#so my only issue is Money bc I don’t have it and being blonde is expensive

[wewontbesleeping]

I need blonde hair I think ……

[katakosmos]

xenodora coworkers>>>>

she wants to be employed without her family’s help and the only place that will hire an inexperienced 18 year old research assistant who gets easily distracted is xenophilius’ lovegoods brand new newspaper with a terrible reputation

xeno is abt 10 years older than her (so 27-28) and hes initially extremely intimidated by her. shes extremely intense, simultaneously so distant from her job while being probably the most dedicated employee. I don’t think pandora thinks much of him at all at first?? Her family is pretty much in the gutter at this point and shes trying to distract herself from that by being like “i have a job and this is the most important thing in my life” and xeno is only a factor of that

the reason they get closer is how often they get stuck together during after hours. they see each other most nights and pandora starts letting herself actually talk to this guy. she thinks hes pretty much a complete quack but four months in and theyre both a little drunk on the office floor and xeno’s on his seventh conspiracy rant and she’s thinking “wow hes so ridiculous…but why is he kinda—” it doesn’t help that xeno is quite kind and on the exact same brain length as her. Pandora has literally never had a crush in her entire life so shes just standing there very stunted and fixing him with the most intense stares which in turn makes xeno go “😳” bc hes a virgin pushing 30 and doesn’t know how to properly talk to women he likes. They sort of just pace around each other for a long while before they’re finally drunk enough to hook up.

breaking my silence saying that age gap xenodora is not really my thing (simply because i like to think that they already knew each other before they started dating). buttt in this case i can accept it if i imagine that xenophilius and the twins were family friends. pandora barely remembers him because when she was 8 xeno left for college and they never saw each other again. then, she only heard gossip about him: he had a bad friend group, he was an addict who spent all his money on drugs, his life was ruined... until his father, taking advantage of the family name, forced him to work.

when she has to look for a job, she immediately goes to xenophilius, hoping that he'll remember her. he has changed a lot: his blond hair is all white, and he looks very fragile. often, even at work, he feels sick and has to go home. pandora is incredibly embarrassed at the idea of showing up there, completely poor, to ask for a job. but xenophilius knows that feeling very well; he hires her immediately.

they both heard stories about each other at that point, and they can't even look at each other, let alone talk. but when he's with her, xenophilius is so kind, even if shy and awkward, and ashamed.

it all happens very slowly, they find out that ignoring each other just makes everything much more weird and uncomfortable.

(they are a very functional couple, pandora needs a little sweetness and xenophilius needs someone strict to control his life and not make him fall back into drugs).

and anyway evan should just shut up, cause he's fucking a skeletal sewer rat with psychedelic blue eyes and some serious mental issues

LMAO

[revive-the-fandom]

God it’s so frustrating. Ik I haven’t talked abt it much but I made a post years ago and the only interaction I got was “women weren’t warriors in Viking times” like dude, they literally found a woman’s body in a Viking’s grave, historically you are wrong. And guess what it’s fiction, and the clearly the norm is women are warriors too, just admit that the execs got lazy and didn’t make female animation models for anyone other than heather, mala and the wingmaidens.

Like u said, you can like something and still be critical about it!

I don’t have it on me but the art book for httyd 2 talks about how Eret’s crew’s designs were based off of the Inuit people, which is a massive missed opportunity for diversity. America Ferrara is a poc voicing a white skinned, blue eyed, blonde haired woman. I’m sure Kit Harrington could have voiced an Inuit character (although casting an actual Inuit person would have been better, I think something is better than nothing and clearly they were grabbing at bigger names since he was used in a lot of promo stuff).

Httyd 3 came across as kind of racist as well, as the bad guys were very heavily asiatic. Httyd 2 got more of a pass tbh but only bc their poc Drago didn’t even come across as poc despite being voiced by a black man. Most of his crew and ships are actually Asian or Polynesian inspired, and his character design does have dreads and a slightly darker skin tone, but he honestly looks more grey than poc? I honestly didn’t twig that he was supposed to be from outside the archipelago until after I read the art book bc it’s so vague. Idk maybe that’s just me.

It’s incredibly lazy, esp after playing AC: Valhalla which has tons of Asian/Middle Eastern characters despite being set in very early medieval England and Norway.

Johann is his own issue, tho I will say I didn’t twig the antisemitism until u mentioned it (I defo see it now tho lol, big nosed trader comes into town and works behind everyone’s back to get money and power? Wow). But I’ve already said my piece about Johann and his absolutely fucked writing, so I won’t go into it here.

Me: narratively speaking it doesn’t make sense for the dragon hunters, outcasts or berserkers to be comprised entirely of men.

Berk clearly has women warriors and doesn’t discriminate or delegate them to safer roles such as home defence. Women seem to be encouraged to be warriors and be muscly. There is a lot of interesting backstory to delve into with this, either drawing inspiration from the irl female vikings, or the darker implications of a war torn Berk desperate for all the warriors it could get its hands on regardless of birth rates (a man can have a hundred children a year, but a woman is limited to 1).

There are other tribes who blatantly follow these same practices, in some cases to higher extremes than berk. The Wingmaidens value female warriors above males as they are unable to manage the razorwhip population due to the animals gender bias. The defenders of the wing have equal male:female ratios in their village and seem to have a mandatory military service for all citizens, including women as all are in armour. Not to mention that they have a queen rather than the stereotypical chief, possibly mimicking the dragon kingdom that they worship.

Dagur doesn’t take offence to heather being a warrior, and there seems to be warrior women on berserker island, but the armada is shockingly made up entirely of men. The outcasts and dragon hunters take it a step further and have no women visible at any point. Compared to berk, the wingmaidens and the defenders of the wing, this is a massive discrepancy.

The obvious answer is that the creators didn’t have the budget for multiple character models, and so they prioritised the male models to fit the audience expectations. The defenders of the wing only have 1:1 gender ratios because their models are reused hiccup and heather models. The wingmaidens are the only culture with consistent multiple female models because it came later in the series, when the creators realised they had an extreme male heavy cast.

This is incredibly gross and should be talked about more as most modern (5 years old is still modern) cartoons have a male heavy focus in both characters and viewerbase despite a great deal of people claiming that women are fairly represented in media, and that feminism is no longer needed.

Tumblr Guy: women weren’t included for historical accuracy.

The dragons: 👀

[red-writes]

Career oriented 

Escort! Bakugou x Reader

Your entire life you've been focused solely on your career, you've sacrificed a lot      of things, people and time to get where you are and it’s paid off, now you're a millionaire who is also a virgin and never had a boyfriend in their life. Your friend recommends you a male escort service. At first you hire him to go on dates and do other things couples do but the relationship develops far beyond what you could've imagined, now you're laying under him begging him to be your first. 

cw: smut, fluff, unprotected sex, reader is a capitalist lmao, I mean reader is a virgin but its not rlly virginity loss bc its not focused around that but reader does lose her virginity, unedited (but what's new)

a/n: I mean we always hear abt sugar daddies, I need rich reader pls also- monoma is a rich bitch y'all can't fight me on this he got that rich bitch mentality.

The words ‘hard worker’ were understatements when it came to describing you. Pretty much all of your life was spent working, growing your small business with your own two hands. Now money was never an issue. A huge house with several bathrooms, fancy bags and cars, all the things you've ever wanted were now in your possession except maybe one thing. Seeing happy couples holding hands as they walked around in the park, kissing and calling each other pet names, seeing them stirred a feeling of longing inside of you. 

While it’s true that now you'd never want for anything else in your life, you still wanted something money couldn't buy you, love.

 A small tap to your shoulder brought you out of your daze.

“Your eggs are going to get cold..” Todoroki mentioned and you gave him a small smile before prodding your fork in the perfectly scrambled egg. 

“Hey, don't tell me you're thinking about that shareholders meeting this week” Monoma groans and you shake your head.

“Then what is it?” Momo wondered as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. 

“It’s just- you guys all have someone you know romantically” you say as you rest your fork on the plate, deciding that you weren't really in the mood to eat anymore. 

Monoma scoffs, “Yeah barely...I almost broke up with shinso after that last stunt he pulled in the club” 

Momo giggles, “You're still with him?” 

His face dusts pink in embarrassment as he looks away, “A-anyway, why don't you try getting an escort” Monoma recommends and it was your turn for your face to warm. 

“An e-escort?! You do realize who we are right? If someone in here were to hear us talk about such a thing..” Momo whisper-yells and Todoroki’s eyebrow quirks up

“We all know I met Izuku through a sugar daddy website though-”

You clear your throat, “I’m not necessarily looking for you know..sex...just maybe someone to spend time with Monoma” You clarify and he's rummaging through his pockets to find his phone, he fiddles with it before showing you what the site looks like.

“Duh, escorts just get paid for their time not necessarily sex, I’ll send you the link to the website” He tells you and you sigh thoughtfully, if that was really the case then it wouldn't be so wrong to hire some cute eye candy right? 

Momo waves over the waiter, “We’ll have the check please”

“Certainly ma'am” 

+

You sat at your office’s desk with the website pulled up. You'd triple checked to make sure your door was locked, you still had a reputation to uphold as the CEO of your company, you'd be traumatized if one of your employees saw you hiring an escort. 

You scrolled through the many many options of guys. Each profile consisted of a headshot of the escort along with a bio that consisted of maybe a paragraph and . You really couldn't find anyone that suited your tastes personally, until your mouse hovered over a blonde guy. 

His bio was notably shorter than everyone else’s and in his picture he looked mean, eyebrows furrowed and red eyes staring menacingly at you and yet you found yourself clicking the ‘hire!’ button next to his name. Even though he looked like his favorite hobby was stealing candy from a baby, but his looks (as shallow as that may seem) were really speaking to you and the you between your legs if you were honest.

Bakugou Katsuki huh..well he seemed worth a try. 

+

You had been through countless scenarios were you were rightfully terrified. 

Being on a date had to be the scariest out of all of them.

Bakugou was sitting in front of you, he stirred his straw around in his coffee and looked at you while you struggled to contain the rabid beating of your heart in your chest. 

“S-So..What- um..-”

“Just relax” He interrupts, his voice sounded so nice, deep and smooth like a rich dark chocolate. It only manages to make you more nervous. 

“I’m sorry- I haven't actually done this before” you confess with a nervous chuckle, hands gripping your tea cup brutally. 

He gives you this half smile and you're unsure of wether he's actually human or a demi-god at this point. “I can tell, but don't worry there's no reason to be” 

You feel slightly comforted by his words and feel yourself let loose a little, “Okay, Bakugou, what do you like to do?” you ask.

“I like going to the gym” he shrugs, “I’m not really Interesting, I’m more curious about you” he says, he places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand and leans in to you. His skin is so clear- not a blemish in sight and his eyes are practically burning a hole into your soul.

“M-me? I do nothing too important..I like to sew” you respond, taking a sip of your jasmine tea. You didn't necessarily want to tell him about who you were or what you did just yet, money and status only complicate things. For now, you just wanted to be a normal young woman going out on a date. 

“Come on, don't be shy, I know there's more to you than sewing” He says, removing the straw from his coffee and placing it on a neighboring napkin. 

You bite into your bottom lip, “Well, I honestly don't do much besides work, it’s taken up so much time in my life I can't say I do much else” you admit and Bakugou hums thoughtfully. He doesn't respond for a bit, the sounds of the coffee shop fill the silence instead. 

“Okay, I have an idea” 

You cock your head to the side curiously.

“Let’s ditch the formalities and go have some real fun, I think its about time you lived your life” he proposes and your mouth hands open. Was he serious? He looked it. You couldn't help the giddy feeling that bubbled up within you, a feeling you hadn't felt in a long time, excitement. It made you feel young again. 

“What do you say?”

“Alright!” 

+

The two of you spent all day together, visiting various hidden places around the city, you did shopping and even some sightseeing. For the first time in a while you felt alive, like you were actually a person and not just a unfeeling robot who simply lived to work. 

Your last stop was a park. With a large lake in the center Bakugou suggested you guys feed the birds before heading home. With a handful of birdseed you gently sprinkled some into the water and watched the geese gobble it up.

“When I was five, I had a huge fear of geese..” Bakugou admits and you're chuckling.

“No way, really?” you turned to face him and when you do he’s already looking at you, smiling fondly, eyes filled with an emotion that you really couldn't seem to put your finger on.

“What? Do I have something on my face that you're not telling me about?” You pout and he shakes his head before turning his attention back to the birds as he sprinkles more of the food into the lake. 

“No, just realized somethin’” 

The sun’s beginning to set now, the sky is illuminated by hues of orange and pink. You nudge him with your arm, “Realized what?” 

He turns back to face you, there's an adoring look on his face. 

“You look pretty when you're having fun” 

A look of surprise crosses your features before your ears burn in embarrassment at the sudden compliment, the butterflies in your stomach flutter around more and more the longer you two stare at each other. 

“Thanks” You mumble before looking down at your palm full of birdseed. 

+

Dates with Bakugou become more and more frequent after that. The two of you often meeting up more than you meet up with your regular friends. Bakugou doesn't even charge you anymore, even though you've tried to tell him it was fine he still insisted otherwise. The two of you even exchanged numbers and spoke quite often on the phone. Texts like,

‘this song reminded me of you’ and ‘don't work too hard, idiot’ were often exchanged. 

After maybe a month of this happening you realized that the warm feeling you got in your chest whenever Bakugou brushed your hair into place or stopped to tie your shoe for you or even when he texted you good morning wasn't because you appreciated him being a good friend, you liked him. It took a month to finally decipher your feelings for him but once you did..what the heck were you supposed to do now?

Never once in your life had you confessed to someone let alone dated them, what would happen to your friendship with Bakugou if things didn't work out? You didn't want to stop being friends with him, you loved being with him, he was the reason you finally started taking breaks and learned to relax. 

You had a ton of questions to answer for yourself but you couldn't do it right now, you had a date with Bakugou. He told you to dress up and you weren't sure where you were going but you trusted him to take you somewhere you'd enjoy. Around 8pm like promised, he was there to pick you up. His car was fairly nice, you assumed his high pay rates were being used for something but now you know what. He was wearing a black three piece suit, it was crisp and you could clearly tell it was expensive, his hair was slicked back and he had a single diamond stud in his left ear. He looked damn good. It was making you a little nervous about how fancy this place actually was. 

The drive to dinner was unusually quiet. Bakugou typically did most of the conversations with you seeing as you were mostly an awkward sausage but tonight was different, he had a stern look on his face and you felt a little worried. Bakugou noticed your nervous look in the rearview mirror and without skipping a beat placed his hand gently upon your thigh and gave it a small squeeze, this thumb moved back and forth in a soothing manner. All without taking his eyes off the road. 

You felt a shiver run up your spine and you bit your lip from potentially making any noise, you turned your head to face the window to prevent him from seeing the look on your face. 

+

Bakugou was right about the restaurant being fancy. The place was full of people you could recognize, everyone from business moguls to celebrities, it was almost a little intimidating but you knew probably how tough it was for Bakugou to even get a table reserved at this place so you decided to instead choke down any kindlings of anxiety and replace it with a gratefulness for his hard work.

You swirled the champagne around in your glass while Bakugou took a bite out of his steak, the atmosphere between you two was a little awkward and it hadn't been like this since the two of you met it was a little alarming. 

“Is something wrong..?” you ask after gently resting the glass back on the table, he wipes his mouth with his napkin and sighs.

“I’m sorry that- I seem so weird tonight” he apologizes and you shake your head.

“No no don't worry about it, I’m just worried something bad happened” you tell him, you lean forward and place your hand on his. His fingers lace themselves with yours and for a moment it feels like its just the two of you in the restaurant together. 

“Nothing bad, actually something good” he explains and you're giving him a small smile

“Something good?” you question and he leans in even closer to you.

“I mean, ever since I started hanging out with you I feel like my life's changed, I’m not one to be super cheesy but I just- fuck..I like you” his face is turning a light pink and in a moment of courage you close the small distance between the two of you and press your lips against his. He immediately reciprocates the kiss, his hand sneaks up your forearm and settles on your elbow using it to pull you in closer. 

When the kiss finally breaks the two of you are a panting mess, then you hear the waiter clear his throat and Bakugou uses his thumb to wipe the lipstick from the corner of his lips.

