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amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Playing volleyball in Milan is everything Atsumu dreamed of and more - the lights are brighter, the crowds are bigger, there are no distractions, no nagging to ignore, no pending errands to run - nothing to detract from the rush of exhilaration when he executes yet another perfect set. His teammates introduce him to the joy of soaking in the sunset over aperitivo by the Navigli canals, and he develops a liking for cheese and cured meat - prosciutto, salami, bresola, sending pictures of the street markets to Osamu even though he receives no reply.

But it’s not long before the novelty of living alone in a foreign land fades. He’s never been particularly good with languages, so he’s unable to get across the language barrier preventing him from socialising outside of his teammates. So Atsumu finds himself falling back into habits he learnt at home - buying take-out pizza on Friday nights from the pizzeria down the street, ordering extra because the pizza in Milan is thinner, crisper and infinitely less filling. There are no aquariums in Milan, no museums with dinosaur bones, so he measures his steps on cobblestone streets to the park every Sunday to sit on a bench too large for him alone, watching the birds and clouds in the sky.

He tells himself to be content with watching his baby grow through the frame of an eleven inch screen, recording every one of her babbled words and chuckles onto his phone until it runs out of space and has to call Suna for technical support. He becomes a regular at the post office, mailing packages of dolls and nutcrackers, chocolates from his favourite sweetshop and handmade baby dresses from wizened oba-chan he learns to air kiss on both cheeks.

‘Home, Oto-san?’ Shino asks during one of their calls. His voice breaks when he has to tell his baby ‘sorry, darlin’, not yet’. It’s the only time he opens up the webpage to check if he can book a flight back home.

He starts rushing to the locker room right after matches end to avoid seeing his teammates’ faces light up when their families congratulate them with kisses and warm embraces after every match. When his teammates ask about his family (he drives away the thought that they’re asking out of pity), he whips out his phone to show them his favourite picture of Shino, her little face screwed up in confusion when they loaded her back with the giant mochi for her first birthday- ‘such a trooper, didn’t even cry when she fell down’ he tells them proudly. He’s quick to swipe past any photos of her.

He doesn't need the memories, he really doesn’t.

Well - he might not need the memories, but it’s not as if they disappear. He wakes up to find himself on the other side of bed. ‘Sorry, darlin’ he mumbles sleepily (because he knows he tends to invade her space, and she’s likely to kick him bodily off the bed if he doesn’t apologise quickly enough) - before snapping awake with a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead remembering he’s five thousand, nine hundred and sixty miles from home.

Not that he’s counting. He really isn’t.

He’s ashamed to admit that he heads to the club that night to pick up someone - anyone to warm his bed, but he’s not sure if it’s the burn of alcohol or the flashing lights (or that prick of something in his chest - it can’t be his conscience, he’s pretty sure only Osamu has that) because his stomach churns whenever pigs with their painted faces and false smiles approach him, and soon gives up, returning to his apartment cold and alone. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol because he pukes his guts out in the morning and swears off from ever going to a club again.

“MIYA !’

He only has time for a brief flash of shock between hearing his coach shout his name and feeling the impact of his teammate’s full weight against his shoulder that sends him sprawling across the floor. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sickening snap of bone ringing in his ears as he’s lying on the ground.

The sharp burst of pain stabbing his shoulder is enough for him to know what the doctors later confirm - a shattered collarbone. Complete rest for at least eight weeks is prescribed for a full recovery.

‘What were you thinking, Miya?’ his coach asks him exasperatedly when he’s discharged from the hospital.

‘I goofed’, he replies lamely. ‘Sorry, sir’.

It wouldn’t do to tell anyone that for a split second, he was distracted by the sight of a dark haired woman with bright eyes cheering at the top of the stands, a plump toddler balanced on her hip.

It’s close enough to the end of the competition season that his coach figures it’d be better for him to just cut his stay in Milan short and return to Japan early to recover properly. So he lands in the Osaka airport amidst a haze of rain, arm tucked in a sling. The airport staff are kind enough to help him wheel his bags out to the arrivals gate where he’s surprised to find Osamu waiting with a bored expression on his face.

‘I thought ya weren’t talkin’ to me’, Atsumu says.

Osamu snorts, taking hold of his bags. ‘Mum made me come and get ya, since you're useless with that busted collarbone of yours.’ Then he turns on his heel and matter of factly adds as he walks off - ‘Besides, you’ll end up stayin’ with me anyway - it’s not like you have a home of yer own.’

Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but shuts it with a snap.

‘You better hide in the kitchen if ya don’t have the guts to show yer ugly mug around her’, Osamu tells him at half past six in the evening, not even looking up from the tuna and spring onion onigiri he’s forming in his hands.

But Atsumu doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because he can’t bring himself to leave Shino’s side for a second more than he has to, not when he’s still drinking in the sight of her grown so, so big in the span of just a few months. The little girl had been confused at first, when both he and Osamu turned up at the childcare centre to pick her up, but after several minutes of coaxing her to recognise which one of them was Oto-san and Oji-san (the hair colour probably helped) and the bribe of a very elaborate doll (probably the main reason), she’d warmed up to him and refused to let go of his hand.

She pushes open the door to Onigiri Miya with a gentle smile on her face when Shino shrieks ‘Mama!’ at the top of her little lungs and rushes over to her, though it vanishes the instant she notices that it’s not Osamu playing with the little girl. He tries his best to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest when she takes an instinctive step back to yank Shino behind her legs.

‘You’re back’, she finally says, glancing at his arm resting in its sling.

‘Yeah…’ he responds, starting to sweat like he’s standing under the hottest stadium lights. ‘Ya look good’.

‘I know when you’re lying, Atsumu’, she sighs - and if he's being honest, she’s right. To the untrained eye, she looks perfectly put together, dressed in a pencil skirt and heels with her hair neatly tied back, but he knows her too well to be fooled. He can spot the pallor of her skin beneath her makeup, the droop of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her lips. But before he can formulate a response, she grabs Shino’s hand and turns to go, the little girl waving goodbye at him until they’re out of sight.

‘Wow. That was awkward.’ Osamu quips from over the counter. Atsumu can’t even find it in him to respond.

Osamu makes him work at his store in between his sessions of physiotherapy. ‘To keep ya out of trouble’ he says, and Atsumu doesn’t really mind, it still leaves him plenty of time to pick up Shino from childcare every day, and it certainly gives him the excuse to hang around Onigiri Miya when she stops by in the evenings.

He tries to make conversation with her - ‘That’s a new dress you’re wearing’, but is always rebuffed - ‘I bought this old thing years ago’, to Osamu’s endless amusement. She’d always enter the store with a fond smile on her face for Osamu (it makes him want to puke), and would immediately drop it the moment she meets his eyes.

He tells himself it’s normal, she used to be cold and standoffish to him before they started dating, that she’d come around after a while. But even when he tries a different tack (perhaps compliments don’t work on her like they used to before), asking her ‘how’s yer day’, she shoots him a look of distrust that cuts right through his smile - ‘Just tell me what you want, Atsumu. You’ve never bothered asking me that before’.

Osamu actually roars with laughter at that. Traitor.

‘Need help with that?’ Osamu comments after watching Atsumu struggle to reach the exercise tape on his back with his one good hand, stepping in after Atsumu gives a reluctant nod. But he immediately yelps in pain when Osamu decides to abandon all pretense of being gentle and yanks on the exercise tape viciously.

‘Just take off my skin while you're at it, why don't ya’ Atsumu whines. ‘It never used to hurt that much when she would help me after physiotherapy’.

‘She’s always been nicer to ya than ya deserve, fuckin’ scrub’. Osamu retorts, pulling at the remaining tape with increased vigour.

Atsumu bites his tongue through the pain, picking apart his brother’s words before replying - ‘Hey ‘Samu. She’s still really mad with me, isn’t she? D'you think she’ll ever forgive me?’

‘Have ya tried apologising to her, for starters?’

‘What?’ Atsumu asks, bewildered, before yelping - 'Wait - ouch!! What the hell that bloody hurt!?!?!'

‘You know - saying sorry? Owning up to your mistakes? Asking for forgiveness? You abandoned your wife and child for months - but I suppose that concept must be alien to you, shit stain.’

Osamu doesn’t give him a chance to respond, shaking his head as he walks away.

His pride is an ugly, misshapen lump in his throat that's so inflamed it's almost impossible to be swallowed, but he does so anyway, asking her if they can speak for a short while in the alley behind the shop, away from Osamu’s eavesdropping ears. She furrows her brows at his request, but follows him out without complaint.

It’s only when she’s standing before him in the dimly lit alleyway, the dying light of the setting sun reflecting a halo above her head that it hits him like a blow to the back of his head that he’s a fuckin’ idiot - how did he manage to convince himself to blame her for trying to get in his way of chasing his dreams. This is what he missed when he was living alone in his cold studio apartment in Milan - being able to return after trainings and matches to a cosy flat overflowing with her cheeky banter and his baby’s laughter.

Gods, he wants his family. He wants to come home.

But before he can pour out the apology he’d been preparing with Osamu’s help, she interrupts him by slapping a brown envelope into his chest.

‘Look, I’m not sure what you have to say to me, but frankly, I’m not sure we have much to say to each other anymore,’ she tells him impatiently, as he opens the envelope, a tidal surge of dread overwhelming him.

‘What's this’, he says blankly, even though the title on the very first page of the stack of papers trembling in his hands sets it out clearly - Rikon-Todoke. i.e. Divorce papers.

It spells out in clinical, cold words the terms of the proposed separation - dissolution of marriage by mutual consent, no request for alimony or compensation, legal custody to be granted to her with ample visitation rights for him. He would think it fair, if it were to apply to anyone but him.

‘But why?’ he rasps, chest burning from the knife that pierces him right through his heart.

She shifts forward, and the neon lights from the buildings surrounding them melding together to throw her face into sharp focus, her mouth curving upwards into something much harsher than a smile. It’s as if his departure acted as a whetstone, sharpening her edges, shaping her into a woman with hard eyes he can’t recognise.

‘You and both know it’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it Atsumu? You’ve made it quite clear that this marriage isn’t what you want out of life. In any case neither of us have really been happy even before you left, so we might as well be free from each other.’

At this, he shakes his head, parting his lips to object but she continues ruthlessly, her words slicing past his tissue thin excuses.

‘If anything, my time with you has taught me that it's impossible to stop the storm from destroying everything in its path. You can only try your best to outrun it, and this' - ’ she stabs a finger at the stack of papers shaking in his hands - ‘this is my attempt at outrunning you.’

It feels as if his world has somehow shifted, tilted upside down, turned inside out, his assumption that her taking him back would be an inevitable conclusion now disproven by the papers burning in his hands. He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but he never thought that his choice to chase what he thought were his dreams would leave him without the ground beneath his feet.

‘You don’t need to do anything else - just sign it and give it back to me soon. I think it’s better for all of us - you, me and Shino, if we divorce formally and lead our own separate lives’, he hears her say, turning to go.

Acting on instinct, his hand shoots out to grab her wrist and she flinches, the steel in her eyes crumbling to leave only frozen terror behind.

I could never hurt you, he wants to say, but doesn't - because he knows it's a lie.

Numbly, he releases his grip, letting his hand drop to his side.

He hears the door close behind him.

Osamu finds him hours later, crouched on the back steps to the shop, papers clenched in his hands. He takes the papers from him and mouths to himself while scanning through it, but there is no spark of surprise in his eyes.

‘Did ya know she planned on divorcing me, ‘Samu?’, Atsumu asks, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘I had a pretty good guess it was coming’, Osamu replies heavily.

‘Fuck’, Atsumu groans, dropping his head between his legs.

Osamu prods his side with the tip of his shoe. ‘It’s not that I want to kick a guy when he’s down, but she's your wife, not a toy you can toss aside and come back to after a few months, shit for brains. And if I’m being honest, it looks like you’re acting like a brat who only wants his toy back when someone else picks it up’.

Osamu’s response lights a fire in his chest, and he whirls to his feet, grabbing his twin by the front of his apron growling - ‘Whose side are ya on anyway?!’

Osamu looks at him calmly, uncharacteristically refusing to take his bait. ‘Well, it's not as if ya don't deserve it. You walked out on her and Shino for almost a year, Atsumu. I’ve been the one cleaning up yer mess like I’ve been doing my whole life - I’ve been the one picking Shino up from childcare, I had to accompany yer wife to the hospital when yer kid was down with a high fever - d'you still have to ask whose side I’m on?’

‘D'you love her, ‘Samu?’ Atsumu asks after a pause.

The twins stare at each other.

‘I love her like a sister, you asshole. And I hate that it’s my own brother causing her pain.’ Osamu eventually says, pushing him away.

The door slams behind him again.

The dark clouds above him rumble ominously. It starts to pour.

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

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Apple Of My Pie (7) — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story

Chapter 7.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 7.1k words

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers, Fluff, slightest angst, smut

Rating: 18+ (NSFW content)

A/N: Hello my sweet poppies! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Jin and Buttercup finally reunite, and although the real world tries to interrupt their small idyll, Seokjin has the strength to finally impose his needs and confess his feelings. The evening proceeds in the best of ways.

As I mentioned before, this episode made me write things I didn’t know I had in me. Also, this will be the final episode for their storyline, however you will see more of Jin and Buttercup on future stories, mostly in small apparitions here and there. I might come back to this story someday, maybe with some drabbles or some small headcanons, however, I think that now it’s time to let Jin and Buttercup live their special moments with in their own privacy and make up for lost time.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: this is filthy. There’s swearing and light alcohol consumption (wine at dinner, both are pretty sober afterwards). Now, about the filth. Degradation kink, breast worship (involves kissing, licking, biting, grabbing), breast slapping, nipple pinching, one (1) spank, foodplay involving ice cream (so mild temperature play), dom!Seokjin, slightly bratty!reader, grinding, masturbation (both male and female receiving), brief mention of oral (male receiving), cumplay, cumeating, creampie, unprotected sex (please don’t do like them. The right way to go about this would be to use condoms and/or dental dams until you and your partner get the results of the test and are 110% sure you’re clean. If you have any questions, please head to Planned Parenthood’s website, they have wonderful webpages about safe, sane and consensual sex, plus anything you need to keep your sexual health in check. If you can’t check their website, please feel welcome to reach out to me through DMs, I’ll try to help 🥰💜). Also reader is kind of excited about Seokjin being circumcised? And these two have a latent impregnation kink that will show up someday. There are slightly angst discussion about past partners and feelings, but nothing extreme.

Remember to vote for next prompt (check the link in my bio) and in case you need it, here’s my masterlist 💜

In case you need it, here is the music companion

Enjoy ✨💜

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

Seokjin woke up with the ringing of a phone.

He appreciated the warmth and weight next to him, half on top of him.

He looked at you. He allowed himself to do that only for a couple seconds.

Your phone was ringing, and he needed to pick it up before it woke you.

Your face had been so scared and tired when he first saw it at the front door.

He stood and picked up the call just in time.

“Oh, thank God, Buttercup where are you?” Jeongguk’s voice came from the phone.

“It’s Seokjin. She’s with me, at the apartment. She’s sleeping.” He replied, his voice gravelly after being under the cold rain and sleeping for almost two hours.

“She’s with you?”

“Yes, she’s here. She’s sleeping.” Seokjin repeated.

“Kim Seokjin. I am going to kill you!” Yoongi said, stealing the phone from Jeongguk. “We were all looking for her. Poor Jeongguk was in a panic. Are you stupid? Outright dumb? What is it, both your two miserable neurons decided to throw a strike today? Did they accidentally crash and perish? Did they finally decide to end their suffering?”

“Yoongi. Stop,” said Spice from a distance. “She’s safe, stop acting like an overprotective parent.”

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Yoongi asked.

“No. I found her here, taking her stuff away.” Seokjin said, his body tensing at the thought. “Is she leaving? What is going on?”

“She’s going to the cottage with Namjoon. They’re leaving on Monday.”

Seokjin rolled his shoulders before exhaling. “How has she been in the last few weeks?”

“A mess. Sad, miserable. And it’s your fault.” Yoongi spoke with vitriolic hostility in his voice.

“I’m gonna fix it, Yoongi. I promise.” Seokjin said, his voice extremely emotional as he looked at you. Your eyes were open and you had the tiniest smile on.

“Are you gonna talk to her? Actually confess? Tell her you love her and be done with all the insecure, selfish bullshit?”

“I’m gonna talk to her.” Seokjin replied, still looking at you. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff to come clear with. And I’ll tell her I’m in love with her. And that she’s not going to Namjoon’s. She’s staying with me.” He winked. “She needs to eat and regain some strength before she goes to the woods, if she still wants to go. I’ll tell her ‘Buttercup, I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for four years.’” His voice broke. “‘I don’t want to spend one more day without you’, that’s what I’ll tell her.”

You were still incredulous, completely still under the blanket.

“And then I’ll ask her to be my girlfriend, and if she turns me down, then it’s alright. I’ll take it like a gentleman. I’ll let her be. But if there’s even a tiny, minuscule part of her that wants to say yes, then I won’t let her go until she agrees to become my girlfriend.” Seokjin explained, with determination filling his voice.

Yoongi got emotional. “Go tell her before you change your mind.”

“She’s right in front of me. She heard every single word.”

“Then I guess you have more important stuff than stay on the phone with me.”

Seokjin chuckled. “Hopefully kiss my new girlfriend, if she lets me.”

You didn’t even understand what was going on before you nodded energetically.

“She said yes. I gotta go.” Jin’s mouth shaped into a large, proud grin.

“Sure. Stay safe. I’m too young to become an uncle.” Yoongi teased with a snicker.

“Goodnight uncle.” Seokjin replied before closing the call.

Your stares stayed locked together as he placed down the phone.

His expression turned serious but kind. “You’re awake.”

You blinked and licked your lips. “I am.” You took a pause, inhaling. “And I want to kiss you.”

He mirrored your action, his tongue slipping out, wetting the seam of his mouth, directing your glance there. “I want to clear things up, before that.”

You closed your eyes, trying not to lose your patience. “What is there to clear up?”

“I just wanted to explain stuff. About Grace and all of the rest...”

From the insecure, agitated look in his eyes, you realised he was scared. You patted the sofa, inviting him to sit beside you. He followed your lead. “I’m listening.” You reassured him, placing your hand on top of his knee.

“When I started dating Grace, I was convinced I could never stand a chance with you. And though Yoongi insisted on the fact that you had feelings for me, I was too shy and too scared to risk it. And after living with you and being so… united. So domestic… I couldn’t handle my feelings anymore.”

You rubbed his arm comfortingly, sitting up, trying to reassure him, to heal him from all those months of insecurities and silence and denial.

“I tried to suppress them. And Grace looked so kind, so respectful. And she’s a beautiful young woman. I could see myself falling for her.”

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder. You still had to realise that such a gesture had a deeper, somehow different meaning, that from then on you were allowed to do that and more.

“But the closer I got to her — and the farther I got from you — the more it all felt wrong. And I don’t even know why I did what I did that Saturday — well Sunday, you know what I mean anyway. I think some part of me was angry because of Edmund or something, or because I thought that I could stop thinking about you if I found someone else to think about and that makes me an absolute idiot—”

You interrupted him. “Don’t hide from me. Ever.” You cupped his face and made him look at you. “You were hurt. And I took similar decisions. What I did with Edmund was somehow similar to what you did with Grace. It’s just that you two had feelings for each other while—” The idea of him being in love with someone else squeezed your lungs until you felt empty.

“I’ve never felt someone as deeply as I feel you, though. I’ve never felt so many things for anyone else beside you.” He said, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at your lips.

“I love you.” You murmured. There were no other words you could use. “I’m in love with you and I’m not angry that you tried to forget and move on. It doesn’t matter that we fucked or made love to other people. I don’t care that you didn’t tell me. The only thing that matters is that you’re here now and I love you so much.”

He repositioned himself so he could look at you without getting a crick in his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, soft and delicate, worried even.

“Because I couldn’t think about losing you. Because I didn’t even realise I was in love before you started spending time with Grace. Well, I knew I was attracted to you and that I considered you my friend, but I had never really allowed myself to consider I could have more. I was happy with what we had, and I never realised I could lose it, or that someone else could have it instead of me.”

He touched your hair.

“I was okay with what we had. Asking for more felt selfish. Like I was being greedy.” You lowered your eyes, his gaze too intense for you to resist.

“I want you to be greedy, Buttercup.” He whispered, his hand cupping your jaw. “I want you to take all of me and not leave a crumb for anyone else.” His body felt closer, hotter. “I love you, Buttercup. And not in the friendly way. I love you in a very passionate, very hungry way.” His thumb traced your lower lip as he gazed at it heatedly. “Do you love me too?”

You nodded recklessly, almost snapping your neck. “I love you. In a very unfriendly, very sexy way.”

He smiled. “Good.”

His mouth lowered gently, reaching yours, his whole body inching forward until your eyes lost focus and closed. It was a good kiss. Not perfect but good.

Jin’s lips felt soft against your mouth, maybe a bit too delicate, still, definitely pleasing. With just a pinch of mischief, you pulled at his lower lip lightly, biting it delicately.

The growl he emitted had you smiling before you repeated your teasing move, drawing him in. He exhaled and opened his mouth, sucking your upper lip past his teeth.

That felt better than good, leaning to perfect.

What actually made it perfect was his body completely caving in as he manoeuvred himself on top of you, holding himself up with one hand as his hand explored your body deliciously, caressing your hair, your shoulder before reaching your waist.

Helpless and desperate, you pressed the tip of your tongue against his lower lip, pushing it into his mouth.

His hips pressed sinfully against your thigh as he groaned and tangled his tongue with yours.

You moaned and he whimpered in return, a growl vibrating deep in his throat.

His hand moved under your shirt, stopping abruptly.

Dammit.

Your stomach rumbled noisily, making Seokjin part from you. “You’re really hungry.”

You blushed and looked away. “Yeah.”

He hid his face into your neck, snickering. His breath tickled you. “You feel so good right here.” He said, snuggling closer. “But I have to feed you first.” His fingers dug into your sides. “You’re thin.”

Your nails raked against his back. “I had a bit of a hard time in the last few days.” You mentioned casually.

“Can’t have you like this.” He parted from your body, studying your face attentively. “Let’s get you fed.” He whispered, pecking your lips and standing up, heading to the kitchen.

“You’re kidding, right?” You stood up on wobbly legs and followed him.

He looked back at you. “Not at all.” Jin theatrically opened the fridge and lifted an eyebrow. “Chicken wraps. Salad. An abundant dose of ice cream. I need you sugared up.”

You looked at him with a pout.

“It’s the quickest meal I can arrange, Buttercup. We can have dinner in forty and then cuddle and make out. Dinner is non-negotiable.” He said, getting the chicken strips and the large tortillas, together with cherry tomatoes and cheese.

“Can’t we just… postpone dinner?” You said, too caught up in your grovelling to bring up memories of him and Grace in the kitchen.

“Why would we need to postpone dinner?” He asked, slipping some butter into a pan, together with some garlic, moving the chicken strips onto the pan and roasting them quickly with a random — and a very delicious-smelling — mix of spices.

You dragged your foot against the floor, trying to look demure. “You know why...”

He snickered devilishly. “We’ve waited for four years. One more hour won’t hurt you. Cut the cherry tomatoes, please.”

“Especially because we waited for years we should be forgoing dinner.”

He laughed. “I won’t have you fainting on me. Dinner, then whatever you want, Buttercup. Cut those tomatoes, you’re postponing the fun.” He said, adding a spoonful of chicken broth to keep the meat in the pan soft and tasty.

“Now I remember how insufferable you truly are.” You said, starting with the cutting.

He smirked. “You’re stuck with me from now on, doll.”

“I’m revoking the love declaration.” You muttered.

“Are you revoking your undying lust for me too?” He asked, turning towards you with a lopsided, cocky grin.

You just looked at him with the most insulting look you could muster before returning to the tomatoes.

“Such a good girl. Still cutting those tomatoes to get her reward.” He joked.

Once, this kind of nagging was absent minded, innocent and playful. Now it was outright sexual. Especially since the praise had a shiver running down your spine.

“Don’t tease if you’re gonna make me wait.” You groaned.

He bent and kissed your cheek. “I’m doing it for your good, Buttercup.” He moved to your earlobe. “You’ll thank me later, doll.” He nibbled on the soft skin. “I promise it will feel so good, Buttercup.”

You stretched your neck to the side, offering him the expanse of taut, corded throat.

He grazed it with his teeth, drawing the purple-greenish line of your jugular.

“I bet you taste so damn good,” he murmured, sucking at the base of your throat.

“Jinnie.” You called delicately.

He parted from you abruptly. “Dinner. First, dinner.” He reminded himself. “Dammit, you’re such a tease.” He complained, picking up another larger pan to heat up the tortillas. He also added a light sprinkle of flour to the chicken, to give a creamier texture to the sauce made by the broth and the butter. Once the first tortilla was warm, he placed the chicken on top, mingling it with the tomato pieces and the cheese while you prepared the salad.

Dinner was ready in twenty minutes, the wonderful smell of spices filling your nostrils and making your mouth water as you sat and stared at your tortilla, waiting for Jin to sit down himself. He also added an interesting bottle of white wine to the mix, matching the chicken.

“Enjoy.” He exclaimed before digging in himself.

Your whole mouth was feasting at the taste of the food.

It could feast for something better, your hormones reminded you, but you let that slip.

Dinner was uneventful, the both of you too busy and hungry and tense to start a conversation.

While you were thinking about how to tell Jin you wanted him to ram you into the mattress and slap your tits, he thought whether it was okay for him to want sex already. Okay, technically you had been friends for years, but maybe you wanted to wait, go on actual dates, be a couple, in an official relationship before letting him make love to you.

It was pretty clear that any kind of conversation between such two people would evidently elucidate any semblance of doubt, but it would also be a minefield of misunderstandings and potentially very embarrassing bushes to beat around.

So you both stayed silent, completely oblivious to the lessons you had learned roughly an hour ago.

By the time he stood and prepared a small bowl of plain milk gelato, topped with his special wild berries sauce, doubt had nagged at him enough that he was ready to speak.

