. Once again Ms. Mabel Pines was responsible for something cozy and warm in the Stan O’ War II. It had come in the mail around the holidays, a thick blue and green blanket that looked like it had been knitted with expensive wool. It was a huge blanket that could easily cover three grown men and Stan honestly thought it was his grandniece’s best work thus far.

He chuckled and shook his head as Ford joined him by his side. “Does Mabel ever just relax? You know, sit around and do nothing like a kid should?”

“It runs in the family.” He quipped and let Stan throw the blanket over his lap as he handed him his mug of soup and placed the plates on their laps. Stan smiled at Ford, hoping for one in return, but he was startled to find a scowl on his brother’s face. “Now as for you, what on Earth were you thinking?!” He scolded.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. “I know I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Completely irresponsible! Totally reckless! What am I supposed to do to myself if you had gotten hurt, Stanley!? Yes, I know how strong you are and you can handle a monster or two, but really!”

His parental scolding continued for a few minutes while Stan smiled at himself and sipped his soup. This wasn’t the first time Ford had taken this approach to being “angry” at Stan for saving his life or doing something even slightly dangerous. They were sailing in the middle of the Arctic Ocean for Mose’s sake, of course it’s going to be dangerous, that’s what makes it exciting, but that never stopped Ford from lecturing him every time his neck was at risk for Ford’s behalf. Stan had learned to just let Ford rant and go with it until he had a chance to remind him that if the tables would turn Ford would be just as stupid, and then all that would leave Ford to do is mumbled how Stan is a better man than him and needs to continually prove him right.

By the time Stan was quietly munching on his grilled cheese, Ford was catching his breath, and Stan said collectively, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Sixer, just relax, okay? On second thought, don’t, cuz all that energy is warming you up.”

His red cheeks, Ford rolled his eyes and mumbled something in his mug that Stan only picked up because he had heard Ford say it countless times. “Don’t make me lose you again, Stanley.”

Stan snorted and rested his head on his brother’s shoulder to help keep him warm. “Never gonna happen. You’re stuck with me forever, Poindexter.”

“Good.”

[lxveille]

strawberry frosting at the center of the universe

seungkwan x reader

word count: ~ 3140 warnings: mentions of sex, making out a/n: friends-to-lovers; part of the morning after shuffle

This is familiar. The angle that the sunlight comes through the window. Being woken up by warmth and light from underneath smooth, soft sheets. There’s a place on this bed carved out just for you from late nights at the office and even later weekend adventures. It’s comfortable. A place you know just as well as your own apartment, thanks to it belonging to the best friend you’ve ever had. 

Except -- of course. The except only comes as you fully come back to consciousness. 

The first time you ever stayed here, it had been a Wednesday. Seungkwan kept checking in on you throughout the night while you insisted you’d be fine but that you had to stay at the office just a bit longer. Eventually the work was done. Eventually turned out to be near three in the morning. When you texted you were finally heading home, he replied that his apartment was just around the corner. A warm bed would be much closer if you just crashed at his place. Between your exhaustion and the prospect of a thirty-five minute trek back to your home, you didn’t need much convincing. 

After that one time it became a habit. When projects were finished only hours before morning deadlines, Seungkwan was always ready to let you slip half-awake through his door and under his sheets.  

Sometimes he was still awake. The one nagging you to just turn in for the day. Reassuring you that work can, in fact, wait. Once he linked you to some health website’s article about how irregular sleep schedules are bad for your wellbeing. Of course, you answered that his schedule isn’t much better when he stays up checking in on you. 

Other times you would come up with the idea on your own, calling Seungkwan’s number as you left the office and hoping he’d pick up. He did. Nearly every time. He’d open the door for you with eyes still half-closed and hair sticking out in all directions.

And eventually, it wasn’t just a place to crash after late nights at work. It was a comfortable place to spend the night in the city when your head was pounding from alcohol or club music. Or, as was more likely, both. It was easy. Relaxing. Safe.

Nothing has changed. Not the color of paint of his walls, nor the scent that lingers on his linens. Even the feeling of waking up in one of his old shirts is the same. Seungkwan was always insistent that you should be comfortable, regardless of the reason that had you crashing at his place instead of your own. 

But also, it’s all changed. Maybe even drastically so. 

Last night the two of you had planned on going out. Having made it through a long and stressful week, you both agreed you’d earned a few hours of drinking and dancing. Anyone planning for a night out knows it’s too expensive if you don’t at least get a little buzz going at home. And Seungkwan’s door was open as always. So the two of you poured a few glasses and hooked his phone up to the speaker for music, setting the mood with laughter and singalongs in between suggestions of where to go. 

Neither of you ended up getting to a bar. 

The whole itinerary was forgotten. 

All it took was the playlist shuffling to a slower song. The two of you slowed along with the melody, laughing and leaning into each other. Breathless from dancing and shouting lyrics. The song played on, but it felt as if his apartment went quiet. He might have asked to kiss you, or he might have just looked at you in a way that said it all. 

You’d never thought of kissing Seungkwan. At least not until his lips were on yours. And then you thought, maybe you had. Without even thinking of it, it might have been waiting to be felt. Because he certainly felt unresistable once it started. 