“Check, please”

+

Upon entering your home, there wasn't much speaking. Your arms were wrapped around his neck as his hands fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress. The two of you blindly walked backwards until you tripped backwards onto the couch. Bakugou completely stripped you of your dress and  laid it across the back of the couch, your hands made quick work of his pants unbuttoning and unzipping them, he kicked them off eagerly uncaring of where the fabric was strewn. He cupped your cheek and continued to kiss you as he helped you wiggle out of your underwear. He sucked in a breath at feeling how wet you already were.  He ran a finger up and down your slit before gently nudging a finger inside. 

The sensation was foreign, it felt odd at first but the more he kept twisting and thrusting the finger inside of you the better it began to feel. He slid in another one and began making a scissor motion inside of you. Your hips raised off the cushions of the couch, you moaned into the kiss and eventually he pulled away from it, instead opting to kiss the skin of your neck. Your moans along with the wet sounds of his fingers fingering you open filled the space. It felt good, you could feel the knots in your stomach threaten to untangle the harder his fingers fucked themselves into you. 

His movements slowly came to a halt and he slid his fingers out. Your eyes clouded with tears and your legs were shaking, disappointed that he stopped when you were so close. He pulled his cock from his underwear and began stroking it over you.

“Ready?” He asks as he grinds his cock against your twitching entrance and you're gripping his shoulder before he makes another move. 

“A-actually..please just be gentle its-i’ve never done this before” you confess and his eyes widen for once, taken aback by your sudden profession. He gives you a small nod, “Promise.”

With one smooth stroke he bottoms out within you. Your back is arching off the couch as your mouth hangs open in a silent cry. The feeling is an addicting mix of pain and pleasure that has the tears you were holding in begin to roll down your cheeks, Bakugou gently kisses them away and uses his fingers to wipe away the stray tears. For a while, you're simply holding each other, bakugou whispers words of comfort in your ears while you slowly familiarize yourself with having him inside of you. 

When Bakugou feels your hips begin to move against his, he takes that as his sign to begin moving. His thrusts start shallow, hips just barely touching yours as he doesn't want to hurt you and you quickly become frustrated with his kindness. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer to you, forcing him to bottom out inside you again. You whine his name and he shakes his head. 

“And here I was trying to be considerate” he huffs out, you grip his tie and pull him down and press a gentle kiss against his lips. 

“I didn't ask you to take it easy on me” you remind him and he scoffs

“You asked for this”

You're suddenly flipped onto your stomach and he raises your hips in the air, he pulls himself all the way out of you until the head of his cock is the only thing you can still feel inside of you, he rams his cock back into you and you're gripping the couch for dear life. His hips are ruthless, lewd slapping noises fill the room as the head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust. His heavy balls  greet your clit with an unceremonious slap. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, you can't think of anything else except Bakugou. You'd been completely fucked dumb on your first time. 

You feel Bakugou’s fingers lace into your hair and grip the roots before pulling at them and forcing your head back. A jolt of pleasure flows through your body as his cock pushes up against your g-spot, your legs and kicking around behind you.

“No! cum-cumming kats I-” you can hardly finish your own sentence due to how hard your orgasm hits you, your body his shaking as bakugou releases your hair and uses his free hand to grip your waist as he desperately humps you, chasing his own release. Your cunt spasms around him in overstimulation, Katsuki only curses under his breath as you squeeze down on him, your cunt clamps down on his cock as you're brought to your second orgasm and his movements finally begin to slow and an unfamiliar warm fills your tummy. 

He doesn't pull out right away. Instead he gently lays you backwards onto his chest and you snuggle into his chest. 

He whistles, “Nice place”

“Pfft- don't try to make small talk with me after you just finished banging me” you giggle sleepily.

“Fair enough, still, I’m curious about how you can even afford this place” he wonders, hand rubbing up and down your back, only easing you closer to falling asleep.

“Hard work” you reply he takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it. 

“That’s my hard working girl” 

you feel the butterflies swarm around your stomach all over again at his small comment. 

“Does this mean we're dating now?” you ask and he gives you a little chuckle.

“Yes, if you want” 

“Good then you're my boyfriend” your eyes are fluttering closed at this point, you merely nuzzle into his chest and he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“Goodnight love” 

“Night Kats..”

[cool-island-songs]

twenny for the ship bingo!!

Sorry this took so long! Thank you for the opportunity to sell ppl on my version of Twenny lol

I’m stubborn Creek trash, but I’m cool w/ Twenny and always at least check it out. Seems there are more (and darker) Twenny fics now bc of the drug connection between their families. I tend to prefer angsty Twenny fics where Tweek is still crazy about Craig but something’s preventing them from being together. I like fwb and platonic Twenny best, but I think it’s a rly interesting dynamic overall and am interested to see how it’s developed when romantic on one or both sides.

Kenny’s often used in fics as a vehicle to make people jealous (e.g., Stan and Craig in endgame Style and Creek fics, respectively). It seems a bit unfair to Kenny, but I read all of these nonetheless (and he often doesn’t seem to mind). I don’t entirely agree w/ fanon consensus about “slut” Kenny. That he’ll do anything for money is more of a crack at his poverty - it’s not like he wanted to blow Howard Stern. He obviously rly wants that bj from Tammy, but they’re already dating when he finds out she’s done it before. He doesn’t even take an active role there, as it only goes down after the Jonas bros main plot concludes and she proposes it. I see him as willing to accept advances, but not as forward as he’s typically portrayed in fanon.

Fanon Kenny can get pretty rapey, and tbh I hate when he’s reduced to smoking cigs and liking sex in place of an actual personality. Dad-bodded eccentric philanthropist fishing uncle Kenny is so much cooler than all that (he gets bitches bc he’s cool, he isn’t cool bc he gets bitches, kno what i mean?). Given his canonical loyalty, I don’t see him as a cheater. He just wants to be loved and feel pleasure bc he didn’t have much of anything growing up. His Mysterion persona is the closest we get to him being a “bad boy”, which is the role he’s often slotted into in fanon, but he’s much more of a protective big brother and cynical but passionate pursuer of justice than some morally ambiguous anti-hero. Kenny’s good and goofy and sweet, and that can come across clearly in Twenny fics. He also likes a sweet and forward blonde, historically (Kelly, Tammy - her highlights are blond, it counts).

Tweek's more sheltered than Kenny and also more thoroughly emotionally abused and exploited. Kenny’s neglected all around, and his parents are generally not doing great, not able to provide - but he has his ways of coping and escaping. By contrast, Tweek’s family is upper middle class, and his parents could try to be loving and supportive but seem incapable of it. Tweek’s parents also mess w/ his perception of reality considerably while Kenny’s v aware of the reality of his situation. There’s some overlap in their situations, so I find Kenny seeing Tweek as a kind of little brother or alternate version of himself compelling. There’s something to be said for the way blond boys w/ awful home lives and messy hair are periodically slotted into the same role in the series, only to recede into the background. I love them all.

Here are some fics w/ Twenny dynamics I’ve loved:

Delmareve’s unfinished multi-chapter “your princess is in another castle” (main ships Bunny and Creek, but interesting platonic Twenny w/ brief scene where Kenny comes onto Tweek and Tweek shuts down. rly well-developed, unique Tweek w/ trust issues for a reason. Not entirely gay, top Tweek, and he’s not made any less anxious for it which I like)

Flynncantation’s unfinished multi-chapter Down the Rabbit Hole (Creek-centric, Kenny just has a crush on Tweek, but I love the dynamic)

metrophobic’s unfinished multi-chapter Tweeker Nation and related oneshot I Won’t Burn Long (interesting illicit fwb Twenny situation where Kenny has some romantic feelings for Tweek, but resents his bratty immaturity and seems on the verge of being done w/ him. Lotta interesting Kenny perspective on Creek + Tweek). also a few Kinktober drabbles w/ Twenny, this one being my favorite for the sheer SP-like absurdity. I like that metrophobic’s Tweek often has hang-ups about bottoming. Wouldn’t you if your whole town decided you were a bottom at age 10???

All the scarlettshazam Twenny tho it’s been deleted (found it v sex positive, love that 4 Kenny)

towards (likely still in process) multi-chapter Because headstones are not big enough. (Tweek remembers Kenny’s deaths and struggles heavily w/ addiction. rly interesting + dark. also throwing out mb my fave creek breakup angst fic despite it having nothing to do w/ Twenny: oneshot all good things)

Tweekpuncher’s unfinished multi-chapter Slowly, Through a Vector (potentially real upsetting past noncon, but also quite funny at times, such as in platonic Cryde interactions and grp chat w/ Bebe. i recommend it bc the last chapter from Kenny’s POV gave me a diff perspective on what he might see in Tweek and was v powerful). Also love the oneshot bro dont be gay bro just gimme a little kiss on the lips PBJellie Twenny: sad sexy oneshot Black Sheep, SoT oneshot You Best Not Miss, Major Boobage-style oneshot Fantasies Come True (these Twenny dynamics generally revolve around or at least allude to the drug connection) Eerily’s oneshot Bookmarks. Just read it, this one got my ass real good

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

[heytherejulietx]

The Office - Bughead

Masterlists

Requests open (ONLY for Bughead)!

Read on AO3 here!

Notes - Ahh I’m so excited to post this one! This fic is for an April writing challenge by @writers-chateau using the prompt “office au”. This is based on an actual episode of the show “The Office” - season 6 episode 17 “The Delivery”. I’m so happy with how this turned out - this is fuelling my obsession with the show and bughead amazingly. Also thank you to @andmybelovedneitherdoyou for helping me out with some of the characters in this and beta reading it for me, I love you tons! Some characters and lines are taken from the show so not all of this fic is my original content!

Warnings - Pregnancy / labour, mentions of pain.

Word count - 5k.

Riverdale tag list - @bucky-j-barnes @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @kpopgirlbtssvt @booksmusicteaandanimals @happy-puff @cheryllclayton @jesso80 @dietbreadloaf @thebluetint @hppygmc8 @lilireinhartsimp @camiczzzz @bitchy-broken @crazyninjalight @luella-cane @bc-jh22

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“Good afternoon, I just wanted to check and see if there was anything you needed before I went on my maternity leave since I won’t be here for a while,” Betty leaned back in her seat as she spoke, her free hand resting over her eight months pregnant stomach. She should have been on maternity leave already for a few weeks now, especially considering how far along she was in her pregnancy, but Betty was stubborn and had refused to only until she really had to. Her and Jughead needed the money from two incomes, especially with a baby on the way, and although Jughead had tried to get her to take it sooner, there was no stopping Betty once she was determined to do something. So at almost eight and a half months pregnant she was still working her office job, selling printers, paper, and other stationery supplies. “Yeah, I’m having a baby. Thank you, you're so kind,” The blonde smiled at the nice comment that the customer had left, scribbling down a note on her pink post-its as they continued. “Great, I’ll type up your order for you now. Thank you, have a nice day.”

“Wait a minute, you can’t do that,” Betty sighed as she put the phone down and looked across her desk, where Bret was seated opposite her. “You cannot exploit your baby for sales.”

“Hey, did I tell you we’re having a baby?” Jughead’s voice cut in from where he was sat on Betty’s left in the middle of herself and Bret speaking with a customer, shooting a wink in the latter’s direction when he started glaring at him.

“Hey, stop that Jones.” He snapped.

“Bret, there is nothing bad about talking about your life. People like that kind of stuff-” Betty started, before she winced and squeezed her eyes shut as her right hand pressed into her side.

Jughead looked up over at his wife’s desk with a small concerned frown, a crease forming in between his eyebrows when seeing the pain she was in. Betty had been having contractions since the morning, though since they were irregular and far apart, they had agreed to wait until they were seven minutes apart before going to the hospital. Their insurance company only covered two nights there so they were trying to hold off until midnight, but seven minutes apart was when they were going if she got there before midnight.

“See? Even your baby hates it. They aren't even born yet and you’re using them for your own personal gain. How disgusting.” Bret scoffed, and Jughead just shook his head at him as he wheeled his chair closer to Betty around the corner of the desk.

“You try giving birth to a baby then, Bret.” Betty shot back towards him once the contraction had pretty much passed, gently squeezing her husband's hand when it had been offered to her.

“Fine, easy, my hips are big enough for an easy birth anyways. Maybe that’s why you’re already so bad, you’re too small.” Bret rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you have a baby then if you’d be so great at it,” Jughead proposed, somehow managing to keep himself composed through the ridiculous proposal. “Then you could use your own baby for sales.” He shrugged before he leaned back closer to Betty to check that she was okay, leaving Bret staring into the distance as if he was actually considering the idea.

-

“So, what are you thinking about baby names? I’m dying to know.” Veronica enquired with a smile as she leaned against Betty’s desk, beside where the woman herself was seated in her chair.

As silly as it sounded she had been trying to avoid anything that was even rumoured to induce labour; so no spicy food, no sex (although that wasn’t really a problem in the office - at least not recently), and no walking around unless she really had to. Jughead had offered to wheel her around in her desk chair, but after a recent incident with a shopping cart and a cast on Archie’s arm she decided against it and declined his offer.

“Well, if it’s a boy then he’ll be taking up Jughead’s name as the fourth,” Betty smiled when she caught Jughead winking at her from across the desk, deciding to ignore the sarcastic fake yawn that Veronica let out. “And if it’s a girl then we’re thinking, oh-” She cut herself off with a quiet groan, her hands coming around her stomach as she stiffened in her seat. She felt Veronica’s hand on her arm soothingly, and just as she heard her husband start to speak beside her, his voice was soon drowned out by their excited boss making his way out of his office.

“Oh oh! Contraptions she’s contrapting!” Reggie’s voice rang through the office loudly, very clearly excited that Betty’s baby was slowly but surely on the way.

Reggie Mantle was a strange man. For such a well put together man; slicked back hair, expensive looking suits, and the smoothest talk when he needed to sort a business deal - he was honestly quite far from that. To everyone in the office who got to see Reggie outside of formal business and meetings; he was a loud, childish, obnoxious, idiot. To put it politely. He had a good heart, but he either didn’t use it enough or went too far. When it came to Betty and Jughead’s baby, he was definitely pushing it too far.

“Okay!” He clapped, standing in front of the entire office as he grinned. “Someone call an ambulance, grab the go bag. It’s hospital time let’s go!”

“Why do you have a go bag-” Betty started before she was cut off.

“Okay, calm down Reggie,” Jughead shook his head a little, lifting a hand. “We aren’t going to the hospital yet, we’re trying to wait until midnight because of our stupid HMO.”

“Right, of course, Betty cross your legs and keep ‘em in there.” Reggie pointed at her and earned an irritated look in return from Betty as her contraction started passing.

“Yeah sure, I’ll do just that.” Betty muttered sarcastically with a sigh as she managed to relax back in her seat.

Veronica usually had the best chair in the office - she had lied to corporate about some back issues just to get an expensive though very comfortable chair out of them, compared to the cheap and uncomfortable ones that everyone else in the office had - though through the last week of work she had been letting Betty use it to make sure she was comfortable. She could handle an uncomfortable chair for a week. Just about, anyways.

As Bret distracted Reggie with something that led the two to retreat into his office and Veronica left to go and find Archie, Jughead wheeled his chair around the desk again to be beside Betty and gently took her hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just go in now?” He asked as he gently ran his thumb across her knuckles.

“No, no I’m fine,” Betty smiled and shook her head as she gently squeezed her husband’s hand. “When they’re seven minutes apart then we’ll go. I really wanna try and make it until twelve, Jug.”

“Okay, as soon as they’re seven minutes apart then we go.�� Jughead gently squeezed her hand back and pressed a kiss to her lips for a moment, matching her smile with his own once he had pulled away before he wheeled back to his own seat. Of course he was worried about her, he hated how much pain she had to go through for their baby to come, but he was happy that they would be going to the hospital soon to have their baby - whether it was before midnight or not.

-

“Alright, seven minutes,” Jughead clapped his hands together as he walked over to Betty’s desk where she was sat with a grimace across her features as she gripped the arm rests of her chair, breathing out through her teeth. “Couldn’t quite make it to midnight but that’s okay, we’ll just get you settled at home after. Let me just grab the bag and then we’ll go.” He gently rested his hand on her arm before he turned to leave, though stopped when her hand reached out to grab his arm.

“No no, slow down Jug. I’m okay we don’t have to go yet.” Betty breathed out, and Jughead couldn’t help but frown in confusion and concern.

“What? Betty, no, we need to go.” He shook his head with a frown, becoming increasingly worried that they would be putting it off for too long. Jughead was well aware of how stubborn Betty could be, especially over something like their insurance, but he really didn’t think that it was such a big deal that they wouldn’t get as much time in the hospital as they had liked. He would just settle Betty comfortably in their bedroom when they got home with the bassinet for the baby. He didn’t really get why it was such a big deal to stay at the hospital.