He placed the bowl on the table. A lovely royal blue bowl. It was his favourite. Maybe because it was his mother’s favourite. He sat down and patted his hands against his thighs. “Come here.” He murmured.

You obliged, settling on his lap contentedly. He took a spoonful of dessert, making sure that he got some sauce in it before offering it to your awaiting mouth. “Eat up, doll.”

You opened your mouth and enjoyed the refreshing feel of the gelato against your palate.

“I need you to listen to me, Buttercup.” He started. “I know we confessed our feelings and that we’ve been attracted to each other for a very long time.”

You nodded, watching as he offered another spoonful as soon as you opened your mouth.

“I just want you to know that I’m dying to make love to you tonight, but we don’t have to. It’s okay if you want to… I don’t know, get physically intimate a bit at a time, or if you want it to be something special, or—”

You interrupted him. “I want to make love to you too, tonight.”

Your eyes followed him as he licked his lips. “Shall we bring this to the bedroom then?”

Nodding you stood up, going for the living room and grabbing the comforter, walking down the corridor and looking at him from over your shoulder. “What are you waiting for?” You asked before disappearing into his room.

He shook his head in disbelief before grabbing more wild berries sauce. Maybe, hopefully…

He took the bowl of ice cream and a spoon, taking his time before entering his room.

You were already laying on his bed, head to toe a vision.

You had already removed your yoga pants and you were laying there in an oversized t-shirt.

“Tell me how you want me to treat you, Buttercup.” He asked, studying you as he took a mouthful of gelato to his mouth.

“Undress first. Then come here. Feed me that delicious dessert and then feed me your cock.” You said, completely unashamed as his burning gaze explored your naked skin.

“I won’t feed you my cock, sorry doll.” He said, placing the bowl on the nightstand together with the sauce. “I’ll need to suck on your pretty tits first.” He took off his sweater in a flash, your eyes reacquainting with his naked chest, bathing in the glorious width of it. It was really breathtaking, with its plains and slopes and dips.

“You’re gorgeous.” You murmured, looking at him while your hand went to your breast, palming it and teasing the peak while he took off his sweatpants. Watching the delicious shape of him from over his boxers had you moaning just slightly, whimpering weakly before your hand slid under your shirt to grab at your flushed, overheated chest.

Seokjin caught your wrist vigorously, pulling it out. “Those are mine to touch, doll.” He reprimanded you. “All mine.” He repeated, straddling your waist, pinning your hands up.

You looked at him with a wicked smile. This, this, was your best friend, the man you had loved for years. And here he was, pinning your wrists, ready to mark your breasts, to own them.

“Keep ‘em there.” He ordered, letting go of your wrists before stretching his fingers to completely hold your breasts, kneading them lightly to test the texture.

“Fuck, they're so soft.” His eyes closed as he felt them up appreciatively. “I can't wait to suck these.” He said, and his unashamed comment opened another new world to you. His thumbs found your nipples, rolling them under the plush pads of his fingers. “You like this?” He asked, looking in your eyes.

You nodded, stretching toward the bedside table and switching on the small lamp there. “Wanna see you.” You explained, looking at him, waiting for a reaction.

“Are you sure? You okay with me watching?” He asked, just as your eyes closed and your back arched, your breasts pushing against his palms, your throat emitting the shyest moan.

“Oh, you like this a lot, don't you, Buttercup?” He snickered, bending down to kiss your neck. “Let me hear how good it feels, honey,” He murmured, sucking at your skin gently.

“Please, I want my shirt off, Jin.” That's all you managed to say, squeezing your thighs together once you realised he wasn't giving you anything to grind against.

“You want me to touch your naked skin?” He asked, making you grow even more desperate.

“Please. Jin…”

He looked at your face. It was absolutely adorable as it scrunched up in disappointment, a lovely pout making your lips rounder, softer, plumper. He kissed them briefly. “Sit up, lovely. Let's take this shirt off.” He murmured with a deep baritone timbre.

The shirt was gone in a second, his mouth latching on a nipple before you could even take off the shirt completely.

His hips ground against your belly, his erection pressing hard against your navel while you laid back down, his front arching away from you as his mouth stayed attached to your chest.

“Please, gimme…” You tried to speak, needing something to ease the pressure between your thighs, where your throbbing clitoris felt unforgivably neglected.

“What?” He asked, parting from your breast and looking so blissful and confused, like he didn't even know what was going on, like your breasts had given him a total reset and all he could remember, all he could ever want and do was to stay there and suck, completely oblivious to anything but the object of his lust.

“Need you down there,” was all you managed to say, still too high from the promises of pleasure.

He grinned *hazily. “Down where?” He asked, teasing and unforgiving.

You exhaled and whimpered. “I need you between my legs.”

“Between your legs where, Buttercup? Don't be shy.”

At that you snapped. “If you intend to keep sucking my nipples could you please kindly press your thigh against my clit? I need to grind on something and you're being too fucking uncooperative.”

He laughed almost hysterically. “Of course, Buttercup. See, was it so hard to ask?” He commented, almost too patronising.

“You're making me want to shut your mouth.” You replied, pushing your hips up and finally meeting his hard thigh, giving a low moan.

“Too bad that would keep me from doing this.” He said, sitting up slightly, grabbing the spoon from the bowl and pressing the cold metal to your areola, spreading a thick layer of ice cream there while your hot skin made it melt and dribble down.

“Fucking hell.” You said, watching as his tongue slid out and collected the rivulet of cream that was dangerously rolling down towards the sheets, almost staining them.

His eyes found yours and he grinned. “Feels good?”

You nodded. “Do that again, please.”

He obliged, this time reaching the peak and sucking it, his mouth opening wide as he tried to suck away as much dessert as possible.

Your left hand went to his head, holding him against your breast while your right one went to his ass, pressing it down so that your pelvis and his met, grinding against each other deliciously, his mouth leaving the sucking motion to release a heavy exhale.

“You have the most beautiful tits I've ever seen and touched, Buttercup. They feel so soft and warm and good.” He murmured, so aroused it almost felt painful. “I love them so much.” He confessed, pressing them together and dipping his face in between, moving it side to side. “I love you so damn much, ____.”

He gave a few thrusts with his hips, before pressing his cock harshly between your bodies, your skin feeling so sensitive that you thought you could feel it throb against you.

“I want you inside.” You whispered, grinding into him in response. “Tell me you used a condom the other time.”

He nodded. “I always have.”

You nodded in reply. “You sure you’re clean?”

“I got tested before Grace. And she’s clean.” He said, slowing down at the mention of his ex.

You nodded. “I got checked after Edmund, for peace of mind. All safe.”

“Thank fuck.” He commented, biting the underside of your boob. “I can’t wait to feel you raw on me. If you’re okay with that.”

You confirmed, bobbing your head so energetically you thought it would detach from your neck. “Want to feel you cum inside.” You murmured while he bit his lip and got more ice cream, covering your other breast, the cold of the food and the spoon making you keen and purr. “Is this what you were doing while she made those sounds?”

He tutted and shook his head. “I’ve always wanted this with you. It would never please me as much with anyone else.”

You rolled your eyes. “Liar.”

He arched an eyebrow and stopped his licking and sucking motions, sinking his teeth into your flesh, eliciting a gasp from you, leaving his position only once he was sure he had left a mark. “What did you say?”

“That you’re a liar. That you like this more with me than with anyone else,” you replied, cocky and bratty.

Without thinking twice, he slapped your left breast violently, not even trying to be delicate.

You squealed, your whole body flinching before your fingers gripped the sheets tightly.

“You think I would do this with just anyone?” He asked, almost angry, the hard bite in his voice scaring you just a little.

He eyed the other breast meaningfully, placing his hand there but not slapping the full curve until you shook your head yes, giving him permission.

The second blow had you losing your mind completely, your cunt so sensitive that you felt a heavy gush of arousal drip out of your entrance. “No, Jin.”

“Grip the headboard and stay still.” He said, sitting up and tugging your panties down, the fabric almost ripping at the aggressive movements. “Maybe you don’t get how much you turn me on, Buttercup.” He grinned, looking at you finally naked in front of him. “Do you know how many times I saw those perky nipples under my shirts? How many times I thought about covering them in any food imaginable?”

You shook your head. “Maybe I wanted you to lay me on top of the kitchen table and shove your cock in my cunt and bruise my tits all over.” You replied, batting your lashes innocently. “Maybe call me your dirty little slut. Throw in a couple spanks.”

He stopped everything he was doing, entirely frozen.

“Is that how you like it?” He asked, completely focused on your reply.

You licked your lips. “With you I might like that, yes.”

“You want to be my dirty little slut?” He asked, staring into your eyes, quoting your words exactly.

You inhaled and nodded.

“You want me to degrade you?” He asked again, settling between your legs and rubbing your thighs.

Again, you shook your head yes.

“What if I called you my cockstarved whore?” He said, slightly hesitant.

You smiled and closed your eyes. “Why don’t you do that while squeezing my cheeks with one hand and slapping my tits with the other?”

He snickered. “You really are a filthy animal, uh?” He slapped your breast and bent down to your face. “You want me to use you like a fuckdoll, mh?”

“Yes, please.”

“I need to stretch you first, though, love.” He said, softening for a second. “Now, out of our little game here, I don’t want to hurt you like that, yes?”

Your mind sobered up for a minute as you listened to him.

“Listen to me now, Buttercup. We need a safeword, love.” He said, touching your face. “You okay with colours? Green is good, yellow is slow down, red is stop.”

“I’m good with that.” You replied, trying to reach his face with yours. “Can you kiss me, please?”

His expression turned longing and fond before he took his time, making love to your mouth with his, his kiss so deep and demanding and passionate until he felt how wet you were against his thigh.

“You’re drenched, doll.” He said, smirking at you. “I want to feel your pretty hand around my cock, Buttercup. Stroke me while I stretch you, love.”

You nodded, your hands leaving the headboard lightning fast sliding into his underwear with speed you doubted you could muster in any other circumstances.

“Fuck, you’re thick.” You said once your fingers wrapped around him.

“That’s what the stretching is for, Buttercup.” He grinned as he looked down at you. His fingers slipped into your slit effortlessly, your inner muscles gripping him immediately.

“And you’re tight. So damn tight.” He replied, bending down to lick at your chest, suctioning your areola into his mouth, shaking his head, making your whole breast bounce in a movement that was too mild to cause pleasure, weren’t it for the incredible amount of arousal circling in your bloodstream.

“Please, Jin. Inside. I’m begging. Please.” You pleaded, stroking him, feeling how long and thick and hot he was, filled with ridges and veins. And he was circumcised. None of your previous partners were.

You explored the differences with your fingers, the lack of skin there so interesting and unusual.

“You like that?” He asked, gritting his teeth as he felt his cock flutter, a drop of precum leaving his slit.

You nodded as you caught his arousal, spreading over the soft, spongy tip, completely undisturbed by foreskin. “I want to see it.” You said before a long moan left your lips, his fingers hitting a sensitive spot inside you, rubbing it with slow movements of his index and middle finger, hooking them and pressing intensely against the smoothest patch of skin. “Oh, god.” You murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as he added his thumb on your clit.

“Cum on my fingers, Buttercup.” He growled. “Then I’ll let you see my cock. You need to cum first, though. Cum for me.”

While your hand stroked him lightly, absentmindedly, the rest of your body focused exclusively on the feel of his digits inside you. ‘I’m close’ was all you managed to say before your hips started following your high, your body becoming completely unresponsive to any semblance of control your mind tried to impose.

“Cum, love.” He said, and your whole being responded, your hand stilling, your breathing stopping, your eyes opening wide before closing again while ecstasy possessed you.

“Yes, love. That’s it. My filthy thing. Show me how you do it.” He spurred you on, watching your body contort in pleasure.

“Jin.” You whined, the first sound you managed to emit since you came apart for him.

“Yes.” He said, removing his thumb from your clit and adding another finger inside you, stretching you wide before you called a yellow.

He extracted his fingers and laid them flat against your mound. “I think I promised you my cock, uh?”

Grinning wildly, you agreed, trying to tug his boxers off. “I want it. I earned it. Give it to me.”

He snickered, cleaning his hand against your breast before collecting your taste and what was left of the gelato with the flat of his tongue. “How demanding.”

“I’ve waited four years. Can’t you just do me already?”

“We could have waited way, way less.” He said, taking the bowl with only a spoonful of molten ice cream, tipping it teasingly over your torso, drawing a line that went from your belly button to your mouth, which you opened wide, letting the liquid dribble in.

Seokjin stared in wonder, imagining something else spilling into your mouth. Once there was nothing left, he placed the bowl back on the bedside table, bending down and licking up the line of cream he had drawn, slowing down to make sure he didn’t leave too much of a mess.

By the time he reached your neck and chin, he was ready to explode with want, his whole body needing to claim, own, possess.

“Is my little slut ready?” He asked, lingering over your face. “Or does she need to learn some more patience?”

You shook your head, licking his lips. “Please.” You begged, your nails raking down his back.

“That’s a good slut. You’re begging for my cock?”

You nodded.

“And you’re so dumb for it you even lost your words?”

You nodded again, grinning.

“She’s the smartest little bean and still gets silly for my cock.” He smiled fondly, almost insultingly. “That’s my pretty fuckdoll.”

He laid down beside you, finally freeing his cock as he arched his hips off the bed and removed his underwear.

Your eyes focused on his dick immediately, the shaft so beautiful, covered in veins just like you had imagined when you had felt it underneath your fingertips.

“Dammit. It’s...” You bent over him, getting your hands on him, bringing your face closer to his crotch, wanting to learn every single detail by heart. “Jin.”

“What.” He replied before throwing his head back, his fingers going to the pillow and gripping it, his hand leaving the fabric to press his palm to his mouth.

You had teasingly taken his tip into your mouth, his skin feeling so smooth and hot, salty, your cheeks and tongue eager to squeeze him tentatively, feeling just how spongy his flesh felt.

He moaned sinfully. “You’re really hungry, aren’t you, my naughty slut.” His hand reached the crown of your head, caressing your head before pulling you off. “I wanna cum in your dripping cunt, Buttercup. Come up here.”

“What if I wanna blow you?” You teased, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe I’ll let you do that for round four or something, come up here, let me fill that tight warm cunt.”

Closing your eyes, smiling slowly, you straddled his hips. “You’d better keep your mouth on my boobs in the process.”

He giggled. “Wouldn’t have it any different. Come here.” He opened his arms and you propped yourself on your elbows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You cupped his cheek and waited for him to kiss you.

He obliged. “Feels so good to taste me on your tongue.” He murmured, stroking your back.

“I haven’t even properly taken you in my mouth.” You quipped, slightly petty.

He smiled and grabbed his cock, placing the tip against your entrance. “I’ll make up for it.” He kissed your cheek. “Take your time.”

You nodded and lowered yourself slowly. Taking the first few inches was blissful, the lack of barrier making him slide easily.

“Fuck, it feels good.” He growled. “You feel so warm and tight, love. You feel fucking amazing.”

You purred as you took some more, the stretch becoming more difficult. Your inner muscles contracted, making you come to a halt.

“Holy fuck.” He murmured, his hips pushing in before he managed to control himself. “Sorry, Buttercup, so sorry.” He apologised as you flinched. He kissed your face repeatedly. “I’m so sorry.” He touched your cheek.

“It feels good, but I need to—” You took more of him. “Go slow.”

He nodded and felt your breast against his palm, hanging heavy, right there for him to reach and touch and fondle and suck. “Sure thing, love.” He looked into your eyes. “Tell me how I can make it better.”

You shook your head. “Just hold me, please.”

He wrapped you in his arms just as you took all of him, sitting on him. “Yes, ____. You are so perfect.”

You closed your eyes, breathing in through your mouth. Slowly, you started rotating your hips, feeling how his cock filled you, pulsating inside you. “Jinnie. I love you.”

“I love you too, Buttercup.” He spoke gently, assisting you as you started riding him, his fingers gripping your hips gently.

“You’re so hot.” You whined, biting your lip, watching as his face contorted in pleasure. “I love you so much,” you said with a whimper, your inner walls constricting around him.

“Stop getting tighter, it feels too good.” He whispered, chuckling in desperation.

“Don’t you wanna fill me up?” You looked at him, batting your eyelashes. “I want you to. Please.” You spoke through a pout, moving faster on him.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to keep himself grounded.

You slowly rose to a sitting position, leaving the warmth of his embrace. “Don’t keep me waiting.” You provoked him, spreading your tiny hands over his insanely wide chest, your nails teasing him just a little. “I know you want to watch me drip in your cum.”

He exhaled heavily before giving a deep, breathy laugh, like a short series of hiccups. “You think you deserve my cum, you dirty slut?” He licked his lips, observing your tits shake right in front of his face before slapping them, earning a moan from you. “You really like them slapped, uh? Let’s see if you like spanks too.” He taunted before landing a heavy smack on your ass, enjoying the squeeze of your kegels. “And that pussy likes to clench me so tight.” He grinned, watching as your hand reached your clit, your eyes closed, your hair messy around your face. “Yeah, touch yourself, Buttercup.”

Your gaze met his, your chest blushing as your high approached. “I’m close.”

“It’s okay, keep touching yourself, love. I want you to feel good, honey.” His hips thrust in from beneath, making the stimulation more intense.

“I’m cumming,” you whimpered, leaning even more into your hand as your angle shifted, his cock hitting all the right spots inside you.

As soon as your body crashed on his, Seokjin caught you, holding you close while his throbbing cock kept pistoning in and out of you, focusing on making your orgasm last as he started zeroing in on his own.

“Keep it up, love,” he growled sternly while he felt his restraint slip, “I’m gonna get my slut sloppy with my cum, then I’m gonna lay her on her back and keep it plugged inside her while I fill her up some more.”

You only sobbed and squealed as you felt him get absolutely wild, growling as he gave messier strokes before sinking in deep and staying there, his cock pulsating and spilling his release inside your sensitive walls.

“Goodness, fuck, love. Never had a cunt this good.” He growled, holding his position for a minute, both of you exhausted and breathing heavily.

“Are you really going to do that?” You asked as soon as you came to your senses.

He blinked. “What?”

“The flipping on my back and going for round two?” You asked, parting from him just enough to look him in the face.

“Am I soft?” He asked you, arching an eyebrow.

You squeezed him with your kegels, his lower lip disappearing between his teeth as he felt you get impossibly tighter. “No.” You replied, looking into his dark gaze.

“Then you have your answer.” He smirked before executing his power move, your back hitting the sheets while he adjusted himself on top of you. “Grab the headboard. Hold on tight.” He said before sliding out and snapping his hips forward, his dick hitting the deepest corner of your sex.

“Oh, damn.”

He chuckled ruthlessly. “Damn right.” He replied cockily, slamming into you again, setting a fast, angry pace, watching your lips open wide, his cock coaxing cry after cry from your throat. “Are you gonna cum for me again? Milk this cock with your juicy cunt?”

You nodded helplessly, arching your chest up, trying to get his attention on your nipples.

He bent down obediently, giving you exactly what you were silently asking, his tongue laving your left areola in lazy, teasing licks. “Touch your clit.” He commanded, feeling his edge come around.

While his cock kept ramming in and out of you, his mouth went to your throat, biting you, his neck contorting as he tried to pay more attention to your sensitive skin.

Your fingers reached your clit just as he sunk his teeth in the soft curve of your bosom.

“Jin, please.” You croaked, your hips meeting his while the room filled with the sound of skin smashing against skin, the headboard thumping against the wall, the feet of the bed scraping against the floor, his laboured breath interrupting once you felt his cock spill inside you again with the strange, pleasurable sensation of his cum spurting against your walls.

You whimpered, hoping you could still cum one more time, but ready to give that up, if need be.

“Come on, Buttercup. One more. I know you can.” He said, staying inside you, arching off of you and slapping your breast again. “I know you’re still hungry for my cock. Give me one more, my lovely little slut. Gimme more, love. I’m waiting for you.” He said, watching your fingers work your clit furiously.

“Again, Jin.” You whimpered, your voice breaking.

“This?” He asked, hitting again.

“Yes, Jin, Yes. Please, Seokjin.” You begged. “Please, I love you, please, make it good. Please, please, please.” You cooed and chanted, so lost in pleasure you felt your high peak and before it shoved you tumbling downhill, pleasure making you soar and precipitate, like a small bird in a storm.

“Oh, you’re cumming, Buttercup.” He observed delivering small hits to your nipples before pinching one, then the other, tweaking them energetically but carefully.

“Jin.” You whimpered in a long moan.

“Oh, yes, ____. It’s me love. You’re with me, love.” He said, just as you tried getting closer to him, your hand resting on your mound while your other arm wrapped around him.

“I love you.” You whispered, your breath calming down. “I’ll never stop saying it.”

He rolled the both of you on your sides, looking at each other.

“I love you too, Buttercup.” He whispered, bringing you closer to him. “We’re both so messy.”

“The ice cream got so sticky.” You complained sadly, giving him a tired look.

“We should shower.” He considered, kissing your lips.

“You really feel like standing up?”

He eyed you eloquently. “I haven’t even slid out of you yet.”

You hummed. “Don’t want you to.” You mused, nuzzling into him.

“We need to clean you up.” He said, stroking your hair fondly. “My adorable messy slut.” He said with the expression and tone of the most affectionate praise.

You purred under his touch, feeling something flutter in your guts. “Don’t say it if you’re not going to torture me afterwards.”

He chuckled. “Let’s clean you up and get some rest. I’ll give you round three if you behave.”

“And then I can blow you for round four?” You asked, eyes bright and inquisitive.

He outright laughed, the sound making you laugh too. “Maybe.” He said, cupping your cheek and pulling out of you slowly, grabbing his boxers to clean you up as delicately as possible before you both stood and walked to the bathroom.

Seokjin woke up around five am, his alarm telling him it was time to get ready for Sunday shift. He would come back in time to make you breakfast — and maybe make love to you afterwards.

Switching off the alarm, he slid out of your grip, your arm thrown possessively around his waist.

He caressed your face before kissing your forehead and stepping away, knowing that it would take a catastrophe to take himself away from you if he lingered for too long.

Your eyes opened when the alarm stopped, watching his back as he disappeared into the bathroom.

When he came back, he was fully dressed, only his shoes and coat missing. You opened your eyes as he pressed his lips to your cheek. “Bakery?” You asked. “Don’t you have someone for the morning shift?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been considering getting some help. At least for a couple mornings a week.”

You hummed and nodded. “I can come along if you need.”

He denied. “Stay here. I wanna find you sleepy and cosy when I come back. Remember round five?”

You smiled and hid into the pillow. “Yes, please.”

He smiled along. “Good. Go back to sleep, Buttercup. We’re going on our first date today.”

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Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

Masterlist

#bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #jin x reader #Baker!seokjin #bts fanfiction #bts blog #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #Seokjin flatmates!Au #Seokjin friends to lovers

75 notes · View notes

miracleonice87 · 4 years

Note

Tyler with “Hug me; I’m cold and love you.”

Some holiday magic. 🎄 Here’s a link to the Phipps Conservatory winter lights webpage, and here’s a post with a good photo of the Broderie Room, which truly is my favorite!

_____

Tyler’s mom and sisters had graciously traveled from Brampton to Pittsburgh to spend American Thanksgiving with your family, which Tyler had suggested early in the season when he realized the Stars played the Penguins at PPG on Black Friday. Your families had been together a number of times before, either during the summer or for other Stars games, but this occasion would mark the first holiday you’d spent all together in the nearly two years you and Tyler had been together.

You flew from Dallas to Pittsburgh a few days early to stay at your parents’ house just outside the city, with Tyler catching up with you on Wednesday morning and his family arriving a couple of hours later. That evening, your parents suggested including the Seguins in your time-honored family tradition of visiting Phipps Conservatory to take in the winter flower show and light display, and Tyler laughed at the way you shouted “yes!” before your mom could even finish her sentence. After all of you met up with your sister and her new husband for a sushi dinner at one of your favorite spots downtown, you were off to the gardens.

No matter how many times you visited the conservatory, you were always blown away by how magical it was — simply enchanting. You and Tyler walked hand in hand through most of the sections of the tour, stealing kisses and snapping photos of each other, your families, and yourselves.

“So this is like, your jam, huh?” Tyler asked as you ogled at your favorite display — the Broderie Room, with poinsettias and lights filling up the spaces in the immaculately manicured shrubbery. You chuckled at him and gave him a questioning look.

“What do you mean, baby?” you asked, turning to face him and squeezing his hand.

“Like this whole place, it just screams you,” he replied. You smiled up at him, appreciating his accurate observation.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed. “It’s definitely one of my favorite places in the world.”

He smirked at you, pulling you in to kiss your temple. “I like how you just light up here,” he remarked. You nodded and met his loving gaze for a few moments before kissing him swiftly and then tugging on his hands, coaxing him to follow your families, who were chatting away, headed for the outside portion of the display.

“Come on, gotta come see the light tunnel, babe,” you insisted. Tyler could only smile and follow you willingly, feeling himself melt under the warmth radiating from how much you cherished this tradition, especially now that you got to spend it with him.

Outside, Tyler’s melting ceased as he morphed into an overgrown child, groaning and complaining as you dragged him from the coziness of the inside displays into the cold November air. You all got hot chocolate or coffee from the concession stand to fight off the chill, but for Tyler, it wasn’t enough. As you gabbed with his mom and sisters about the types of plants growing in the Pittsburgh winter climate, he stood behind you and kept his chin pinned against your shoulder, pulling his pea coat around you as best he possibly could, in hopes of sharing your body heat.

“God, Tyler, let the girl breathe,” Candace giggled, the three women before you snickering as you rolled your eyes at Tyler’s clinginess.

“I’m freezing,” he whined. You turned your head to kiss his bearded cheek and reminded, “I told you to wear gloves and a toboggan.”

“Well, God forbid he mess up his hair,” Cassidy poked, Tyler sticking his tongue out at her.

“I didn’t remember to bring one,” he muttered, bouncing on the balls of his feet to try to warm up. “Plus, ’s’called a touque, you American.”