There’s some children’s book that was once read to you. It had pages filled with illustrations and text about seeds, how they seem invisible underneath the soil. They take root and begin to sprout little by little, hardly noticeable in the grass at first. Then one day, there’s a new plant blooming unexpectedly. In the story, it might have been a weed. It might have been a cautionary tale. Pay attention. Take care of your garden before it gets out of hand. 

Maybe it did get out of hand. Hands were involved, for sure, alongside hushed words and deeper kisses. Stumbling feet and uncertain touches. Seungkwan’s embarrassed laughter as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on your shirt and the reassuring graze of your lips against his cheeks when you took over for that task. The playlist carried on, masking over the sound of shaking breaths and moans, keeping them as a secret from the neighbors on the other side of his walls. 

Not every unexpected plant you come across is a weed. 

Or not every weed needs to be uprooted.

You turn under the sheets and find Seungkwan’s shoulders. He’s on his side, facing away from the window, dyed hair an uneven muss against his pillow. You cuddle down into the pillow he gave to you and watch the subtle rise and fall as he breathes steadily. Your fingers grasp at the sheet and feel yourself smile. Uncontrolled and bright, and no one to know it was there except for you. You bring one arm up to your face and bury your head into the crook of your elbow. 

You would welcome falling back asleep. A few more hours of nothing but warmth would do you good.  The more you wake up, the more you might begin to worry. Maybe once you come out from under the blankets, you’ll start to doubt everything Seungkwan said last night. Maybe it’ll just be sex, and this will be the last time you ever wake up in his apartment. 

Except. 

You are awake. Those thoughts drift across your mind, but they feel far away. Like having a melody stuck in your head without being able to recall the lyrics. Just dropping by. You’d know the words if it were something that really struck a chord. 

There’s no getting around it. You’re awake and awfully fond of Seungkwan. You shift and slip out your side of the bed. It’s a bit of a marvel. There’s never had a side of the bed with someone after the first time having sex. A guest, maybe. An escape route, on occasion. Here, you’re already home. Or home-away-from-home. 

Your feet meet the floor, and you pad as quietly around the foot of the bed to head towards the bathroom. Behind you, there’s the sound of Seungkwan stirring. He mumbles something, but you don’t pause to find out what. 

The lightswitch in his bathroom is finicky. The push button doesn’t always quite stick when you press it on, resulting in the lights flickering off after an instant. So you come in and push once, ready to insist more firmly when the small room goes dark again. This time, however, the switch functions just right. The yellow light overhead stays on. 

The ziplock bag is where you left it. On the opposite side of the sink from his soap dispenser. You pull it open and take out your toothbrush and face wash to set them out for use. You had come prepared to spend the night. Even if you hadn’t predicted what an intimate turn the night would take. The soap dispenser had been a housewarming gift from his mom. Because it was tacky to just have the plastic bottles from the store out in front of guests, he said. Sometimes when you came over, one would be out anyway. The dispenser empty, and he in no rush to refill it. 

“What would your mother say?” You scolded jokingly as you took it upon yourself to unscrew both caps and pour the citrus-scented liquid from one container to the other. 

Seungkwan smiled. “That I’m lucky to have met you.” 

As easy as that. Maybe you’ve been something other than a guest for longer than you know. 

When you go back into the room, you’re greeted by Seungkwan’s voice veiled in morning grog. “Where’d you go?” He doesn’t lift his head from the pillow. But he stretches one arm out, open palm towards you and fingers spread. 

“I got up,” you answer and meander towards his bed.

He comes back with only another question: “Why?” 

It’s so simple, with such an evident answer that you can’t help but chuckle. “That’s what people do in the morning.” You reach your hand up to meet his and allow your fingers to lace with his. 

Seungkwan huffs and peeks his eyes open. With hands still linked, he lets his arm go loose in your hold so the two of you find a happy medium of where they should settle. Less than an arm's length away from the mattress, you stand there with hands swaying idly in the cool morning air. “We don’t have to get up,” he proposes. 

“I already did.” 

A valid point. To which he responds by rolling slightly back and tugging, pulling you back onto the bed. You don’t resist. Once you’re lying beside him, Seungkwan wastes no time letting go of your hand in favor of locking his arm around your middle and nuzzling into your shoulder. It comes easily. As if this is simply the way the both of you have always been. And sure -- there have been hugs and small cuddles before. But this is closer than those. 

Your hand finds a place on the back of his head; fingers moving slowly in mindless patterns through his hair and over his scalp. He gives out a pleased sigh, his breath hot against your collar. 

For a while neither of you says anything. The two of you take up only one half of the mattress, pressed close together. One bundle of intertwined limbs and steady breathing. Sunlight stretches out further across the room now, batting off some of the chill still lingering in the air. The warmth, from light and from Seungkwan combined, is pleasant. It lulls you gently back down into a haze of sleepiness. Your eyelids close. The only way you really register still being conscious is through the slow movement of your fingers in his hair and the slight tickle of his breath on your skin. Even those fade to the background.