“No, Jug, we can wait a little longer. It’s okay,” She managed to smile a little once her contraction had passed, reaching out to gently take his hand with a gentle squeeze. “The doctor said anywhere between five to seven minutes. We’ve still got time.”

Jughead stared at her for a moment before he sighed and reluctantly gave in, knowing there wasn’t any persuading Betty once she was being stubborn about something. If there was anything he had learnt about his wife after being with her for a good couple of years, it was that she was even more stubborn than him. And that was saying something.

“Fine,” Jughead sighed and nodded. “Fine, we’ll leave at five minutes. But no later, okay? I’m serious, Betty.”

“Of course. Five minutes.” Betty smiled.

Jughead exhaled and nodded as he squeezed her hand again before he sat back in his seat at his desk beside hers, trying to focus back on his work. But he could barely pay attention, glancing back at his wife every few minutes; and practically staring at her with a frown when she had another contraction that left her wincing as she leaned back in her seat.

“Stop staring at me,” Betty breathed out as she met his gaze, her hands cradling her enlarged belly. “I’m fine don’t worry.”

“Okay crazy,” Jughead scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “I think I have some better things to do with my day than worry about you. Like sell printers. Well, now ‘till Friday; twenty percent off all toner cartridges. That’s a big deal. While we’re on the subject why don’t I just run you down to the hospital?”

“Nice try,” Betty shot a finger gun at him, smiling a little more as her husband shook his head irritably. “Five minutes apart, sweetie.”

“Yeah five minutes apart I know.” Jughead grumbled in annoyance, the tapping of his fingers against his keyboard becoming harsher and louder as he grew more irritated.

“Hey, guys,” Archie wheeled over on his seat from across the office, one hand on his arm rest as the other - which was still in a cast - rested in his lap. “Word of advice, speaking as a former baby. Don’t get too hung up on baby names. I was named Walter Jr. named after my great grandfather, until I was about six or so when my cousin was born, and my family changed their mind. They thought my cousin better exemplified the Walter Jr. name so they gave it to him, and I was renamed Archibald out of a baby names book from like the eighteenth century. How cool is that?”

Betty and Jughead blinked and glanced at each other for a moment, trying to process what Archie had just told them, before Jughead nodded as he turned to face him again. “Thanks, Arch. We’ll be careful about it.” He nodded, and Archie grinned at him as he nodded to.

“Oh my god, Betty,” Veronica gasped as she came over, standing beside Archie as she rested her hand over her chest. “You are such a strong and brave woman. Did you know that you could be in labour for like twenty hours? That’s twenty hours of pain like this-“

“Veronica?” Jughead cleared his throat.

“-and your hair and teeth can fall out, like you could lose them all-“

“Veronica.” Jughead repeated a little firmer.

“-and the baby can get stuck and hurt and you can like pass out and bleed really bad-“

“Thank you Veronica for letting us know!” Jughead spoke loudly, causing Veronica to jump and shut up immediately. “Don’t you guys have some work to do?” He shot an irritated glare towards her and Archie, which caused them to just nod before they retreated to their own desks. He looked back at Betty and frowned when he saw her scared expression, reaching across the desk to take her hand. “Hey, that’s not gonna happen with us. You’re already pretty far along. Far enough along to get going already-“

“Jug it’s not happening.” Betty told him, and he rolled his eyes, but frowned when she groaned quietly and clutched at her belly again.

“Okay, baby time!” Reggie stepped out of his office and clapped his hands, a grin over his expression as he walked over towards Betty and Jughead’s desk.

“No, we aren’t going yet.” Betty got out through gritted teeth, and Jughead just sighed as he looked at her, his bottom lip being brought between his teeth for a moment as he started to get a little frustrated.

“Okay, well do you want a distraction to keep you from thinking about it?” Reggie asked, and Jughead practically shot daggers at him as his eye twitched slightly in annoyance.

“Actually, Reggie-“

“Yes please.” Betty cut Jughead off, smiling at Reggie some as Jughead gripped the armrest of his chair tight enough for his fingers to dent the cheap rubber covering it.

“Okay great. Uhm, Jughead and Veronica will you guys go in the break room with her?” Reggie asked as he gestured to Betty, and Jughead had to clamp his jaw to keep from expressing how irritated he was as he stood up and took her arms to help her up and to walk her to the break room along with Veronica.

“Betty, I have this brilliant movie on my laptop we can watch together since Archie doesn’t want to watch it with me. It’s got Leonardo DiCaprio in it; total bae, I know.” Veronica grinned as herself and Jughead helped Betty into one of the seats in the break room beside the many vending machines they had in there.

Once Betty had smiled and nodded Veronica left to get her laptop from her desk, leaving Betty and Jughead alone as he moved to sit beside her.

“You’re annoyingly stubborn, you know that?” He asked her, and she just fondly shook her head as she took his hand.

“You still love me though.” She told him with a smile as she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

Jughead chose to sit with Betty and Veronica to watch the movie, just to make sure Betty was okay and to sit with her through the contractions. At some point Reggie had joined them, which only made Jughead more irritated at his attempt to talk Betty through her contractions, which we’re just extremely annoying.

“Alright, you’re at six minutes apart, another like seventy-five contractions and you’re going to be there.” Reggie told Betty with a grin, earning an irritated look from the couple and a sharp “shh!“ from Veronica who was extremely interested in the movie.

“Six minutes is close enough to five. You know what? I’m just going to call Doctor Keller he’ll know what to do.” Jughead stood up, extremely worried and irritated as he let go of Betty’s hand to grab his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Jug-“

“No Betty we should probably call-“

“Honey we don’t even need to go yet-“

“Actually yes I think we do-“

“Guys can you shut up I’m still watching this movie.”

“Yeah Jug you’re really distracting me from my distraction right now. Sweetie, I love you, but I’m trying to watch this movie.” Betty spoke a little louder over Jughead’s worried rambling, causing his jaw to clench and his eye to twitch in irritation again as he looked at his wife. “Why don’t you try and go do some work?”

“Great,” Jughead nodded with a sarcastic smile. “Of course. I’m sorry for worrying about my wife who’s going into labour.” He huffed as he walked out of the break room, leaving Betty with Veronica and Reggie to watch the movie.

Though instead of going back to his desk he walked straight past it and towards the exit of the office, ignoring Bret’s complaint that he wasn’t working as he quickly went down the stairs and left the building to head towards his car. He unlocked it and got inside, rooting around in one of the bags they kept in the back seat until he found what he was looking for; four pregnancy books.

“Five to seven minutes,” Jughead mumbled as he flipped through the first book, before he tossed it into the back seat and opened the next one. “Five to seven minutes,” He repeated, the next book being thrown. “Six minutes; different, but not really,” He huffed before he opened the next one. “Five to seven minutes.” He groaned and dropped his head down to rest on the steering wheel, though flinched and sat back up when he had accidentally beeped the car horn.

He sat down there on his own for a good five minutes before he heard a light tapping on the car window, and looked up to see Betty stood there. She motioned for him to roll down the car window and he quickly did so, leaning his arm on the door of the car afterwards.

“Hey,” She smiled. “I’m not going to get into the car because I know you’ll try and drive me to the hospital.”

“Ah, you know me too well.” Jughead nodded, fiddling with his tie as he looked up at his wife.

“Jug?”

“Hm?”

“Everything is fine, okay?” Betty smiled reassuringly. “I’m okay, we still have time, she isn't coming for a while yet.”

Jughead froze as Betty did, his mouth dropping open slightly as he met her gaze. “She?” He whispered.

“Oh god I’m sorry,” Betty clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I called the doctor last week, I just couldn’t wait. Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Jughead’s voice broke as he smiled uncontrollably, reaching his hand out of the car to grasp his wife’s gently. “How could I be mad? We’re having a little girl,” He nodded a little as his vision grew slightly blurry, tears collecting along his waterline. “Really?” He asked, and was met with a teary smile from his wife that matched his own as she giggled.

“Yeah,” Betty smiled brightly. “We’re having a baby girl.”

Jughead let out a light laugh and nodded, his smile only widening as he lifted his hand to run over his eyes before he leaned out of the car enough to hug Betty, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. Originally he had wanted to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender. He had refused multiple times when the doctor had asked, not wanting to find out prematurely, but he couldn’t even be the slightest bit unhappy that Betty had let it slip early, the emotions that were running through him in that moment were indescribable; he couldn’t wait to find out how much better it would feel once the baby was born. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jug.” Betty whispered, gently hugging him back before she let him go so he could lean back into the car.

“Okay, I’m gonna go back upstairs, okay?”

“Okay.” Jughead nodded and smiled as he gave her a once over, but paused when he saw what she was wearing. Before he had left the office she was in her usual attire; a skirt and a jumper. But now she was wearing a pair of maternity leggings and one of his hoodies, an outfit he knew that she kept in the office just in case. “Did you change outfits?”

“Oh yeah, my water broke so I had to.” Betty shrugged before she turned to go back into the office.

“Oh right.” Jughead nodded as he sat back in his seat, still thinking about the baby more than anything else. Though once he had processed what Betty said he sat up and looked over at her just as she was walking back inside. “Wait what?”

-

Jughead had been pacing outside of the break room where Betty was with Reggie for what felt like hours, though in reality it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. He knew if he was in there then he would just stress Betty out more with his (rational) worrying, so he opted to stand outside. Though it was definitely worse out there; having to listen to Betty in pain and Reggie’s annoying talks through it was really just setting him even more on edge.

“Okay, that’s fine, almost made it to midnight but you should probably go to the hospital now.” Reggie was saying as Betty groaned again. “Too bad you didn’t have sex like… seven and a half hours later. But you had to have the afternoon delight, I understand, sometimes you just have to go for it.”

“N-no, I’m fine, the doctor said it’s s-still considered a minor contraction as long as I can still talk through it-” Betty barely forced the words out shakily before she groaned, causing Jughead to immediately walk into the room with a frown.

“Okay, Betty we really should go.”

“No, it’s fine,” Betty started as Jughead walked over to her, shaking her head. “That wasn’t even the worst of them, no-” She started rambling as Jughead took one of her arms and Reggie took the other to try and get her out of the seat.

“Betty come on.”

“No, no Jug it’s fine-”

“We should really go now-”

Everyone started talking at once as the men tried their hardest to pull a struggling Betty out of the seat before she scowled and shook her head harshly. “No!” She yelled, tugging her arms away harsh enough for them both to let go of her. “No! No I am not going yet! I’m not going okay? I’m not going because I can’t do this I don’t think I can do this.” Betty’s voice broke as she started crying, her lip trembling as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

Jughead’s gaze softened as he looked at her, a frown curving his lips downwards as her voice filled him with sadness and sympathy for his wife.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked softly as he crouched in front of her chair, taking one of her trembling hands in his as she sniffled in front of him. “Betty, you are the strongest person I know. If anybody can do this then you can, okay?” Jughead asked softly, and she nodded tearily in response. “I’m scared, love, I’m so scared. But this little girl is going to be the luckiest baby out there because she has the best mother in the whole damn world.”

“You’re having a girl? Really? Guys, I wanted to be surprised what the hell?” Reggie complained from across the room.

Jughead only rolled his eyes and chose to ignore him as he turned back to Betty. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do; we’re going to get our bag, go down to the car and drive to the hospital, and then we’ll have our beautiful baby girl. Okay?” Jughead squeezed her hand when she nodded and smiled as he stood up to kiss her forehead softly.

“Thank’s Jug.” Betty whispered as she looked at her husband.

Jughead nodded before he turned to look at Reggie, clearing his throat. “How’re we doing on contractions?”

“Two minutes.”

“Two- two minutes?” Jughead asked, a glare quickly being sent to Reggie as frustration quickly bubbled up inside of him. “I thought I said to let me know at five minutes- what good is two minutes that’s too late two minutes doesn’t help us! What happened to four and three minutes huh?” Jughead started rambling as he helped Betty out of her seat who was starting to get worked up again.

“Jug we can still drive-” Betty started, stopping his rambling for a moment, before she gasped and almost fell over at the intensity of her next contraction, groaning as she gripped onto Jughead’s hand tightly.

Jughead frowned and held her up, his free hand rubbing her back as she started crying again. Reggie, who was clearly flustered and not too sure what to do, grabbed Betty’s jacket from the chair and helped Jughead lead Betty out of the room as her contraction started to past.

“It’s go time people!” Reggie yelled across the office, letting Jughead hold Betty up completely as he walked out in front of the whole office. “Veronica call an ambulance!”

“No, ambulances are for emergencies only,” Bret spoke up with a glare. “You call an ambulance I call the cops.”

“We’re driving it’s fine,” Jughead spoke up as he carefully helped Betty sit down at her desk chair, gently pressing a kiss to the crown of her head in hopes of keeping her calm. “I’m just going to grab the bag and we can go, okay?” He asked softly and Betty nodded as she gave him a tearful smile. “Okay.” He gave her arm one last squeeze as he quickly jumped up and practically ran across the office to where they were keeping the bag in one of the cabinets in the kitchen, his heart racing a million miles an hour in the panic and excitement (though mostly panic) that their baby was on the way very soon.

By the time he was back in the main office area everyone was in a panic: Reggie was running around packing his own go bag for some reason, Veronica was squealing excitedly about getting to meet her godchild (they had picked her as the baby’s godmother a few weeks ago and she still hadn’t gotten over it), and even Bret was up and out of his seat, talking to Reggie quickly.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Jughead tried to smile as reassuring as he could towards his wife as he walked back over to her seat with the bag over his shoulders, taking her hands to help her stand up. “Are you good to go-”

“This is ridiculous,” Bret cut him off as he walked over. “Has anyone even checked how dilated she is yet?” As he spoke he pulled out a tape measure and kneeled on the floor in front of Betty.

“Bret!” Jughead and Betty gasped at the same time as he opened the tape measure.

“Bret are you serious?” Reggie scoffed as he walked over. “Give it to Jughead that’s his job.”

As Bret held the tape measure up to give it to Jughead he rolled his eyes and pushed it away, instead moving his hands to his pockets frantically as he started to just freak out further.

“Has anyone seen my keys- where are my keys?” He shouted, before he reached into his trouser pockets and sighed as he pulled them out. “Got them.”

As he started leading Betty out of the room he managed a genuine smile as everyone in the office started shouting goodbye and good luck, and he felt a little relieved when he saw Betty was smiling too. He gave everyone a big wave before he took both of her hands again and led her out of the room and into the elevator so that they could leave.

The whole drive there Jughead kept her hand in his free one, letting her squeeze it as tightly as she needed through contractions and constantly ran his thumb over her knuckles to try and soothe her somewhat. He truthfully was terrified, but wanted to get Betty there as calmly as possible. He didn’t have time to panic about it, as much as he wanted to, he just had to settle with the constant thumping of his heart until they pulled into the hospital and he ran out to grab her a wheelchair.

“We’re here now, okay? Everything is going to go perfect, Betty. We’re going to meet our baby girl soon.” Jughead assured her as he helped her into the wheelchair with a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, Jug.” Betty smiled as she reached back to take his hand as he wheeled her to the door.

“I love you, too.” He smiled.

There were two doctors at the door waiting, and as they had offered to help her inside Jughead squeezed her hand before he let it go. “I’m just going to park the car, I promise I’ll be back in a minute.” He told her as one of the doctors started wheeling her inside, and smiled at her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

Jughead got back in the car and took a few minutes to find a parking space, though once he had he sat in the car for a minute longer than needed. His fingers reached up to brush along the edge of the scan photo that was clipped to the mirror of the car, an easy smile sweeping across his lips as it took everything inside of him to not get emotional again. Even though he was still panicked and worried and terrified, he couldn’t help but take a moment to smile and breathe.

He was simply excited to meet their little girl, and that would be enough to keep him smiling forever if he could.

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[shawnssongs]

𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 ⋄ 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

01. 𝐒𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

JJ and the reader have to end their whirlwind summer romance.

series masterlist

warnings: mentions of smut. wc: 1051

gif from @jackpearscn

This summer had been, unexpected, to say the least. For you. For JJ. For everyone. When your family announced that you’d be spending the entire summer in the Outer Banks, you definitely weren’t pleased. The Outer Banks were exactly the opposite of what you were used to. West coasters do not get along with East Coasters. Apparently your parents had rented a home, and they decided it was time for a summer getaway.