You laughed and attempted to walk forward, Tyler uttering a noise of discontent as you escaped his grasp. He caught up to you as you walked down the tunnel, holiday music playing softly, the high arches strung with twinkling lights. You noticed that a very light snow had just begun to fall, making the scene that much more idyllic as you looked up, taking it all in. When you reached the middle of the tunnel, Tyler stepped in front of you, forcing you to stop in your tracks. He had had enough of trying to warm himself up.

“Hug me,” Tyler demanded. “I’m cold and love you,” he added, nuzzling his nose into your woolen scarf. You threw your head back laughing, unaware that your sister had snapped a photo at that very second from the other end of the tunnel, a picture that you and Tyler would later frame and treasure for years to come.

“You’re a big baby,” you teased, but you let him wrap his hands around your waist underneath your coat and pull you in anyway.

“But I’m your baby,” he argued. You hummed an “mhmm,” and laid your head against his chest, soaking in his closeness.

“So, this would be a nice place for a wedding someday, eh?” Tyler asked somewhat suddenly, pressing a kiss to your hair. You angled your head to look at him and arched your brow.

“No, I’m not proposing,” he told you, and you felt yourself relax a bit. “I know you’re not ready, and I also know you don’t want tons of people around anyway,” he added, rolling his eyes with a slight smirk on his face, making fun of the specifications you’d laid out a couple of months ago when he began dropping hints about marriage and rings.

“But soon, that’s coming. You know that,” Tyler said. “And this would be a cool place. You love it, and it’s your hometown, not super far from Toronto.” You smiled, circling your arms around his middle as you leaned back to study him, wondering where exactly that idea had stemmed from.

“Have I already told you that I always said I want to get married here?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. Tyler’s eyebrows lifted, looking genuinely surprised. “Uh, no, you honestly haven’t said that,” he told you. “Damn, I’m good!” he exclaimed. From the goofy grin on his face, you believed him, and you found yourself entranced by the realization of how intimately Tyler knew you.

The two of you giggled and shared a lengthy kiss, thoughts of a conservatory garden wedding dancing in your heads.

#writing prompts #prompt list #my writing #tyler seguin #tyler seguin writing #tyler seguin blurb #tyler seguin fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey blurb #nhl writing #nhl blurb

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hideawayintheimaginationworld · 4 years

Note

I’ve noticed that all your fazbear fright house short stories are mostly of Alec, Sarah, and Millie. I was wondering if you could write about the other boys if that was alright? Cause I’m curious what they’re like in your AU

He whimpered, pushing his snout against the lump in the bed, he then rose his paw and pushed it.

The covers flew off, Greg sat up, with a teary face, “I’m not getting out of bed, go away,” he threw his blanket back over him and laid in bed, his tears starting again.

He heard Fetch protest, whimpering again and a low howl that sounded questioning.

“Piss off!” He yelled, not facing the dog this time, he was getting angry by Fetch bugging him to get out of bed.

Greg sniffled, then he heard his phone buzz, he knew immediately it was Fetch, everyone else was still at school, Matt was so busy coding, Spring Jr was asleep, Delilah, Stanley and Lefty were working, technically the StitchWraith was in the house, but they were out of it, as they didn’t realise Greg came home early in spite of being on the sofa near the front door.

He reached out his hand, quickly snatching his phone from his bedside table and looking at the screen.

He saw the message from Fetch: “ure not k, I'm not leaving.”

Greg scowled, “I'll kick you out of the room!”

Fetch responded: “I still won’t leave Greg.”

“You can stay, just leave me alone Fetch! Leave me alone!!”

Fetch was silent for a minute, Greg heard him walk back, then forward. Great, he was now pacing, like an impatient child, Fetch let out a low whine then Greg saw his next message: “I'll call Lefty.”

The next message came within seconds, “I'll tell him da kids @ skl r picking on u agn.”

“You better not!” Greg shouted, he didn’t want Lefty to find out what was going on.

“It appears we've reached an impasse,” Fetch replied.

Greg huffed, a new batch of tears started, great, his tears were just starting to dry and he was crying again.

Fetch again pushed his paw on Greg, trying to get him to move, Greg saw another message from him.

“U kno bc u wlkd outa skl, dey 'll call Lefty regardless bc U aren’t der.”

“They shouldn’t be bothering with me!” Greg yelled, “I don’t care about me, why would they?”

“I care, so does Lefty,” Fetch's reply lit up the screen.

“Because he takes fucking pity on me, said my dad shouldn’t be hitting me,” Greg answered.

“I'll rip his hand off if he touches u agn”

“Don’t make threats Fetch.”

Fetch's answer came quickly: “It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”

Greg knew that threat was true, while Fetch was friendly to him and the others, he could lash out quickly, Lefty describing him as a guard dog. Now he was being a nuisance. Greg pulled away his blankets, seeing Fetch's face greeting him.

“Please no more hurting.”

Fetch's next reply was worse: “No promises, dey shouldn’t be hurting u.”

Greg looked around the room, he rarely sat here alone without everyone else, considering Alec was usually here listening to music, he had also seen Devon in here, looking at his scars when he thought he was alone.

Fetch put his head on his bed, looking at him like he was begging for a treat, Greg saw he asked something.

“pls put an ice pack on ur blk eye.”

“It's already bruised, no point,” Greg said, he knew Lefty would see it regardless and lose it, knowing that someone hit him and he didn’t “fall down the stairs”

Fetch shook his head, Greg's phone buzzed, he looked to see Fetch sent him a link to a webpage that had a list of methods to treat a black eye, including using an ice pack.

Greg after looking at the list, looked at Fetch, “Since you want to help, you can get an ice pack, I’m not going downstairs.”

“K brb.”

Fetch turned away and left the room, Greg looked at the celling, he remembered the times his father hit him in spots people wouldn’t see, Greg reasoned if no one saw it, then there was no point in telling people about it, even though there was one time his Uncle got suspicious because Greg said his wrist hurt but he wouldn’t show it to him, saying it was him writing too much and not his father grabbing his wrist too hard.

Greg was surprised when Lefty grabbed his wrist once that he wasn’t hurting him, he was actually just getting his attention and telling him he forgot his lunch, whereas his father would grab and almost strangle his wrist if he was making too much noise at night.

Greg was surprised Fetch came back, in his mouth was a bag of ice, he didn’t even know how Fetch got it, thinking only a person could open the freezer unless he asked the StitchWraith for help.

Fetch trotted over, dropping the ice bag by his side, Greg gently lifted it up and placed it on his bruised eye, laying in bed, shivering as he felt it against his skin.

Fetch then licked Greg's hand, it wasn’t an affectionate call for pets, Greg knew he wanted to ask a question.

Greg looked at his phone, “Lefty pbly gng2 come hom if he knows u aren’t @ skl.”

Greg knew that was true, if Lefty was called by the school and told he wasn’t in class, he'd drop work and look for him.

“wha wl u tell him? u cn ’t lie,” that was Fetch's next message.

Lefty was a lie detector, Greg had seen Matt and Devon lie to him several times, and anytime Lefty knew they were lying, he'd chew them out.

Greg shook his head, “I guess the truth...”

Fetch nodded.

Greg then heard a door opening outside the room, he then heard a quiet set of footsteps, then he saw someone peer in.

It was Spring Jr.

He obviously just woke up and was wondering why Greg was here when he was suppose to be at school.

Spring Jr. immediately walked to him, “What happened to your face?” He asked.

“I.... I....” He was going to lie but he saw Fetch disappointingly shake his head, and he realised if he lied to Spring Jr. he's probably go to Lefty or Matt and tell what he was told and they'd know Greg was lying to a child.

“Someone at school hit me.”

“Why?”

“Because they're a jerk,” Greg wanted to keep it G rated when talking to him, he was like the age of a young child still and he didn’t want to be the one who taught him to curse.

“That's mean...”

“Yes it is...”

“Should I tell Dad?”

“Um, no don’t tell Matt yet, I’ll tell him when I’m ready...”

“Greg?”

Speaking of Matt.

Spring Jr. ran to his father, hugging his leg for a minute then letting go, Matt looked at Greg, “Oh okay, I'll tell Lefty.”

“Lefty told you to find me?”

“Exact words from the message he sent: School called. Greg isn’t in class, please see if he's home.”

Greg knew he couldn’t avoid it.

“Did you get a black eye?”

“Yep.”

“I've gotten a lot of those for reasons I'd rather not discuss actually... well Spring is awake... I usually make him lunch by this point... would you like a sandwich or something?”

“What can you make?”

“A sandwich,” Matt repeated.

“Okay... I'll have a sandwich... actually... get something for Fetch too...”

“Alright kid, I just need to tell Lefty where you are, or he'll blow a circuit worrying what happened...”

Maybe life was better.

He wasn’t getting hit by his own father anymore.

#Ask #Here have some Greg and Fetch writing #Five Nights at Freddy’s #Fazbear Frights #Fazbear Frights Fetch #FNAF Greg #FNAF Fetch #Writing Drabble #anonymous

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insfiringyou · 4 years

Text

BTS - Playing House (Suga x Jeong-sun) & (J-Hope x Nana)

Contains: Fluff. Soft smut. Bickering. Double date. Mentions of V x Cassandra.

Set a week after ‘An Overnight Stay’ for Suga and Jeong-sun, and a few months after ‘Home Again’ for J-Hope and Nana. Jeong-sun invites Hoseok and Nana over for dinner, determined to prove herself in the kitchen.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE

Yoongi looked up from his laptop, the movement from behind the cooker catching his eye as Jeong-sun held out a tupperware container. The mushy food-stuff inside was indiscernible at his distance.

“Does this look like 12 ounces?” She directed the question at him but glanced at the contents from the corner of her eye with a wary, mistrustful look. Yoongi thought it likely she was baffled by the unfamiliar scent of the blended mixture of exotic vegetables, uncertain as to whether it would make a tasty, or at the very least edible, meal.

“There are scales in the cupboard.” He easily shrugged, looking back down at the spreadsheet on the screen with a sense of haste. He had been working on the document for most of the afternoon before a spontaneous phone call had called him away. A quick glance at the time in the bottom hand corner alerted him to the fact he only had a few more hours before the final calculations had to be submitted. While the thought had been at the back of his mind for the past few weeks, he had lost track of the deadline; usually accustomed to such matters being dealt with behind the scenes by the various accountants who worked for the company. He knew he was still within the terms of his contract that he and the other members had signed several years before, but the fact he had not produced anything new for BigHit since enlisting played on his mind. It felt right that he should finally take responsibility for his own finances.

He heard her sigh, along with the heavy sound of a knife being dropped on the chopping board. “I tried them. It only shows Metric units. The recipe’s in Imperial.” She complained, eyeing the illuminated screen on her phone which she had set to the website in question. The various pictures which accompanied the text promised a colourful end result which, frustratingly, bore little resemblance to the mixture resting at the bottom of the saucepan.

He scoffed, lips twisting. “Who uses Imperial?”

“Whoever wrote the recipe.” She quickly retorted. He could practically sense the eye-roll in her reply and couldn't help distracting himself once more by taking a glance in her direction, looking up just in time to see her dump the contents of the tupperware into the saucepan to join the assortment of vegetables she had peeled and cut earlier in the afternoon.

“It’ll do…” She murmured, making him snicker as he minimised the grids and numbers on screen to open up a web browser, his mind already drawn from the task at hand by another, nagging question.

Jeong-sun bent beneath the counter to search through the assortment of herbs and spices on the rack below.

“Liberia…” He said suddenly and she looked up, peering above the table.

“What?” She asked with a frown.

He read out loud. “Liberia uses the Imperial system. And the US.” Scrolling across the webpage, he pressed his fingers tightly to his lips. “Myanmar too...” He finished, satisfied.

She smirked sarcastically. “That’s good to know.” He watched her dip down once more and continued to read, engrossed in the fact file he had come across.

“Are there many vegans in Liberia?” Her voice was slightly muffled as she peered deeper into the cupboard, swinging the rotating holder lightly and scanning the peeled labels on the glass containers.

“I’m not sure.” He mumbled.

The loud, grating sound of jars being rearranged filled the kitchen as she rummaged through the cabinet. “You were on the phone a while…” She called, raising her voice to be heard above the clattering of glass. “Is everything okay?”

He sensed little more than mild curiosity in her tone, knowing she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the long conversation in the hallway shortly before, but unable to help it. He had left the kitchen door open, unaware when he answered the phone that he would be gone so long. “Jungkook called.” He murmured vacantly, eyes narrowing behind his spectacles as he scrolled down the page, reading rapidly. “Taehyung got in touch…”

“How is he?” Jeong-sun popped up her head, a jar of paprika clutched successfully in her hand.

“Still in service.” Yoongi replied a little detachedly. “He’s going to be a father.”

His casual, indifferent tone helped mask the meaning of his words and it took a moment for them to take hold and Jeong-sun poured the paprika into the pan for a few moments before she realised what he had said.

“Oh?” She tried to read Yoongi’s expression from behind the laptop in order to gage his feelings about this piece of news but instead found nothing but his eyes scanning the screen. “Is it -” She paused, wondering how to phrase it delicately. While Yoongi had known the younger man for years, he spoke of his friend’s personal life very little. Regardless of this, a memory flashed through her mind. “The mother...is she the woman from the play?”

“Cassandra.” He confirmed.

“With the boobs?”

Their eyes met and he let out a breathy laugh, a smile breaking on his lips. “That’s her.” He nodded. Having not thought of that night in years, her words brought it back to him in perfect detail. The other boys had been distracted by the spectacle on stage as the actress shrugged off her robe but he recalled not being surprised. A part of him expected no less from the woman who had stolen Taehyung’s heart; with her exotic, tragic-stricken name and musical accent.

“Oh.” Jeong-sun repeated, unsure what to say; not knowing either person enough to form an opinion. “Good for them I guess.”

Yoongi gazed at her, his expression softening at her casual, awkward shrug. He realised his initial reaction to Jungkook spilling the news had been quite cynical, wondering whether the younger man was ready for it; if it wasn’t an act of carelessness on his part. The fact of the pregnancy being accidental hung in the air as the maknae spoke frantically down the line, along with the recollection told by Hoseok months before that the couple had broken up before Taehyung’s enlistment.

The whole situation felt like a disaster waiting to happen, and while he hid this belief from Jungkook, he had needed to take a moment after hanging up the phone to collect his thoughts. Looking at Jeong-sun now, he suddenly felt a pang of guilt at having judged the situation too harshly; he didn’t know what kind of parents Taehyung and Cassandra would make, and either way he realised, it was none of his business. He mused for a moment, eyes flicking downwards in a sheepish smile. “Yeah, good for them.” He agreed softly.

Jeong-sun had already turned to the back wall, reaching for a long, slender plastic bottle set back on the top shelf and, with a huff, stood on her tiptoes to retrieve it, her fingertips skimming the bottle a few times uselessly before she finally caught hold of its slender neck. “Is olive oil vegan?” She blew a stray strand of hair from her face noisily and peered at the green-hued liquid. “The recipe said rapeseed, but I couldn’t find any…”

“I think so.” He muttered, watching her measure a couple of spoonfuls and adding it to the ingredients. Her face was a little flushed and he couldn’t help but chime in. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sound it…” He quipped.

“I’m sure I can cook a …” Bending over the counter, she squinted at her phone screen. “Vegan Jam...ba...laya…” She read the title slowly, struggling with the syllables. “...With okra and creole seasoning, just fine by myself thank you.” Straightening up, her hands moved to the curves of her hips in a defiant stance.

“I’m sure you can…I don’t mind helping.” He pressed softly.

She picked up a wooden spoon to stir the mixture. “I offered to cook for them.” She argued lightly. “I’m just borrowing your apartment. My oven broke.”

“Again?”

She sighed. “The fuse blew. I just haven’t gotten around to replacing the wiring.”

“You should get a switchboard.”

She glanced at him, unimpressed. “You try asking my landlord...How do you turn this ring on…”

“Top right.”

“Thanks…” Twisting the dial, she leaned casually against the countertop, waiting for the electric hob to heat up to temperature. “When did they go vegan?” She asked, a soft expression playing on her features as she watched him read. He seemed preoccupied when he spoke.

“I think it’s a new year’s resolution thing. It was his idea.”

Tapping the cooker lightly, she felt along the ring. “This isn’t working…”

“Maybe we should go vegan…” He suddenly teased.

“Fuck off.” She scoffed, matching his smile as he took off his glasses and folded them neatly on the table beside him; both falling into a comfortable silence. Realising he wasn’t going to reply, Jeong-sun busied herself, scooping up the used utensils and placing them on the shelves in the dishwasher.

Eventually he spoke. “They have the second largest shipping industry in the world…”

“Who?” She spun around, voice curious.

“Liberia.” Leaning forward, he began to recite. “Accounting for eleven percent of ships worldwide.”

Jeong-sun raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you doing your tax returns?”

“I might need you to look them over.” He admitted a little guiltily, eyes following as she plodded over to the cooker.

“That’s optimistic of you.” She said dryly, lips curling.

“You’re better with money than I am.” He said sincerely, glancing down to once again open the Excel spreadsheet. His eyebrows furrowed as he went back over the numbers, concentration not long fixed before a loud cry broke his trail of thought.

“Ah! Fuck!”

His stomach churned unpleasantly and he was on his feet before he had time to think. It was immediately obvious what had happened and he reached for her hand carefully, inspecting the burn. “Put it under the cold tap…” He murmured, guiding her easily towards the sink and turning on the faucet. “I meant to tell you the hob heats up quickly…”

“I just caught the edge..” She protested, sensing the hurt in his voice and twisting her palm to reassure him the damage wasn’t bad. The pink-coloured streak stood out against her otherwise pale skin; the cold stream turning her other digits white as he held her wrist steady. Both fell quiet as they waited for the burn to cool, a shared memory lingering silently between them as they remembered their roles being reversed; her guiding his hand under the tap carefully as a trickle of claret ran between their palms.

“I guess I’m not so good at this whole ‘playing house’ thing.” She admitted with a sigh, cheeks stained pink as she cast a sly glance towards the offending hob. “I’d make a terrible wife.”

He twisted the faucet, chest aching at her words and he gently released her from his grasp. “I don’t expect you to ‘play house’.” He said quietly.

Their eyes met and she edged closer, touching his forearm delicately as she whispered. “I know you don’t.” Her gaze dropped to her covered feet, self-conscious as she toyed with what she was trying to say. “After it being just us for so long…” She trailed off.

“It’s strange for me too.” He confessed softly, eyes drawn to where her hands met his skin and watching her move along his arms, comforted by his solid presence.

Worrying he would misunderstand, she backtracked. “Not in a bad way…”

“No.” He agreed. “Just new.”

She continued to caress him delicately, the pads of her fingers trailing along the grooves and tendons in his wrists.

“You know he’s going to talk your ear off…” He eventually murmured, casually changing the topic.

“Hoseok?” Her face perked up.

“He really likes you.” Yoongi confessed with a smile, making her grin in reply as he looked down at her hand. “Do you want it wrapping?”

Flipping it over, she shook her head. “It’s not that bad...I’m just wondering if I should quickly go home and get changed.”

“Why?” His eyes flickered briefly over her body, noting the tight, figure-hugging fit of her jeans and the hint of cleavage beneath the frill of her organza shirt. While not particularly dressy, he didn’t see anything wrong with what she was wearing and sensed she was trying to distract herself. “You look fine…”

Bridging the gap between them, he captured her lips, tilting his head slowly as she sank into the kiss, clearly relieved by his gesture. Although they kissed when she arrived, the space of several hours suddenly felt like an eternity; their separate activities in the kitchen seemed a waste of time when they could have spent it like this; pressed together; their bodies flush and lips entwined. She felt his tongue move against hers and sighed gently into his mouth, feeling breathless as he slid his hands down her hips to the round flesh of her backside which he squeezed beneath his digits, kneading her flesh through the denim before spanking her once, lightly, on the right cheek in a surprising move which made her moan against him, the space between her thighs growing warm and tingly. It wasn’t enough, and she cursed the fact they would have to part soon, their bodies inevitably separating in order to finish the meal she was preparing and, much later, that she would have to return home and go to work. As though sensing her thoughts he slowly pulled away, pecking her in a final, lingering kiss; knowing that their guests would be arriving shortly.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather look over my tax returns than cook?” He uttered, mouth soft against her lips.

She closed her eyes briefly in reply, his offer undeniably tempting but not completely masking the nagging feeling that she should be the one to cook. “I promised…” She protested unconvincingly.

“I won’t tell.” He whispered, a small grin tugging at his lips.

With a relieved sigh she gave in, unable to stop herself from drawing him into another sinking kiss. “I love you.”

***

The murmur of voices caught their attention before they even heard the doorbell ring; the owners clearly trying to keep quiet on the front stoop in order not to disturb the neighbours but failing massively. Yoongi looked up from the bubbling saucepan and lowered the heat to simmer as he met Jeong-sun’s gaze with a shared grin. She clicked the send icon on the screen, finishing the final piece of paperwork and closing the laptop with a soft clink. It had been years since she had solved calculations any more complex than her own household bills, and the feeling was strangely satisfying, as well as the knowledge that her admittedly rather dry expertise with numbers was finally coming in useful to someone other than herself.

“That’ll be them.” He joked, setting down the wooden spoon and joining her side as she led the way to the front door. The scent which filled the apartment could not quite be described as appetizing, but he had followed the recipe closely, only substituting what he could not find in his cupboards with similar ingredients.

Jeong-sun stepped aside to allow Yoongi to reach for the door handle, and the volume of Hoseok’s greeting made her jump in surprise.

“Hyung!” The open door shielded the younger man from view, but the sight of her boyfriend being pulled from the hallway into a presumably a tight embrace made her smile. A second later, she lept back once more, letting out a little squeal of shock as a slender, mottled-patterned Greyhound shot through the open doorway, his blue lead trailing uselessly behind as he raced down the hall, towards the empty guest room.

“Seulgi...no!”

Jeong-sun heard Nana cry after the dog moments before the tall, angular woman came into view, rushing blindly past Jeong-sun in an effort to recapture the lead which had evidently slipped from her grasp.

“There he goes…” Hoseok murmured good-humouredly, whistling under his breath and stepping into the hall. He soon noted the woman’s presence. “Hi Jeong-sun!” He grinned, wrapping his arms around her before she had time to process what was happening.

Yoongi followed the brown and grey shape with just as much confusion as his girlfriend, watching as Nana managed to corner him at the end of the corridor and bent down to pick up his lead, her beaded dress skimming the floor with a jingling sound before she straightened up and slipped it from his neck.

“I hope you don’t mind…” The older woman fussed, breathlessly gesturing to the extra guest as she led the dog back towards the group. Her chest was stained pink above the straight bust of her strappy dress; a long 20s style number in Morrocan blue which came to the tops of her bare ankles. “I should have called before...it just happened at the last minute…”

“Her neighbour was taken to the hospital, and someone needed to look after the dog.” Hoseok explained, a little more eloquently.

A worried frown played on Nana’s face as she turned to Jeong-sun. “I hope you’re not allergic.”

“It’s fine.” She waved, still getting over her initial startle but realising that the dog had once more disappeared from view. “Where’s he gone…” She murmured a little anxiously.

Hoseok seemed preoccupied with something perched on the floor outside and returned a moment later clutching a heavy-looking plant pot. “We brought you this.” He held the object at arm’s length while Jeong-sun and Nana looked around nervously. “I hope you like orchids.”

Taking the pot from his hands, Yoongi smirked. “I keep killing them.” He muttered dryly.

Nana faced the other woman and her spiraled hair bounced energetically against her shoulders. “I think he’s in the bathroom.”

Jeong-sun sauntered after her as she lept down the hall, murmuring under her breath. “As long as he doesn’t drink the toilet water...” Seeing that Nana had once more secured the Greyhound with its tattered looking leesh, she turned towards the kitchen, a little flustered as she switched off the hob and looked around the space. “Yoongi?” She called. “Do you have a bowl the dog can use…?”

“Under the sink.” He instructed from the hallway and she bent down, rummaging noisily through the various cleaning products and spare pans before she found a small steel bowl towards the back.

“Got it!” She shouted, giving it a quick rinse under the tap before filling it with fresh water and placing it carefully by the doorway. The dog sprinted into the room at the sound, sensing refreshment, and quickly lapped at the liquid, followed by Nana who brushed a ringlet flusteredly from her perspiring forehead. She glanced apologetically at the other woman, noticing that she did not seem as keen on animals as herself and Hoseok, but relieved to see she did not appear angry at having an additional visitor. Jeong-sun wandered past to find Yoongi in the hall, unsurprised to see Hoseok conversing with him eagerly by the open doorway as though they had not seen each other in months.

“Did you finally meet him?” The younger man, seemingly unaware of the woman’s presence spoke in the hushed tones of someone trying to keep a secret but too excited to whisper. Yoongi nodded but his back was turned, obscuring his expression.

“How was it?” Hoseok asked eagerly, though his grin quickly faded when he spotted Jeong-sun by the kitchen and realised he had been caught out. Yoongi followed his friend’s gaze, meeting her eye across the hall and giving a tiny, knowing smile, telling her all she needed to know.

PART TWO

“Woo…” Hoseok let out a long breath of air as he reclined back in his hair, chest and stomach puffed out as he stretched. Nana eyed his empty plate as she reluctantly put down her cutlery, too full to finish the hearty helping in front of her.

Seulgi, who at the start of the meal had been banished into the hall, had somehow found his way back into the room and while his temporary owners had initially protested, was soon forgotten as a third bottle of wine was opened. Yoongi stroked his ears soothingly from under the table, picking at the plate of store-bought ciabattas which accompanied their main course without much appetite and occasionally, when the others weren’t looking, dropping the crusts onto the floor where the dog snatched them up eagerly.

“That was really good Jeong-sun…” Nana proclaimed as she chewed her final mouthful, making a point of rubbing her stomach.

Her boyfriend leaned forward, echoing the sentiment. “Really good!” He beamed, an empty plate a sign of sincerity.

“I really couldn’t eat another bite…” Nana continued, reaching for her glass of red to clear her throat.