It doesn’t feel entirely clear whether you fell asleep again or not. Dreamishness can come easily in this arrangement even without proper slumber. You only know when it lifts. Both of you still close together, lazing in the morning light. 

“Seungkwan?” you probe to see if he’s awake too. 

He hums and raises his chin so his eyes can meet yours. There’s a smile on his lips that makes you mirror the expression. 

Without another word, Seungkwan kisses you. Just a simple press of his mouth against yours. He barely pulls away before kissing once again. This time it lingers, moving in a kind of slow-motion against each other. His tongue is cool against yours, and you find your bodies moving without intention. It’s like swimming through molasses. No urgency, and barely even a distinct thought. There’s only gentle touches and the hypnotic sensation where your lips meet. 

You end up hovering over him, your elbows sinking into the sheets and fingers tangled in his hair. His hands refuse to settle anywhere in particular; warm fingers running down your neck, across your shoulders, over your hips. Overcame by breathlessness, you separate from him. For a moment, Seungkwan doesn’t open his eyes. He lies beneath you, as if in a trance. A blissful sort of look on his face with the dusting of reddishness that goes from his cheeks to ears. 

His lashes flutter, and then he’s looking into your eyes. Smiles return to both of you simultaneously. He murmurs your name delicately. As if finally replying to when you’d done the same with his. It only makes your expression blossom into a grin. Seungkwan has one hand at your elbow. The other rests along your spine, having snuck beneath the shirt he’d leant to you somewhere in all the kissing. 

He looks like he might stare up at you for an eternity. Or on the verge of saying something profound. Maybe you’d be happy if he did either. But you aren’t disappointed when he settles for arching up to leave another peck against your lips before asking, “You don’t have anywhere to go today, do you?” 

“Nope.” You let yourself lower on top of him gently, readjusting so one arm lays across his chest. “But we can’t stay in bed all day, you know.”

“Why not?” 

“Don’t you want to eat breakfast at some point?” you counter. “The kitchen isn’t a bed.” 

Seungkwan isn’t impressed by your answer. “Have you forgotten what year it is? We can get breakfast delivered.” 

You hum. “Someone will have to get out of bed when it gets here.” 

“That hardly counts.” He sounds offended you’d even hold the premise of staying in bed to such strict guidelines. He moves slightly, and you shuffle to let him reach over you to the bedside table. With his phone in hand, he taps away at the screen a couple times. “What do you think we should get?” 

You give and shrug, and push yourself into a slumped-up position that matches his own against the headboard. Your head rests upon his shoulder so you can see onto his screen as well. Various delivery options scroll by, ratings in stars and expense signs and time estimates. 

“I think that bakery Seokmin keeps talking about delivers,” he mentions. The small pictures beside each restaurant name flies by as Seungkwan scrolls rapidly back up to the search bar. “Would you want croissants or muffins or something like that?” 

“Oh.” You let out more as a filler as you watch him start to type in the name. “Do they have doughnuts?” It’s a reaction more than a question. Because rather than an exterior shot by the search result, there’s an image of two frosted doughnuts with a branded napkin peeking out beneath them. 

“It looks like it.” 

So it isn’t a difficult decision to make. 

There’s an estimated twenty-five minutes before the half dozen would arrive. 

Enough time for more making out and then some. 

Morning sex doesn’t turn out to be drastically different from what you’d done the night before. It’s more comfortable, in a way, with both already more familiar with each other’s bodies than you’d been twenty-four hours ago. There’s laughter, broken up between moans and gasps, when you ask what he’d do if the doorbell rang right that instant. And more when he barely manages to reply that doughnuts can wait, just a while, for this. 

Two two of you end up holding each, utterly unaware of time and regaining steady heartbeats. Seungkwan peppers barely-there kisses against your temple and your shoulders. At your neck, his breath tickles the skin, and you wriggle away from him suddenly. 

He follows after you. He corners you against the pillows and kisses that ticklish spot as many times as he can. You yelp and push against his arms, protesting through laughter. When Seungkwan stops, it’s only to put one hand against your cheek and embrace you properly. It seems like a fixation. Like neither of you can resist continuing to kiss. Even being breathless from laughter, you melt into it. All the tension slips out of your muscles and your arms wrap around him. Maybe it’s a way of making up for time. 

The bell goes off, interrupting your affection. Seungkwan grins at you and moves off the bed with a speed that only the promise of food can summon at a time like this. He slips on a t-shirt before disappearing to answer the door. 

Alone on his bed, you look towards the window with an absentminded smile. There wasn’t much to think about. Only a quiet warmth planted squarely in the center of your chest, spreading slowly through your veins. A feeling nearly like a promise. 

Seungkwan is back in the room only moments later, carrying the flat box of baked goods. At his arrival, you sit up and fold your legs into a crossed position. He slips into the space at the foot of the bed that was freed up by your change, and sets the box down on top of the comforter. 

He tells you to pick first before taking a pink-frosted doughnut from the bottom right corner of the box for himself. As soon as you take a bite, you can’t help but let out an appreciative hum. It’d been easy not to realize just how hungry you were. Or else the bakery is really that good that just a small taste inspires even more hunger. 