After weeks and weeks of complaining, when your Junior year of high school came to an end, you begrudgingly bid farewell to your friends for the summer and took off for the Banks.

That day you left home, you never would have believed what was to come. You wouldn’t believe you’d fall hard and fast for a blonde surfer boy. You wouldn’t believe that you wouldn’t be returning home for your senior year. And most of all, you wouldn’t believe your whole life was about to change.

“JJ!” You squeaked as his arm wrapped around your exposed waist and effectively lifted you up and over his shoulder. “Let me down!”

He did as he was told, but only because he was now ankle deep in the ocean. He slid you off his shoulder and let you fall into the water, smiling in content when he heard your adorable squeal. “JJ!”

“You said to let you down,” he countered, and you just rolled your eyes in response.

“Come on.” He smirks down at you, holding his hands out for you to grab.

Against you better judgement, you accept the offer and let JJ help you up, and he looks at you with a pout on his face, a slight glint in his eyes. He pulls you flush against his bare, sun kissed chest and presses his lips to yours; a feeling you knew you’d never tire of.

After what felt like hours of locked lips, your thoughts began to consume you. This was your last day with JJ. This feeling you’d never tire of was about to be ripped from your life completely because you let yourself fall for the beautiful blonde surfer boy you met on vacation.

You’d admit you’ve lived a pretty privileged life. Your parents were still married, and considering your mothers occupation as a cardiothoracic surgeon, money had never been an issue. Money is the reason you were even able to rent a house in the Outer Banks for the summer. Meeting JJ had humbled you immensely since you never really thought too much of your wealth. You lived in a nice neighborhood and attended a private school. Compared to everyone else in your life, you were just average, but being here for the whole summer put it all into perspective. JJ lived on practically nothing. He worked for his money since his dad was both unable and unwilling to take care of him. You knew it was pretty ignorant, but you’d never even imagined people could live this way, and seeing JJ sustain himself and live his life to the fullest with absolutely no complaints truly astounded you.

“Mm, stop.” You whispered, hesitantly pulling yourself from JJ’s hold. You tried to keep yourself together, but your eyes must have been glossy because JJ pulled your back into his chest for a hug.

“Don’t cry, baby.” JJ hummed into your hair, his lips moving ever so slightly.

“I have to go back home.”

“Don’t talk that way, Y/n.”

“It’s just,” you spoke softly, leaning your head back so you could see your blue eyed lover, “I’ve had the best summer, and now I have to leave. It isn’t fair.”

JJ shook his head in response before leaning back in, kissing you a bit more feverishly than usual. When you felt the tips of his fingers fiddling with the waistband of your bathing suit bottoms, you stopped him.

“JJ, don’t spoil it.”

“It’s not spoiling it,” he countered. “It’s making it better.”

JJ took you back to the place he called home. It wasn’t his house, but it was where he felt most comfortable, where he felt most welcome; the Chateau. You’d only been there a few times this summer since you and JJ preferred to spend your time at the beach or driving around. You knew the Chateau belonged to his friend John B, but you never got the chance to meet him.

JJ was incredibly sweet and gentle. He led you to his room, asking practically every step of the way if this was okay and if you were sure. You said yes every time, but even once you were behind the closed door, he still hesitated. You removed your clothes for him, leaving yourself in your bikini, and that’s when he finally gave in. He rid himself of his own clothes before laying you down on the bed, kissing you softly. His lips trailed lower, his kisses becoming more ardent and sloppy until he asked once more if you were sure. When you consented, JJ made sure to go slow, often checking to make sure you were feeling okay and he wasn’t causing too much pain. The intamacy was incredible. You’d never felt so close to someone before, so connected.

JJ was your first. He was incredibly sweet and gentle, and though it wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world, you couldn’t have asked for a better first time, nor a better person to experience it with.

As the two of you laid next to each other in the comfort of JJ’s bed, you tried to keep your mind from wandering yet again. You were leaving tomorrow, but you refused to believe that this was the last you’d see of JJ. It couldn’t be.

“Is this the end?” You ask, turning to face him.

JJ reached his slightly calloused hand out to brush your soft hair out of your face and behind your ear. You could feel your cheeks warm at his simple touch.

“Of course not.” Now that your face was exposed, your plump lips and pink cheeks on full display, JJ pecked you quickly in reassurance. “It’s only the beginning.”

You had no idea what was to come, but if JJ said this wasn’t the end, you trusted that it wasn’t. You knew it was hopeless, but you believed him.

an: hopefully this didn’t disappoint anyone. I’m super exited to continue this series!!

also, remember this is based off Grease, so this is kind of just a prologue! I promise more content is coming soon :)

please please please send feedback. it truly motivates me to keep writing. the more feedback I get, the more inspired I get :)

also, I’d love to give a HUGE thanks to @socialwriter for helping me come up with chapter names and reading over this chapter for me before I posted :)

also ty @milaonthemoon for providing a ton of music bc I listened while I finished writing, edited, and formatted this lmao... like 6 hours straight

tags: add yourself to my taglist (or just comment if you only want to be tagged in the series) series @ssjiara @socialwriter all fics @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @harrysbbby @maybe-maybanks @maybankdreams @ilovejjmaybank @i-love-scott-mccall @thelonewolfdies @deviouscharitos all obx @thelocalpogue @maybankiara @ewgrossiknow @poguelifesurfshop @@stargazingstarkey @pogxe @t8-er-tot @amanecer-cora @tcmhollnd @jjswhore @drew-starkey @beth-winchester21 @rudths @miawantsapuppy jj maybank @teamnick @everyonesababe @infinitydols_ @ritasunflwr @nivky0-0 (strikethrough means I can’t find your acc / it wouldn’t let me tag you)

[fockingnice]

Ohh another blog for fics 🙌 y'all are doing God's work just so you know, get ready for me to send you a lot of asks, I could talk about fics all day 😂 to start I think, some of your favorite Sobbe fics? It can be any genre, but just a small list with the ones that come to your head, I'm curious and I probably read all of them 😂

heyy!! hahah i’m the same

ok so the ones that come to my mind first are mostly multi chapters ones because i tend to remember them easily but here are a non exhaustive list of some of my fave fanfics:

- run and score by robbesanderx @robbesdriesen (amazing, brilliant, chef kiss, super cute, love it so so much, 10/10) [Robbe Ijzermans is the star goalie of Antwerp U’s football team, naturally blocking shots as if it were his sixth sense. Sander Driesen is their star striker, having an eagle eye for the goal at all times. Robbe always had a distaste for his bleached-blonde teammate and the annoying way he carried himself, but Robbe can never mask how much he admires him from a distance. When they finally begin to learn more about each other, there is no going back for either. With the looming playoffs in jeopardy for their entire team, will Robbe & Sander be able to manage it together? All while falling in love with each other at the same time?] (finished)

- eastwood liberty by @fockinglevendcliche (amazing amazing amazing!! i’m completely obsessed with this fic! i can’t wait for the next chapter!!) [Eastwood Liberty students had only one mission: to always be on top, at everything, no matter the cost. It took Robbe just a day to realize that people there only cared about two things: money and power. But that was no surprise to him. What he didn't expect was to be confronted by this group of rich and spoiled boys, who used to always get what they wanted, especially their leader, Sander Driesen. Sander made the rules, but unfortunately for him, Robbe had never been really good at sticking to them.] (not finished)

- visitations by @lucidpantone (my fave fic ever!! i love it so much!! i actually never read the last chapter because i’m too weak to handle it but i’m planning on doing it one day lol!! this fic makes me cry so much!!) [Does Robbe and Sander's relationship survive into adulthood. This fic takes place in two simultaneously timelines: the past and the present. The present occurs in one entire day. Both timelines are completely out of chronological order. Everything is in clips.You can be dropped in at anytime of the day in any timeline. So clip by clip you will need to piece together what happen to Sander & Robbe and why the present looks the way it does and what happened in the past that got them there. This love story is a journey. So be prepared. In the words of one of our Even's. It’s a complicated love story between complicated people.] (finished)

- purple lips (underwater) by moya_chin @croissenne (love this one so much too!! basically i love them all bc they are my fave but this one is really amazing!! one of my fave one shot ever!!) [it’s a sunny, warm friday at the beginning of march, and sander wants them to go for a swim.]

- rotten work by @aholynight (this one is kinda popular and understand why because it’s just amazing!!) [Robbe is a college freshman whose reckless habits and excessive drinking are starting to look an awful lot like calculated self-destruction—though his loneliness might be the thing that kills him first. Sander is a visual arts major a few years above Robbe, with a face nobody can forget and a fuck boy reputation he can't seem to shake. Everybody warns Robbe to stay away from the Sander, unless he wants to get burned. But Robbe's the kind of boy who likes playing with fire.] (finished)

- vrijdag 21:37 by wasteourdaysdreaming (idk their tumblr) (i love love this one too!! everything is so in character!! 10/10 but unfortunately it’s not finished and i don’t think it will ever be finished) [The same party one Friday night in February, told from different perspectives.] (not finished)

- Put your head on my shoulder by Aniloracat @anicocat (also great fic!! i really really love it!! very realistic!! i’m a sucker for roommates au + stuck in quarantine) [Because of some past mistakes and communication issues, Robbe and Sander can't stand each other anymore, until they are "forced" to stay in quarantine alone and face their feelings.] (not finished)

- you know i'm always at your shoulder (take your heart out of its holster) by wafflesofdoom (idk their tumblr) (this is one of the first i read!! i haven’t read it again since but i remember really really loving it!! unfortunately i don’t think this fic will ever be finished) [learning how to be in a real, actual relationship isn't the easiest thing in the world, and robbe is very new to it all, and he's got a lot to figure out when it comes to being in actual, everyday love with sander. the first six months of a relationship are the best - and they're some of the hardest, too. these are the first six months of robbe and sander's relationship.] (not finished)

- ground control to us by @hopelessromanticvirgo (i binge read this two days ago and omg i’m obsessed i love this social media au so so much!! really amazing!!) [Sander is a singer and does a lot of covers and has a band with his best friend Senne. One of his hobby is drawing and he often posts his work on his social media. He’s quite famous and has a YouTube channel for his music and also for fun with Senne. Robbe is a pretty normal kid, he’s going to high school and he’s just trying to survive. It’s not a secret that he has the biggest crush on his favorite singer but the thing that nobody knows is that he has a fan account which is his personal diary to confess his love to this boy. Their world is about to turn upside down when Senne suggests doing “going undercover as a fan” video for their channel. Sander thinks that it’s pretty cool idea but what happens when he will start messaging to the most followed fan page of his and realize that he never wants to stop talking to them.] (finished)

[mego42]

I 100% agree about wanting more fanfic lists! I honestly think it's the best way to get a variety. Everybody has personal preferences, if someone, who mostly reads long, fluffy au Brio fic, is making recs, they're not likely to mention short, angsty, canon Brio (which is understandable and fair!) so ideally someone else, who does like those, would also do recs. I'm pretty sure I've read or at least tried the vast majority of Brio fics, but the recs often make me re-read the fic and author.

YAAASSSS!!! I mean like, okay, I v much get why people have issues with rec lists, and I def do not by any stretch endorse the idea that recs/rec lists should be considered anything other than one person sharing a think they liked, but to me a lot of the issues (the same fics/authors getting recced, feeling like awesome fics/authors are going unrecognized) can be solved by more reccing, not less. everyone’s got different taste and different stuff they look/read for and I am extremely pro sharing that.

Idk, I think about it like this: in a previous internet life I was a YA book blogger and I lived and died by recs from other bloggers whose taste and preferences I knew. I mean, you know, I’d check out a book bc the premise sounded interesting but literally the first thing I would do was go to Goodreads and look for a handful of people who tended to like the same books I did and see what they were saying about it bc that was the best way to get a good idea of if I wanted to give it a shot. Or, on the flip side, there were some people whose reviews I followed bc I knew we v much did not read for the same things so if they hated a book for X, Y and Z reasons, I was probs going to like it (one thing about book blogging is if you want to keep current, you do not have a lot of time to mess around, snap judgements are key but that’s a whole other thing and idk if it’s even relevant anymore bc that landscape has changed so much). 

ANYWAY, the point is, I got in the habit and now I do the same thing with fic bc, tbh, I don’t have a ton of time to read, esp not when I’m actively writing which, with the exception of the last week or two, I’ve been doing p non-stop since I got here. All of which to say is, I am desperately in favor of fic recs for purely selfish reasons, I need them! Give them to me!!! Please!!!!!

That said, I uh, am v bad at returning the favor and I recognize that (I think I’ve made what? two rec lists for this fandom?) so I will try to do better to live by my own, idek what this is, moving on and here are 10 recs not really thematically linked by anything other than I’ve read them and loved them and don’t think I’ve put any of them on one of my rec lists yet (and if I have, my blog is a trainwreck I cannot be expected to remember what’s on it LET ME LIVE):

The Goodest Boy by EnsignDisaster

There’s a key turning in the lock and Buddy rushes over to greet his Master excited for her to meet his new friends. The door opens and he dances around Master’s feet rejoicing on the fact that she’s made it home. It's been literally forever.

“Hey Buddy what’s wrong? Need to go potty? Need to pee-pee?”

“Nah he’s good we took him out.”

Master does something very unMasterlike, she drops all the food she’d brought in on the ground and screams. It’s a non traditional avant garde type of hello…Buddy loves it. Mostly because while Master taps furiously on her small light box and sits tense in the corner opposite his new friend Buddy can lick up the egg smashed on the hardwood floor.

Buddy! The! Dog! POV! no further explanation necessary. Technically WIP, but it covers the whole pilot in a way that could be read as standalone (THOUGH THAT WOULD V MUCH GIVE ME A SAD though, when did the show forget the Bolands had a dog? so maybe that’s a tragic casualty of canon, idk)

May The Moon’s Silvery Beams by @pynkhues

Emma hums in agreement, and Rio turns her around to sit her on the counter, grabbing one of the older looking boxes of muesli while she kicks her legs out, heels bumping back against the counter, watching him. He gropes around the inside of the box, finally just opting to pull the plastic cereal bag out and peering inside. He can’t quite keep the grin off his face when he sees the wad of cash lining the bottom. This woman kills him, she really does.

Then there’s a little face peering up beside him, trying to peek into the box.

“What is it?” she asks, and he tilts the box sideways so she can see inside.

The upside to not getting here until s3 is that old fic is new to me! Huzzah!! Idk how many of y’all have already read this on but if you haven’t I highkey recommend. Extremely cute take on what if Emma woke up when Rio and came by to collect his/Beth’s/whoever's money during the shutdown. Cannot believe I’m reccing kidfic. Witchcraft!!!!!!

Maybe You’re My Fantasy by ohmisterjapan

He fucking loves the involuntary. It speaks to how he likes to unlock chaos and walk away. He's been called a control freak before and it felt like such a misunderstanding of him - he's all about self control but he doesn't want to control others. It's more that he enjoys revealing to them how little they can control themselves. It's more that he likes to stand still in the eye of someone else's storm and pick coldly through the wreckage.

Another oldie but a goodie. This fic is more like an extended character study (first chapter Rio POV, second chapter Beth) and I LIVE FOR THIS KIND OF SHIT. I really really really love the take on both characters, it really digs in and pulls out some nuances that made me sit and think about my own read of them and I love it.

A Shock Of Blue by mintletters16

“You don’t look very well. Would you… like me to get you a glass of water or something?”

Her voice is low but smooth, laced with a softness that cuts straight though to his core. Strawberry blonde locks fall gently just above the pair of magnets freezing him in place.

He can still feel the chaos tearing through his veins - emanating from the gold plated gun stuffed in his waistband - and suddenly he can’t be here anymore. Can’t meet this wide-eyed gaze that’s been locked on his for the past God-knows-how-long anymore.

Can’t see blue alive and concerned when he just left it cold and void somewhere in oblivion.

She’s looking at him like he’s on the brink of madness. He thinks maybe he is.

Apparently, it’s backlist rec day over here and I’m not sorry. This one is another technical WIP but the chapter works as a standalone (BUT if the author decided to return to it I WOULD NOT BE MAD). It’s a what if Beth and Rio met pre-canon and it works so!!! well!!!! The tension and fascination and build are all *chef’s kiss* plus the writing is gorgeous and lyrical and ugh, I love it.

for a moment we were strangers by openhearts

“We got stuff,” Rio motions with a nod to the backpack Beth hadn’t noticed when they arrived hanging on the back of one of the chairs at the island.