“Not another bite.” Hoseok agreed cheerfully, seeming to forget in his apparent tipsiness that he had already finished his serving. His cheeks were rosy, forehead perspiring a little under the warm kitchen bulb, and he reached for the wine bottle to pour another drink for himself.

Jeong-sun bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a laugh as her eyes moved from the woman to the man beside her, their almost-innocent lack of self-awareness enviable.

“They’re right...it’s really good Jeong-sun…” Yoongi murmured, his expression straight but eyes swimming playfully. “How long did it take you?”

A toothy grin crept onto her lips and, with the other pair preoccupied, she reached under the table to slap his wrist lightly, chest filling with warmth as he matched her flirtatious smirk. “Shut up…” She whispered, heart thudding madly as she felt his long, slender fingers wrap around her own; their bodies still for a moment as a shared, static sensation played between them.

“You know, he’s probably going to have to come and live with us…” Hoseok sighed, suddenly breaking the silence. Jeong-sun and Yoongi instinctively moved apart to look across the table, seeing at once the younger man was addressing his girlfriend who appeared about ready to fall asleep. Her curls were dangling a little listlessly across her bare shoulders, the thin, flimsy straps of her dress having slipped from place.

“Who?” She yawned; the drink having clearly gone to her head.

“Seulgi.” He replied, matter of factly. Nana glanced beneath tired, droopy eyelids.

“He’s not our dog…” She feebly protested, unable to help noticing the way the man beside her had sat up energetically as an idea clearly played through his mind.

“He could be…”

Jeong-sun watched this exchange with a mixture of amusement and awkwardness, the conversation having taken an peculiar turn which looked to be heading into a half-hearted argument.

“Don’t be silly…” Nana sighed, bending her arms at the below to finger her shoulders, adjusting the straps which she belatedly realised had come askew.

Hoseok laughed lightly, his cheer not dampened by the mild insult. “Why not?” He asked, clearly not seeing any flaw in his plan. “Your neighbour might not be able to walk when she comes out of the hospital...it’s not the first time she has fallen over...we’d be doing her a favour.”

“Oh Hoseok!” She exclaimed with a loud huff, hands banging on the table. “What a horrible thing to say!”

“I’m just being realistic…” He quibbled. “She’s really old!... And Greyhounds need a lot of exercise…”

Despite their melodramatic tones, Jeong-sun couldn’t help but shift in her chair, looking to Yoongi for guidance on how to react, but surprised to see him sipping his glass casually, unphased by the rising volume of the couple opposite. She realised the spectacle was not new to him and felt a pang of shock when she remembered how long he had been familiar with them and their antics; that while Nana was a near-stranger to her, Yoongi had known her for years during their time apart. The revelation was odd; sitting beside him now, it felt strange that over three years had passed where they had not been in each other’s lives. She found herself reaching for the bottle of red, pouring herself the third glass of the evening.

“And what will you do when you have to go back to work?” Nana challenged, breaking Jeong-sun’s trail of thought.

“Ohhh…” Hoseok uttered, vocalising his thoughts out loud. “That’s a while yet…”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath Nana…” Yoongi chirped in, not unkindly.

The older woman looked at him, disappointed in his casual taking of Hoseok’s side. “Do you agree with this Jeong-sun?” She challenged, eyes darting in her direction with an exasperated smile playing on her lips.

The other woman shrugged, unable to help her lips from curling at the corner. “If you don’t take him...it looks like Yoongi will…”

Half-way through the dinner she had felt the dog brush her thigh, his tall but slender body almost bumping the underside of the table as he squeezed himself between her and Yoongi, clearly comforted by their presence, before finally settling down and falling into a light sleep. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out which of them he liked the most.

“See?” Hoseok held out his palm, gesturing to Jeong-sun before turning to his girlfriend.

Nana sighed slowly, clearly giving up. “We’ll talk about it later…”

A short and relieved silence fell over the room; the first proper moment of calm of the evening, and Yoongi got to his feet, carefully pulling back the chair to allow Seulgi to escape.

“We’d better get going soon...it’s a school night.” Nana murmured, wiping her eyes and smudging her eyeliner in the process.

“It’s okay, we’ll be off to bed soon.” Yoongi agreed quietly as he began to collect the plates, piling them neatly in the centre of the table.

Hoseok and Nana moved back, giving him room as they followed the dog into the hallway; happy to see that even he had grown tired in all the excitement of the evening and had begun to plod along lethargically.

Hoseok suddenly turned back to the other couple from the doorway, grinning as though he had only just remembered. “We have some big news…”

“Oh?” Yoongi’s interested, but calm tone told Jeong-sun that whatever the other man was about to reveal, it probably wasn’t as earth shattering as the description implied.

Nana nodded from beside him as she reached down to slip the loosely fitted leash around the dog’s long, slender neck. “We’re moving in together.” She said, her matching smile signalling the argument from before was already forgotten.

“When?”

“At the end of the school year...once Nana had sorted her belongings…”

“I need to figure out what I might need to keep...for the year group coming up.” She explained gingerly, already thinking of the mammoth task it would be to sort the trash from the treasure and knowing she would be unable to let go of as much as she should.

“That’s great.” Jeong-sun joined them as they headed towards the front door, bringing her palm to her mouth to stifle a long, drawn-out yawn.

“It looks like you’re ready for bed too!” Hoseok smiled, hand skimming Seulgi’s fur fondly as the group clustered at the end of the hall.

“Long day…” She murmured in reply.

“I’ll bet!” He waved goodbye as they spilled into the night, the cold evening air filtering through the doorway and into the apartment.

“Thanks again for the meal Jeong-sun.” Nana smiled.

“It was better than a restaurant!” Hoseok retorted as they took off down the street, clearly meaning to cut across the park in order to get home. The dog, rejuvenated at the prospect of an extra walk, bounded happily in front of them. The trio seemed perfectly matched; their long, spindly limbs breaking ground quickly as they disappeared around a corner.

Yoongi closed the door behind himself and turned to face Jeong-sun who was rubbing her hands quickly together to warm against the draft which had crept in. Her cheeks were rosy beneath a light layer of foundation, eyes gleaming with mirth as she leaned casually against the wall and tucked her hands behind her back.

“They really liked your cooking…” She simpered, enjoying the silence which followed and the comfortable tension which rested in the air as he attached the safety chain, his movements slow and deliberate as it rattled into place. When he looked back, she was already walking into the living room, ignoring the mess on the dining table in favour of heading towards the couch in the far corner. He followed wordlessly, watching her slump heavily against the cushions to lay outstretched across the length. He stayed where he was at the foot of the chair, waiting for her to speak; to tell him what she wanted. While it had been nice to have guests, he suspected that like him, she had been waiting for them to leave. The memory of the heated kiss shared in the kitchen burned in his mind throughout the meal, leaving him restless and fervent.

“Take them off…” She murmured, not needing to elaborate as he inched forward and reached for the waist of her tightly fitted jeans. The buckle unclasped easily, dragging her hips upwards as he clutched the fabric and worked them down her legs. She was utterly still, limbs heavier than usual in her drained state, but he handled her body with ease, slipping the jeans across her knees and around her feet as she watched him carefully. Discarding them on the floor, he moved his right hand to the fleshy part of her lower calf which he rubbed tenderly, admiring her body below him as she rested her socked feet against the armrest to allow better access to her soft flesh. “These too…” She lightly fingered the burgundy trim of her panties, running along the tight band which rested across her pelvic bone, before they too were moved away, digging his knuckles gently into her flesh as he hooked them beneath the elastic, drawing them down. Under other circumstances she might have felt a moment of coyness as she was exposed, his standing position allowing full view of her lower body, but instead found herself unable to pull her eyes from him; the look on his face as his dark eyes shifted across her said it all, and she parted her mouth weakly.

“I’m too tired to fuck…” She admitted breathlessly, feeling regretful.

A shy grin crept onto his lips and he inched forward, smoothing his palm along her bare thigh and up her torso as he nestled between her thighs which she gladly parted for him, covering her body with his own. “Me too…” He smiled easily; breath warm and gentle against her skin before kissing her with open lips. She met his mouth zealously as he ran his fingertips through her hair, brushing her cheek softly before pulling away. Her lips were parted; full and red, and she took his hand in hers, slipping it slowly between her thighs.

He was still for a moment but her expression encouraged him, and he stroked through her folds with two digits, brushing his moist fingertips over her swelling clitoris. She moaned softly, guiding for a moment before allowing him to take over, his thumb running over the coarse curls of her pubic hair as he slowly caressed her, trapping the hooded skin above her clit gently between two fingers and teasing her sensually while he watched her expression tenderly. She closed her eyes, moistening her dried lips with her tongue, and his heart thudded in response. Moving closer, he trailed his lips along her cheeks and nose, welcoming her warm, shallow breath against him.

“Does this feel good?” He whispered against the corner of her mouth, listening to her sigh in response.

“Yes…” He felt her eyes open against him and he pulled away to look at her. “I love you…” She murmured, voice cracking.

His mouth trembled in reply, only stilling when she arched her back to kiss it closed as she welcomed the weight of his body; embracing him, pulling him closer. He touched his cool cheek to hers, eventually slowing against her when he sensed from her quieting moans that she was too tired to reach her high.

Reaching around his back, her fingertips splayed across his covered shoulder blades, holding him soothingly. He felt her lips against his temple and knew she was wanting to speak; to let go of the tension she had been holding onto all evening since he had roamed his hands across her body in the kitchen, prior to Hoseok’s arrival. Stoking a damp strand of hair away from her forehead, he moved onto his side to rest against the back-cushions of the sofa.

“What is it?” He whispered, meeting her gaze; smoothing her cheekbone tenderly with his thumb.

She was silent for a long time; her chest feeling as though it might burst as he waited patiently, appreciating her features; how beautiful she was.

“I could be with you forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough…” She murmured, eyebrows furrowed as the words took hold, affecting them both. He felt her confession in every limb; his heart seeming to simultaneously swell and sink as he realised that he too felt that way.

He blinked, eyes stinging as his mouth opened silently, trying to find the right words but failing. Instead, he nodded, fingertips quivering against her cheek. He thought she might be able to feel his heartbeat in them.

“I know…”

Jeong-sun was silent, unable to talk; there was nothing stronger she could answer in reply. Instead, she reached for his hand, taking it gently in hers and placing it flat against her chest, under the trim of her shirt to rest between her breasts. She closed her eyes slowly and nestled into him, palm trapped between their bodies and pressing into his own. Finally, her heartbeat slowed against his digits as she drifted into sleep, her light snores comforting against his collar. He watched her for a while, knowing he would awake aching in the morning from having foregone the softness of his bed but not giving it a second thought. As he pressed his lips gently to her hair, wrapping one arm gently around her, he was careful not to disturb her slumber.

***

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kieraswriting · 4 years

Text

Coffin Chapter Thirty-One

Masterpost

The messages came flooding in. Virgil didn’t even have to write anything else of his own for a while. It seemed that with an outlet for it there were a number of people with stories to tell. He just took the messages and posted them across all the platforms, shocked at the views and follows he was getting so quickly.

Of course, as the day went on, the ratio of hate to stories kept growing, and Virgil grimaced going through the inboxes.

And then his pages were reported, and shut down suddenly.

Virgil swallowed heavily. Was it really over? Just like that?

He called Logan.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Logan.”

“Ahh, Virgil. How is everything going? I was about to look.”

“Not… not so great. It was really good for a while, I got nearly five hundred followers and it’s just been a morning, but then I got reported and now I can’t do anything anymore.”

“Oh. No, I anticipated this possibility. I’ll make you new accounts. You may have to restart a few times, but you certainly can continue with this.”

Virgil let out a sigh, the weight of failure mostly leaving him. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. It will take me perhaps an hour to create the new accounts. In the meantime, perhaps you would consider making some photographic or video content.”

“Like what?”

There was an awkward pause. “If you feel up to it, I believe pictures of your scars, or a video in which you describe how you came to have them might be particularly moving.”

Virgil's brain flashed images and sensations at him, making him a bit dizzy. “... yeah. Yeah, I can see that.”

“Virgil, if you are uncomfortable with the idea—“

“No, I can do it.” Virgil interrupted.

“Truly, I do not want to pressure you into something you would rather not do.”

Virgil smiled slightly, even though Logan wasn’t there to see it. “Thank you. I’ll just try. I’m sure if I take it too far Patton will stop me.”

“That seems reasonable. I’ll work on your new accounts, please call or text me if you need anything else.”

“I will, thanks. Bye.”

Even though he’d just told Logan that Patton would be sure to make him stop if he needed, he didn’t think he wanted Patton to help. At least not so directly. It was going to be hard enough, and if Patton was there and all teary he wasn’t sure he could make it.

So he went to find Roman.

Roman very quickly hid what had to be a knife again, as he had the log in front of him. “Did you need something, Tall, Dark, and Emo?”

Virgil fidgeted awkwardly. He didn’t want to bother Roman, really, he’d just probably need someone there, if only to hold the camera and be supportive.

“Um… I was going to make a video? Of— scars. And I was wondering if you’d want to help.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll help. Is this for the internet?”

Virgil nodded.

“Ok, then we’ll probably want to hang up sheets around you. If they can tell we’re in a cabin that wouldn’t be good.”

Virgil nodded again, letting out a long breath. It was nice not to have to just jump into it, even though he was the one deciding to actually make the video.

“Should I be covered in a sheet?” Virgil asked. “So they don’t recognize my clothes?”

Roman snorted. “No you’re— I see where you’re going with that, but if it looks like you’re naked under a sheet that would be an entirely different kind of video.”

Virgil realized the implications a second later, blushing hotly. It was strange, almost, blushing. He hadn’t been able to for so long— though it hadn’t even really been all that long. But it still felt a bit foreign to him now.

There was a little more sheet arranging before Virgil sat down and Roman sat in front of him, holding the phone.

“Alright, now we can clip out anything you want,” Roman said. “So if you say something, and you don’t like it, or if you stumble over your words, don’t worry, just do it over again and we can clip that bit out.”

Virgil nodded, his breathing speeding up as he got more and more nervous. “Ok… you can turn the camera on now.”

“It’s been on, Stormcloud. Just explain it like you’re explaining to me. Nothing fancy.”

Virgil nodded, clenching his jaw slightly. “Ok. Um��”

He rolled up his sleeves a little, showing off the marks the cuffs had left. “These are… from the coffin.” His voice was shaking and he wasn’t sure he could really do this.

“It’s alright. Why don’t you tell me what the coffin is?”

Virgil pressed his lips together, tears starting to well up. “It’s— it’s a coffin. But it has silver cuffs in it. It’s so— it’s cause if it was normal I could’ve— I might have been able to break out. But the silver hurts so bad— it’s to-to much to fight against and I—“ his voice broke and he stopped, tears now running down his face.

“Do you want to be done?” Roman asked, his voice soft and non-judgmental.

Virgil sniffed and nodded, rubbing at his face with his sleeves. “Sorry.”

“No, hey, you did just fine. That was very hard for you, and you did just fine.”

Virgil just nodded, not looking up.

“Do you want a hug?” Roman asked.

Virgil nodded again miserably, trying to stop from crying and failing dismally, especially when Roman wrapped him up and held him close.

There was footsteps, that quickened as they got closer, and then Patton was kneeling beside them, his hand rubbing soft circles on Virgil’s back. “Ohhh, baby, what happened?”

Virgil wasn’t sure that he liked being called baby, but he could recognize the attempt at comfort and glanced up at Roman, pleading with his eyes for Roman to tell it.

“We were trying to make a video explaining his scars,” Roman said simply.

“Ohhhhh,” Patton said, joining in the hug.

They let him go before the hug could become stifling, and Patton suggested that they do something like a card game for a while.

•^*^••

Thomas sighed heavily, glad that both Dee and Remus were off doing something and couldn’t hear him. He knew Dee was tired, and he was also tired. But he was torn. He wanted to help still, not just take a break, even though a large part of his body and mind was constantly begging him to just stop for a while.

And then his phone rang, startling him nearly out of his camping chair. He hadn’t expected to have service, but apparently he did.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Thomas!” Emile said cheerfully. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

Thomas froze, his mouth already midway to saying ‘fine’. “To be honest, I’m really tired.”

“I imagine. You three had the most exhausting job.”

Thomas nodded, sighing. “Yeah. They’re out now doing part of it.”

“You’re doing a good job. Logan’s been tracking all your little distractions, and sometimes bigger distractions.” Emile chuckled. “No one’s gone near Virgil.”

“That’s good,” Thomas said.

“I think… though this would have to be discussed, that you can take it easier now. I’m sure Remy would clear out a house for you to stay in for a few weeks.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said. And he really was genuinely appreciative, but it just made him more aware that his own house was standing empty, and would stay that way. Bills unpaid. He would never be Thomas Sanders anymore, not officially, unless he wanted to be arrested not only for helping vampires but also for not paying all the things he was supposed to be.

“It’ll get better someday,” Emile said gently. “And we can hold out until then together.”

Thomas nodded, humming his agreement.

“Do you want me to just stay on the line for a while?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, surprised to find that his voice was wobbling slightly. “Can you just… talk about something? Something not this?”

“Sure I can. Have you ever heard of finger-knitting?”

Emile stayed on the phone, talking about his experiments with finger knitting for a solid half-hour until Dee and Remus got back. Thomas handed off the phone to Dee, who probably also needed a bit of a talk with someone that had it all together still.

“Hey, Remus.”

Remus peeked up immediately upon being given attention.

“Do you wanna try sparring? You’d have to go waaay easy on me, but—“

“That sounds awesome!” Remus said, tackling Thomas almost immediately.

Thomas fought to get out, and Remus was clearly having the time of his life, grinning wildly and pushing Thomas around. There was no holding back on Thomas’s end, growling and thrashing and hitting.

“Oh yeah, getting all the frustration out!” Remus crowed, not even bothering to dodge most of the time, just wrestling Thomas down and letting him fight his way back up.

Finally Thomas was done, and bone-tired. He dropped onto his sleeping bag despite it being only afternoon and fell into a dreamless sleep.

•^*^••

Emile had been on the phone for the last hour, which meant, very unfortunately, that Remy was watching over Logan’s shoulder the entire time he was setting up Virgil’s new accounts and then still while he edited the video and prepared it for posting.

“Poor kid,” Remy murmured.

That, at least, Logan could agree with, nodding slightly as he clipped the video down to the essential part and put a black bar in where Virgil’s head had dropped too low and part of his face could be seen.

“Will you want me and Dee and Remus to make these too?”

“Quite frankly, it is up to you,” Logan replied. “If you think your story would be helpful, and you are willing, then by all means please do.”

He posted the video around, carefully covering any tracks he may have left, and was not surprised to see it quickly gain traction. He considered himself to be reasonably skilled at creating ‘clickbait’ titles, and clearly that skill was paying off now.

And then came the comments. They seemed split, roughly a third expressing sympathy towards Virgil, and two thirds disbelief in the validity of the video, thinking it to be acting.

The video was spreading quickly, more quickly than Logan would’ve guessed.

Remy whistled lowly. “If I’d’ve known this was all it took I would’ve been famous.”

“The current climate is a large part of why, as well as the fact that I’ve classified this video as an ad, which gives it a further initial reach.”

Remy snorted. “Ad for what?”

Logan shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Clicking the link merely leads to a webpage playing the video.”

“And you set all this up today?”

“Last night as well, but yes. I’m…” Logan found himself nearly blushing. “I’ve always been reasonably skilled with computers, more the internet aspect than the hardware, but I’ve never had much of an outlet for using that skill.”

“Damn, you with computers and Roman with his acting, being hunters really took a lot from you didn’t it?”

Logan was taken aback. “I… suppose it did. I hadn’t considered that.”

Remy slapped him on the back. “Well now you get that back. Oh! Maybe when all this settles you can help Roman get famous.”

Logan blinked, his mind whirring so fast he thought he might get dizzy. He could’ve. He could’ve this whole time. How had he never…? How had he seriously not considered that?

•^*^••

“Sir?”

Liam bristled. He’d asked not to be bothered. It was an extremely frustrating moment for him, as he’d finally followed the trail to a house, spending many resources, as it wasn’t a simple trail to follow, but it was the house that the vampire had lived in before they’d first captured it.

“What do you want?” He bit out.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. There’s a video, and I was asked to be sure you had seen it. It’s of a vampire?”

Liam growled low in his throat. “I swear, if this is another dead end!” He snatched the phone out of the man’s hand.

The vampire in the video was shaking and sniveling, but more importantly, the scars on its arms were very familiar to Liam. This was the one.

“Have this traced. Now!”

The man jumped into action, taking his phone back and running off with it.

He’d better have some actually useful information by tomorrow or he was going to explode.

#sanders sides #vampire au #vampires #blood #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #emile picani #remy sleep #my own work #coffin #violence #speciesism #vampire virgil #platonic moxiety

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mxliv-oftheendless · 4 years

Text

I Don’t Care

I dunno about you guys, but after the news from last night, I could use some levity. So here it is, with some hurt/comfort goodness! I also haven’t posted anything of StarVel in like, a while, so there’s that too. Hope you guys are all doing okay. @cosmicrealmofkissteria This one’s for you, boo. Enjoy!!

In which Starchild learns that Velma does not care.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starchild was by nature a lively, energetic person. He loved life, and everything that came with it.

Sometimes, though, it would happen where he would wake up in the morning and feel… not happy. Depressed. Like a dark cloud was hanging over him, sapping away any potential positive feelings he might have felt that day. He’d noticed it tended to happen during extended periods of stress, and he hated it. He didn’t feel like himself on these days; these days where he felt like all it would take was one more disaster to make him scream or cry or both.

He tried acting like nothing was wrong. He tried to put on a smile and tried to get through the day. But sometimes it just became so difficult…

Starchild entered his hotel room and flopped down on the couch with a heavy sigh. Today had been one of those days. He tried to maintain a facade, and he plastered on a smile and laughed and joked around during interviews and everything. But now that they were done for the day, he had nothing to distract him from the depressed, empty feelings swirling around inside him.

Leaning his head back, Starchild closed his eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget this day ever happened…

… when suddenly his phone rang.

And Starchild remembered; Velma was supposed to call today. They had set up a system where she would call him every week. He’d completely forgotten… How could you forget about your own girlfriend?

He reached for his phone and looked at the screen. Sure enough, there was his contact picture for Velma. He’d managed to snap a picture of her while she was in the middle of a fit of laughter. He pressed “answer” and pressed his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,”

A faint smile drifted onto his face. “Hi, Velma. How are you?”

“I’m okay. We’re in El Paso right now.”

“Solving a mystery?”

“Of course. Someone’s been pretending to be a ghost haunting the Magoffin Homestead…”

Velma descended into an explanation of the mystery, going over what had been happening before and after they arrived and what clues she had found and the theories she had so far. Starchild stayed quiet, willing to listen with a small smile on his face. He just loved how enthusiastic she got about a mystery…

Velma suddenly laughed sheepishly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, I got excited,”

“Hey, don’t apologize for that,” Starchild chuckled softly. It was the most he could give. “How is everyone? How are Shaggy and Scooby?”

“They’re doing good. They did get thrown around by the supposed ghost earlier, but they’re fine now.”

“And Daphne and Frank?”

Velma sighed. “Are you ever going to call him Fred?”

Starchild’s smile widened slightly. “Maybe someday,”

“Fine… They’re good, too. They all told me to say hi for them.”

“Great,” He wondered if Velma could hear how unenthusiastic his voice was.

“Anyway, how about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m… I’m doing all right…” his voice didn’t sound convincing. And if it didn’t sound convincing to him, then it probably didn’t sound convincing to Velma either.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Were you busy today? You sound tired.”

A good observation… He was tired. Tired of having this stupid feeling of depression keeping him from being happy. He just wanted to feel okay. He just wanted to feel normal. But instead he felt gloomy and depressed, and he hated it.

Starchild closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. “Yeah, we were busy today. A lot of interviews… I am a little tired.”

“You should get some sleep. You don’t have a show tonight, so it’s the perfect night to go to bed early.”

A slight smile appeared again. He’d forgotten that Velma had memorized their tour schedule so she could figure out when to call him. “Yeah, I should do that…” The smile quickly faded, however.

He sighed. God, why couldn’t he just feel normal?

“Starchild?” There was Velma’s voice again. She sounded concerned. “Is everything okay?”

For some reason, Starchild felt two conflicting feelings at once. He wanted to tell her, just pour out everything to her over the phone; but he also didn’t want to tell her, because what if she didn’t understand? What if she thought he was making it up for sympathy? But he also didn’t want to lie to her. He loved that Velma would never lie to him if she could help it; he couldn’t help wanting to do the same.

“I… No…” He was just going to say it. “I just… felt really off today…”

“Oh. Did something happen?”

“I don’t know… I just, woke up and didn’t want to get out of bed. And I felt… I don’t know how to describe it, but gloomy?”

“Blah? Daphne uses that word sometimes.”

That suddenly was the perfect word for it. “That’s it; I just felt blah all day. Just, blah and gloomy and…” He suddenly didn’t want to say the word “depressed”.

“Did… um… did anything happen to make you feel blah?”

Starchild would have smiled in any other case; Velma sounded unsure, meaning she was out of her comfort zone with asking that question. She was asking anyway, though, for him, and that was incredibly sweet. But as it was, he didn’t feel like smiling anymore. “No… But I think it might be because…” Was he really going to say it? Just confess everything to Velma over the phone? She was probably not expecting to have this conversation at all when she called.

“Because of what?”

Starchild swallowed. “Because sometimes I feel depressed. And I don’t know why. Just any random day I’ll wake up and suddenly I won’t want to get out of bed. But I know it’s because… years ago, I was diagnosed with depression.”

The line was quiet for a long moment. Starchild’s heart raced in the moment that seemed to last forever as he waited for Velma to say something.

“Oh…” finally came her response. “I see.”

Starchild tugged on a piece of his hair. “It’s not so bad now. I have ways to handle it. But sometimes it just… comes back and takes me by surprise and I can never prepare for it. And I don’t know if that’s normal or not, for it to happen for years after getting help and therapy and everything. I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t know how you’d respond to it. I know I don’t act like I have depression or mental health problems…” He trailed off.