“This was a good choice,” you say once you’ve finished chewing. Seungkwan nuds enthusiastically to make up for the fact he can’t reply with words, still busy with the piece in his mouth. 

The conversation carries on like one you could be any morning. Starting with how Seokmin found this gem of a bakery, and meandering from there to various stories of the people in your lives, laughing and passing judgment in different measures on all the triumphs and trials of your twenties with him.  

A lull comes in, both of you in the middle of sugary mouthfuls. 

Once Seungkwan swallows, he doesn’t jump back into complaining about work. He’s satisfied for a moment by simply watching you -- still slightly disheveled from sleep and wearing one of his old shirts -- carefully handling the piece of doughnut in your hand so as not to get frosting on your fingers. 

“I’m glad you stayed.” Seungkwan’s voice is tender and certain. Something that he has to make sure is said, even if he suspects you must already know. 

It’s the first acknowledgement either of you has given that this isn’t all just typical. That all this intimacy is new. That today, regardless of where all this newfound intimacy goes, is a landmark of something. 

The warmth from your center is all over by now. It gives you the confidence to smile and tell him, “I am too. Really glad.” You place the leftover half of your doughnut back down in the box and lean over to brush your lips for just a moment against his cheek. 

Somewhere out there, there’s a whole world that will have to be dealt with eventually. 

For now, the next kiss you share tastes like strawberry sugar and vanilla. And everything that matters in reach.

[petri808]

@kyoruweekofficial One Bed prompt

What do you do when you have two co-workers who obviously have crushes on each other, but neither have the guts to make a move? Well, according to Arisa Uotani, you make it for them. So, with the help of co-conspirator Saki Hanajima, the pair decide to play Cupid and stage a romantic intervention. For you see, Saki is the project manager at their company, and it was her job to schedule conference attendances for the employees. How lucky for them that the perfect opportunity presented itself. Oh, this was going to be good! They just wished they could have been there to see it.

The longer the hotel receptionist talked, the more Tohru could feel her ears burning and her cheeks turning a cherry tomato color. “W-Wait a minute, are you telling me we were booked into the same hotel room?!”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s what your company booked for you and Mr. Sohma. Four days in our honeymoon suite while you attend the conference. Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, there’s a problem!” Kyo Sohma, Tohru’s co-worker grits back. “Our company must have made a mistake, so change the booking to two separate rooms.”

“I’m really sorry sir, but the hotel is at full capacity because of the conference, so I can’t do that. If there’s a cancellation later, I could put in a request, but that’s all I can offer.”

“It’s okay, Kyo,” Tohru’s meek voice cuts in before the man has a chance to respond. “There’s nothing this lady can do and it’s just three days, so w-we can figure something out.”

He turns and realizes just how embarrassed his co-worker looked. Though her eyes were averted to the ground, her rosy cheeks, and the glow in her face, stops him cold. Fuck, she looked so cute like that! “Fine,” he feels the heat in his face increasing, “then just give us our keys please, so we can be on our way.”

Kyo takes hold of both their luggage handles, “grab it from the woman,” he tells Tohru and walks toward the elevator to wait.

“I’m really sorry,” Tohru apologizes to the receptionist. “This was a surprise for us.”

“Don’t worry, mistakes happen ma’am.” She placed the items on the counter. “Here are your card keys that includes the WiFi password on the sleeve along with instructions. If you require any extra amenities, do not hesitate to call the front desk for assistance. You’re scheduled to be here for three nights and four days, with check out at 11am on Thursday. Again, I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not your fault.” Tohru politely thanks the woman and grabs the items, then joins Kyo to head towards their room.

While he waited, Kyo fumed over the whole situation. Being sent to the same conference as Tohru was the first red flag, but not completely out of the norm since they were working on the same project, so he’d chalked it up to coincidence. But now the receptionist said it was a honeymoon suite. Why would Saki book them a honeymoon suite! Rhetorical question, he had a pretty damn good suspicion on the answer. ‘Those two meddlers!’

“Kyo, I have the keys. The room is on the top floor.”

He’d been so focused on his mental dialogue, Tohru’s voice suddenly right beside him, catches him off guard. His body stiffens for a second as if caught in the act of a crime. “Great.” He acts like nothing’s wrong and hits the up button for the elevator. ‘Just... great...’

As soon as they walk in, the pair deadpan at the interior of the room. What did they expect when they’d heard the worlds ‘honeymoon suite,’ a normal hotel room? ‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me?!’ Kyo let’s go of the luggage handles and makes a visual sweep, before landing on the single bed near the window. Not only were they sharing a room, but sharing a bed, and a bathroom for four days! ‘They’re dead. Saki and Arisa are so dead when we get home!’ What the hell were they thinking by sticking us in this kind of a room! ‘If they’re so hell bent on hooking us up, have they ever heard of a blind date?!’

Tohru at this point was faring no better, but instead of frustration her emotions ran more along the lines of simple embarrassment. She was starting to realize that this whole situation was set up by their friends, and she didn’t know if she should thank them or never speak to them again. Because deep down, she was a little excited for this opportunity to be closer to him, and also terrified if Kyo happened to feel the same way. Saki and Arisa were adamant that the man liked her too, a lot, and maybe he, they just needed a push to get things moving. But this was a pretty big push!