She swallows and turns back to the dishes, realizing Rio apparently means to sleep there , assuming the place isn’t bugged.  Or for some kind of cover story if it is.  She turns and fixes Rio with a narrow-eyed stare, studying his face, the corner of his jaw especially prominent from the angle she’s looking up at him.  He’s methodical about drying each dish and setting it back on the rack, maddeningly ignoring her hard stare, so when he goes to take the next plate from her hands she grips it tightly and gets his attention.

“Hey.”

“What you on about now?” he asks, irritated.

It gets her gut uneasy, how he’s just . . . there, settling in, in ways he never had before, no matter how nonchalantly he would let himself in through her locked doors.  

“This is,” Beth tries, failing, to find words for it, “. . . it’s weird .”

This one takes place post 204 and Rio and Marcus end up spending a long weekend staying with Beth and Emma for reasons (that work, for the record, I’m just not trying to summarize rn) and it’s domestic and cute but honestly my fav part of it is how weirded out Beth is by how easily they slip into sync. The story does an excellent job balancing where they are in canon (uneasy post-sex truce) with a snapshot of what they could be if they got over themselves (HA! as if) and Beth is DEEPLY FREAKED which makes her slow slide into realizing she could maybe sort of kind of oh shit like it/him??? that much more satisfying.

Not So Careful by @bensonstablers

When he doesn’t answer, her eyes go to his but he’s too busy watching the letter opener which is still pressed against the back of his hand. Curiously, Beth runs it up his arm, careful not to press too hard, and smiles a little as he shivers. Pulling her leg up onto the bed, she shuffles closer to him before pressing the tip of the sword to his chest and slowly circling his left nipple with it, being sure not to get too close.

“You ain’t gotta be that careful.”

And when she lifts her eyes to meet his, he’s got that look. The one that always makes a lump form in her throat and for her to fall back into bed with him without a single thought of what they have to do that day. Only thing is, this time they’ve got nothing to do for the rest of the weekend and well, staying in bed the entire time had seemed like an appealing idea so she allows herself to give in a little to that look.

It makes me EXTREMELY SAD that knifeplay ranked so low on the kink survey so I’m gonna need y’all to check out this V V V EXCELLENT example of it and come back and tell me you’re sorry and you voted wrong. I am v reasonable what are you talking about.

love (where it wasn’t supposed to be) by @lilliloves

"You know what I can't stand?" Rio asks, stepping closer. It's a rhetorical question but he pauses for a second and watches Dean sniff, watches a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, watches him shift on both his feet as he contemplates making a run for it.

"A guy who don’t realize how good he's got it." Rio continues, looking Dean up and down in disgust. "A guy that will literally fuck up a good thing just to get his dick wet."

"Yeah, well I can't stand a guy who can have anyone he wants but chooses the married woman he's not entitled to.” Dean shoots back. "And I really can't stand the fact that you're always in the room with us even when you aren't there."

And who brings him into the room Dean hmmmmm????? Jk, jk (or am I). In this one Rio catches Dean out on the town with another woman (bc of course he is) and tries to call him out but whoops! gets called out himself. I really love the like, idk, undercurrent of wistful regret in this fic. I love Dean straight up calling Rio out on his feelings (spoilers but there’s an exchange right after this one that made me straight up holler), and, you know, obvs I am here for Rio making Dean feel like an ass. 

Hell Is Other People by makemanybraver

Rio: We're in Hell, Elizabeth! If you don't think you belong here, then repent! Don't fuck everyone in the room in hopes that you get to go out!

Beth: Why do I have to repent?!

Rio: Because you did some fucked up shit in your life, Elizabeth! You keep doing fucked up shit here, too! And you think you don't belong here!

Beth [screaming at the top of her lungs]: Because I don't!

This fic is existentially bonkers and I love it. It’s the kind of experimental format/homage/what have you kind of thing that I L O V E. Based on No Exit by Jean-Paul Sartre, Beth, Rio, and Fitzpatrick are stuck together in a room in hell for all eternity. What more do you need, honestly.

Working On Things by odenkirk

Unknown Hold up, Elizabeth. I'm really thinkin about you here.

Beth turned her face into the pillow, effectively suffocating herself for a moment, but thinking it was a good trade off for the way the cool silk of her pillowcase chilled her skin.

She lifted her head to glance at the still sleeping Dean before replying.

Beth I'm thinking about you too. But this can't happen.

She wanted him to know she wanted him, but she also thought that admitting she was already there would save Rio from trying to convince her. She wanted him, but morals had to win just once in a while.

YES this is technically Beth/Dean while also being Beth/Rio BUT it’s also sort of Rio/Dean and I am HERE FOR THE DIVERSITY OF SHIPPING leave me alone who asked you.

Five Times He Knew What She Was Thinking, and One Time He Didn't by JoeyLee

Aight, so tell ‘em I was hittin’ it. Said deliberately blunt, eyes locked on her face the whole time, just to see those blue eyes widen. She looked so shocked that he almost laughed, so he softened it teasingly just to keep her going. Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, tell ‘em we were makin’ love.

Then he just watched her, just watched her face, just fucking fascinated. Her lips were parted and her eyes were big as saucers, and…there it was. Before she could look away flustered, he watched the thought go through her mind. Him and her together.

He wondered what she was picturing or where. Them in the back seat, her bed, a motel?  Her on top or him from behind or his face between her legs?

Whatever it was, the blush started immediately, and he watched it bloom out from her cheeks to her hair. Then she was tearing her eyes away to gulp a little.  But it didn’t knock her down for long before she was looking back. And then, wait, was she actually asking him how to go about telling a fed they were fucking?

Okay this is another technical WIP but works as a standalone. I am absolutely fucking feral for character POV takes of canon scenes and this is a supremely excellent take on Rio POV of some notable scenes from the pilot through 204. Imo it brilliantly captures Rio’s voice and I love it a lot. 

HEADS UP I am absolute shite at tracking ao3 to tumblr unless people have specifically told me someone’s ao3/tumblr name SO if you recognize any of the non-tumblr authors on please lmk so I can tag them and YES I recognize that I am asking y’all to do things for me throughout this entire post and I’M SORRY OKAY I’M A WHOLE ASS MESS LOVE YOU BYE

[letbarbieshavedragons]

Um no... there was PLENTY of foreshadowing since at least season two that Dany would go "mad". And she's definitely not mad, she's calculated and cunning but not mad. She had showed signs of being villainous since the beginning. Were you paying attention when she would yell about using fire and blood to get what she wants? When she burned people alive for not bowing to her? When she only "freed" slaves when it benefitted her goals to conquer. Her dark turn was obvious from the start.

right so not really sure where this came from lol, but since you actually took the time to come to my asks and you don’t seem snarky or whatever, i guess ill respond. 

I’ve never said there wasn’t any foreshadowing. I’ve said there was no character development for it or not near enough consistent or logical build-up, but that’s very different from foreshadowing. foreshadowing at this point is just a fandom buzzword. it’s vague enough that literally anything could be considered foreshadowing, especially in hindsight. so yes there is foreshadowing that Dany is a villain. there is also foreshadowing Jon and Arya and Ned and Sansa and Bran are villains as well. there’s even foreshadowing that Jojen was turned into paste and bran ate him. that word has lost all weight and meaning and it can’t (and never could) prove anything. at best foreshadowing is grounds for conjecture. not proof or a replacement for character arcs. and even then its flimsy. 

As for your other points your really cherry-picking the facts here if not just completely distorting the narrative. The Fire and Blood speech was a) a show only event and b) said out of desperation to get sanctuary so she and her people didn’t starve in the desert. she tried being polite and accomodating but they were going to leave them so in a desperate final act, she spit some (metaphorical) fire at them and it worked. so not exactly villain territory. not to mention fire and blood are her family words, of course, she used them. how many times do the starks go on about winter? or the lannisters about debts? this is hardly proof. 

As for the burning people for not bowing to her I assume you mean the Tarly’s, which is once again cherry-picking the facts. They were at war. You think Robert or Ned would have let Aerys’ supporters live if they had refused to bend the knee? What about the Umbers if Smalljon had survived the Battle of the Bastards? Rob Stark threatened to hang a man simply for implying he wouldn’t answer his call to war. Jon Snow beheaded a man for disobeying orders even after said man agreed to comply.  In ep 1, Ned Stark beheaded a man for simply being scared from his post. 

After the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa didn’t even want the Umbers family to keep their lands! In that sense Daenerys comes out more merciful seeing as she not only doesn’t take the Tarly’s lands, I don’t remember her even discussing it. and while i hate to acknowledge anything in s8, she even legitimizes Gendry and returns the Baratheon lands to him saving the house from extinction (even tho Gendry’s father nearly wiped hers to it). And while no this wasn’t done out of the kindness of her heart, it also wasn’t exactly a necessary political move and shows more graciousness than Sansa did in 6. (And I’m not trying to shit on Sansa here, i didn’t actually take issue with her decisions. just pointing out you have to hold everyone to a fair standard here) 

The Tarly’s betrayed their liege lord (to side with the usurper that murdered said liege lords and the queen) then murdered them, which by Rob’s own words is grounds for execution. Their liege lords who also happened to be Dany’s allies. If the show had any desire for consistency by s 7 (or really any narrative integrity at all) then there would have been people urging Dany not to offer any clemency in the first place. Daenerys was showing mercy by offering them a chance in the first place. Hell, she even offered them two. Bend the knee or take the black. That’s more than Robb gave. It’s probably more than Ned would have. 

With full context her offer was more: you are defeated, agree you will stop trying to kill me and I will forgive you for betraying a murdering your liege lords and my allies a and I won’t kill you in return. Hardly villain territory. 

And the “only freed slaves when it benefitted her?” is just completely and categorically false my dude. like i really shouldn’t have to explain this but your ask seems to be in good faith (and not just baiting me) so here we go. 

Dany didn’t have to free a single slave. She already had the Unsullied her plan would have worked had she freed them or not. In fact if anything she risked more by freeing them bc she had no way of knowing they would still follow her once free. But she did it anyway. She freed them because it was the right thing to do. So already thats wrong, but i’ll go on.

She gained nothing from freeing the slaves in Yunkai, in fact it was objectively an unstrategic decision, her advisors even tell her not to. the show even makes a point in saying its not the militarily strategic thing to do. she gains nothing from it but dead soldiers, potential catistropohic failure and (if she succeeds) thousands of freedmen she doesn’t really have the resources to support. And considering Yunkai even offered her money and (if i remember correctly) ships to leave them be, she’s washing all that down the drain too. So no, once again she gained nothing from attacking Yunkai, she only stood to lose. The only thing she won was the only thing she wanted, which was the freedom of those in bondage. 

And for Meereen,  I guess you could say she gained her queenship? Except she didn’t want to stay in Meereen and both the show and the books make it very clear she only does bc she’s afraid what happened in Astapor or Yunkai after she left will happen again in Meereen when she leaves, so she decides to stay long enough to transition the city into a free city, not bc she wanted to be queen of meereen. So even then its very disingenuous to say she freed the slaves in Meereen for personal gain. 

like my dude are you for cereal? at least the first two points I can understand from the standpoint of someone who is looking for dark Dany. If you are already convinced Dany is secretly a villain I can at least see how these things would stand out. But this idea that Dany freed slaves for personal gain goes beyond simply assuming the worst of her character and is just a complete distortion of the text.

I could go on about all the times the Starks have done shady or questionable stuff and no one is pointing fingers at them or about how Dany being a “secret” villain this whole time isn’t even the narrative we got (we got a fall from hero to villain further proving that at the very least even dnd thought she was a hero at the start) or that even if Dany is a “secret” villain having another badass blonde villain queen isn’t just redundant in the narrative and an overplayed trope, in general, it’s also not even a better or more subversive arc than just having her be a badass heroic dragon queen who has had to fight for every inch of her respect and power but this is already long enough and I’ve already made posts about these things 

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Debut || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

summary || you’re twenty years old, a full-time uni student, and you’re living out of home. money is tight. so, naturally, you decide to sell your virginity to the highest bidder. when you get an offer from some guy in his mid-thirties, you put on your nicest dress and head on over. but there’s a problem: he has no idea who you are, or why you’ve turned up at his house at nine o’clock at night. maybe things aren’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped. modern day au.

rating || explicit, with fluff dotted throughout. 18+ only. do not read if you are under eighteen. the age gap between reader and roger is sixteen years.

word count || about 17.7k.

author’s notes || welcome one and all to my very first fic on this blog! i pictured roger circa ‘85 (specifically live aid) for this fic. this fic is also dedicated to my friend and fellow mid-thirties-Roger enthusiast Jennifer @mrfahrenhcit (i couldn’t find a way to work in everything you asked, but i’ve saved some of them for the next roger fic that’s in the works). fun fact: this is the first reader fic where i’ve used ‘Y/N’. some people have said they’d had issues with this post being extremely slow to load, or the app has crashed - i think it’s just bc it’s so long, and i apologise for the inconvenience.  [i am a proud member of the anti-cross-tagging club.]

masterlist

     You don’t think you’ve ever felt more nervous before in your entire life.  You’ve wiped your sweaty palms on your dress ten times in the past two minutes, and your heart hasn’t stopped racing from the moment you woke up this morning.

    What are you doing? Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?

    Well, that’s the thing. You know exactly what the fuck you’re doing.

    You aren’t doing it out of embarrassment, or anything to do with pride. You don’t feel pressured, not by anyone, not even by society, fuck society, but you saw some dumb article about it – it was hardly even an article, just gossip – and it gave you the idea, and then you were doing some research about it, just for the money, it’s just for the money, you’ve been living out of home for two years now and life’s still kicking you in the ass, so why wouldn’t you do it for money, if you could? And you can. So you went onto some website and snooped around to check for at least some sign of legitimacy, and then, well, you were making an account, and you made an account, and uploaded some photos that you never thought you’d upload to the Internet, and, a couple weeks later, you found out that someone had chosen you. Chosen you.

    And now here you are.

    On your way to a strange man’s house.

    To lose your virginity to him.

    Because he’s paid for it.

    Well, he’s paid half. The other half comes… after.

    And you’re not nervous about the actual sex part, you suppose, but more about the fact that you’re going to a stranger’s house for sex. Does that make you a sex worker? Could you call someone who played guitar in one gig and got paid for it, but never got paid for it again, a musician?

    Probably. But maybe that isn’t the best comparison.

    You don’t know much about this guy. Just his address, his name, his age – thirty-six, could be worse, to be fair – and that he’s obviously got plenty of cash to spare. And he’s definitely not the sort of guy you want to have around. Seeing as, y’know, he’s paid a twenty-year-old virgin to have sex with him.

    The Uber pulls up to a stop in front of a house. It’s dark outside, almost nine in the evening, so the house is hard to make out, but it’s quite a nice place, very white-picket-fence. Something out of a magazine catalogue about the suburbs. You thank your Uber driver and grab your oversized handbag, climbing out of the car.

    You close the door behind you.

    The Uber drives off.

    And you’re alone on the sidewalk.

    You hoist the handbag onto your shoulder. It’s got a couple of things you think you’ll need – condoms, lube, two change of clothes depending on what this guy is after. You think you look more than nice enough in your heels and tight, black dress, but just in case.

    You glance at your phone, double-checking the address. You send a quick message to your best friend Justine: at the house. will keep u updated.

    She’s the only one who knows; and she only knows because you figured that at least someone should know, if something goes wrong.

    Good God, you’re hoping nothing goes wrong. Not in that way. Not in any way, really.

    And again, you’re back to asking yourself what the fuck you’re doing.

    You take a deep breath, and start heading up the front path.

    Your hands are shaking by the time you reach the front step, but you force yourself to raise a fist and rap your knuckles on the door. The automatic porch light is yellow, and you can’t help but feel irked by how unflattering it is.

    You can hear movement inside the house. A part of you is searching for the sound of kids, although God forbid there’s any to be heard. But a guy like this… Well, your first conclusion is that he’s looking for an affair.

    You really don’t want to be some kind of mistress. But, you suppose, this is really just a business transaction, so you’re free of at least most of the guilt, right? All of it, if you actually have no idea if he’s married.

    Please don’t mention your wife, you pray. Don’t implicate me or whatever.

    Finally, the door opens, and you feel like you’re about to throw up your heart onto your feet. But you push it down, and drink in the man in front of you.