Velma’s response came after another brief pause. “Are you… okay?”

“I’m… No… Not right now. But if I get some sleep, I should be okay.”

“Okay… I don’t care, you know.”

Starchild’s heart froze dead. “... What?” She didn’t care? Did she not care that he had problems? Did she just think he was looking for sympathy?

“I don’t care,” Velma repeated. “That you have depression, I mean.”

The wave of relief that washed over Starchild at that was astounding. He sagged back against the couch. “Oh… You don’t care?”

“No, I don’t. It’s not… you. Like, it doesn’t make you who you are. It’s only a facet of you. Part of your genetic makeup. But it isn’t your entire genetic makeup. If… If that makes sense.”

A smile drifted onto Starchild’s face. “That makes sense.” She was trying to explain in her own Velma sort of way. “You’re sure you don’t care?”

“I’m pretty sure. If you, um, ever want to talk about it, you can talk to me. If you want.”

The smile widened slightly. “Thanks, Velma,”

She sounded like she was smiling on her end of the line. “You’re welcome. You should probably go lie down now.”

Starchild sighed softly. “I should… Thanks for calling.”

“You’re welcome. Same time next week?”

“Definitely. I love you.”

“I love you too,”

When Velma hung up, Starchild set his phone down and went to go lie down. He ended up drifting off to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, feeling refreshed and lighter, he went to his phone and found a message from Velma that had been sent the night before. It was a link to a Google Doc file, and when he opened it, he found it to be a document full of what looked to be webpages copied and pasted from the Internet, from several psychologists. And all of them were about how relapses of depression were common and manageable.

Starchild smiled down at his phone and typed a reply. Just saw the google doc. Thanks :)

To his surprise, his phone pinged a couple minutes later. You’re welcome :)

You know you didn’t have to do that for me, right?

It’s fine. I don’t care.

#starchild x velma #starvel #wanted to kinda bridge the gap between the movie and real life paul a little #obviously i took some liberties but yknow #hope this was good!#velma's such a sweet girlfriend i love it #scooby doo and kiss rock and roll mystery #kiss au writing #my writing #hope you enjoyed!

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rainbowchristy · 4 years

Text

This Could be the End of Everything (Chapter Ten)

Summary: Dan’s finally starting university, the phase of his life he’s been waiting for since he was a small child. His first real chance at freedom, away from his parents. Unfortunately, the universe has other plans for him.

Prompt: au where dan and phil are college students who get separated when they’re sent home bc of coronavirus. potential dan isn’t out to his parents angst + general ldr angst + fluffy reunion when they get back to campus and everything is over pls

A/N: This is for @counting2fifteen as part of the Phandom Writers Discord Fall (totally should be Autumn) exchange!

TW: Mentions of blood and hospitals.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1 | Last Chapter

One year later…

Dear students,

We’re excited to announce that the University of Manchester campus will be seeing more students studying in person in the second semester of 2021. For more information, please see the ‘Returning to Campus’ webpage.

Please be advised that remote learning alternatives will be provided wherever possible for students unable to attend classes on-campus.

We are also excited to announce that UOM’s dorms will be reopening with the return to campus. Rooms will be assigned individually unless two people share a primary residence. Rooms will be allocated on a first come first serve basis with students further from campus receiving priority.

We hope you are as excited as we are to be returning to UOM’s beautiful campus. If you have any questions, please contact your course coordinator.

Stay safe,

Lemn Sissay Chancellor of University of Manchester

Dan had expected to see anything but that when he opened his email. He feels himself grin as he reads it again to confirm his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

He messages Phil next, because he’s not sure his boyfriend knows of the exciting new development.

10:01 am – To AmazingPhil: WE’RE RETURNING TO CAMPUS NEXT SEMESTER!!!

Phil’s reply comes a few minutes later.

10:04 am – From AmazingPhil: Wait really?!

10:05 am – To AmazingPhil: Yep! I’m coming to Manchester!

10:06 am – From AmazingPhil: Are dorms opening too?

10:06 am – To AmazingPhil: One person to a room but people further away get priority so I should get one.

10:06 am – From AmazingPhil: When do applications open? Better be quick when they do!

10:07 am – To AmazingPhil: Yeah, I dunno. Will have to check.

10:07 am – From AmazingPhil: I’m glad I’ll get to finish on campus :D

Phil had extended his honours course due to the pandemic. Dan remembers how unsure Phil had been. He was so scared he’d fail but Dan convinced him otherwise. Turns out his therapist wasn’t just helpful for him; it gave him techniques to help Phil challenge his own negative thoughts too.

Ultimately, Phil had decided to do his honours classes over two years so that he had more time to perfect everything he did. Dan admired him for that because he knows he would never let himself, even if his dad did.

10:07 am – To AmazingPhil: Yea!

10:08 am – To AmazingPhil: Oh my god!

10:08 am – To AmazingPhil: I’ll get to see you in a few months!!!!

10:09 am – From AmazingPhil: Oh my god!! So exciting!

Dan grins wide as he looks at his phone. His chest is tight right now but in a good way. In the ‘I’m so happy I can’t breathe’ way. His cheeks hurt from smiling too much, and it’s a feeling Dan’s gotten more and more used to over the past year.

~~~~

Two months later…

Dan’s all packed up and ready to go. He’s got a new suitcase now because he showed his dad how janky his old one was. At least this time Dan doesn’t have to worry about it bursting open.

“You ready?” Dan’s mum asks, standing by the doorway next to her husband.

Dan’s dad has changed a lot this past year. He’s still got some backwards views, but he’s a lot better than he was. And all it took was a near-death experience from Dan’s mum.

“Mum?” Dan calls throughout the house, knowing his dad’s not home yet. “Mum?” he calls again when he hears no reply.

Dan sighs and gets up to go into the kitchen, knowing she’s in there preparing dinner.

“Mum?” Dan calls again when he sees she isn’t there.

He glances around and notices a red mark on the floor. He quickly does a double-take as he realises it’s blood.

“Mum!” he shouts, rushing around the counter to see her lying on the ground, blood coming out of her forehead. “Oh god,” he says quietly, before catching up with what’s going on and running to grab his phone.

He dials emergency services as he grabs a tea towel from the draw and holds it to her head.

“Nine-nine-nine. What’s your emergency?” the responder asks, voice calm and clear.

“My mum’s unconscious and bleeding.”

“Is she breathing?” she asks immediately.

Dan chokes up a bit at the question but checks and sighs in relief. “Yes.”

“Okay. What’s your address, Sir?”

Dan gives the lady the address and she says she’s sending an ambulance.

“Stay on the phone,” she says next. “Where is she bleeding?”

“On her forehead. I think she hit it when she fell.”

“Is she bleeding anywhere else?”

Dan gave her a quick once over. “Not that I can tell.”

“Okay, thank you. Now, do you know the recovery position?”

He racks his brain. “Like when they’re on their side?” Dan asks.

“Yes. Can you put your mother in that position for me? You can put your phone down and on speaker if you need to.”

Dan does as she says and puts his phone down. He takes the blood-soaked towel away and rolls her onto her side.

“Okay, done,” Dan says once he’s finished.

“Good job. Can you check again if she’s breathing, please?”

“She is,” Dan says after checking. “Should I hold a towel to her head still?”

“Yes, that will help. Apply pressure but do not push against her head as it could make any potential head injuries worse.”

“When will the ambulance get here?”

“They shouldn’t be long now.”

“Your wife passed out due to severe exhaustion,” the doctor tells Dan’s dad hours later. “She very likely would not have survived had your son not found her when he did.”

Dan sees his dad swallow hard. “Do you know what made her collapse?” he asks.

“She was dehydrated and slightly malnourished. We do not know the reason why though. Currently, we have her IV injecting fluids and electrolytes into her body. She should wake up soon.”

When his mum wakes up, she has to talk to the doctors in private. After that, she tells Dan and his dad what happened.

“I was so busy with everything, I just forgot to eat or drink. I needed to have the house ready for when you got home.”

Dan’s dad looks fearful when she says this.

“You mean to say this is my fault?” he asks, but his voice isn’t his usual rough one.

Now it’s Dan’s mum’s turn to look afraid.

“No no, not at all,” she says quickly. “It’s my fault, I was silly.”

“But if it weren’t for me, you would have remembered to eat and drink.”

Dan’s mum looks down and away.

“I’m sorry,” he says then, and Dan’s dad never apologises, not sincerely anyway. Dan’s mum looks shocked. “Can you excuse us a moment, Dan?” he asks then. Dan nods and leaves the room.

Dan’s mum filled him in once they got home. They were going to go to couple’s therapy in hopes of helping his father be less strict and his mother be more willing to share her experiences.

“We’re here,” Dan’s mum says as his dad parks the car.

“We are,” Dan confirms, looking out of the window at the train station.

Dan pulls on his mask as his mum does the same. He’s not too worried that his Dad isn’t wearing one. Everything is fairly under control, which is why universities can open again. Most people don’t wear masks but Dan and his mum choose to because they think there’s no reason not to.

Dan’s dad grabs the suitcase out of the trunk and passes them to Dan.

“What time is your train again?”

“Just after ten,” Dan answers. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Dan’s dad locks the car and offers his hand to Dan’s mum, who accepts it. They’ve been a lot more couple-y since they started therapy which is both gross because they’re Dan’s parents and sweet because Dan can’t remember a time they were like this.

They head inside and towards the turnstiles.

“You’ve got the money for lunch, yes?” his mother asks.

Dan nods and pats his pocket. “Right here.”

“Okay. Well, we’ll see you when you come back home.”

“Yeah,” Dan answers.

“Enjoy your time there, Dan.”

Dan closes his eyes briefly and smiles. “I will.”

“Dad?” Dan says, getting his father’s attention. The man’s been in a good mood most days he comes home now, but Dan’s still cautious every time he approaches him. Years of conditioning tends to do that to a person.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Dan notices he’s rocking back and forth, a nervous habit, and stops immediately because it annoys his Dad.

When Dan doesn’t continue, his father says, “Go on.”

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to study law.”

Dan’s mum comes in right then which Dan is half-thankful for because she will help him stay less angry.

And he does look angry.

“We’ve talked about this,” he says in a way that sounds so final that Dan just wants to wave a white flag and retreat to his room. He doesn’t, though, because this is important to him. And he’s learnt a lot about fighting for what’s important.

“I know. But I’m not happy studying law. I don’t want to be a lawyer. I would be miserable.”

Dan’s mum looks at him with sad eyes and Dan reminds himself she knows and while it’s still a scary thought, it’s nice to have someone who wants to help him be happy.

“Well, what do you want to study then? If it’s respectable I might let–”

“Writing,” Dan says, interrupting his father. He knew his father wouldn’t be happy but it’s his life. He has to do what he thinks will be best for himself.

“Writing?” Dan nods. “Like writing textbooks or transcribing important meetings?”

Dan winces. “Like, creative writing. Prose.”

His mum puts her hand on his shoulder and sits next to him, taking his hand.

“Like you used to write with Nana?” she asks.

Dan nods. “Yeah. It’s my passion.”

“Will it be a stable career option?” his father asks next.

“Not exactly,” Dan answers. “I won’t know how much I will get for my books. And it’ll be a slow start. But it’s something I really want to do, even if I need another job to make enough for a while.”

His father nods. “I want you to have a successful career,” he says.

Dan’s head drops and he nods slowly. He knows he shouldn’t have expected otherwise but he really hoped his father would understand that studying law is his own personal form of hell.

“But,” he says next, “I understand law may not be for everyone.”

Dan blinks, surprised by his dad’s words.

“You may change course if that is what you desire.” He pauses, sighing and looking at his wife for a second. “I will support you. You are my only son and I don’t want you to end up on the streets.”

Dan smiles, ready to give his dad a big hug – which doesn’t happen often – and thank you.

“But,” he adds before Dan can move, “you cannot come grovelling back. Your degree is your choice but I do not want you living in my house at forty because you chose an unstable career path. If you truly believe you can be a professional author, then go ahead. But you need to have a good, long think about this and make the right decision, okay?”

Dan nods and is, in all honesty, close to tears. “Thank you, Dad. Thank you.”

He nods, clearly unsure how to respond to that. “Let me know when you decide,” he says.

Dan confirms that he will and then makes a quick exit, not wanting his father to have an opportunity to change his mind.

“Thank you,” he hears Dan’s mum say just after he leaves.

“I know you think I’m too strict and Charlotte probably does, too, but I do actually just want what’s best for him.”

Dan hears a kiss. “I know. And thank you for understanding about his therapy. It’s really helped him. He’s told me so and I can see the difference.”

Dan’s eyes widen. Dan’s mum had promised she wouldn’t tell him. Dan feels his chest tighten as he waits for a reply but there is none. He scurries up the stairs and into his room, certain he wasn’t supposed to have overheard that conversation.

“You should bring Phil next time you come home,” his mother says. Dan hasn’t talked about him much because of his father, but Dan had mentioned his name when she asked.

Dan swallows and looks to his Dad, waiting for him to say it’s a terrible idea. He doesn’t though. Instead, he smiles at Dan and pats his shoulder.

“You should,” he says, which leaves Dan more surprised than he’s ever been in his whole life. He knows his dad’s been working on things but no one can change their core beliefs with a year of therapy.

“Oh, uh, maybe,” Dan says, mostly because he’s too shocked to really understand what’s happening.

“You better get going now,” his mother says then, gesturing to her watch.

“I’ll visit soon.”

“Not too soon, I hope,” she says with a chuckle. “Now off you pop.”

Dan nods and goes though the turn gates. He waves at his parents as he turns the corner and then he’s on his own again.

He buys a sandwich for lunch and packs it into his backpack.

9:57 am – From AmazingPhil: On the train yet?

9:57 am – To AmazingPhil: 5 mins :D

9:58 am – From AmazingPhil: YAY!

They talk the whole train ride. Well, most of it. There are long chunks where Dan’s phone is out of range but they talk whenever they can.

Phil’s meeting him at the train station and Dan’s beyond excited to see him.

Dan’s honestly surprised they lasted the whole year, especially when they haven’t seen each other in person at all. Not to mention how new the relationship had been to both of them when quarantine started. But Phil seemed to understand and didn’t mind. He seemed – and still seems – genuinely interested in what Dan does each day and Dan cares about what Phil’s up to, even if he spends most of his time talking about his newest plant children.

1:24 pm – To AmazingPhil: One more stop!

1:24 pm – From AmazingPhil: :DDD

Five minutes later, Dan pulls his suitcases off of the overhead racks and makes his way to the carriage doors. Two minutes after that, the train pulls to a stop.

“Current stop: Manchester Piccadilly station.”

Dan steps off the train and follows the crowd towards the exit. Once through the turnstiles, he immediately spots Phil, who hasn’t seen him yet.

He heads over to Phil, grinning in excitement. It’s been well over a year since they’ve actually seen each other in person.

“Dan!” Phil says excitedly once he spots Dan.

“Hi!” Dan says, equally excited, though for a different reason. He pulls his mask off as he’s walking closer to Phil, knowing it’s pretty safe to do so.

Once he’s standing in front of Phil, he grabs his face and pulls Phil’s mask off too. Within seconds, he’s pulling Phil in for a kiss. Phil is still for a second before he wraps his arms around Dan and reciprocates.

“That was unexpected,” Phil says, laughing, as he pulls away. He takes his mask when Dan offers it to him.

“But not unwanted, right?” Dan asks, suddenly worried his plan had been a terrible idea.

“Definitely not unwanted,” Phil confirms before Dan’s thoughts can get too out-of-control.

Phil pulls him in for a hug and Dan wraps his arms around Phil, feeling content just standing in a busy train station with hundreds of strangers walking around.

They put their masks back on and Phil takes one of Dan’s suitcases.

“Let’s go,” he says, leading Dan out of the station.

Phil pushes the door open for Dan to walk through. It’s a different block to the one they were in the first time.

“Daniel James Howell,” Dan tells the assistant.

“Bachelor of arts in creative writing?” she asks. Dan feels far happier hearing her say it than he did when last year’s assistant confirmed his law course.

“That’s me.”

“Okay. It says here you stayed in dorms last year but as a refresh, dorms are labelled by floor and then room number. You’re in room G02 so the second room on this floor.”

Dan smiles at that, thankful he won’t have to walk up two flights of stairs multiple times a day. It may have been good for his health but he absolutely hated it.

“Thank you,” he says as he takes the key she offers him.

“And here’s your pamphlet. There are quite a few changes from the one you would have got last year so be sure to have a read of it.”

Dan accepts the pamphlet even though he read it in the email they sent confirming his dorm room status. After that, they head towards his Dan’s room together and he unlocks it.

“How is this room bigger than the one we had to share?” Phil asks, wheeling the suitcase in behind him.

“I have no idea,” Dan answers, laughing. “The bed is better than I remember too,” he adds after he sits down.

“Well, I was gonna say I won’t miss dorm life but this place looks better than the flat.”

Dan smiles at his boyfriend. Phil hadn’t got a dorm room for his last semester, likely because he was so close to the campus. After Phil had found that out, he’d immediately started looking for a flat to call his own. He didn’t want to stay with his parents for too much longer as he was almost done with his degree.

“You’ll have to show it to me sometime,” Dan says, pulling his mask off since it’s just Phil and him now. He knows Phil’s been isolating properly and so has Dan so there’s a very small risk that either of them are sick. Phil takes his off too.

“Yeah, definitely. If I get it, anyway.”

They unpack then. Phil puts on some Muse quietly in the background but they spend most of the next few hours talking about anything at all. Dan’s always surprised about how easily conversation flows between them. He remembers wondering how any couple could spend hours talking about nothing but he understands now. It’s so simple and easy and enjoyable to just spend time in the presence of someone you care about.

Once they’re finished, they settle on Dan’s newly made bed. They aren’t supposed to – Dan’s not supposed to have any guests – but they decide to ignore the rules in favour of cuddling. They haven’t in over a year and they’re both in need of some physical contact. Besides, they’ll be seeing each other a lot more now that they’re in the same city.

Dan puts on a movie for them to watch but neither of them really pay attention. They talk a lot. And then they kiss a lot. And then Dan’s shoving his laptop away and climbing over Phil to continue their kiss.

“Can I?” Phil asks, pulling lightly on the hem of Dan’s shirt.

Dan nods and sits up to pull his shirt off before leaning back down to kiss Phil some more.

~~~~

Phil blinks his eyes open and then instantly squints. The sun’s shining right onto his face through the window. He looks down, noticing Dan fast asleep on his chest. His bare chest. He quickly remembers what they did the day before, or, more specifically, what they didn’t do.

“No,” Dan whispers, grabbing onto Phil’s forearm. Phil looks into his eyes and sees the fear there.

“Sorry,” Phil replies quickly, already pulling his hand back up from Dan’s waist.

Dan sits back so that he isn’t touching Phil at all. Phil lets him.

“I’m sorry,” Dan says, ignoring Phil’s apology. “I– I want to, but I can’t.”

“Because you’re still scared?” Phil asks, feeling a little hurt. He knows how hard it can be to overcome your own thoughts but he really thought Dan had by now.

Dan shakes his head. “I mean, yeah. But not because of that. I’ve never– I– I’m still a virgin,” Dan stutters out.

Phil blinks. “Oh,” he says before internally slapping himself. “I mean, that’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of. We can wait until you’re ready, okay?”

Dan nods. “Thank you.”

Phil is pulled out of his thoughts by Dan stirring.

“Morning,” he grumbles and Phil smiles at the sound of his morning voice. He hasn’t heard it much, and when he has in the past, it was before he really cared about hearing it.

“Morning,” Phil replies, voice a little less rough than Dan’s.

“What time is it?” Dan asks, snuggling into Phil further.

Phil laughs but picks up his phone. “Half-past nine.”

“Too early.”

“Nope. I’m hungry. Up you get,” Phil says, pushing Dan lightly. The boy just holds on tighter, squeezing Phil.

“No,” he says, trying to be final.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes or I won’t cuddle with you later.”

“No because I’m cuddling you right now.”

Phil rolls his eyes and then wraps his arms around Dan’s torso, yanking the boy up.

“Good morning,” he says, grinning at Dan’s sour face.

“I hate you,” he mumbles, making Phil laugh.

“Come on,” Phil says instead of acknowledging Dan. “I want pancakes.”

Dan begrudgingly gets dressed and Phil leads them downstairs and over to the café-restaurant across the street.

Once they order, they find a booth to sit at.

“So turns out you didn’t actually have to be scared of your dad this whole time,” Phil says in passing because it was on his mind.

Dan scoffs, getting Phil’s attention. “Yes, I did. It’s a fucking miracle it went so well. It very easily could have ended with me being homeless.”

“You wouldn’t have been homeless. You could have come lived with me and my parents if it went that badly. They haven’t even met you and they love you almost as much as I do.”

“Here are your breakfasts, enjoy,” the waitress says, putting their plates in front of them.

“Thank you,” Phil says. Dan stays quiet but smiles at her.

It’s silent for a few seconds until Phil notices Dan’s blushing.

“What happened?” he asks, teasing.

“Just– that was the first time we used the l-word.”

Phil laughs. “You can say it, you know,” he says, smiling. “Besides, I’ve loved you since the start of quarantine. I didn’t say anything though because I didn’t want to ruin our relationship and I knew how new it all was to you.”

“Oh,” he says, blushing harder. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

There’s a pause and then Dan clears his throat.

He looks at Phil and smiles. “I love you too, dork.”

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #phandom #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #philip lester #phil lester #amazingphil #christy's writing #This Could be the End of Everything Fic

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creepingsharia · 5 years

Text

Illinois: Grandson of honor-killing, terror-linked ‘Palestinian’ Muslim running for Congress

Rashad “Rush” Darwish’s platform: support for sanctuary cities, amnesty for illegals, and taking guns from law-abiding Americans.

via Ballotpedia:

Rush Darwish (Democratic Party) is running for election to the U.S. House to represent Illinois' 3rd Congressional District. He is on the ballot in the Democratic primary on March 17, 2020.

via Chicago-Sun Times: Chicago-area congressional candidate’s remarks about Jews, Israel spark questions

Rashad “Rush” Darwish, 42, runs a television and photography production business in Pilsen. He said in the interview he adopted the less ethnic-sounding name of Rush in 2001 — before the 9-11 attacks — when he was hired for an on-air TV news job in Tyler, Texas. He later switched careers and returned to the Chicago area.

His parents, now Lemont residents, were born in the West Bank village of Beitin. At age 6, his family moved from Stone Park back to Beitin for two years to live with his maternal grandmother. At that kickoff event this summer, Darwish said, “The very foundation of who I am, the values I learned growing up in Palestine, is embedded in me.”

Darwish is on the executive board of AMVOTE, the American Middle East Voters Alliance PAC, a state-level political action committee.

As he seeks to make history, Darwish’s newfound political muscle is bringing attention to comments he made this summer and years ago.

At a campaign kickoff event in June, Darwish in a speech incorrectly said Lipinski got $15,000 from the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, a pro-Israel influential lobbying group. However, AIPAC is not a political action committee, does not endorse and does not donate to campaigns. AIPAC members and allies, like anyone, can contribute as individuals and use their personal networks to raise money for candidates.

Darwish provided no details to back up his $15,000 assertion when the Sun-Times asked him about it, saying “what I can do at this stage” is “take a closer look. … So if I technically said it wrong, then, I would have to look into that.”

Back in 2015, as a provocative radio talk show host, Darwish excoriated a guest, Ray Hanania — who, among other things, comments on and writes about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Darwish told Hanania he sounded “like you are praising the Israeli people and the Jewish civilization as if they are great people.”

Darwish told the Sun-Times, “I’ll be honest with you. I may have misspoke if I said the word Jews. That was a mistake on my part. Usually I think I’m pretty good at knowing on the show not to use the word Jews because Jews are not, that’s not the problem.” His problem, he said is with a “pro-Israeli government agenda.”

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

A quick look at Darwish’s webpage and he is open about not only his platform in support of illegal aliens but his ongoing personal support to illegal aliens. Excerpts from his platform below:

In my personal time, I have been connecting undocumented families I know with pro-bono immigration attorneys to assist them in gaining legal status...what we need as a country is comprehensive and fair immigration reform to put these families on a path to citizenship...

As your Congressman I would:

Support sanctuary cities and asylum seekers...

Support comprehensive and fair immigration reform to make our immigration system simpler, more accessible, particularly for non-native english speakers

Expand my work personally to create and market a large network of pro-bono immigration attorneys to assist undocumented families in gaining legal status.

Darwish is also anti-Second Amendment and an open gun grabber. Again from his platform site:

Taking assault rifles, high capacity magazine clips, and other weapons of war completely off our streets...

Rush believes Congress should immediately pass a national ban on the importation and sale of all assault rifles and high capacity magazine clips. These weapons should only be utilized by our Armed forces and at certain times by local law enforcement.

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

Darwish focuses on preventing some law-abiding Americans from even purchasing guns, specifically, what he refers to as “white nationalist” and Trump supporters. There is no mention of his co-religionists and their jihad.

But Darwish is not only an open border, sanctuary city supporting, amnesty for illegals, gun grabbing socialist, Darwish is the grandson of one of the first known Muslim honor killers in the United States.

Twitter user @kristintweeted engaged Rashad, aka Rush, about this on her Facebook page. Shortly thereafter he blocked her. Screen shots here.

Darwish’s father is Amir Darwish, President of “The Coalition of Palestinian-American Organizations.”

In this 1991 St. Louis Post Dispatch article on the 1991 honor killing of Tina Issa, Rush Darwish’s father defended his father in law who was convicted in the Islamic honor killing of his own daughter. via Parents guilty in murder of daughter:

A St. Louis Circuit Court jury deliberated less than four hours Friday before finding Zein Isa and his wife, Maria, guilty of first-degree murder in the stabbing of their youngest daughter.

The prosecutor, Assistant Circuit Attorney Dee Joyce-Hayes, said she was pleased but added she had been concerned that jurors might have found Maria Isa guilty of the less serious crime of second-degree murder.