“I could just sleep on the floor?”

“What?! No,” what kind of man does she take him for? “I’m not gonna let you sleep on a floor, that’s crazy Tohru. I-it’ll— it’ll be fine,” Adam’s apple bobbing hard, “it’s a big bed, w-we can make it work.” ‘Have to make it work.’

“O-Okay,” she smiles and pretends that everything really is so. If they were going to be stuck in this situation, they might as well make the best of it. “It’s a really pretty room.”

For that Kyo had to agree, and he wondered just how Saki was able to justify its rental in company records. The color ambiance screamed love and romance. Come on, a velvet red bed frame, matching love seat and contrasting white bedding. Red walls, red curtains, and dark cherry oak furnishings really heightened the overall affect. The full bar was definitely getting tapped tonight!

They go about their business pretending everything was fine, hanging up clothes and putting away their things, setting up the bathroom with their items in a ‘his and hers’ manner. If they were going to be stuck together, they needed to be civil and not let things get too awkward. Or so they hoped. At least they had things to prepare for the conference to keep busy, information to go over including a booklet that was sent ahead of time to familiarize themselves with the schedule. The organizers planned on break-out sessions for participants to meet with others working on similar ideas so they could bounce ideas off of each other. It was interesting add on considering these are competitors, but because green initiatives has been a focus for the government, they’ve pushed for more collaborative efforts.

When dinner time rolls around, the pair go to the hotel’s restaurant for convenience, since it was on the property. It had fairly decent reviews on its food offerings, and Kyo was more than ready to have a few beers to settle his nerves. They put the meal on a company credit card. Tohru orders a simple meal, but Kyo spares no opportunity to take full advantage of the most expensive offerings. ‘Saki can kiss my ass on the bill!’

He was quite surprised when Tohru ordered a glass of wine cause he’d heard she wasn’t much of a drinker. Kyo chuckles in his head, she probably needed a relaxer just like him. It irritated him a bit to know other guests probably assumed they were a couple. They sure did look like one, on a date, a romantic one at that, and he swore the server had almost asked, then changed their question at the last second.

By Kyo’s third beer, Tohru’s rosy complexion was really making it hard to stay professional. He knew it was just the alcohol working, but it made her look nervous and embarrassed in a first date kind of way. So innocently adorable, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. They managed to keep the conversation casual, but it was slowly becoming evident, they’d had other thoughts going through their minds.

When the server returns with their credit card slip, the man asks them if they were there for the conference to which they reply yes. “So, you’re co-workers, not a couple?”

“Yeah, why,” Kyo responds to the man.

But instead of answering Kyo, the server brazenly turns to Tohru instead. “I think you’re really pretty, and since I’m about to finish my shift, I was wondering if you’d like to go to a club with me?”

“Eh?” Tohru freezes, “I-I...”

Kyo stands up quick as a flash, getting right into the servers face. He jabs a finger into the man’s chest. “Fuck off guy, or I’ll report you to management!” He then grabs Tohru’s hand and pulls her away from the table, “let’s go!” Oh, he was so pissed! Co-workers or not, the balls on this guy to pull such a stunt right in front of him, what the hell was he thinking?! ‘He’s lucky I didn’t knock him on his ass!’

She knew better than to say a word and simply let Kyo pull her away towards the elevators. It was a little weird, wonderful, surprising, and frankly endearing for him to have defended her like that. Her cheeks were now heating up for other reasons, and the warmth of his hand in hers made her feel special. Did he realize he was still gripping tightly to her hand? Even as they stood there waiting for the elevator and the threat now over, he held on. As she watches his face carefully through her periphery, his serious expression wasn’t wavering. So, hoping not to startle him, and to avoid further embarrassment when he realized what he was doing, Tohru gently squeezes his hand back.

“Yeah?” Kyo’s eyes flare wide. “Oh!” Shit! He lets go. “My apologies.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles softly and keeps her voice low. “Thank you for defending me back there.”

“It was nothing,” he turns his head to hide his blush, mumbling a response. “That guy had some nerve interrupting us like that.”

Safely inside their hotel room, the pair preps for a quiet evening. Tohru changes into a comfortable set of pajamas, while Kyo sticks with a t-shirt and cotton shorts. Nothing racy at all. He offers her another drink as he grabs a beer and again is surprised when she takes another glass of red wine. “You know,” he questions as he pours the glass for her, “everyone said you’re not a drinker.”

She sits down on the bed and takes the offered glass, placing the rim to her lips as if to muffle her words. “I’m usually not,” Tohru answers honestly, but leaves out more details like she needed a bit of courage juice to make it through the evening.

Leaving about a foot of space between them, Kyo sits down on the bed as well. He takes a deep swig of the bottle. “Me neither.” Which was true, he only drank on occasion when he’d go out with friends. But tonight, it was keeping his nerves in check.