    If you weren’t sure before if he was a dad, now it’s unmistakable. He’s slim, and reasonably tall – not remarkably so, but still tall – and he’s dressed in loose jeans and a blue flannel that he has rolled up to his elbows. His hair is blond, sort of shaggy, sort of spiky, like he spends his time running his hands through it. You idly wonder what it’d feel like in your hands. Guess you’ll find out soon enough.

    But the thing that really knocks your socks off is the big blue eyes that blink at you, framed by eyelashes that you’d kill to have yourself. Those eyes flash down to your outfit, and then back up at your face.

    Okay. Maybe this whole thing won’t be that bad at all.

    You give him your most winning smile. “Hi,” you say in a way that you hope is both alluring and professional.

    He blinks at you again. “Hi,” he says, his eyes wide. His gaze flits up and down your body, like he’s trying to compute what he’s seeing in front of him. “Um, hello. What, uh– Can I help you?”

    His voice is soft, softer than you were expecting. Gentle, almost.

    You lick your lips and shift your feet. “I’m, ah, Mandy. Are you Roger? Taylor?” Your name is fake, of course. You’re not sure about his. Not that it matters.

    “Yes, that’s me,” Roger says. He scratches the back of his head. “Uh, I’m sorry, you’re, um, lovely, but I don’t think I know you.”

    Huh. Odd. Is this a foreplay thing? “We have an appointment. You booked me two weeks ago, and you gave me this date and this time,” you prompt unsurely.

    Roger’s brow crumples. “An… appointment?”

    You feel your face starting to heat up. You almost ask if you have the right address, but no, you already know that he’s Roger Taylor, he’s the one who booked, so you must have it right. “Yeah,” you say. “You, um…” You lower your voice a touch. “You already paid in advance. This is pretty much a done deal, but I’m just here to fulfil my end of the bargain. And then, of course, you’ll have to pay me the other half.”

    Roger’s starting to look a little pale now, and you’re not quite sure what to do with that. His eyes dart down to your outfit and back up to your face. “Pay you?” he says. “I’ve– what? I’ve paid you? What did I pay you? When?”

    Now you’re both embarrassed, and confused, and well, this isn’t something you’d pictured going wrong.

    You suddenly feel very exposed in your tight dress and heels.

    “Uh.” You scratch behind your ear. “Like, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ve booked me, and I’m here. And it wasn’t a small sum of money, so I doubt you’d want to…”

    Roger’s mouth opens, and then closes, and opens again. “Oh, shit, hang on,” he says, his voice flat, “did I… Was this all booked and arranged two weeks ago on the Friday night?”

    “Yes,” you say. “Why?”

    Roger sighs heavily, and rubs his eyes. “Oh, shit,” he moans. “For God’s…” He raises his head, and sighs again. “Look, um, Mandy, there’s been a big misunderstanding. I, um, went through a divorce, er, relatively recently, a few months ago, and I’ve been doing a bit of wallowing, I guess you could say, and my friends tried to cheer me up a fortnight ago on Friday by bringing round a few bottles of very nice whiskey and gin. I don’t remember a lot of that night, but, now that you mention it, I have some vague memory of my friends trying to get me to, you know, ‘move on’, and, um, I think they might have looked up… people online.”

    Your ears are really burning now. “Oh,” you say.

    “That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Roger adds. “You’re a…”

    “Not really,” you blurt. “Kind of. It– oh, man.” You bite your bottom lip, hesitating, not quite sure how much to reveal about the situation. “Okay, I’ll be honest. Yes, I’m… from a website. But I’m not – this isn’t a living, or a side gig, or whatever. Not that it would matter if I was, because there’s nothing wrong with…” You shake your head. Stay on track. “It’s just a one-off. You paid me to… to take my virginity.”

    You swear you can see Roger’s soul leaving his body in that moment. “You– I what?”

    You shrug helplessly.

    Roger takes a step back, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Jesus Christ.”

    “I’m sorry for the confusion,” you say, and your stomach sinks further when a realisation comes to you. “I…” You swallow. Your mouth is dry. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t – The money you gave me. I’ve done this to help pay bills and rent and everything, and it’s already been used. A chunk of it, anyway. I can’t refund you. I’m really sorry.”

    “No, God, don’t apologise,” Roger says. “You weren’t to know.” He shakes his head. “Fucking dickheads, the lot of them.” He looks to you, and warily inspects your face. “How old did you say you were?” His voice is small, like he’s scared of the answer.

    “Twenty,” you reply, and his shoulders sag in relief.

    “Thank God,” he says. “I mean, still, you’re so young, but at least you’re…”

    “An adult?”

    He nods, grimacing sheepishly. “I really am being honest when I say I don’t remember much of that night. My mates aren’t those sorts of people, but, well, who knows what they’d try to pull when they’re pissed.”

    “No, it’s fine,” you say. “I look young for my age. But I am twenty.”

    “No, I believe you,” Roger says quickly. “I’m not… No.”

    You wipe your palms on your dress again. What now? Do you just go home? That wasn’t the cheapest Uber ride you’ve ever had. You were kind of relying on that extra money.

    Roger seems equally at loss. “You– Did you have to travel far?”

    “Not that far,” you say. “Forty minutes-ish.”

    “Fuck,” Roger says. He puts his hands on his hips, and then drops them again. “What time is it? It’s nearly nine, isn’t it?”

    “Yeah, about nine.”

    “It’s late. You should be getting home.”

    Your heart sinks. Wow. Okay. This is really just over like that. “Um, yeah, I guess,” you say. You take half a step back. “I’m really sorry about the– the, um, whole mix-up thing. And sorry about your divorce.”

    Great. Real smooth.

    “Thanks,” Roger says. He hesitates, and you’re about to turn and head back down the driveway, when he says, “How are you getting home? Did you drive?”

    “Uh, no,” you say. “Uber.”

    “Uber? God, no, sod that,” Roger says. “Let me…” He fumbles for something in his back pocket, but comes up empty. “Let me pay for it. I don’t– Can I pay you for it?”

    “It’s all right,” you reassure him. “You’ve already given me– it’s okay.”

    “No, please, I insist,” he says. “Should I– cash? I can give you cash. Or… transfer…” He rolls his eyes at himself, those pretty blue eyes that shouldn’t belong to a man his age, but somehow suit him perfectly. “God,” he mutters. “I usually have things more together than this, I promise. I’ve just been caught beyond off-guard.”

    “Sorry,” you say again.

    “It’s not your fault, really, I don’t– How could I blame you? You had no idea. I am going to murder my friends.” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Um. Okay. I’ve paid you before, haven’t I, if you got the deposit? How did I do it? I can just do it that way again.”

    “You transferred it to me,” you say. You shift in your heels. Your feet are starting to ache.

    “Let’s do it that way again, then,” Roger says. “I’ll just get my phone, sorry.”

    “It’s okay, really,” you say yet again, stopping him. “Don’t bother. I’ll– It’ll take me two minutes and then I can be on my way home.”

    Roger hovers, and then says, “Can I– Did you want to wait inside? Or out on the steps? Could I get you some water, at least?”

    You hesitate. “Um–”

    “I’m not trying to do anything,” Roger blurts, and then he shakes his head. “Now it sounds like I am trying to do something. I’m not. Really. If you want, you can just wait here and I’ll go inside and leave you alone.”

    You glance at your phone. You haven’t ordered the Uber yet, but you are pretty thirsty. You look back up to Roger. “Well, I already had it in my head that I was coming here to sleep with you, so I’m not really concerned about you trying anything,” you say. “Some water sounds nice, actually.”

    Roger laughs. Like his voice, it’s unexpectedly soft, and it makes you smile.

    “Um. Yes,” he says, glancing at his feet. “Well. Um, come on in, then.”

    You head back up the path, and Roger steps aside to let you in.

    You slip past him. He smells good.

    His house, on the inside, is just as white-picket-fence as it is on the outside. Not the tidiest, but you suppose he wasn’t expecting company.

    He seems to notice the slight mess the same moment you do, and he hurriedly darts forward to tidy up.

    “Sorry,” he says.

    “No, don’t worry about it,” you say.

    He bends down to grab an empty beer bottle from where it sits on the floor next to the couch. Nice ass.

    Not that it matters. You aren’t sleeping with him anymore. But, to be fair, you are only human. Just because you’re no longer ordering doesn’t mean you can’t admire the menu.

    “I, uh, wasn’t expecting any guests, obviously,” Roger adds, half-jokingly.

    You chuckle, and adjust your dress. Roger’s eyes flash down to your hands, then to your chest where you’ve pulled the dress down a little further in your adjustment, and then he quickly looks away, running his hand along his jaw.

    “Uh, um,” he says. “Water? Um– take a seat, by the way. Feel free to sit…” He gestures vaguely around him. “Sit anywhere. Anywhere you like.”

    “Um, okay,” you say, and hesitate, before awkwardly perching on his couch.

    “Sorry, did you say you wanted water?” Roger says.

    “If you wouldn’t mind,” you say.

    “Yeah, of course,” Roger says, and then disappears into the kitchen.

    You breathe in a lungful of air and slowly let it out. Wow. Talk about an unexpected evening.

    You take out your phone and message Justine. boy do I have a story to tell u.

    She’s online, and she replies immediately. fuck what’s happened?? everything alright??

    You bite your lip, considering how to reply. yeah I’m fine. the guy is super easy on the eyes, but there’s been a mix up and basically I am remaining firmly in the virgin zone for the foreseeable future lol.

    You backspace and try again. yeah I’m fine. long story short I’m coming home. tell u about it when I get there.

    is he ugly?? Justine replies, and you can’t help but smile in amusement.

    oh no, that’s not the issue even a little bit, you reply.

    “I’m assuming tap water is fine?” Roger says, reappearing with a glass of water, making you jump slightly and flip your phone face-down on your leg, as if he could somehow see the screen from across the room. “Sorry, I should’ve asked. I don’t really have anything else.”

    “No, no, tap water is fine, thank you,” you say, and he hands the glass to you.

    You take a sip.

    Roger glances away, seemingly looking for something to do or something to say, as if the answer is written in the walls. He chews on his thumbnail.

    Your mind scrambles to find something to say, but it feels like trying to eat soup with a fork.

    “Is everything all right?” Roger asks suddenly, looking to you. “I know this is probably completely inappropriate, but… Well, paying for someone to…”

    Your stomach sinks with embarrassment. “Oh,” you say. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Just – could do with the money.”

    “Of course, yeah,” Roger says hurriedly, nodding. “You’re at uni?”

    “Yeah. And living out of home, so.”

    “Right. Yeah, of course, I should’ve guessed. Sorry, that was…”

    “No, it’s fine,” you say with a reassuring smile. You chuckle. “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening like this.”

    “No, no, it…” Roger smiles, and you feel every trace of oxygen leave your lungs, because wow, he’s attractive. “It’s a welcomed interruption, actually.”

    “It is?”

    “Well, all I had planned was to watch something shit on Netflix and drink beer,” Roger says, screwing up his nose. “Not exactly exciting.”

    “Oh, don’t let me stop you,” you say. “Sounds like they were big plans.”

    Roger laughs, and your heart thuds against your ribcage. “The sort of plans that sound much nicer when you have company, I think.” He pauses. “Not that– not that I’m expecting you to–” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Really, I’m not usually this… awkward.”

    “You don’t have to apologise,” you say, shaking your head.

    “I used to be a real ladies’ man, you know,” Roger says. “Back in the day. Before my wi– my ex-wife. And the kids.”

    “Sure,” you say, drawling sarcastically.

    Roger laughs again, a little surprised, but amused. “I was!” he insists. “I was picking up women left and right.”

    “I believe you,” you say lightly.

    Roger grins, and you have to take a steadying breath. “You’ve got a tongue on you, haven’t you?” he says delightedly.

    “So it’s been said.”

    It comes out more suggestive than you’d intended. Roger takes a moment to drink you in, and then he bites his bottom lip, looking away, one hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, the other one slipping under his shirt, massaging his shoulder.

    Your stomach flips and jumps. You take a sip of water.

    “You sure you’ve never been with anyone before?” Roger says.

    You snort. “That’s a pretty rude question, don’t you think?”

    Roger smiles sheepishly. “You’re right. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

    You take another sip of water, and then say, “I haven’t slept with anyone, no. I think I’d know if I had.”

    “Right,” Roger says mildly, nodding.

    You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

    “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

    “You’re thinking very loudly. Is there something wrong with me not having slept with anyone?”

    “No,” Roger says, his eyes widening. “No, shit, that’s not what I was trying to say. It– you just seem… I’m just surprised. That someone like you…”

    You adjust your dress again. Roger’s eyes drop to your breasts again, and back up to your face. “What do you mean by that?” you ask, trying not to preen.

    Roger ponders over his answer for a while. “You just seem to… know what you want.”

    “Oh, you think so?”

    “Yeah,” Roger says noncommittally.

    His eyes find yours, and they stay there. Your heart is racing in your chest now, making your blood feel warm. You’ve been attracted to plenty of people before, but this is really something else.

    Roger clears his throat, breaking away, and you surreptitiously squeeze your thighs together.

    Your phone buzzes on your thigh. It’s Justine. so he’s hot?

    “Is that your Uber?” Roger asks. If you aren’t mistaken, he sounds almost disappointed.

    Your cheeks grow hot. “Oh, um, I haven’t actually… I forgot to call it.”

    “Oh,” Roger says. A tinge of relief? “Well, no rush.”

    “It’s just my friend checking up on me,” you add.

    “That’s good of them.”

    “Yeah. Well, actually, she was checking up on me before. Now she’s just–” You open and close your mouth a few times, but decide to be honest. “Uh, she’s just, um, asking about you.”

    Roger quirks an eyebrow, and it’s so hot that you have to look away. “About me?”

    Your phone buzzes again. are you on ur way home now?

    “Uh,” you say, and quickly type out, not yet.

    “What have you told her?” Roger asks, playfully curious.

    You put your phone down, and take a breath, smoothing your hands down your legs, thinking carefully of how to answer. “Just that you seem nice.”

    “Nice?” Roger says.

    “And you’re… Well.” You smirk. “I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in the mirror. No point in boosting your ego too much.”

    Roger steps forward, drawn to you by an invisible string. “I don’t think I understand,” he says faux-innocently.

    “I’m sorry, weren’t you just saying a minute ago that you were pulling girls left and right?” you say, cocking your head.

    “Oh, yeah, when I was twenty,” Roger says. “Not talking about now.”

    “Have you tried?”

    Roger pauses, slightly taken aback by this, and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks, blowing hair out of his cheeks. “You may have a point there.”

    “And I suppose that’s why these friends of yours contacted me?”

    “You… may have a point there,” Roger says again.

    You nod to yourself. “I don’t see why they couldn’t have just taken you to a pub and set you up with someone there. It’d have been a lot cheaper.”

    “They’ve, um…” Roger cards his hand through his hair. “They’ve tried that, actually.” He hesitates, and then walks over to you, sitting down on the armchair near you. “They’ve taken me out a couple of times.”

    “And you’ve struck out?�� you ask.

    Roger chuckles. “No. I – well, like you said, I suppose I haven’t really tried. I didn’t want to.”

    “Too soon?”

    “No, it’s not that. It’s…” Roger pulls a face. “I don’t know. Haven’t felt like it, really. Maybe it was too soon. Or maybe the thought of having to try to chat someone up just seemed like so much effort.”

    “Surely it wouldn’t be much effort for you.”

    Roger meets your eyes again, and he smiles slowly, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh yeah?”

    Your phone vibrates. The way Roger’s looking at you makes you wish it was something else vibrating that you could put to good use alone in your room.

    Roger’s eyes flick down to the phone, and back up to your face. “That your friend again?”

    You hesitate, and then flip the phone over. hellooooo????? wtf is going on????

    “Yeah,” you say, and put the phone down beside you.

    “You going to answer it?”

    “In a minute.”

    You smooth your hands down your thighs. Roger watches like a hawk.

    Your hands slide back up your thighs.

    He swallows.

    You smile.

    “You, um, you ever…” Roger tears his eyes away from your thighs to look at your face. “Have– have you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

    “Yeah,” you say casually. “Not for a long while, though. And nothing too serious. Nothing as full-on as marriage.”

    Roger laughs, but it comes out sounding a bit strangled. “Yeah. That’s all right, though. That doesn’t matter.”

    Your phone buzzes.

    You ignore it.

    “I never got around to… all of that,” you explain. “Y’know. Fucking.”

    Roger’s face goes slack. “Uh–”

    “I wasn’t waiting for anyone special,” you continue. Your blood feels electrified under his gaze. “Just never quite got there.”