Her lawyer, Charles M. Shaw, had contended that Maria sided with Tina in a growing family rift. The mother tried to protect Tina when Zein Isa plunged a knife into the girl's chest on Nov. 6, 1989, at the family's South Side apartment, Shaw said.

Amir Darwish of Chicago, a son-in-law of Zein Isa, said he was distressed by the convictions.

''I think all the facts were not on the table for the jury in this case, '' he said.

The prosecution's most important evidence was a secretly made tape- recording of the murder. Seven minutes of it was filled with Tina's shrieks as she was being stabbed. Some jurors cried when the tape was played for them on Wednesday.

But they asked to hear the tape Friday for a second time, and sat grim-faced and alone in the locked courtroom, listening to the tape over headphones.

In her final argument to the jury, Joyce-Hayes said, ''I can't think of any other way to describe this incident other than as a blood sacrifice.''

She said the Isas believed the only way to ''cleanse'' the family was through Tina's blood. ''They assassinated her,'' the prosecutor said.

The prosecutor could not bring herself to call the heinous crime what it really was. An honor killing. And she even went so far as to claim it had nothing to do with Islam.

A 1993 Chicago Tribune article, A FAMILY TRAGEDY OR TERRORISTS' SCHEME?, uncovered the terrorist ties in the honor killing.

Again, this is the family of Rush Darwish - now running for a seat in the Unitied States Congress.

"Quiet, little one! Die quickly, my daughter, die!" Zein Isa said in Arabic. He stabbed her six times while his wife, Maria, held her by the hair.

"Mother! Please, help me!" Tina pleaded.

"What help?" Maria Isa replied.

As Tina lay dying, her father put his foot on her mouth to muffle the cries.

Jurors heard it all. An FBI bug picked up the parents' words and the daughter's screams. Zein Isa, the bureau explained, was suspected of working for the Palestine Liberation Organization, which at that time had not publicly disavowed terrorism.

Jurors were told that he, his wife and Tina's older sisters believed she had dishonored the family, going against Muslim tradition by having a boyfriend.

She dishonored the family. Her penalty was to be honor killed. But the FBI suggested she knew too much about her father’s involvement in an Islamic terror group for which he was later indicted.

The organization, a violent and nihilistic 1974 offshoot of the PLO, was labeled by the State Department in 1989 as the world's most dangerous terrorist group. It is responsible for more than 90 terrorist attacks in 20 countries, according to the department's annual assessment of terrorism.

A federal grand jury in April indicted Zein Isa, 61, already on Death Row for his daughter's murder; Saif Nijmeh, 33, of St. Louis; Luie Nijmeh, 29, of Miamisburg, Ohio; and Tawfiq Musa, 43, of Racine, Wis. All are in Missouri prisons awaiting trial.

The four are accused of a variety of acts under federal RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) statutes: obtaining illegal weapons, such as a rocket-propelled grenade launcher; procuring and using bogus passports; illegally transferring money overseas; and conspiring to murder Tina Isa.

...

But reviews of tape-recorded conversations between Zein Isa and his daughters and their husbands also show that killing her to preserve the family honor was being discussed as early as August 1989.

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

While Rashad “Rush” Darwish was not involved in the honor killing of his aunt, he doesn’t stray far from his ‘Palestinian’ roots. He is adamantly anti-Israel, pro BDS, and he has the support of Hamas-linked CAIR.

Darwish has also campaigned with another name-changing ‘Palestinian’ grandson of an Islamic terrorist whom we posted on two days ago: Ammar Campa-Najjar.

When “Rush” still went by the name Rashad, he was a member of the notorious Hamas-funding Bridgeview Mosque.

The mosque hosted al-Qaeda’s spiritual leader and it’s terror ties were so well known that a bank shut the mosque’s account and refused to do business with them. The mosque was also linked to the largest terror-financing conviction in U.S. history.

What other skeletons are in Rush Darwish’s closet? The media won’t investigate.

Do Illinois voters really want to find out the hard way? Was the lesson of Barrack Hussein “Barry Soetero” Obama not enough?

In less than ten days we’ll find out.

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

Update 1: Rashad Darwish lost, and Lost Big

#Legal #Elections #Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Politics #News #Media #Immigration #Chicago #Illinois

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broadwaycutie16 · 4 years

Text

Jerk in Sheep’s Clothing Chapter 1

Marinette's feet felt as heavy as stone as she trudged up the sidewalk towards the school. A month ago, her feet felt light and airy whenever she started walking to her first class. She used to look forward to girl talk with Alya and the others, mooning over Adrien, and what other wonderful surprises the day had in store for her. But ever since Lila had returned to school and gotten the class under her spell, Marinette never knew whether she would spin another tale and make everyone mad at Mari.

It was taking all of Marinette's strength to keep things as calm and neutral between her and her friends as possible. She had been trying desperately to relieve some of the tension with only some success. But no matter how tense things were between them, they were still her friends.

Besides, Marinette could not blame them entirely for believing Lila's wild tales. As much as she hated to admit it, the Rossi girl had had a valid point—people believe what they wanted to believe. After all, Marinette had only seen through her lies because of her most infamous fibs of being besties with Ladybug—who was secretly Marinette. If Lila had not unknowingly lied about Mari, would the pigtailed girl have been onto her in the first place?

At first, she had been upset at Adrien for not helping her expose Lila. But soon, she remembered Gabriel, and how he had raised his son to obey without protest, to always been seen and not heard. Marinette could not blame Adrien for following his upbringing, no matter how abusive it was. Victims of those things applied that knowledge to everyone they came in contact with.

As such, Marinette knew that all she could do was hold on and hope, hope, hope with all her heart that sooner or later, the class would see through Lila's ridiculous stories. Because that's what friends did, even if things had been rather one-sided lately. She believed in them. Amd nothing could deter her from that belief.

In her deep trance of thoughts and fears of what drama the day might bring, Marinette did not notice a rock in her path, not until it was too late. The next thing she knew, she was jerked from her train of thought and went stumbling forward. She shut her eyes tight, preparing to feel the hard slap of concrete against her face. But it never came.

It was only moments later that she felt two strong hands on her arms, holding her up. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see a handsome face. The features were chiseled, coated in smooth, tan skin. The eyes were a rich cocoa brown, matching the color of his smooth, shiny hair, slicked back into a feathered style. The half-smile he wore on his face, showing his pearly white teeth, would make any girl swoon.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice deep and charming. "I know we just just met, but no need to fall for me."

Marinette laughed, half at the joke and half at their awkward meeting, as she pulled herself to an upright standing position. "Sorry about that.", she said, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear nervously.

The boy waved it off. "No problem. I'm flattered. Its not everyday that I literally bump into a pretty girl."

That made Marinette's face turn red as her Ladybug costume. They had only just met less than a minute ago, and he had already made a pass at her, and called her pretty. And she thought Chat Noir was forward.

The boy thrust his hand out towards her. "Henri LeRoi."

She smiled and shook his hand. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

His brown eyes grew wide. "Marinette...lovely name. Just rolls off the tongue."

He said it again, slower and softer this time. "Marinette...its beautiful. But hey...I can't expect less from a beautiful girl."

Now her awkwardness factor had been pumped up to eleven. She looked away, fiddling with her pigtails. She had just been promoted from pretty to beautiful in a matter of seconds. This boy definitely knew how to make a girl blush, as proven by the dark crimson color the skin on her face had taken on.

"So...I better get to Francois Dupont..."

Henri smile brightened. "What a coincidence! I'm starting there today!"

She looked back, matching his grin. "Really? That's great! That means we'll be seeing more of each other!"

"Might I be so bold as to escort you onto the premises?", he asked, in a teasing tone.

Marinette giggled at his hoity play accent and replied, "T'would be my honor, Mousier LeRoi."

And with that, they linked arms and went marching into the school. Marinette's heart suddenly felt much lighter than it had in weeks. --------------- Lila Rossi finished gathering her things from her locker when she noticed Marinette enter the room. Lila always had a sixth sense for when her foe walked in. But the thing that really caught her attention was that the rival was on the arm of a really good-looking dude. He was tall and muscular and dressed fashionably, and he and Marinette were laughing, like they had known each other forever.

"Seriously? You're in Madame Bustier's class, too?"

"It'll be so great to have you there! I'll save you a seat, kay?"

The new boy smiled at her charmingly. "Kay. See ya in class, cutie."

And he winked and shot her finger guns. Imagine Lila's surprise when Marinette giggled as she skipped off to class. Oh, no. She wasn't going to let Marinette have that boy as a friend or anything else. She didn't get that. Time for another play of the victim card.

Once she was certain Marinette was gone, she snuck up next to the boy and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and Lila put on her best pitiful face.

"Hey...I saw you talking to Marinette. I know she might seem nice, but there's something you should know about her..."

To her surprise, Henri didn't let her get another word in. "Save it. I know about you, Lila. Marinette told me all about you. How you're lying to everyone, trying to turn them all against her."

Lila fumed. The class had listened to her stories. Why wasn't this boy?

"Whatever she's said about me, its not true! She's the one bullying me! She hates me for no good reason! She's just jealous that I've done all these awesome things, meeting princes and rockstars and seeing the world for the past year, and she's just a dumb baker girl!"

Henri raised his eyebrows. "Really? You traveled the world? Because last I checked, your mom hasn’t left Paris in a year."

Lila's face paled. How had he known that? "How...How did you..."

"I looked you up on social media when Marinette mentioned you.", he said, stroking his chiseled chin with a devious smirk. "Didn't find any profiles matching you, but I did find your mom’s official webpage on the site for the embassy she works at. I know its her because she mentioned you were her daughter and posted the occasional childhood photograph of you on the family tab. But the embassy rules on the website clearly state that the members aren’t allowed to take their kids with them on foreign missions. I wonder...if she didn’t take you, where have you really been all that time? Maybe I should go to the address on her profile and ask her. Tell to check in with the school, just to be safe..."

Never, in all her weeks of careful planning and manipulations, had Lila been so terrified. This new boy saw through her ruse. What's more, he held the keys to her demise. This was something that she had been dreading since she returned to school, yet had hoped and prayed would never happen. Her whole world was threatening to crumble right before her very eyes.

But before she lie her way out of her situation, or at the very least, get on her knees and beg him not to follow through on his threats, promising him anything under the sun if he only kept her secrets, the new boy surprised her by simply saying, "But instead, I'll make you a little bargain."

Lila blinked twice, confused with this sudden and unexpected turn of events. "Pardon?"

The new guy folded his arms over his chest, leaning in towards her, speaking softly so their conversation would not be overheard by unwelcome. "Here's the deal...you keep playing that little game of yours, and I'll keep my mouth shut. What's more, I'll steer her clear of her friends...especially that Adrien guy."

Lila blinked again. A minute ago, this guy had been threatening to expose her to the world. Now, not only was he promising to keep silent for her, he was offering to keep Marinette away from her friends, leaving them all to herself. Lila's one eyebrow and suspicions rose. "What's the catch?"

”No catch.", he said. "Just keep doing what you're doing. This way, you can have your crowd of admirers without any interference...and I get Marinette all to myself. Everybody wins."

It all clicked in Lila's mind. So that was his angle. He figured that if all of Marinette's friends were against her, he would have no problems keeping her all to himself, like a dragon hoarding treasure. Of course, when someone offers to not only keep your darkest secrets, but also help you carry on your charade of being special, you don't pass it up. A part of Lila was disappointed that she had failed to turn the boy against Marinette, but she figured it was a worthy sacrifice if it meant no more pigtail girl trying to expose her.

So, she smiled wickedly and said, "Deal." And they shook on it before parting ways. ---------------- Adrien walked into the classroom, double-checking that all of his school supplies were in order, when he looked up and saw Lila sitting in Nino's seat. Nino and Alya followed in after, seeing what their friend saw.

"Oh, is your tinnitus acting up again?", asked Alya.

Lila nodded. "Sadly, yes. But don't worry about Marinette. She'll be just fine." She jerked her thumb behind her, and all three looked towards the back row.

There was Marinette, sitting there, only she did not see any of them. She was too engrossed in a conversation with a boy that they did not recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes and a smile on his face.

"His name's Henri. He just transferred here.", explained Lila. She eyed Adrien with a mean smile. "They look pretty cozy, don't they?"

Nino shrugged. "Well, long as she's got company, I guess it'd be okay for me to sit in her seat."

He and Alya went to sit in the second row without any protest, but Adrien stayed behind, staring at the sight before him. He wasn't sure why, but his inner alarm bells were ringing when he looked at the new guy. There was something about him that sent his Chat Noir super senses tingling.

Marinette looked into her backpack for something, and that's when Henri noticed Adrien's stare on them. Their eyes met across the room, and that's when it happened. Henri's brown eyes narrowed, and he sent a nasty smirk Adrien's way, one that made the model boy's blood turn to ice in his veins. Then, the moment right before Marinette turned back, Henri was back to his former, cheerful, non-threatening self, chatting happily with her.

All of the sudden, Adrien felt sick, his head spinning, his stomach churning, his heartbeat ceasing fir a few seconds before it started beating a hundred times a minute. He didn't know what had just happened or why, but he had an awful feelings that things would never be the same again.

#Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Alya Césaire #Nino Lahiffe #miraculous salt #ml salt #Original character #adrien x marinette #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous season 3 #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #lila rossi #lila salt

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something-tofightfor · 6 years

Text

He’s Not Here - Part 12

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 5900 (YIKES.)

Rating: NSFW. steamy. zesty. i can’t help myself and neither can Billy.

Author’s Note: I don’t own Billy’s character. I’m just writing this for fun.

Parts 1-11 can be found on my Masterlist (link in bio)!

Summary: Billy’s looking toward the future, and he wants your help... which you’re more than happy to give.

** 15 months out from the events of DD S2 **

Tagging: If you want to be added or removed, let me know.

@banditthewriter @breanime @obscurilicious @padfootagain @madamrogersstorytelling @ooo-barff-ooo @agent-bossypants @suchatinyinfinity @chibiyanai @songtoyou @doneobrien @ilkaeliseb @editboutique @marauderskeeper @delicatelilyflower @drinix @likethetailofacomet @king4thesirens @ymariejp @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @ethereal-heavcns @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @zaffrenotes @audreychaz @jovialyouthmusic @yesixoxo @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme

One month after the auction; 10 weeks post deployment

Knocking on the door as you turned the knob, you entered Billy’s apartment carrying takeout bags in one hand. “I’m here, Russo.” The door shut behind you and you turned your head at his reply, finding him hunched over at the dining room table, a stack of papers in front of him and his laptop open next to it. “What are you doing?” He didn’t even look up as you walked the few feet from the door to the small alcove, setting the bags - and your purse - down on the clean half of the table before taking the few extra steps toward Billy.

“C’mere.” He finally looked up, sitting back in the chair and opening his arms, inviting you to sit down on his lap. “I wanna show you something.” You lowered yourself sideways onto his thighs without pause, hooking an arm around his shoulders as you leaned in to kiss him. His arms went around your waist and you crossed your legs at the knees, reaching your free hand up to rest it on his chest as you stared into his eyes. Warm. Alert. He’s Billy today. “Have a good day at work?” His voice was quiet and you nodded, forehead touching his. “Good.” He kissed you again, quickly and then pulled back. “Remember how I said I wanted to do something when I got out?” Of the military, yes I remember. “This is… the first step.” You turned to look at the table, eyes drawn to the computer at first where a webpage on small business loans was open, along with tabs reading “private security”, “continued military-style training” and “commercial real estate rentals in New York City”. Your eyes moved to the table where the papers were, and you widened your eyes as you saw that they were application forms along with copies of Billy’s military file and personal records.

“You’re really doing this, Billy?” He nodded his head, removing one hand from your waist and reached out, clicking over to the real estate page scrolling through the listings, all of which were for large, open spaces. He’s looking to convert a warehouse.

“Mostly, I’m just trying to get an idea of what… well, I guess of what is available, and how much I’d even need.” He sighed. “It’d be a lot of money, but I’ve got some savings, and I want… my idea would... “ He paused. “I don’t wanna keep going over there to fight for other people because it’s what they tell me to do. I want to do something that means something for someone. Does that even make sense?” You thought about it, bringing the hand that was on Billy’s shoulders up to run your fingers through his hair.

“It does.” You nodded, eyes scanning the screen. “You’d need a warehouse, right? You want to open a…”

“Training facility, plus a tactical building. I’d need somewhere for simulations, too…” He sighed. “I want to be a leader, someone that people look up to. I know what it’s like to feel alone and abandoned and like I’m floundering.” His voice caught and you heard some vulnerability in it - one of the few times that it had ever been that way . “People have to have something to believe in, you know? And I’ve learned that the only thing I can believe in is myself, so…” Oh, Billy. You tore your eyes away from the screen and looked back at him, wrapping your free arm around him and hugging him tightly.

“I believe in you, Billy.” Your lips were against the side of his face and you felt his beard beneath them as you spoke. “This is perfect.” He’s going to open this company, and he’ll have a reason to stay in New York for good, and he won’t have to leave, and… “You’re going to help so many people.” He took a deep breath as you pulled back, looking down at him. His eyes were wide and still worried, but be looked less lost. “Where do you start?” He shook his head.

“I donno. I know what I want to do with it, but not… how to get there.” Thinking carefully, you gestured to the table.

“Do you have a meeting scheduled or...?” Billy shook his head.

“No, I’m just filling out things and once I have a -”

“Ok, so you need to have a proposal. You need to come up with a plan and an outline and something to show the people at the bank.” He nodded, a look of realization crossing his face. “The more you present - the more you can show them that you’re serious and have a plan for the money they’re going to give you, the better it will look.” This is what I do, it’s logical, it’s…

“Will you help me?” Billy sounded unsure. “I know you have a lot going on, but…” He licked his lips. “You’re better at this shit than I am, and I can tell you my ideas, but... “ He shook his head. “You can bring them to life.” Though your face remained neutral, you were shocked. He wants to involve me in this? That means that he wants to keep me around.

“Billy, I would be more than happy to help you.” He smiled at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll come up with the proposal for you if you tell me what you’re looking for, and sketch some things out if you need me to.” He sighed, visibly relaxing. “But can we eat first? I’m starving.” With a laugh, Billy pushed you away gently and you stood, reaching for the food you’d brought.

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about Anvil later.” Oh, Anvil? But that’s our…

“You’ve already got a name for this business, Billy?” He nodded, smirking as he closed the laptop and picked up the papers, piling them on top of it.

“I do.” With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Billy looked you up and down. “Not just gonna be our safeword anymore, you know?” You blushed and Billy laughed. “So, what’d you bring for dinner?”

---

Two weeks later, Billy had finished preparing for the first meeting with his potential lender. You’d gone over his speech and his pitch, had helped him organize all of the necessary information into his folders and a binder and had reassured him that even if he felt nervous, he was as prepared as he could possibly be. “What if they turn me down?” You and Billy had been lying in his bed, arms and legs tangled together when he’d asked, and although the question had caught you off guard, you answered immediately.

“Then they say no, and you look elsewhere. You still have time, Billy. This isn’t going to happen overnight.” You paused. “It’s a good pitch, Billy. We - you - covered everything.” He took a deep breath and turned his head to face you, deep brown eyes filled with longing.

“I just want to be successful, you know? I want people to look at me and see what I’m capable of, what I’ve built for myself.” You nodded. “I had nothing, but with this, I could have something, be something, even. Think about the money.” It’s not about that, Billy, it’s… “I want to take care of myself. I want to take care of you and give you the best.” What? He saw the look on your face and he smiled briefly, one hand reaching over to touch your lips, his thumb pressing down before he removed it, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You’ve known me for about a year and a half, right?” You nodded. “Even before we were together, I knew that I felt… differently about you.” He frowned. “I wanted to… I still want to do nice things for you, and I can’t do that without money.” I don’t need your money, Billy, I just need - “When this company is reality, we can… I don’t know, we’ll live in a penthouse and I’ll be driving some obnoxiously expensive car, and you won’t be getting stupid pendants from me, you’ll be in platinum.” Stupid? Is that what he thinks it is?

“I don’t want your money, Billy.” Your voice was much sharper than you intended it to be. “I don’t need you to spend money on me like that, is that what you think I’m after?” His eyes widened. “I’m not here with you right now because I’m hoping that one day you’ll be able to buy me a ton of shit, I’m here because I -” You stopped yourself just in time. Oh fuck. “I’m… Because I want to be with you.” You pushed away from him, sitting up and crossing your arms over your chest. “I heard you, Billy. That night, when I asked you about your fantasy?” His eyes widened. “I fucking want you, Billy. I care about you as you are now, I don’t fucking care about the hypothetical things you can give me in this hypothetical future of yours.” You were overly angry, and maybe it was too much, but you couldn’t stop. “You want to give me the best?” He nodded twice, his eyes still wide. “Then just give me you, Billy. Nothing else.” You climbed out of bed, further away from Billy and began getting dressed, pulling a shirt - his shirt - on.

“Where are you going?” You shook your head as you pulled a pair of pants up over your thighs. You swallowed and found that there was a lump in your throat. Running out of time, I have to say this now.

“You said you wanted someone to… care for you because of what you are and not what you could give them.” You stood next to the bed, one finger jabbing at your own chest. “I’m that person. And if you haven’t figured that out yet, then… maybe…” You shook your head, both hands dropping to your sides as he stared at you, silently from where he was laying. “I don’t know what else I can do, Billy. I don’t know what else to say.” Defeated, you turned away from his bed, headed for the door. One hand on the knob, you stopped, looking down at your feet. “You want success? That’s fine. You want to make a name for yourself? That’s fine too. I get it.” There was a tremor in your voice as you spoke. “But don’t lump me in with that shit, Billy. I don’t need any of it to know how I feel about you.” Stop. Stop now. It’s too soon, he’ll run. “I just need you.” Finally spent, you started to pull the door open but it slammed shut, and you felt Billy pressed up against you from behind, his right hand flat on the door.

His body was against yours but he wasn’t touching you with his free hand, and because your head had been hanging down, you could see his feet, bare against the carpet, spread a little bit apart. “ That’s… not what I said.” His voice was low, and there was an unsure note to it that you had never heard before from him, not even when he’d been telling you about the girl at the group home. “I said that my fantasy was someone being capable of loving me for what I am.” He paused. “Loving, not caring.” He leaned in, his breath hot on the side of your face. “Do you?” You froze. “D’you love me?” The words were even quieter as he continued. “How could you? No one else ever has.” He stepped back abruptly as you remained quiet, eyes still on the floor. If I tell him I love him now, it won’t… he won’t…

“Billy.” You turned, looking back toward the bed where Billy was seated on the edge, his long legs pale against the sheets, hands clasped together between his knees. He was staring at the floor, his hair hanging messily over his eyes as one leg bounced up and down quickly. “Billy, look at me.” You stepped back over to him and watched as he slowly raised his head, eyes on you. This is killing him, being so vulnerable. You knelt in front of him, reaching out to touch his hands, but he pulled them away from you, shaking his head.

“Get off the floor, you don’t need to be down there, come on.” There was some strength in his voice but it was still quiet. You stood, moving to sit next to him and covered his hands with one of yours, shoulder to shoulder. “I want what I never had.” I know. “I want to give someone what I never got.” Oh, Billy. I know that too. “How could anyone want me otherwise?” He turned to look at you, his eyes not leaving your face. “Why do you want me now? I’m no different than I was then.” You’d known that Billy had a troubled childhood, and had heard bits and pieces of it from him, and from Frank. You knew that his mother had abandoned him and that because of it, he’d thought himself unworthy of lasting affection as he was. But what you hadn’t known was that Billy’s deepest fear was that he was entirely alone in the world, and that without being successful, he’d never change that. He wanted someone to want him for who he was and not what, but didn’t think that anyone would care unless he became something else. Your heart had broken for Billy time and time again, but this time was different. “I care about you so much, you’ve gotta know that.”

“I know, Billy. I -” You shook your head, leaning against him. “I know you do. But you… it’s not about the money or the status or the future. It’s about right now.” You felt him take in a deep breath, his body tensing next to you. I love you. “I care about you so much, you don’t even…” Your head dropped onto his shoulder and he unlaced his fingers, putting an arm around you, his fingertips digging into the muscle of your arm. I love you, Billy. I love you.

“Don’t go. Please stay. I’m sorry that I… I know you don’t need that shit, but it’s so hard to separate you from everyone else that’s just wanted to take from me.” Ouch. He felt you tense. “Goddammit. I don’t mean like that, I mean…” Cut him some slack. “Stay, please. I don’t want you to go.” I can’t leave him. You nodded, and Billy removed his arm, allowing you to stand. You removed the clothing that you’d just put back on, climbing into the bed and Billy followed suit, pulling you into his arms as he kissed you on the forehead. “I’m nervous about the meeting with the lenders.” Of course you are. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” As you laid there with him, you realized that Billy hadn’t made you answer his question from earlier - which either meant that he knew (or thought he knew) the answer… or he regretted asking because he didn’t want the truth.

---

The next day went by quickly for you, and at 2:45 - fifteen minutes before Billy’s meeting with the bank - you sent him a text message. ‘Knock ‘em dead, Russo. You’ve got this.’ There wasn’t a response right away, but when the message finally came through, you sighed deeply, your heart pounding. The message was short - ‘if you say so’ - , but it was the picture attached that got to you. It was an image of Billy from the shoulders up; his hair slicked back, an easy smile on his face. You could see a jacket collar and a dress shirt peeking up from the bottom of the picture, and his eyes were clear and focused. Seconds later, another message came through. ‘How do I look?’ You bit your lower lip, saving the image before responding. ‘Like a you could take on the world, Billy.’ You couldn’t wait to celebrate with him later.