They sit there quietly in a companionable silence, sipping their drinks and lost in thoughts of what to say or do next. Kyo would never try to take advantage of Tohru, but the desire to make a move ate away at him, practically screamed to do something to break the stalemate. He’s had such a major crush on the sweet woman for so long, but he always thought he wasn’t good enough for her. As far as Kyo was concerned, Tohru was a perfect complement to his more outgoing nature, and yet deserved someone better. Their co-workers teased him so much about the crush too. Ugh, his cousin Hatsuharu kept telling him if he didn’t make a move soon, he’d steal Tohru. It was a hollow threat considering the man was already seeing another woman, but it still got under his skin.

He could still remember the day Tohru was hired to his family’s company. She was friends with Saki and Arisa, and they’d given the woman glowing reviews so the Co-CEO Shigure Sohma decided to give her a chance. Tohru walked into his office confused trying to figure out where she was supposed to go, and it was love at first sight. That was two years ago.

Tohru could feel the effects of the second glass of wine coming on stronger than the first one had hit her. Which is what she wanted to happen. It made her feel much more relaxed, but not quite drunk, and warmed up in the cooler air conditioning of the room. It wasn’t however, helping with the courage department. She wanted to ask him so badly, just to finally know where she stood, if Kyo had any romantic interests in her. What if he said no? But what if he said yes?!

“That guy was right...” Kyo suddenly breaks the stalemate. “You are very pretty.”

Eh?! “I, um, thank you,” Tohru sputters but goes for the gold. “You’re very handsome too.”

When he looks at Tohru, Kyo finds her staring at the floor with her adorable red cheeks on fire. He chuckles inwardly and places his beer on the nightstand, then reaches over and takes the glass from her, placing it on the table as well. It was now or never. He tips her chin up and forces her eyes onto him. “May I?” His eyes zero in on her lips, communicating his desire. She nods sheepishly with her approval, eyes closing as he leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips.

This wasn’t her first kiss, but it was the best one by far. His lips were so soft and pressured, his fingers gently keeping her from pulling away. They move from her chin to cradles her cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly against her skin as their heads change in angle. Oh, it was such a sweet move! It’d been worth the wait! As he pulls away, Kyo places one final kiss on her forehead.

“We probably shouldn’t rush things but,” he takes her hand and kisses the back of it, “is it too forward to ask if we could cuddle tonight?”

Fuck no! Tohru squeals giddily in her head, but on the outside kept her cool. She smiles and squeezes his hand back. “I’d really like that.” And reminder to self to thank Saki and Arisa when we get home...

[dubersbutt]

He Doesn’t Have to Know - Nathan Mackinnon

Summary: Nate is a bartender working a slow shift when you walk in.

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: cheating, smut, the works

Tuesday nights. Nate had a love-hate relationship with the shift. On one hand, he mostly got paid to sit around and do nothing because hardly anyone showed up. On the other hand, few people meant few tips, and he got bored really easily.

He and Ej are messing around in the back when you walk in. He “accidentally” poured a glass of water on Ej’s chest which created a dilemma when your uniform consisted of a thin white dress shirt.

“Are you kidding me, man,” he says as he rolls his eyes, “you gotta take her, man. I can’t go out like this.”

“Are you sure?” Nate teases, “you might get a bigger tip looking like that, Magic Mike.”

“Shut up and go, dumbass.”

Nate laughs as he walks out the door. The first thing he notices about you is how well you’re dressed - which isn’t surprising considering everyone who comes here is rich and he assumes you’re no different. The second thing the notices is the gigantic ring on your finger, a ring that screamed “TAKEN” from a mile away.

“Evening ma’am,” he greets, “what can I get you?”

He watches your eyes travel up and down his body. Nate’s a good looking guy - played hockey when he was younger, goes to the gym every day - and his uniform hugs him in all the right places. Sure he could go up a size in shirts, but if he’s totally honest, he doesn’t mind the stares.

“Cosmo,” you say after a slight pause.

“Yes ma’am,” he starts on your drink and your smile. That’s when he notices, your nails, lipstick and dress are all the same shade of deep red that compliments your skin tone.

“Pretty lonely down here,” you say as he hands you his drink.

He shrugs, “I don’t mind. It means that I can talk with a pretty girl like you.”

So Nate flirted with married women every once in a while. He needed the tips!

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the ladies,” you reply as you bring your drink to your lips.

“Only the breathtakingly beautiful ones,” and he’s not lying. He doesn’t really flirt with anyone he doesn’t find attractive. And you were striking.

Just then, an immaculately dressed man walks in. His suit is some high-end brand Nate doesn’t know the name of but can recognize that it probably costs the same amount he paid for his car. His shoes are some soft leather without any creases and the face of his watch takes up his entire wrist. Dude was bougie.

He walks over to you and gives you a kiss on the cheek. So this must be the owner of the ring, Nate thinks.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

“Didn’t my wife already order for me,” he asks as he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling.

“No, sir.”

“Maybe you weren’t listening,” he replies as he taps his ear.

Nate takes a deep breath but you cut in before he can say anything.

“No, dear, your drink order changes every night, how would I know what you wanted,”  if Nate’s not mistaken there’s a slight bite to your voice.

The other man rolls his eyes, “scotch, neat.”