    “Never quite–?”

    You hum. “That’s misleading. I’ve made out with plenty of people, but that’s all. Some over-the-clothes action. Basically nothing, really.”

    Roger looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “Uh-huh.”

    “You probably find that hard to imagine,” you say with a wry smile. “Having kids and all. How old were you your first time?”

    Roger blinks, and takes a moment to reply. “Uh, I was sixteen.”

    You laugh. “God, I can’t even picture…” You frown, and shake your head. “It’s hard to picture what it’d be like, you know? The reality of it? You can watch as much porn as you like – and I’ve watched plenty, mind you – but, like, I know that it’s not real. Not realistic, anyway. I’ve spent what feels like ages just trying to picture what is actually is like, but it’s impossible for me to know.”

    “It’s good,” Roger says, and it comes out in a rush, and he looks surprised at himself.

    You feel a thrill go through you. “Good?”

    “Yeah,” Roger says. “Everyone says your first time isn’t good, but that’s only if your partner doesn’t know what they’re doing. And it’s nice when you have an idea of what you’re doing, too, but that comes with time. And if you have a good teacher.” He rakes his hand through his hair again. “But when the chemistry is right, and the mood is right, it’s… good.”

    “That’s descriptive,” you murmur sarcastically.

    Roger huffs a laugh. “What do you want, a detailed explanation? Graphs and illustrations?”

    “A demonstration would be nice.”

    Shit. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. Why the fuck did you say that?

    Your eyes are wide, and you open and close your mouth a few times. “Uh.” Roger looks as surprised as you feel. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Wow. Is– is this part of the…”

    You blink. “Part of the…?”

    “The whole…” He gestures vaguely. “…thing. You being paid to…”

    “Did I just make a complete idiot of myself as part of my attempt to woo you as a kind-of sex worker?” you ask. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Nope. No. That was all me. Just being a dumbass.” You groan, covering your face. “I’m sorry,” you say from behind your hands. “This is so embarrassing.” This whole night has been nothing but a huge embarrassment. You can’t wait to go home and forget about it, thanks to an unhealthy dose of alcohol.

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says.

    You lower your hands. “For what?”

    “For – I don’t know. I just felt I needed to apologise.”

    You snort. “You don’t have to apologise for me very clumsily and awkwardly and horribly trying to flirt with you, Roger.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “You’re probably used to seeing that all the time.”

    “Again, not for a very long time,” Roger says. “But I know what horrible and awkward flirting looks like, and… that wasn’t it.”

    “But clumsy, though, right?” you say, screwing up your nose.

    Roger chuckles. “Maybe. But that’s all right.” He shifts in his seat. “I was just as clumsy.”

    You wave a hand, and reach for your phone. It’s high time you called your Uber. And reply to Justine. “You weren’t flirting with me.”

    You re-read the messages from Justine you’re yet to reply to.

    so hes hot?

    are you on ur way home now?

    hellooooo????? wtf is going on????

    Then the new one, from a few minutes ago: for the love of god can u please reply to me. something. anything. I’ll take a solid thumbs-up.

    So you send a thumbs-up.

    When you look up, Roger is staring at you, and you realise he hasn’t spoken since you did.

    You’ve well and truly crossed a line somewhere. You can’t blame him for wanting you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m just – my friend. I’ll get the Uber now. Sorry it’s taken me so long.”

    “Don’t,” Roger says.

    You pause. “Don’t what?”

    “Don’t order the Uber.”

    Your stomach bubbles. “Wh– No?”

    “Not yet, at least,” Roger says. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think I wasn’t flirting with you?”

    “Why would you be?” you respond automatically.

    “Why would…” Roger shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “Because I’m a random twenty-year-old woman who’s just shown up at your door on a Tuesday night dressed like this talking about how you paid to take my virginity,” you say bluntly. “Which is more than a little off-putting.”

    “Well, all right, I’ll give you that,” Roger says. “But here I am, still trying to clumsily flirt with you nonetheless.”

    You break out into a smile, a bashful one, and duck your head. “Oh.”

    “Oh,” Roger repeats, a touch playfully.

    You glance up at him. He’s smiling at you, pleased with your reaction, and the thought of kissing him flashes through your mind, and you’ve suddenly never wanted anything more. You purse your lips, looking at your hands again, fiddling with your phone, flipping it around and around in your grip.

    “Mandy,” he says gently, and you’re puzzled for a moment before you remember –

    “That’s, um, not my real name,” you tell him with an awkward chuckle. But you really like how he said it all the same.

    Roger looks so embarrassed that you can’t help but laugh. “Here I was, trying to be all suave, and now I look like an idiot,” he says.

    You shake your head. “You don’t. You didn’t know.”

    “I should’ve guessed you weren’t using your real name.”

    “No, it’s fine,” you giggle.

    “Well, am I allowed to know your real name? So I can try again?”

    You hesitate.

    “Unless you don’t want to,” Roger says quickly. “That’s fine. Security, and all. Stranger danger.”

     You laugh again. “Stranger danger? I’m in your house.”

    “I could be a stalker. You don’t know that.”

    Fuck, you’re attracted to him. “Dork,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

    Roger chuckles, his eyes sparkling.

    “It’s [Y/N],” you add.

    “[Y/N],” he repeats, and your breath catches ever so slightly. He pauses, and then comes to sit beside you on the couch, and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, [Y/N],” he says. “I’m Roger.”

    You giggle, and take his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Roger.”

    He’s so close now. He smells amazing, and his hand is warm, and his eyes are so blue, and his lips–

    You realise you’ve been staring at his mouth, your hand still in his, and you glance back up at his eyes before quickly taking your hand back, looking away.

    You tuck your hair behind your ear, clearing your throat. You’re barely aware of your own body – only his, and how close it is to yours. Like there’s a force between the two of you, connecting you. When he swallows and moves his hand back to his own lap, you can feel it as if it’s your own.

    “Do you, um…” Roger takes a breath in, and you feel your chest, your lungs, buzz. “Tell me about yourself a bit.”

    “Me?” you say, looking to him. Oh, wow, he really is close. Fucking hell, you want him.

    “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “What do you do for fun? Stuff like that?”

    You lick your lips, and his eyes dart to the movement. “Um, well, I…” You absentmindedly adjust your dress, and it catches his eye again. “I’m at uni, in my second year. It’s all right. Pretty stressful, obviously, but I like it well enough. I live with two of my friends. I, um… I like… dogs.”

    Roger laughs.

    This is so stupid, you realise. You both clearly want each other.

    You shake your head. “Stupid,” you mutter.

    Roger frowns. “What’s stupid?”

    “This,” you say. You gesture between the two of you for emphasis. “This.”

    “Oh,” Roger says. He shifts away from you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

    You huff. “You’re not.”

    “Then what–”

    “Kiss me,” you cut in.

    Roger stops. “Kiss you?”

    “Yes,” you say, keeping your gaze steady on his. “You’re too damn difficult to resist. So kiss me.”

    Roger hesitates.

    You raise your eyebrows. “Unless you don’t want to?”

    “No, I – I do,” he says. “I just…”

    “What?”

    “I feel like the circumstances… I don’t want you to think I’m just doing this because I’ve paid you to…”

    “I don’t think that,” you say. “And I don’t want your money; this is way beyond that now. I’m not trying to trick you into sleeping with me so I can force you to pay me. I just know chemistry when I see it.”

    Roger chuckles. “I was right,” he says. “You know exactly what you want.”

    You steel your nerves. “Yeah,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “And I want you.”

    Roger swallows. “But you don’t even know me.”

    “Nope.”

    “And you’re in my house.”

    “Yep.”

    “And I’m so much older than you.”

    “That’s right.”

    “And you’re…”

    “I’m a virgin,” you finish, nodding. “I know. But for the love of God, Roger, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to scream.”

    Roger exhales, shakes his head minutely, and then says, “God fucking damn it,” and leans in to kiss you.

    You immediately shift to press closer towards him, one hand coming to rest against his chest. He kisses you earnestly, but gently, like he’s nervous. Nervous about making you feel pressured, you can safely assume.

    But that’s not what you’re about. You pull back, and, before he can say anything, you climb on top of him, straddling his waist, and kiss him again, more deeply than before. He breaks away just far enough to whisper, “Holy shit,” and then ducks his head to kiss down your throat. You tilt your head to give him more room, one hand against his chest and the other raking through his hair. His hands, rough and warm, smooth up your thighs, and your breath catches. They stop just under the hem of the dress, and a soft whine slips from your throat.

    Roger moans in response. “Jesus Christ.”

    You reach down and grab at his wrists, urging his hands to go further up the dress. “Touch me,” you pant.

    He draws back, and you look down at him, at his slightly flushed cheeks and his ruffled hair, and you want him naked, right now. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “We can just make out, that’s absolutely fine. Just because of… the whole… arrangement…”

   ��“Roger,” you say slowly, “I’m only going to say this once, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

    He nods, swallowing.

    You cup his face in your hands, boring your eyes into his. “I want you to fuck me. Tonight. Right now.”

    Roger takes a shaky breath. “Are you–”

    “What did I just say?” you cut in. “Not repeating it.”

    Roger smiles, laughing breathlessly. “Bloody hell.”

    You smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

    “Oh, it most certainly is one, believe me.”

     You lean in to kiss him, and his hands, thank the Lord, slide further up your thighs. You start unbuttoning his shirt, blindly, fumbling a little, and your kisses grow more eager.

    You’ve kissed a number of people in your time. Not a whole lot, but a few. And Roger really takes the damn cake.

    When his shirt is fully unbuttoned, untucked from his jeans, you move your lips down his neck, and he moans, letting his head roll back, his hands shifting to grab your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel the tent in his jeans, and, beyond thrilled, you grind against it, loving how a bolt of arousal shoots through you. Roger’s grip on you tightens, and when you nip at his skin, he spits out, “Fuck.”

    You rock your hips against him again, and he laughs again. “God, it’s been too long.”

    You hum, nipping his throat again and soothing it with your tongue. “How long is too long?”

    “Months. Lost count. Ah, fuck.”

    You pull back, giving him a look, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Try twenty years,” you say dryly.

    Roger shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine.” He kisses you, just once, and then murmurs against your lips, “I promise I’ll make this good for you.”

    You shiver. “I’m sure you will.”

    “I mean it.” He kisses you again, and then sits back, his hands sliding back to your thighs and squeezing them gently. “I want this to be good for you. If I’m going to be your first, I want you to enjoy it. So you have to tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, yeah?”

    You nod. “Yeah.”

    “I don’t care what it is we’re doing – you can tell me to stop at literally any point, and I will, no questions asked.”

    You nod. “I know, I know.”

    Roger chuckles. “You just really want to get things going, don’t you?”

    “Yes.” You press your lips to his, and, now that you both know where things lie between you, you’re both eager to get to the next step. The kisses quickly become more feverish, hotter, deeper. Roger’s hands go to the back of your dress, working the zipper down your spine, and you shudder at the feeling of it. When he’s done, you sit back to yank it over your head, dropping it the floor behind you.

    Roger’s eyes drink you in, his mouth hanging open. “Whoa.”

    You flush under his gaze. You know you look good – you’d worn your push-up bra and matching lace underwear for a reason – but it’s still a rush to get a reaction like that.

    “Bedroom?” Roger says, his voice a touch weak, and you nod, leaning in to steal one last kiss before climbing off him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. He groans slightly as he does so, and you giggle.

    “I know, I know, I’m old,” he says.

    “No, I like it,” you say, tugging him closer to you and hooking a finger of your other hand through a belt loop on his jeans. “Dad noises.”

    Roger shakes his head, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you lean into the touch. “Don’t say that,” he grumbles. “Makes me feel even older.”

    “You’re not old,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even forty.”

    Roger laughs. “Ah, yes, a real spring chicken.”

    “Can you stop whining and fuck me already? I’m gonna be forty by the time we get to it.”

    Roger snorts. “Cheeky.” He leans in to kiss you, and you curl your arms around his neck, pressing into him.

    When you break apart, you take Roger’s hand again, and he leads you to his bedroom, both of you stumbling slightly in the dark house. You’re only in your underwear, but you’re still wearing your heels, and you feel like you’re in some kind of Victoria Secret ad.

    Roger keeps glancing back at you, his eyes sweeping your body, and he’s so distracted he almost runs into a wall at one point, and you have to tug on his arm to pull him out of the way, laughing as you do so. He retaliates by pushing you up against the wall and kissing you senseless, his thigh slotted between yours. You’re lightheaded and unbelievably turned on by the time he breaks away again, and it feels like a lifetime before you reach his bedroom. 

    Roger switches on the light.

    The double bed is unmade, but the room itself is fairly tidy, just a pair of shoes and a shirt on the floor. The whole room screams tax-paying adult, and you’re reminded again that the man you’re about to sleep with is, in fact, a proper adult. Not like you, an adult by the loosest terms imaginable, but a fully-grown man with children and a mortgage and a career, probably. A completely different world to yours.

    But none of that will matter when you’re both naked. 

    He closes the door behind him, and then you’re pouncing on him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and all but tearing his belt off. His hands are tight on your hips, and when you undo his belt and the button and fly on his jeans, he pants, “Bed, bed, go sit on the bed.”

    You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing one knee over the other, taking the opportunity to quickly tie your hair back out of your face while and Roger fumbles with the rest of his clothes, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks and jeans. You can tell that he would’ve been thin as a twig back in the day, and you’d easily call him slender even now, but his body is soft, the sign of a father who’s spent more time taking care of the kids and having a beer in the evenings to wind down than going to the gym. It suits him, looks good on him. You’re certainly a big fan.

    Soon, he’s down to nothing but his boxer-briefs. His boxer-briefs, which are neon green.

    You break out into a grin, and Roger looks down at them, sighing. “Of all the fucking pairs I could’ve put on today,” he mutters.

    “They’re pretty great,” you say, and you make sure you have Roger’s full attention before you uncross your legs, spreading your knees wide, leaning back on your hands, “but I’m more interested in what’s underneath them.”

    From the look on Roger’s face, you’d guess his legs are about to give out from under him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he huffs, and he hurries over.

    Grinning, you scramble backwards on the bed, lying down, and he crawls after you, over you, and his kiss is bruising.

    Your hands are shaking now – with excitement and with nerves, a lot of nerves – but you ignore that, and worm your fingers inside his underwear, wrapping your hand around him and giving him a tug.

    He jerks, and you have a moment of panic where you think you’ve done the wrong thing, but then he kisses you with more fervour, so you do it again. This time, his hand finds yours, gently guiding you away.

    “Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

    Roger looks confused for a moment, and then says, “God, no. I just don’t want to get too worked up before we get to, y’know, the main event.”

    “Oh,” you say, smiling in relief.

    “You really have no experience at all, do you?” Roger says, sounding almost disbelieving.

    “That’s what I’ve been saying,” you say. “It hasn’t all been some elaborate ruse to get into your pants. Literally all I have is some vague, theoretical ideas on how this works. And I know the mechanics. But that’s it. So you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

    “That’s fine by me,” Roger says. He chuckles. “It’ll make everything I do seem much more magical than it really is.”

    “Sure,” you say mock-condescendingly.

    Roger laughs, and he looks so wonderful when he’s laughing that you can’t help but smile, your hand reaching up to comb through his hair.

    He notices the look in your eye, your smile, and he smiles back in a way that makes your stomach squirm and your fingers and toes tingle.

    He kisses you, and the squirming in your stomach grows into full-blown butterflies, big Amazonian ones, and you begin to have an inkling that, oh no, this could be bad. This could be very bad indeed.

    It’s probably nothing. He’s just hot, and nice, and funny, so you’re excited to have sex with him. That’s it. You’re a duckling that’s imprinted on its mother. Except you’re a human, and Roger’s the first person you’re having sex with, not your mother.

    Not the best analogy you’ve come up with. You can’t blame yourself, though – the way Roger’s kissing you is turning your brain into mush.

    He presses a kiss to just under your ear, and then kisses all the way down your throat, and you tilt your head back. “Feels so good,” you murmur.

    You can feel Roger smile against your skin.

    He keeps going, kissing the hollow at the base of your throat, further down still, and you bite your bottom lip. He presses a kiss to the top of your right breast, and then looks up at you. “Can I take your bra off?”

    You nod eagerly, and he moves back so you can sit up. “Oh, I’ve still got my shoes on,” you said.

    “I’ve noticed,” Roger says, and you chuckle.