He’d updated you around 4:30 that the meeting had gone well, with Billy leaving a copy of his proposal with the lender along with the proper paperwork - all filled out correctly and ready to be filed - and so you’d gone ahead and made reservations at an upscale steakhouse as a surprise. While the two of you sat at the table waiting for your meals, he’d leaned over, swirling his whiskey in his glass. “This is part of what I meant last night.” You frowned, breaking off a small piece of bread and dipping it into herbed oil before popping it into your mouth. “I want… to be able to do this whenever I want, not just for special occasions.” Oh. “You deserve good things. You deserve to get dressed up and taken out and shown a good time.” He shook his head. “I hate that this is all your doing.” Raising an eyebrow, you stared at him. “I mean I appreciate the hell out of it, but I want to be able to do this for you just because.” You understood. Though you were comfortable with your finances, the meal was easily going to cost you the same amount as your typical weekly food budget did, and so you got it. But he’s worth it.

“This is worth it, Russo. We haven’t... “ You licked your lips. “Maybe I just wanted to show you off for once?” His return smile melted you, and he reached out to take your hand over the table, the candlelight casting shadows on his face. It’s worth it because love you. You talked about the meeting - and Billy gave you a rundown of what had been said, how the woman had responded, how she had seemed excited that someone like Billy - a Lieutenant with multiple tours of duty - still wanted to give back after he’d finished his obligations. “I’m proud of you, Billy.” He smiled again, looking around the room.

“I am too. It felt good to have a purpose, to have something going on that wasn’t…” He sighed, licking his lips. “This is my decision, my dream. I’m in control of it.” He just wants something to call his own. “She said it was going to be a few days before they had an answer for me, though… it’s gonna be hell waiting.” He sipped his drink again. “Lucky for me, I’ve got you to distract me.”

The waitress - clearly smitten with Billy - brought you a complimentary dessert when you’d finished your meal, blushing furiously as he winked at her in thanks, but as soon as she’d turned from the table, his attention was back on you, his dark eyes focused and full of fire. “Looks like I get two desserts tonight.” Holy shit. He took a forkful of the dish in front of him, bringing it to his lips, his eyes locked on you as he ate. You watched as he chewed and swallowed, the movement of his jaw and throat entrancing you. He then brought a thumb up to his lips, cleaning the bottom one off before he sucked it into his mouth, getting all of the chocolate remnants. Removing his finger, he passed you the fork, raising one eyebrow and leaning forward as your fingers touched. “It’s good.” You took the utensil from him, digging into the dessert and preparing to try it when he spoke again, voice low and absolutely loaded with desire . “But you taste much better.”

The fork froze halfway to your mouth and Billy smirked, raising one eyebrow at you. “Billy…” He put both hands flat on the table and leaned in, still smirking.

“You heard me.” Your breath caught and you couldn’t look away from him, even as he lifted one hand off of the table, rubbing his thumb against the tips of his middle and pointer fingers in slow circles, tongue poking out of his mouth ever so slightly. “Do you even know what I want to do to you right now?” Oh fucking hell. Your eyes left Billy’s as you looked for your waitress, and as you saw her, you raised one hand signaling for the check. “I guess you do,” Billy mused as he picked up a different fork, returning to the chocolate on the plate in front of him.

She needs to hurry. The waitress brought the bill and you slid your credit card into the sleeve with it without looking at the total, because you were entirely focused on Billy. He was fully leaned back in his seat, and had unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, exposing the entirety of his throat. He was still looking at you, but silently, watching every move with heavy lidded eyes. As you scrawled your name on the receipt, adding a generous tip you looked up in time to see Billy raise his glass to you with a wink before throwing the rest of his drink back in a deep gulp. “I’m ready.”

You stood from the table and he did too, waiting until you were next to him to lean down and whisper into your ear with his hand resting on your back, but well below your waist. “I don’t think you are.” Your heart was thumping and you were acutely aware of his body next to yours as you made your way to the front of the restaurant and the coat check, which was a smaller room off of the lobby. “Oh, good, the attendant’s missing.” Billy grasped your hand, pulling you into the room and closing the door behind you. “It doesn’t lock.” He swore, looking around as he tried to find something to block the door with, but when he saw nothing, his eyes returned to you. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll use our bodies.”

He pushed you backwards until your back was flush against the wood, his mouth on your neck. You gasped as he bit down, his hands rough against your shoulders as he held you in place, his hips rocking into yours. “Billy I’ve never….” You whispered, trying to get the words out but you couldn’t concentrate on anything except his mouth and his hands and the way that your body was responding to his - like a magnet, desperately trying to attach itself to another. “Billy, I -”

“You’ve never what?” His voice was raspy and his accent was even thicker than usual, and as you heard it, you knew that whatever reservations you’d had about doing this didn’t matter - not with him. “Wait, let me guess.” His lips were traveling up your throat, teeth nipping occasionally as they made their way to your jaw. One of his hands had dropped down, his fingers pushing your skirt up and shoving it behind your hip before they trailed back down over your thigh. “You’ve never hooked up in public before, is that it?” His lips were beneath your ear, his warm breath with each whispered word making you shiver, and you opened your mouth to respond when you felt his fingers slip beneath the material between your legs and against you and you gasped loudly. “Doesn’t matter. I got you now.” He kissed you hard, pushing your head against the door and you moaned quietly into his mouth, your need for him overwhelming your fear and the embarrassment of getting caught.

“Spread your legs.” It was an order and you complied immediately, feeling his hand drop. “I’m not gonna fuck you here.” He kissed you again, teeth tugging on your lower lip. “We don’t have time for that, and I don’t want to risk anyone walking in.” A single finger slipped into you and you cried out, hoping that the noise of the music and the people in the restaurant drowned it out. He pulled away from you, teeth digging into his own lower lip as he wrinkled his nose in an almost predatory manner.

“Billy.” It was only one word but it was almost a moan and he actually smiled, shaking his head.

“No, no. You did this for me tonight, and I’m doin’ this for you.” He widened his eyes and leaned in, lips next to your ear. “Put your leg over my shoulder when I kneel.” You nodded once, eyes closed. “And I want you to remember that when you come, there are people literally feet away, but you’re comin’ for me.” Oh, God, there are so many people. They’re all… “Enjoy yourself.” He pressed his lips to your cheek and then dropped down onto his knees in front of you. “Leg.” You lifted your left leg, hooking it over his shoulder and he looked up at you, right hand at your waist, the fingers of his left hand moving the lacy material out of the way to give him access to you. Oh my God.

He winked and then lowered his mouth, lips making contact first and then his tongue only moments later as he parted them, delving into you with no restraint. Your head banged into the door as you cried out softly, trying to be mindful of the fact that Billy Fucking Russo had his head between your legs in the coatroom of a four star steakhouse in the thick of Manhattan, not in your bedroom. “Billy, Jesus.” He snickered against you, tongue lapping slowly and his beard rubbing against the insides of your thighs. He was savoring it - savoring you - and you began to pant, one hand moving from your side and into his hair, fingers grasping the long strands as you urged him to continue. Finally looking down, you saw that his left thumb was hooked beneath the material of your underwear, the rest of the fingers on that hand gripping your thigh as his dark head moved.

He was breathing through his nose, you realized as you felt each exhale against the skin he dampened with his mouth. As you watched him, you gasped as you felt the hand that had been at your hip slide down and around the back of your right thigh, Billy’s fingers re-entering you as he raised his head slightly, focusing his tongue on the outer edges of your opening while his fingers did the work inside. So fucking good. Without warning, Billy changed the angle of his fingers and hummed against you, tongue flicking in a staccato rhythm and you cried out his name, your fingers curling in his hair and your leg wobbling. Billy seemed unwilling to pull away, even though you were yanking on his hair and mumbling his name over and over.

His tongue was still moving lazily against you when there was a loud knock on the door behind you and the handle turned. You gasped, startling and your eyes flew all the way open. Shit. Within seconds, Billy had used his hand to help you set your leg back on the ground, tugging your skirt back into its proper position and releasing his grip on your other thigh, panties snapping back into place against your sensitive skin. Fucking hell. You were still breathing hard even as he stood, your eyes wild as you stared at him. “Your face, Billy, it’s-” He smirked, eyes sparkling as he licked his lips thoroughly before wiping his hand over his chin and pulling you close to him. Billy reached behind him with one hand to wipe his fingers on a random coat while smoothing his hair back with his other hand.

“Trust me.” He breathed the words against your cheek before he pushed you backwards into the wall in front of the coats, his mouth finding yours easily. You slid your hands against his back as he held your face, kissing you deeply. You were only dimly aware of the door flying open next to you and a surprised gasp from the person that had entered when Billy pulled away sheepishly, turning his head toward the door. An older couple stood there, the man scowling with his arms crossed but the woman smiling as she saw Billy’s embarrassed look. “I… we…” He laughed and you giggled, grabbing at the front of his shirt and looking first at the man and then the woman, still trying to get your breathing under control. “I can’t control myself around her.”

Billy tugged you forward and past the couple, and out the front door of the restaurant. As you made it to the sidewalk, he stopped you, reaching up to touch your face with his fingertips, his dark eyes searching yours as if he wanted to say something to you. Oh Billy. “You OK, Billy?” He nodded, blinking rapidly, thumb against your lips as he pulled you close to him, kissing your forehead again. He spoke so quietly that you almost missed his words amidst the sounds of passing traffic.

“Thank you.” He paused and you pulled back, looking up at him. “Thank you for tonight. Thank you for your help. Thank you for… believing in me.” You nodded. Always. “I’m so happy you’re in my life, I don’t...” He trailed off, shaking his head, and you saw in his eyes that he was terrified to say the words to you, to admit that he cared as much as he did - as much as you did. I love you too, Billy Russo. He took a deep breath. “And… as enjoyable as that was for both of us, I’m… not sure I want to risk anything like that with you again.” He pulled you back to him, and you could feel his heart beating erratically beneath his shirt. His lips moved down to your ear again. “You’re for my eyes only.” I sure am. You sighed, nodding, and he took your hand, squeezing it hard.

Two days later, you were sitting at your desk, eyes focused on your computer monitor as you looked up pricing for vendors when your phone rang. Billy’s name and picture flashed on the screen and you grinned as you picked it up, sliding it over to answer. “Hey handsome.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you immediately stopped smiling. “Billy? You OK? Are you there?” You heard him take a breath. “Billy?” As your mind worked overtime trying to figure out what could have happened in the few hours since you’d spoken to him last, you pushed yourself back from your desk, standing up. Oh no.

“Hey, um… I… I just…” He took a shuddering breath, and you heard him swallow. “They denied the loan.” Oh, no. You dropped back into the seat, your free hand coming up to your forehead. “I didn’t qualify, even with my down payment and the proposal, so… no Anvil.” He sounded close to tears, and you felt your own eyes pricking too, your fingers rubbing against your forehead. He wants this so much.

“Billy, we’ll figure something out. There’s got to be a way for you to get the money.” He laughed, but it was hollow. “We’ll make it happen. I don’t know how, but…” You paused. “You’re going to open Anvil. I promise you.”

---

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mortior · 6 years

Text

In which Dirk is a porn star and Jake is a broke college kid who needs the $$$ (Chapter 2)

@jaboody wanted “Dirk teaching Jake how to dom him” for her birthday, so I wrote a continuation of her previous gift! It was a fun challenge, and came out twice as long as the first part. Includes contrived plot devices and an experienced sub teaching a fledgling dom, which imo should be more of a thing because *justright.jpg* and also half of it is smut. [AO3 link]

Dirk’s business card sits on your nightstand for three days.

You forget about it most of the time, only remembering when it catches your eye while setting the alarm clock or retrieving your glasses in the morning. It’s not that you don’t want to contact him, but there’s a chance he might be upset that you dragged your feet about it, not to mention it would be awfully embarrassing if he’s forgotten about you entirely. Especially since you’ve been thinking about him so often. Sometimes you dream about that day at the studio, with all the irrational additions and embellishments of dreams. Even your waking fantasies are affected, where before you pictured nameless, faceless women who acted out whatever racy scenario your imagination conjured for those lonely moments in bed or in the shower, but now you’ve got a face and a name, and a pattern of freckles you can’t forget.

You can’t stop yourself from typing the name of the studio on his business card into your web browser’s search engine. The link appears at the top of the results, and you click past the welcome page and scroll down, then nearly slam your laptop shut at the first row of video thumbnails. A few hours later, after you’ve had something to eat and done a bit of cleaning around your dorm room to work the nervous jitter out of your hands, you sit down and open the laptop again, just long enough to close the web browser (and with it, the oversized video preview on the front page with you on your back, pants off, and Dirk’s head between your legs).

The money you got from that shady (though not entirely unpleasant) tryst is more than enough to pay the grocery bills, and you spend the rest of the week catching up on the movies and TV shows you missed during the semester, while paying half-attention to the homework for your online classes - mostly dry textbook readings and short quizzes, although your intro to physics course is a different beast, and you ultimately concede defeat and put it off until later. Now there’s a half-finished text idling in your phone under Dirk’s contact number. You’ve been picking at it like a scab, adding words here and deleting some there, never satisfied with it.

On Thursday, you revisit the website on Dirk’s business card. There’s a row of links at the top, allowing you to navigate the site without subjecting yourself to the “featured video” thumbnails on the home page. Most of the content seems to be video-based and restricted to paying customers, but there’s also a photo album with preview images and video stills, and you’re given the option to sort by tags. Some of these tags include names. The image thumbnails are small and confusingly obscene, but a familiar figure eventually catches your eye. Clicking on his tag brings up a new page, and a sudden twinge of guilt.

You’re not particularly well-versed in things like kinks and fetishes. It was hard enough making the transition from homeschooling to a new country and an overwhelming number of people, and it wasn’t long before you identified with the words “introvert” and “social anxiety.” You’ve adjusted over time, but sex and romantic relationships always felt like an unrealistic fantasy - something that happens to other people or characters in books and movies. There are a few things you’re...curious about, but only in theory, much like you’re curious about ancient Mayan ruins or the rings of Saturn.

Now, after clicking Dirk’s name, you’re presented with hundreds of pictures that seem to rouse that repressed interest. You’re not bold enough to click any of them, as you gradually scroll down in speechless fascination. Some of the set-ups look like borderline torture, or at least supremely uncomfortable. He seems to be the primary recipient of the studio’s BDSM subject matter, particularly regarding the first letter of the acronym. You’re especially drawn to the pictures that focus on Dirk’s face, along with various methods of restraint that you’d be fascinated to learn more about, if this didn’t already feel like a paradoxical invasion of privacy. You bookmark the webpage, then delete it, then bookmark it again, but name it something innocuous and school-related.

It’s Friday morning, and you’re lounging in bed with some daytime soap opera-turned-infomercial at low volume on the TV. You’ve worked the overdue text message into a casual but friendly greeting, a quick apology for waiting so long, and a tentative offer for Dirk to meet you at the cafe this afternoon if he’s free and still interested, but the send button proves to be a formidable foe. The phone rests by your pillow while you distract yourself, flipping through various channels until ultimately settling on a nature documentary. Finally, you bite the proverbial bullet and tap the send button, then focus with all your might on the natural beauty and grace of Asia’s carnivorous wildlife.

The reciprocal “ding” occurs about fifteen minutes later with a jolt to your gut, and your phone stays face-down for another minute or two, before you can’t stand it any longer. The TV is temporarily forgotten as you read Dirk’s reply. He’s accepted the offer for this afternoon, and you allow yourself a silent, victorious fist pump.

You send him the cafe’s address, then agonize for the next hour over what you’re going to wear. Everything in your dresser seems far too casual for a first date, but you keep telling yourself it’s only an outing to the local coffee shop. After a long shower and a quick shave, you finally settle on an outfit that would make a good second impression, but won’t sacrifice comfort in the process (namely, your other favorite T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts). For the first time ever, you linger in the bathroom and fuss with your hair in the mirror.

The remaining hours pass, and soon you’re walking down the street on a beautiful sunny afternoon with the occasional fellow student out for a stroll, though it’s still significantly less populated than it is during the school year. The cafe is on the southwest corner of campustown, no more than a quick taxi ride away from your dormitory, but you’re anxious and grateful for the excuse to walk off some energy before meeting your date (who happens to be an exceptionally attractive gent...and with whom you’ve already had a rather intimate encounter).

You arrive at the cafe with its little row of outdoor tables and flower boxes on the patio, and elect to wait inside where the lounging chairs are a measure more comfortable. Despite getting here on foot, you’re still ahead of the agreed-upon time, so you ask the barista for a cup of water and claim a spot that faces the glass door and windows of the shopfront. You twiddle your thumbs and check your phone, and try not to look as nervous as you feel.

Dirk arrives right on time. You catch sight of him before he enters the cafe, wearing a tasteful pair of black slacks and a white shirt that betrays his muscled physique, and...a rather unusual pair of sunglasses. He pushes them up onto his head, and when his eyes find yours, you momentarily forget how to breathe as memories of your previous encounter run through your mind like a tactile slideshow. At the last moment you remember to smile, and quickly stand to greet him. You trade hellos before leading him to the countertop to order your beverages, and it’s only a titch awkward (he hasn’t said much yet, and it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, even while he’s scanning the menu and talking to the barista).

When you’ve got your drink in hand (a pumpkin spice chai latte - they were nice enough to retrieve the flavor from the back room, even though it’s not technically in season yet), you return to your chair. Dirk takes the seat next to you and ventures a tentative sip of his chosen beverage (caramel mocha with an extra shot of espresso). The cafe is virtually empty, so you’ve got a nice spot to sit and chat.

“Sorry again, about waiting so long to get in touch,” you offer, hoping he doesn’t think ill of you for it, but he shrugs it off.

“Three days ain’t bad. I’m impressed you went through with it.” You’re relieved at the touch of humor in his voice, as he takes another sip of his coffee. His gentle demeanor is a balm on your frazzled nerves, and you’re momentarily distracted by his lips on the rim of his cup.

“Hah,” you let out an awkward laugh, “well, I meant what I said, and I am...glad to see you again.” You fumble for a moment. “How, uh...how’s your week been?”

During the following hour, you learn quite a lot about Dirk. It turns out he’s also a student at the university, though he’s dual majoring in computer science and mechanical engineering. He rents a house near the edge of campus with his younger brother, who just started as a freshman last year and is majoring in film studies. He asks about your major, and you confess an interest in anthropology, though at the moment you’re undeclared and just trying to get the core requirements out of the way.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and you sheepishly ask about work, hoping you didn’t create any undue problems from that rather odd misunderstanding, but he puts your fears at rest. In the process, you learn about Dirk’s history with Cal, the large, brutish fellow from the studio. He’s not too much older than you, but he was never a student at the university. He and Dirk first met and started dating when Dirk moved to the area for college, and that apparently didn’t last very long (and Dirk doesn’t go into detail), but they had a few similar interests, including adult entertainment and business entrepreneurship. Dirk runs the website in his spare time and participates in some of the videos and photoshoots, while Cal handles the miscellaneous duties and logistics that come with running a small business.

“He’s terrible at it,” Dirk explains, “but he made the initial investment, so we’re all kinda stuck with him.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you muse, taking another sip from your beverage, now lukewarm and nearly empty. You’re keenly aware of the fact that Dirk already finished his drink. “Does he make a habit of, ah...misleading you? In regards to certain things?”

Dirk lets out a frustrated breath, and you detect a touch of embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that. He doesn’t do it much anymore, but like I said, he’s an asshole.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but...” You fiddle with the lid on your cup, trying to sound concerned and inquisitive rather than judgemental. “That doesn’t sound like a very good work environment.”

Dirk shrugs. “Cal’s bark is worse than his bite. He throws his weight around and micromanages to a stupid degree, but everyone just ignores him and does their job. You get used to it.”

You hum at his explanation, marginally convinced, but willing to take his word for it. You’re both nursing empty cups at this point, and the conversation inevitably peters out when you can’t think of anything more to say that isn’t school or work-related. It’s been a pleasure talking to him, but you’re not sure how to tell him that without making it sound like you’re trying to excuse yourself, even as he stands and offers to take your cups to the garbage.

Outside on the sidewalk, you pause to lean on the ornate faux-iron rail in front of the cafe, reluctant to bid him farewell so soon. You weren’t necessarily expecting more, or maybe you hadn’t allowed yourself to hope for intimacies beyond a pleasant conversation over coffee, but the thought of parting ways with him now leaves you feeling disappointed, and guilty for it.

“I had fun,” he says, soft and genuine. He’s already put his sunglasses back on, and it’s quite possible he’s the only person in the world who could pull off that unusual ensemble. His face is naturally (and achingly) handsome, and he somehow still manages to look fetching with his eyes covered by sharp glass. “I don’t get out much, so this was cool.”

“You certainly are a busy fellow,” you smile, trying your hardest not to sound anxious at the coming farewell. “Thank you again for meeting me on such short notice. I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”

“Nah, I’ve got weekends off.” He shrugs. “Bet those online classes are keeping you busy, though. Isn’t it almost summer midterms?”

You exhale an awkward laugh. “Yes, indeed. I don’t mind the electives, but these core science classes are really putting me through the wringer.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” He asks with sudden interest.

“Uhm...just physics, actually. The introductory course. It’s so much math, and I understood it better when it was just gravity and friction, but now we’re doing circuits and resistors, and all manner of confusing little diagrams with wires, and I swear it’s all a bunch of blasted logic puzzles,” you trail off with a huff.

“Do you need help? I don’t have any plans tonight,” he offers, then quickly backpedals. “I mean, if you want. It’s cool if you’d rather call it a day, or text me some other time, or whatever.”

“Oh! Well, yes, of course, I-I’d be grateful for the help,” you stumble, grasping at the chance to spend more time with him, and caring little for the homework you’ll presumably get done in the process.

The walk back to your dormitory is pleasant, compared to the awkward trek you were expecting. Dirk seems to know his way around campus, and you don’t need to direct him beyond the name of your dormitory building. He opts for the stairs instead of the elevator, and it occurs to you halfway up that you haven’t been very mindful about keeping the place clean since your roommate left for the summer, so you mutter apologies while pushing past Dirk once your door is open, grabbing an armful of dirty clothes after making a frantic detour to toss last night’s frozen dinner into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” you apologize, while throwing your clothes into the hamper. Dirk says nothing at first, but when you turn around, he’s got a small, amused smile.

“No worries, man. You should see my place.” He clips his sunglasses to his shirt and wanders around a bit as you finish racing to tidy up, as much as one can wander about within fifteen square feet of space. He lingers in thoughtful consideration of the posters that adorn every square inch of the wall over your desk, then seems to notice the far less decorated living space on the opposite side of the room. “You got a roommate?”

“I do, but he’s staying with family for summer break.” You straighten out the covers on your bed, then offer Dirk a soda from the mini fridge, which he politely declines. Your tiny dormitory-furnished desk isn’t really big enough for two, especially with only one chair in the room (those tuition dollars at work), so you apologise again and ask Dirk if he’s alright with sitting on the floor, and he’s already making himself comfortable before you can finish the question, so you fetch your laptop and join him.

Dirk, it turns out, is a natural at explaining difficult concepts. He borrows a notebook from your desk and writes out a series of basic formulas, along with a small flowchart showing you where to replace certain variables depending on the situation. You go over the practice questions together as he explains how to translate each question into mathematical equations and plug the numbers in, and it’s the first time this stuff has made any sense. Next, you tackle the online quiz that had given you such a headache earlier. He lets you complete each question on your own, and once you have an answer, tells you if it’s correct or points out the step at which you made a mistake and has you redo it more carefully. It’s a relief to finally understand the material and not spend several hours ripping your hair out only to get a marginally passing score. It's a strange end to your date, but you're not complaining in the slightest.

“I used to be a TA before I got busy with the studio,” he explains when you compliment him on his teaching skills. “Can’t say it was my favorite gig, but it gave me something to do.”

“Well, you are very good at it.” You submit the quiz and open the next homework assignment, although it’s not due for a few more days. “I bet it didn’t pay too well, though.”

Dirk snorts, and it’s somehow the most charming thing you’ve ever seen. “Peanuts. But I wasn’t in it to pay the bills.”

“Well, I think you might have just saved my behind...again,” you give a small, nervous laugh. “I really can’t thank you enough. For this, and for…earlier this week, too.”

He shrugs a little, and his pale complexion betrays the pinkish tint to his face, as he focuses with sudden intensity on the laptop’s screen. “You started this one yet?”

“Ah, yes-” you stumble out of the awkward pause, “or tried, rather. It’s actually from the next chapter.”

“Do you have the textbook? It’ll make way more sense with the diagrams.”

You nod and direct him to a small closet packed with winter clothing and a few boxes that belong to you and your absent roommate, telling him to check the one on top. Later, you’ll blame what happened on how distracted you’ve been lately, and berate yourself for refusing to label things properly, although you’ll come to be grateful for it. Dirk gets up and makes his way to the closet to follow your instructions, and you’re busy focusing on the first homework question when the sound of ripping tape and cardboard triggers the horror of a forgotten memory.

Last year during the winter semester, your roommate was enrolled in a history class that assigned homework and essays and required them to be submitted online. Your roommate John is a nice enough fellow, though he’s far more outgoing than you and comes from a well-off family, so he spends most of his time hanging out with friends and whatnot. One weekend at the end of November, there was an assignment due in his class. He complained about going to the campus library’s computer lab, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, he never bothered to purchase his own laptop, so he asked to borrow yours. You consented, and he sat at your desk while you watched a televised marathon, paying little attention to any impending shenanigans such as him taking the underhanded opportunity to browse your internet history. You’ve explored all manner of websites at one time or another, and one of those websites happened to sell things related to those kinks and fetishes that you’re only curious about in theory. You had “bookmarked” a laundry list of fascinating but confusing implements by adding them to the site’s online shopping cart for the purpose of later research, but had forgotten about it since then. It was on that fateful day your roommate got it into his daft head to snoop around in your browser history and, with your birthday coming up, decided to order every item on that list, pay for it himself, and have it shipped to the dormitory. He even wrapped it for you, and laughed hysterically at the expression on your face when you opened the box before shoving it into your closet, where it would stay hidden in exile. Needless you say, you’d forgotten it was sitting on top of your box of textbooks, and now your date, who is an absolute gent of a fellow you’ve only met twice, is staring down at its contents with a blank expression.

“Ah! Not that one, that’s-...” you trail off, biting your knuckle as he lifts a tangled mess of black leather and metal. You place your laptop on the floor and stand up, practically wringing your hands together. “It’s not….well okay, maybe it is mine, but-”

Dirk finally seems to notice the state you��re in, and quickly drops the obscene items back in the box. “Hey, woah, it’s okay dude. I’m the last person who’s gonna judge you for this stuff.”