Nate takes a deep breath as he gets out the glass and realizes he never specified which scotch he wanted. He chooses the most expensive one and pours it into the glass. He slides it across the bar, which is the best part of his job even when the customers are dicks.

“I asked for this on the rocks,” he says he shakes the drink in Nate’s face.

Nate knows he didn’t but he’s also been doing this long enough to realize there’s no point in arguing and takes the glass to put one of the large round ice cubes from the freezer.

“Anything else I can get you?” Nate asks and prays that’s all you need.

“That’s all for now,” you say, cutting off your husband and Nate rushes to the back before he can say anything.

“Douchebag?” EJ asks while rubbing a towel on his still damp chest.

“Obviously.”

“You should have punched him.”

“I wanted to,” Nate replies as he runs his hand through his hair.

He and Ej chat for 20 minutes before Nate knows he should go out to check on you two. He tries to get Ej to do it but-

“I would rather stick my foot in the fryer than talk that man.”

And Nate would feel bad if Ej stuck his foot in the dryer because of him so he goes out instead.

When he gets outside his drink is relatively untouched and he has a stack of money in his hand.

“The cheque,” he demands and Nate walks over to the till to print it.

Thankfully he doesn’t have an argument about the prices - Nate really doesn’t think he can handle the “I just work here I don’t run the place” conversation right now.

“Are you coming with me?” he asks you after placing money in the cheque book. Surprise, surprise, he’s a lousy tipper.

“I’ve barely touched my drink.”

“Well I have to go, I’ll see you at home?”

You just nod your head and extend your neck for him to kiss your cheek. You watch as he leaves and as soon as he’s out the door you turn to Nate.

“I’m sorry about my husband,” you say holding a small piece of paper in between your fingers, “he’s a...difficult man. This should make up for his behaviour.”

He takes it and when he unfolds it he sees a 50 dollar bill.

“Are you su-“ he starts to ask but you hold up a hand, stopping him.

“Take it,” and so he does.

He starts to clean up your husband’s dishes, picking up the glass and dropping the contents in the sink. Such a waste of good scotch he thinks sadly.

“Now I hope you know that a 50 dollar tip means that you have to stay out here and talk to me.”

“I would’ve done it for free,” and he would’ve.

“It’s a small price to pay to watch your ass in that suit,” you say bringing your cup to your lips and smirking at him over the rim.

He almost drops the glass.

“Aren’t you married?”

You shrug, “he’s out right now parading himself with other women. He thinks he’s discreet but he’s not. If he can do it, why can’t I?”

Nate walks over to the bar to stand in front of you. He tries to think of anything witty to say at all but is at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” you say, “I never was good at holding my tongue.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so absolutely stunning,” he says with a slight shrug.

You laugh, “careful there, Nathaniel,” he assumes you read his name card on his chest, his boss doesn’t allow them to put nicknames on the card, “you’re flirting with a married woman.”

“You said yourself that he’s with other women, so what’s the harm in a little flirting.”

“What time do you end here, Nathaniel?”

“Not until 1 but I can probably get out of here sooner for you…”

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he finishes, “give me a few minutes.”

He sprints to the back room and pushes open the door, startling EJ.

“Was she a dick too?” he asks.

“No, actually, she gave me a 50 dollar tip and invited me to her apartment so, uh, I’m gonna head out. You’ll be fine here right?” he says so quickly he barely understands himself.

Ej just blinks, “I’m sorry she what? Invited you to her apartment?”

“Yeah, or house, or whatever. She didn’t exactly explain what she wanted to do I just assumed she meant hooking up,” he says and realizes he might be an idiot.

Ej gives him a look, “what if she’s an axe murderer.”

“Well then I read the situation very wrong, but I don’t think I did,” he grabs his coat from the coat hook, “do me a favour though if I don’t respond to you by noon tomorrow then call the cops.”

Ej sighs, “fine but I get half your tips next time we work together cause you're leaving me alone.”

“Not half.”

“Fine a quarter.”

He really doesn’t want to do that but he really, really does not want to keep you waiting so he agrees and pulls on his coat as he leaves.

“I’m good to go,” he says as he hears Ej follow him out.

“Perfect,” you say as you down the rest of your drink and hop down from the barstool.

He follows you out of the restaurant, appreciating the way your dress hugs your body. If you turned out to be an axe murderer he was going to be so mad.

“So, uh where’s your apartment?” He asks once the chilly Denver air hits him.

“Patience, Nathaniel,” you say as you start walking, “can I call you that?”

He doesn’t usually like people calling him by his full name, but it sounds so good from you so he doesn’t mind it.

“I only ask because it’s a bit of a mouthful to scream, isn’t it?”

Nate has to take a deep breath to stop himself from pressing you up against the wall right there and then, “Nate, is good too.”

You grab his hand and lead him into your apartment building moments later. Your hand stays loosely attached to his wrist as you greet the security guard and walk into the elevator.

He’s taken by surprise when the doors close and you pull him close to press your lips to his gently. You’ve undone his jacket before he realizes it.

You take a perfectly manicured finger down his thin dress shirt. His breath catches in his throat when you pull him closer by his belt loops.