You laugh weakly, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your voice. “A-hah...well, my roommate actually purchased all that, you see. For my birthday, as a sort of...joke, I think.”

He frowns at that, turning back to the box and rummaging around inside. “Seriously? This is like...several hundred dollars worth of gear.”

“It is?” You pale a bit, then wonder vaguely why you didn’t try to sell it sooner, before the thought of selling such objects to complete strangers quickly puts that idea out of your head. “Well, it’s just a mess of things I don’t know what to do with. I haven't a clue how any of it works.”

“Really? ‘Cause I could, uh…” Dirk trails off suddenly, then seems to regain his train of thought. “I mean, we’re kinda doing a lesson already, and if you want to learn about this too, I can at least show you how the gear works.”

You don’t really know what to say to that. Dirk shrugs at your wide-eyed expression like he’s suggesting a casual review of some academic subject.

“Uhm...sure, ok.” You surprise yourself with the answer. He picks up the cardboard box and carries it to the foot of your bed, while you sit down on the edge of the mattress and try very hard to relax.

“Alright...we’ll start with…” he rummages around in the box and produces some manner of sinister leather collar from its depths. “This. It’s called a spider gag.”

“A what?” You make a face at the device, as he unbuckles the strap and sits next to you. “You're saying that contraption is supposed to go in your mouth? It looks...terribly uncomfortable.”

Dirk seems amused at that, as he holds it out for you to observe. “Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point. Depends on what you’re into. This is actually one of the nicer ones I've seen.” He taps his finger against the metal ring in the center. “Gotta be careful not to chip a tooth, but it’s better than a ring gag. The hooks keep it from flipping over. Want a demonstration?” he asks while already unbuckling the leather straps, and you nod vacantly as he starts fitting the thing into his mouth like he’s done this a hundred times.

You watch in quiet fascination as he adjusts the straps and pulls it tight, and you're left at a loss for words when he’s finished. Whoever invented this bizarre contraption was a genius of the highest caliber. The ring does a marvelous job of parting his lips and holding his mouth open, and all while leaving enough room between his teeth that you can already imagine the raunchy sequiturs to such a situation. There’s no denying the sudden heat on your face, as he pauses so you can take it all in.

“That is…” you struggle to find words, “...really...something. I-I think...I might have seen it before? But didn’t quite know what it was. I mean, from what little searching around I’ve done on your website- that is-” Dirk blinks, as you stammer in panic at the slip-up. “I saw the website on your card, and I...I swear didn’t watch the videos, but the photographs...and they were free, and you had a tag, so I...I should have asked permission first, I’m so sorry-” Dirk makes an incoherent noise in his throat, the gag preventing him from responding to your shameful confessions as he quickly starts fumbling with the buckle behind his head. “It was wrong of me to invade your privacy like that. I knew it was wrong, but I went and snooped around like a thoughtless cad when you trusted me with that card, and-”

“Jake, it’s okay,” he interrupts, after finally freeing himself. “If I didn’t want people to see that stuff, it wouldn’t be on the website. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure? I feel so awful,” you confide, hoping the sting in your eyes isn’t noticeable.

“I’m sure, don’t worry about it.” He drops the gag back into the box and focuses those stunning eyes on yours, his expression sincere. “I’m just…happy you still wanted to do this.”

“Really?” you ask, allowing yourself a deep breath of relief when he nods. “Thank goodness. I thought I’d really gone and mucked this all up.”

“You didn’t muck up anything. This is the best date I’ve been on in years.” He smiles, and it somehow reaches your face too. “I’m into this stuff because I like it, and I’m...glad you like it too.”

You laugh at that, though it’s more out of embarrassment. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’d ever wear those things myself, but on you, it’s...I-I mean, you’ve clearly had lots of experience.” You bite your lip at the almost-admission of how obscenely good he looked in that gag, and then, after a moment to think it over, you admit it in a small, quiet voice. “It looked...very fetching on you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles, matching your soft tone. The air feels heavier, and the tone of his voice stirs a familiar flock of butterflies in your gut. “We can keep going, if you want. Here, pick whatever looks interesting.” He slides the box closer to you across the floor.

You take a moment to bend down and rummage through the box’s unfamiliar contents, trying to hide the betraying flush to your cheeks. The only item that doesn’t appear partway tangled up in everything else is a metal bar with a suspicious leather cuff on either end.

“This looks a bit like handcuffs,” you venture, hoping you’ve picked something fairly innocuous. Dirk accepts it when you hold it out to him.

“Close,” he smiles. “It’s called a spreader bar.”

“Huh,” you murmur, watching him fiddle with it. He loosens something, and slides the bar away from itself in the middle.

“Collapsable, nice,” he says. “The cuffs go around your legs to hold them apart. Sometimes they attach to handcuffs or collars, depending on how much restraint you want. They can get pretty extreme when you mix and match.”

“Oh. But this is...one of the simpler ones?” you wonder aloud, and Dirk nods.

“Yep. This one comes with thigh cuffs, but ankles are more typical.” He unbuckles the cuffs and scoots back on the bed to give himself room, before placing the bar halfway up his thighs and securing the cuffs around his pants. He leans back when he’s done, and you consider the result thoughtfully.

“So it keeps your legs apart,” you conclude, and he nods, “and it can pull you all sorts of ways too, if you’ve got handcuffs and collars and all that?”

“Pretty much. It’s easy to get creative.” He grins, and you don’t bother trying to hide the flush on your face this time. “Pick something else.”

“Oh, ok,” you fumble, keenly aware that he’s making no effort to remove the spreader bar. You return to the box at your feet, searching for something you can identify this time. “I assume these are the handcuffs?” You lift the pair of leather cuffs connected by a short, sturdy metal chain.

“Nope. Ankle cuffs.”

“Dagnabbit,” you mutter, and Dirk practically chokes on his laughter.

“It was a good guess.” He takes them from you and undoes the buckle on each cuff. “They can be identical to handcuffs, but these are bigger and don’t have any padding.” He bends down with some difficulty and has to cross his feet to make them fit, but manages to buckle the cuffs just above each ankle. When he’s finished, the combination of the cuffs with the spreader bar keeps his legs bent apart at the knees.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” you ask, concerned for his posture.

“Not really. These are kinda loose. You can shorten the chain if you want to. See the clip?” He leans over and taps one of the ankle cuffs where the chain connects to it, and you notice that one of the links is actually a sort of metal clip.

“That’s nifty,” you remark, pleased by the discovery. When you look up, he’s already watching you with a fond smile, and you return it bashfully.

“Got anything else for me?” He tilts his head at the box. You return to the trove of unfamiliar objects only a little flustered, as he waits patiently for your next selection. You eventually settle on a relatively large implement that appears to be some sort of leather corset, if you had to guess.

“I don’t suppose this is meant to go over your clothes…” you venture, hopefully getting the implication across that you’re not asking him to undress (although you won’t protest if he suggests it himself). He takes the item from you with a lopsided grin.

“It’s an armbinder. Way more effective than handcuffs if you want to restrain someone.”

“Ah, that’s...helpful, I suppose,” you add, unsure of what to say to that. Dirk spends a moment tugging at the laces, before handing it back to you.

“I’ll need your help with this one,” he says, turning his back to you and holding his arms out behind him. You stutter briefly, then wrestle with your embarrassment and figure to hell with it, before guiding his arms into the thing and adjusting it into what seems like the most natural position. There doesn’t appear to be an opening at the bottom for his hands.

“Now tighten the laces, then the straps go over my shoulders,” he instructs casually. You do as he says, hoping you aren’t pulling them too tight, but it’s not entirely unfamiliar - a bit like lacing a shoe. When you’re finished, he turns back around so you can fasten the large straps at the top. They remind you of suspenders from the chest up.

“Nice,” he says, testing his range of motion when you’re done, and managing only to shift his arms a little. “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, feeling giddy at the compliment. “You’re just a very good teacher.”

He gives you a wink, before wiggling a bit and shifting even further back on the bed. “Now I’ll show you the best part about combining multiple pieces of gear.” He manages to turn himself towards you, before leaning backwards and falling down on his back with his arms trapped beneath him. You stand to give him more room, and he looks up at you with an air of mischief. “I’m pretty much stuck like this now, although I could roll off the bed if I really wanted to. Won’t do me much good, though.”

You nod slowly, distracted by the sight of him as that pesky swarm of butterflies migrates lower, until you’re grateful for the baggy cargo shorts. Something about the sight of his legs held apart, and the way his arms keep his shoulders back, accentuating the rise and fall of his chest…the moment comes to a grinding halt, as he watches you and the silence stretches on, conspicuous and heavy.

“Like it?” he asks quietly, his smile turned soft and almost shy. You nod, and your face feels hot.

“You are...just...absolutely beautiful,” you whisper, forgetting to filter your thoughts before speaking. Dirk seems caught off-guard by the compliment.

“Thanks,” he eventually murmurs, as your traitorous eyes move to the strip of exposed skin where his shirt is riding up. “You know you can touch, if you want to.”

Your eyes dart up like you’ve been caught stealing cookies from the jar. “Oh! Ah...w-well, I, uh…” you stammer at his gentle amusement. A polite refusal would be the proper thing to do, but you’re suddenly distracted by his hair, remembering how soft and delicate it felt between your fingers, and how last time you didn’t really get a chance to touch him otherwise. He seems to be inviting you now, in no uncertain terms. You wet your lips nervously. “Are you sure?”

His smile widens. “Yeah. You don’t have to, but...it kinda looks like you want to.”

You don’t have a good response to that, so you nod at the astute observation, not trusting your voice at the moment.

“Go ahead,” he offers, and you decide in a moment of philosophical clarity not to overthink it. Your hand lifts, then hesitates, not sure where to start. Eventually, your fingers are drawn to the delicate strands of hair framing his brow, and Dirk seems oddly surprised by your choice.

You gently trace across his forehead, careful and unsure at first, then sit down next to him on the bed and run your fingers through his hair in earnest. He’s watching you too, as you admire that spattering of freckles across his nose and take note of a faint scar on his upper lip. Your heart is working its way up to a flutter, as you gather enough courage to smooth your thumb across his cheek and down the handsome curve of his chin, then your fingers drift to his neck, feeling the faint pulse under his jaw. Your eyes are drawn to his throat when he swallows, and you’re struck by a sudden knowledge of what you want.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dirk nods at your whispered question, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. You lean down, aware again of his immobility, and something about that fact makes you slide your fingers into his hair and grip two handfuls of it as your lips meet. You press harder than you’d intended, and he responds by sliding his mouth against yours and scraping his teeth against your lower lip in approval, and it stokes an undeniable heat below your waist.

You pull back, keeping a centimeter of distance between your lips, just enough to meet his bottle-brown eyes and echo his heavy breathing.

“Damn,” he whispers, his mouth quirking up on one side.

“Was that...good?” you ask. “Did I do it right?”

“I ain’t complainin’,” he says, sounding almost tipsy. There’s a hint of an accent under his voice that you’ve been subconsciously trying to place since you met him, and it’s definitely got a southern lilt to it now that he’s unguarded. You lean in again, this time rubbing circles where you’d pulled his hair before, apologetic, but still addicted to the feeling. He chuckles into the kiss and does that thing with his teeth again, but this time his tongue gets involved, and your head almost spins at the feeling.

“God,” you breathe, pulling away for a moment to catch your breath. There’s a heated look in his eyes, and you can’t stop running your fingers through his hair.

“Too much?” he whispers, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s...I’ve never...well, besides earlier, I’ve never done this before. You were my first kiss, you know.”

“I wish I’d known,” he mutters. “Wish I’d made it better. Gotten you started off right, not...coerced into it for money.”

“But you did make it right, and I am so, so very glad I met you,” you reassure him, kissing the bridge of his nose, then along the freckles beneath his eyes, before leaning back to look at him, “And I did need the money. But I’ve learned my lesson, and will be keeping a tight budget this year, you mark my words.”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling handsomely. “Shoulda majored in accounting.”

“Nonsense. You know better than anyone by now that I’m rubbish at math.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“I doubt that very much.” You can’t help leaning in to kiss him again, and he hums into it, before sucking gently on your lower lip, and you almost gasp at the feeling - hot and wet, with just a teasing hint of tongue.

“Just takes practice,” he mutters against your lips. “Everything does.”

“Are we still talking about math?” you mumble back, smiling at the thought.

“Anything you want,” he whispers, taking in a quick breath through his teeth when you experimentally tighten your grip in his hair, and you decide it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. There’s a definite tent to the front of his pants now, all the more obvious with his legs held apart and the fabric pulled tight. “Do whatever you want. Or nothing. We can stop, but...I’m down with whatever, if you wanna keep going.” He swallows and licks his lips, his voice rough and maybe a bit nervous, and if you hadn’t fallen for him already, you certainly would have now.

“Anything I want?” you hum mischievously, amazed at your own confidence. It helps that he’s bound and trussed up like a Christmas goose.

“Yeah,” he breathes as you kiss him again, this time taking the lead with your newfound confidence and moving to kneel over him on the bed. There’s just enough room to plant your knees on either side of his waist, and you wind up tucking your calves beneath his knees, since he can’t quite lay them flat with the ankle cuffs keeping his feet together, and the result is surprisingly comfortable.

“What, um...what do you want me to do?” you ask, briefly second-guessing yourself now that you’re on top of him.

“The surprise is the best part,” he drawls softly. “Anything else in the box you wanna try?”

You think it over, then lean down to make a quick final pass through the box’s contents, and finally manage to find something you can positively identify. Dirk grins at the blindfold, looking very pleased with your selection.

“A classic.”

It’s the sort that could double as a sleep mask, you think, and fortunately there’s nothing to fasten or tie in the back. You carefully lift Dirk’s head and slip the blindfold over his face, then take a moment to remove the sunglasses still clipped to his shirt and relocate them to the bedside table. When you lean back to take it in, you spend an extra moment just admiring the sight before you. Dirk’s lips are parted slightly as he takes slow, deep breaths, aware of your attention. You reach out and run your fingertips down the enticing curve of his neck, tracing a path from beneath his ear to the center of his clavicle, then along one collarbone until you’re pushing the neck of his shirt aside to reach his chest and shoulders. Your hand slips under the fabric, and you marvel again at how impressively fit he is.

“You’re the most handsome bloke I’ve ever seen,” you tell him, meaning every word of it and feeling relaxed now that his eyes are covered, like it’s taken the pressure off. “I bet you get plenty of exercise.”

“I work out when I can,” Dirk’s voice is soft and amused as you push up his shirt from the bottom, wanting to see more of him and unsatisfied with the little taste you’ve had so far. You sit back on his lap to give yourself more room, and lose your train of thought for a moment at the feeling of something firm beneath you. Dirk is breathing faster now, and he holds his breath when you lean forward, shifting your weight. His muscles tense under your fingers, now exploring the smooth skin of his stomach and the sparse curls of hair below his navel. You push his shirt up as far as it will go, then run your greedy hands over his pectorals and down his sides. He shifts beneath you with his limited range of motion, making you aware of the reciprocal tent in your own pants. If you just moved down a bit more...

But you’re not quite ready for that yet, you think, even if...rubbing against him like that is the stuff of private nighttime fantasies. Instead, you decide to satisfy your curiosity, and reposition yourself to sit between his knees just below the spreader bar, with your feet resting on either side of his chest. It’s a bit awkward, but you’re able to lean forward and undo the button on his pants. He makes an odd sound in his throat.

“Jake…” he murmurs like he’s out of breath, “you don’t have to-”

“I know,” you reassure him, pleased that your fingers are only shaking a little as you pull his zipper down, “but I do remember you saying I could do whatever I wanted.”

He gives a breathy laugh at that. You’re limited in how far you can pull his pants down with the cuffs around his thighs, but not so much that you can’t expose the most important part. He’s wearing a pair of briefs with an elastic band at the top. You leave those in place for now, reaching out and pressing your hand against the conspicuous bulge in the center, and feeling it twitch under your palm as Dirk lets out a stuttered breath.

You’re grateful for the blindfold, as you’re still trying to decide how to feel about touching an erection that isn’t your own. Come to think of it, it’s...actually for you. He got like this because you kissed him. You can even feel it getting bigger, just because you’re touching him through his underwear. If you had any doubt that he was genuinely into you, there’s no question of it now. Flattered isn’t the word for it - you’re flustered and excited. Using both hands, you pull down his briefs and expose the blunt head of his dick.

After taking a moment to fold his briefs down as far as they’ll go, you manage to expose him all the way to the crinkled blond hair around the base of his shaft. He’s a bit smaller than you, surprisingly, but not by much, and his skin down here is strikingly pale. You rub his hips with both hands, remembering how good it felt when he did something similar for you. Once you’ve gathered enough courage and reminded yourself that he can’t see what you’re doing, you press your thumb against his shaft and begin rubbing up and down, just getting a feel for it, and when you finally wrap your hand around it, he pushes up into your grip with a breathy gasp.

“Oh wow,” you murmur, realizing how far along he is already.

“Hhah…” he sighs, gritting his teeth. “Sorry. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smoothing your other hand over his stomach and admiring the sight of his chest heaving. The thought briefly crosses your mind that he might be hamming it up, but that hardly seems like something he’d do. “You’re...really into this.”

He hums wordlessly, then grits his teeth and curses when you push both thumbs against the spot just beneath his glans, rubbing in firm little circles. His legs shift restlessly against the bindings.

“Jake, uh...I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that,” he breathes out in a rush.

“That so?” you wonder aloud, feeling giddy and mischievous. Watching him and listening to him is giving you a light feeling in your head, almost like a pleasant buzz. You’re breathing faster, too. That might be it. You can feel him twitching in your hands, and when you push one thumb up to smear the little bit of precum at the tip, he sounds like he’s running a marathon.

“Is that a good spot?” you ask, knowing he can probably hear your cheeky grin. He answers you with a string of quick curses when you decide to keep rolling your thumb over and around the blunt head of his glans, using the other hand to squeeze his shaft and hold it still. An idea occurs to you, and you stop for a moment to wet your thumb in your mouth, figuring it’ll feel better that way, but he misunderstands the interruption.

“Please,” he whispers, and the shaken tone of his voice sends a flood of heat through your body. “Please, fuck...Jake…” he chokes on your name, his legs starting to shake when your grip returns to his dick, now remarkably flushed. You press your thumb against the tip where it was before, now wet with your own spit. This time you keep it light, rubbing in circles and falling absolutely in love with the sounds he’s making - high-pitched and honest, like he’s trying to keep quiet, but can’t help himself. He’s arching up into your hand a moment later, twitching and spilling onto his stomach before you can react, and it makes a truly stunning picture with him all trussed up and straining like he can’t control himself. His head falls back against the bed as he catches his breath.

“Fuck it’s so much better when it’s real,” he exhales under his breath.

“What’s that?” you ask, but he shakes his head blindly from side to side.

“Nothin’.” He lets out a quiet, exhausted laugh, and you quickly decide to get up and find a tissue, wanting to do for him what he did for you when the roles were reversed. The tent in your own pants is an afterthought at this point. You clean him up, but not before running a finger through the mess, just for the scandalous novelty of touching another man’s spunk, and when you’re finished, you toss the tissue and sit next to him on the bed, taking a moment to pet his sweat-dampened hair before pushing the blindfold up. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hello there,” you smile, surprised at the sudden return of your own bashfulness. He’s still catching his breath, and it’s hard to meet his eyes with the look he’s giving you, because that smouldering fire in your gut hasn’t exactly gone out yet. His gaze flicks down and up while you’re distracted, then something in his expression changes, and he twists away from you onto his shoulder.

“Help me out?” he asks, with a hint of strain. You catch on quickly, and he holds that position while you undo the armbinder’s laces, then remove the implement and drop it back into the box. The moment his hands are free, Dirk sits up and pulls you into a kiss. It starts out with a simple caress of lips, and progresses into his tongue slowly pressing and rolling against yours after coaxing your lips apart. He’s not all worked up like before, but you find yourself making a few small, embarrassing sounds in your throat. Your own breathing has gone ragged by the time he pulls back enough to speak, and his soft words light your face on fire. “Can I get you off?”

You stammer at the question, and he gives you more time to think about it by leaning in and sliding his lips across yours a few more times, which isn’t entirely fair. You’re unsure of yourself again, now that he isn’t all trussed up and blindfolded, but then his mouth is at the side of your neck, leaving a slow trail of warm, gentle kisses. He has always been so very careful with you.

“Alright,” you whisper, not sure what he’s got in mind, but willing to take the leap. He doesn’t move right away, and when he does, it’s only to lie down on the bed like before. He retrieves your pillow and uses it to prop his head up, then reaches out to tug at your waist by the belt loops on your shorts.

“C’mere,” he drawls with a suspicious smile. He coaxes you onto the bed, then directs you to place your knees on either side of the pillow, until you’re practically sitting on his chest. He pulls your zipper down, and you bite your lip as he frees you from the confines of your undergarments, but instead of touching you outright the way you’d expected, he hooks his arms beneath your legs and pulls you closer. You obligingly scoot a few inches forward, but he isn’t satisfied with that and keeps on pulling, until you’ve got both hands on the headboard of your bed and can’t see much else besides the top of his head between your legs. Then something warm and wet - his mouth, that obscenely talented mouth of his - finds the tip of your cock, which has been sorely neglected up until now.

You immediately stuff a knuckle between your teeth, gripping the headboard with your other hand and trying your damndest not to thrust into his mouth like a feral animal. You’re gloriously, breathtakingly sensitive after ignoring your own needs for so long, and his tongue and lips pay special attention to that spot at the tip, like he knows it’ll drive you mad right out of the gate, and you are infinitely glad that you’re the only student currently residing on this floor. You’re close to drawing your own blood before you give up on keeping quiet, and instead grip the headboard with both hands like your life depends on it.

When your self-control slips, which doesn’t take long, he encourages your jerking half-thrusts by pulling at you with his arms around your legs, the message clear. The depth doesn’t bother him, and you know that, but it’s the principal of the thing. You try to pull out enough so that you’re at least not bumping the back of his throat, but that only gives his wicked tongue more room to work, and your eyes roll back at the feeling. It’s extremely unfair how good he is at this. You’re not even sure what he’s doing anymore, the sensations all coming together in a dizzying, heavenly combination of heat and tight, wet friction.

You’re fighting an unnecessary (and losing) battle, trying to keep your hips still and making shallow thrusts into his greedy, welcoming mouth when you can’t. You abandon the headboard to bury your fingers in his hair again, finally giving in to the coaxing pull of his arms and letting out a relieved moan when you push in deep. You were a downright fool to resist this. It feels even more incredible when you start to thrust in and out, giving in to that instinctual urge. He clearly wanted you to fuck his mouth, so you oblige him and do it.

Compared to last time at the studio, this position makes a lot more sense, given what you’ve learned about him. He’s beneath you with his legs still bound, and you’ve got his head trapped between your legs and your hands buried in his hair, giving you the lion’s share of control and making him, temporarily, into something for you to get off on. You’re not cruel, and you’ve never thought of other people as possessions or objects, but the moment your mind touches on that concept, it goes straight to the fire under your skin like kindling.

For the first time, you’re not shy about gripping his hair and pulling his head against you, holding him while you thrust into that irresistible vice. You lean forward and change the angle, pushing his head into the pillow and practically riding his face for a few glorious moments, before throwing your head back with a startled gasp as your orgasm blindsides you, shaking and spilling into his mouth as he eagerly swallows. You try to rise up on your knees so he doesn’t choke, but his head follows, keeping you trapped in the constricting heat of his throat as you moan and pant while he drains you with long, slow sucks, not letting go until you’ve ridden out every last little wave of your orgasm. You’re a complete mess by the time he’s finished.

After you’ve caught your breath and made doubly sure you didn’t choke him, you free Dirk from the remainder of his bindings and return the box of unconventional implements to the closet. He sits with his back against the headboard, and you wind up sideways with your legs over his lap because there isn’t quite enough room to fit next to him comfortably on the bed.

“I swear, on my grandfather’s grave, god rest his soul, that I had no ulterior motives when I asked for help with my homework,” you tell him, sharing your amusement at the cliche implications. He’s taking small sips of the soda he passed up earlier, his shirt wrinkled on one side and his hair still mussed on top. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot for some racy, sex-charged advertisement, and you think he’d probably have a lucrative career as a professional model, if he ever cared to. He gives you that charming, lopsided smile.

“Technically speaking, I’m the one who offered.”

“I hope…” you start after a long pause, “I hope I didn’t...get too carried away, or hurt you, or anything like that.”

“Nah, you’re good. I mean...it was really good,” he says, making you blush at the honest affection in his verdict. Then he leans his head back and gives you a long, searching look. “This is gonna sound shitty, but I’m so fuckin’ glad you went broke.”

You give an indignant laugh, then smack him playfully across the leg. “Cheeky!”

“I’m serious. It sucks that you ran outta dough, but I don’t think we would’ve met if you hadn’t.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose it was an outright godsend,” you tell him, meaning every word of it. He grins at you over the rim of his soda, and you distract yourself by searching for the TV remote in your disheveled bed. “I think there’s a science fiction marathon tonight, if you’ve got an extra hour or two.”

“I’ve got all the time you want,” he says. It won’t strike you as an odd thing to say until later, but by then you’ll have wedged yourself next to him and dozed off halfway through the third movie with your head on his chest. Later, you’ll wake up to find that he stole your glasses and placed them next to his on the bedside table, before switching the TV off and falling asleep himself. He’ll accept your offer of an early breakfast at the cafeteria, though you’ll suspect he’s not a morning person judging from his bleary eyes and reluctance to leave your bed despite the sunlight creeping through your window, but you’ll have breakfast with him and make plans for next weekend, and even though it started out as one of the worst experiences of your life, in your new boyfriend’s own aptly put words, you really are glad you went broke.

#mfiction #dirkjake #homestuck fanfiction #are they still called pumpkin patch lmao #ran outta time to post this before work yesterday

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