“This shirt is too tight on you, you know.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not at all,” you reply as to bring him in for another kiss.

He holds you against the wall, kissing you slowly until the elevator doors open.

When the doors open you’re greeted by a small fluffy black cat that runs into the elevator, purring as it rubs itself against your ankles.

“Hi, baby,” you coo as you pick it up and walk out, “the bedroom is the last door on the left. I need to check on her food, be naked by the time I get there.”

Nate follows your instructions and sure enough, the last door on the left is the master bedroom. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expected but you have the biggest bed he’d ever seen. He strips out of his shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He lounges on the bed and, honestly, it’s so comfortable he almost falls asleep.

He hears the door open and then you’re stepping into the room and throwing yourself on his lap.

“Fuck you’re hot,” you say as you straddle his waist and lean down to kiss him, “but this is not naked.”

You snap his briefs against his skin lightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You hum against his skin as you trail kisses his down his neck. He lets out a small moan your teeth scrape against his neck. You slide down his body, kissing as you go. His dick is just trying to chub in his briefs when you settle yourself between his legs. He lifts his hips to help him shimmy out of them.

He’s not expecting it when you jerk him slowly, teasing him. You wrap your lips around the tip, looking at him as you suck hard. His hand comes to grip the back of your head. His hips come up to thrust down your throat but you push his hips down with your hands.

“Nuh-uh,” you say as you pull off his dick, “Be good.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll spank you,” you wink at him before you take him back into your throat.

He can’t tell if you’re joking but the thought shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

He tries to even out his breathing when you push your head past the sphincter of your throat and his fingers are scratching at the back of your head. Your hands are still holding his hips, nails digging into them. He moans as your mouth gets more and more wet. He wants to buck hips but you keep him from doing so. Spit and pre-cum dribble out the side of your mouth. Your eyes water as you fuck yourself on his cock. He has to pull on your head to get you to stop before he blows his load.

“You could have cum on my face,” and Nate almost cums right then and there.

“As good as that sounds, I really want to fuck you.”

You let out a short laugh as you crawl up his body to kiss him. His hands come up to caress your body when he realizes that you’re still wearing your dress. He wants to rip it off you but it probably costs more than his rent so he asks you to take it off.

The second the straps fall from your shoulder, he’s reaching up to bite at the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“No marks,” you say while pulling on the short hair at the back of his neck.

“It looks like your cat clawed my hips,” he says as he helps pull the dress off your body.

You let out an annoyed huff, “That’s different.”

When the dress is off he flips you over, kissing the valley between your breasts. He reaches around you to unclasp your bra, unhooking it with practised ease.

“Got a lot of experience there, Nathaniel?” you tease.

He just smirks and slips his hand in between your legs, under the waistband of your thong. He finger dips between your folds and he lets out a groan when he feels how wet you are.

“All this just from blowing me?” he groans huskily in your ear, “I wonder what would happen if you sat on my face.”

You whine, “Fuck, next time, I just want you to fuck me.”

He pumps his finger in and out a few times before he lines himself with your entrance and pushes in slowly. You tap on his ass to tell him to move and he wastes no time, fucking you hard and heavy. Each thrust pushes a moan out of you.

“Nate,” you moan as he reaches up and grips the headboard for leverage. He can feel you clenching around him. He reaches down to rub circles into your clit which makes you wrap your legs around his body.

Another moan leaves your body, “Nate, Nate, Nate don’t stop.”

“Cum for me baby,” he groans in your ear. He can’t wrap his hand around your throat like he wants so he’ll settle for gripping your chin to kiss you furiously. He’s conflicted between wanting to hear your moans and wanting to keep kissing you.

Your hands claw at his neck and shoulders as you near your orgasm, dropping your head back to savour the pleasure.

“Come all over me, baby,” he grunts and that’s all you need before you come hard, jerking in his arms as your orgasm hits you. Nate can feel your juices coating his thighs and that’s what makes him lose it, fucking into as he cums. A shiver runs down your spins as you feel him spill himself into you.

It takes him a minute to catch his breath before he slips out of you and lays down beside you. You catch his chin in your hand and turn his head to so you can kiss him. He grips your hip and pulls you in by hiking your thigh over his body. The two of you make out lazily for a while before you untangle yourself from the tangle of limbs.

“Get comfy, I’ll be back in a while.”

He hears the tap running in the bathroom, but he’s asleep before you return.

~~~

He’s awoken by you ripping the covers off him.

“Get up,” you demand.

He’s still half asleep, “What? What’s going on?”

“You need to leave,” you insist as you throw his briefs and slacks at him, “my husband is early. He’s going to be in the lobby and then up the elevator and if you’re not gone in less than  2 minutes, it’s not going to end well.”

Nate scrambles to pull his pants over his thighs and doesn’t bother to do up his belt. He’s reaching for his shirt when you take his hand and lead him through the apartment - er, penthouse, whatever. You’re going so fast Nate nearly trips over the cat.

“Here,” she says opening a door at the end of the hall, “follow this hall and there’s a stairwell. When you go down two floors you can take the elevator down - or keep walking, I don't care.”

You throw the remaining clothes at him.

“Wait-” the door slams shut.