    “As super sexy as they are, I do wanna take them off,” you say.

    Roger ducks forward to drop a kiss to your neck, and the butterflies are back, and you can feel your cheeks going pink. You want to hide your face, but Roger’s right there, and you can’t look away from his eyes. “How about you take your bra off,” he says, “and I’ll get your shoes.”

    “You don’t have to take my shoes off for me,” you say.

    “Well, I want to,” he says simply, and shuffles down, climbing off the bed. He gestures for you to shift forward, and you do, until your feet are hanging off the bed, your knees hooked over the edge. Roger gets onto his knees – he makes a dad noise as he does so, and you giggle again – and fiddles with the buckle on one of your shoes.

     You take a moment to watch him, biting your lip, smiling, and then reach behind you and unhook your bra, slipping it from your shoulders.

    He doesn’t look up right away, and you’re thankful for a moment to get your head around the fact that you’ve never been completely topless in front of anyone before. You’re self-conscious about the grooves the bra has dug into your skin, about the way your breasts look without the aid of the push-up, and you almost go to cross your arms over yourself, but then Roger glances up, and his hands go still. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

    You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice, unsure how else to respond.

    Roger shakes his head, and focuses back on the shoe, making quick work of it and easing it off your foot, setting it down beside him. He moves onto the other shoe. “Talk about winning the fuckin’ lottery,” he says.

    “I could say the same,” you say.

    Roger stops again, looking to you, and then smiles, looking back to the shoe. His ears have gone red.

    He takes the second shoe off and places it beside the first, then presses light kisses to the inside of your knee. He moves further up your leg, up your thigh, and you realise you’re holding your breath. His arms are curled around underneath your legs.

    Roger looks up at you, his thick eyelashes making him look almost angelic. “Is this all right?” he says. “If I…?”

    He’s asking if he can eat you out. Oh, God, he’s asking if he can eat you out. He wants to put his mouth and tongue there, and maybe his fingers, too, and no one’s ever done that before.

    You nod eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly, as Roger laughs.

    You feel your stomach cave in on itself in embarrassment. “Actually, no thanks,” you say, trying to pull your legs back. “Changed my mind.”

    “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” Roger says, still chuckling. He coaxes your legs back to where they were, and kisses your thigh. “It was just the look on your face.”

    “You’re doing a terrible job of wooing me,” you say, aiming for resolute and chastising, but it comes out sounding more weedy and humiliated.

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says again, and his hands stroke your legs soothingly. “I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed.” He smiles, a glint in his eye, and you’re momentarily left breathless. “Can I… make it up to you?”

    You can’t help but smile back, rolling your eyes. “Wow. Cheesy.”

    “Thank you,” Roger says. “I’m going to be honest, as fun as this banter is, my knees aren’t going to last forever.”

    You splutter a laugh. “Yes, yes, okay, yes please.”

    Roger surges up off the floor to press a firm kiss to your lips, and you take a moment to wonder just how dodgy his knees really are if he can do something like that, or whether he was just looking for a convenient segue into getting your underwear off. You’re not fussed either way.

    Roger kisses your collarbone, and then pulls back, hooking his fingers into your underwear. “Lift your hips up for me, love?”

    The pet name makes heat pool between your legs. Oh, Jesus.

    “Mm-hm,” you say, hoping it sounds more nonchalant to him than it does to your own ears, and lie back to lift your hips, and he slides your underwear down your legs and drops them near your shoes.

    You expect him to go back to his knees straight away, but he holds himself above you, kissing you, deep and slow, making you whimper into his mouth. One hand holds himself up, and the other one massages your hip, his thumb kneading your skin. Relaxing you, you realise. You let yourself get lost in the kiss, and you’re only partially aware when Roger’s hand moves from your hip to your thigh, brushing over your skin.

    You’re extremely aware, however, when his fingers stroke through your folds for the first time.

    Despite yourself, you jump, and Roger murmurs, “Sorry,” but you shake your head to dismiss his concerns, and pull him in again.

    For a few moments it’s strange, feeling someone’s else hand there, and you’re very conscious of how wet you are, and you wonder if it’s something you should be embarrassed about, but then Roger circles your clit, and suddenly all your worries seem very far away.

    It feels… good. Really fucking good. Roger’s fingers are rougher than yours, but they’re clearly experienced in how they move.

    You push your hips up against Roger’s hand, wanting more, and Roger complies, his fingers moving just a touch more roughly, and he ducks his head to nuzzle at your throat, kissing it, nipping lightly.

    “Oh, God,” you moan to the ceiling, overwhelmed already, and you almost laugh at how surprised you sound. Your hand grips Roger’s hair, and you hope it’s not too hard, but you couldn’t let go if you tried.

    Then Roger’s hand is gone, and you let out a choked sound at the sudden stop. You try to gather your thoughts to ask why, but then Roger is kissing down your body. Oh, man, you think, unable to conjure up anything else, and Roger chuckles, and you realise you said it out loud, but you don’t have time to be embarrassed, as Roger takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth tugging at it, and you gasp.

    “I’ve never… That’s new,” you say weakly, hissing when Roger runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple.

    Roger pulls off to ask, “Do you like it?”

    “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

    “Good.” He goes back to his task, and you arch off the bed slightly.

    “So good,” you breathe. Roger switches to the other nipple, and you moan appreciatively.

    Eventually, both to your dismay and your excitement, he draws away, and presses a single kiss to the space between your breasts. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says, and then he moves back to climb off the bed, setting himself between your thighs.

    You struggle to wrap your head around it. How he could be making you feel this good, and then still compliment you, as if you’ve done anything to deserve it?

    Roger doesn’t waste time talking now. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and then he dives straight in, his tongue nudging your clit as it pushes through your folds. You suck in a sharp gasp, your hand gripping his hair tightly. Your other hand flails, grappling at the sheets as he starts to find a rhythm. You wind up pressing the back of it to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds you’re making, trying to gather some sort of control, because right now you feel like you’re falling head-first off a cliff, and Roger has complete power over how you land.

    He does something with his mouth – you couldn’t tell for the life of you what it is – and your hips buck against your will. “Sorry,” you blurt out, and it comes out broken and breathless.

    Roger just adjusts one of his arms, bracing it across your hips, holding you down, and you moan. His other hand joins his mouth, sliding a finger into you. “Oh, fuck,” you whisper, and then your hand returns to its position, keeping you somewhat quieter.

    It doesn’t take long before Roger’s working in a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, and the sound of it is so obscene that it makes your face go bright red. You’re climbing towards an orgasm, frighteningly quickly, and when a third finger squeezes in beside the first two, you very nearly come, but the sting of the stretch is enough to keep it at bay.

    But then your body relaxes around the three fingers, and Roger crooks them just so and sucks on your clit, and you move your hand away from your mouth to say in a rush, “I’m– I’m so close, I’m gonna come, fuck, ah, shit,” and then–

    Then Roger is gone, his fingers and mouth are gone, and you’re left teetering on the brink of an orgasm, feeling like the air has been punched out of you.

    “Wh– Roger?” you say, your head a mess. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see Roger still between your legs, but instead he’s massaging your thighs with his thumbs, dropping light kisses to your soft skin.

    He smiles up at you, his nose and chin glistening. “Thought we could try something.”

    You shake your head to try to clear it. “But I was just about to…”

    You can still feel the urge. Another minute, and you’ll be there. But the longer you wait, the more the feeling fades. It makes you want to punch a wall.

    Roger hums. “I know. That’s the point.”

    You frown, trying to wrap your head around it. “You… don’t want me to?”

    “Not yet.”

    It finally clicks. “You’re gonna do that to me a couple more times before you make me come, aren’t you?”

    Roger’s smile widens into a grin. “That’s the plan. If you’re on board.”

    “I’m on board,” you say. “As long as when I do come, it blows my fucking mind.”

    “That’s really the point of it, love.” Roger keeps eye contact with you as he leans forward to press a kiss to your core, and you shudder. “And move your hand away from your mouth. You don’t have to be quiet. The more sounds you make, the better.”

    “When am I gonna get my hands on you?” you ask. “I’ve barely even touched your dick yet.”

    Roger huffs a laugh, and you can feel his breath against you. “We’re getting there,” he says easily. “Good things come to those who wait.”

    “Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” you bemoan, lying back down.

    Roger laughs again, and then his mouth and hands return to where you so desperately need them. You suck in air through your teeth. “Fuck, Roger.”

    Roger moans, and you jerk at the sensation.

    He brings you to the edge once more, and, even though you don’t tell him when you’re about to come, he knows, and leaves you hanging once again. So close, so close, but not close enough.

    You feel like crying. Or kicking him in the face.

    You moan helplessly, slinging an arm over your eyes, your legs trembling as Roger smiles against your thigh – you can feel it. A smug smile that makes your blood boil and your core throb even more than it already is.

    Then his fingers push into you for a third time, and his tongue licks through you, but this time it’s slow, painfully slow, not enough to make you come but enough to keep your head lost in the clouds, enough to make your stomach clench and twist, desperately searching for something. It’s enough to make you grind your teeth together. “God, fuck, I need to come,” you sob against the palm of your hand, your thighs trying to clench around Roger’s ears, but his arm is in the way, keeping your hips still.

    His tongue drags against your clit, steady and unhurried, and the gasping whine that rips itself from your throat is piercing to your ears. Not even your hand could muffle it.

    “There we go,” Roger says, and does it again.

    You squirm. “Roger, fuck, please, I wanna come so bad.”

    Roger’s fingers still move in and out of you at a leisurely pace, but he uses his mouth to say, “You wanna come?”

    “Yes,” you say miserably. “Please, I need to.”

    His thumb presses against your clit, and you bite your bottom lip, your body twisting.

    “Christ,” Roger breathes. “That’s a fucking sight.”

    “Fuck me,” you beg. “Anything, just please.”

    Roger takes his hand away, standing and wiping his face on the back of his hand, and you swear. He kicks off his boxer-briefs. His cock is hard and red, swollen, leaking. You sit up and zero in on it like it’s a four-course meal and you haven’t eaten in days. You scramble off the bed, dropping to your knees in front of him.

    “Fucking hell,” he says, clearly not expecting you to do that.

    “Can I suck you off?” you ask desperately, resisting the urge to just shove your mouth around his dick without further preamble. “I’ll do a good job, I promise. Just tell me what to do. I’m a fast learner.” You curl your fist around him, sucking the head into your mouth.

    Roger makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says quickly, guiding your head away with a hand on your head.

     You pull back, but keep your hand where it is. “Just fuck my mouth,” you say, gazing up at him. “I dunno how that works, but I can keep it open.” You do so, sticking your tongue out, silently begging with your eyes.

    Roger chuckles softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come just from running your mouth like that.”

    You open your mouth wider.

    “Or from just doing that,” Roger says. He pries your hand away from his dick, using it to pull you to your feet.

    He kisses you, a hungry kiss, a you’re doing so well kiss, and it makes you preen. “But I want to fuck you,” he says. “I’ve had my dick sucked before; you’ve never been fucked.”

    “I’ve never sucked a dick before, either, though,” you reason.

    “Well, hit me up next time you’re in the neighbourhood,” Roger jokes. Before you can reply, he kisses you again, and you drink him in greedily, palming at his cock until his kisses grow sloppy, messy, more teeth and tongue, and he has to snatch your wrist. “Let me get inside you first,” he growls. “Good God.”

    “I like it when you’re bossy,” you say, teasingly.

    Roger hums, his eyes dark. “You need that attitude fucked right out of you.”

    “Do it,” you say fervently, grinning in delight when he grabs your other wrist as well to stop you from touching him. “Do it, do it, do it. Fuck it right out me. I need it. Never had anyone try to fuck anything out of me before.”

    Roger shudders. “Jesus.”

    You half-heartedly try to tug your wrists back, but he holds them tightly. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” you say. “Come on.”

    Roger takes a breath, and then lets your wrists go. “Bed. Now.”

    You scramble to obey, clenching your thighs together at the sight of Roger. He looks wrecked already, his hair a mess, his skin flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips red. He goes to his bedside table and digs out a bottle of lube and some condoms. “Maybe should check the date on these,” he mutters to himself, and squints at the packets in his hands. After a few moments of peering at them, he sighs in frustration, and reaches for the pair of glasses on the table that you hadn’t noticed before. He slips them on, and then nods at the packets. “They’re fine.”

    He goes to take the glasses off, but you say, “Wait, show me.”

    He turns to you. “Show you what?”

    Fuck, he looks gorgeous in those glasses. They’re large, round ones, with delicate silver frames, and you make a soft sound. “Oh, wow.”

    “I know, they’re horrendous,” Roger says, taking off the glasses and setting them down. “My eyesight’s always been shite, but I can’t stand wearing the bloody things.”

    “No, you look great,” you say. “So great, in fact, that I need you to get the condom on so you can fuck me literally right now.”

    Roger raises his eyebrows. “You what?”

    “I’m dying here, Roger,” you say loudly, smacking the bed beside you. “You look hot as fuck in those glasses, and I’m so insanely horny that I’m about to explode. I need your dick in me right now.”

    Roger grins, and rips open the condom packet. “All right. Jeez.”

    “Let me do it,” you say, crawling over to him and taking the condom from him.

    “You’ve ever done it before?” he asks.

    “Not since we had to at school when I was, like, fifteen.” You do it carefully, to the best of your memory. Your mouth waters being so close to his cock. “Is this right?”

    “Yeah, perfect,” Roger says. “You look incredible, by the way.”

    You look up at Roger, and the butterflies return. You’re left momentarily speechless, but it doesn’t matter, because Roger leans down and kisses you. His hand rests against your collarbones, and you get another idea in your head. You rise up into a kneel, keeping his lips on yours, and then you take his hand, pressing it against your throat: a silent invitation.

    Roger moans into your mouth, and applies some pressure, just a bit, testing the waters.

    It makes your core ache, and you kiss him harder, so he presses harder in return. His palm is warm against your throat, and you keep one hand loosely around his wrist, the other hand in his hair, as it is wont to do.

    You end up lying back on the bed, Roger pressing his hand against your throat as you gasp and squirm.

    “You like this, don’t you?” Roger says, fingers on his other hand dipping into your folds. “Fuck, feel how wet you are.”

    You nod desperately. Your mouth is hanging open, and your head is starting to swim.

    “Is that all for me, love?”

    You whimper, nodding again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

    Roger lets go of your throat, and you gasp, your eyes wide. “More,” you say immediately. “More. Fuck me like that.”

    Roger smiles, keeping his palm against your throat, but brushes his thumb across your skin. His other hand curls around your knee. “Your enthusiasm is… mind-blowing,” he says with a chuckle, “but just take a moment, yeah? You’re all over the shop. Slow down a bit.”

    “I don’t wanna slow down,” you protest, grabbing onto his forearm.

    “We’ve got time, love. It doesn’t have to be over so quickly.”

    “You can’t tease me like that, almost make me come, like, three times, and then tell me to slow down,” you say. “I need you, Roger. Christ, I need you. Show me what it’s like, show me how good my first time can be.”

    Roger’s pupils are blown wide, and he lets out a shaky breath. He swallows. “Spread your legs.”

    You grin, and do so. Roger lets go of your throat and leans over you on all fours to kiss you briefly. “I’m not choking you while I fuck you,” he says. “I want you to feel all of it, not have your head somewhere else.”

    You nod vigorously.

    Roger reaches for the lube. You hold out your hand, and he raises an eyebrow at you, but pours some into your hand. You reach forward and slide your fist up and down his cock, spreading the lube. He groans and shudders, and then he says, “That’s enough, that’s enough, I want to fuck you.”

    You take your hand away, wiping the lube on the sheets, Roger surges forward to capture your lips with his, and you feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. A shot of adrenaline explodes within you.

    “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Roger says, and you nod.

    Then, slowly, he pushes into you, just an inch or two. You gasp at the stretch, gripping onto his arms, your mouth wide.

    Roger stills, and nuzzles at your throat. “You okay?”

    “Mm-hm,” you say, biting your lip. “Keep… Keep going.”

    He does, rocking in shallowly, just going a little further each time. He’s panting against your neck, and you can feel your sweat pricking your skin. You can’t help but admire Roger’s back, the way the muscles move.

    It feels good. Once you get over the initial shock to the system of having something that size inside you, you realise why you were so excited to get to this in the first place.

    “I’m good,” you say, nails absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. “It– It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

    “You sure?” Roger asks, kissing your neck softly.

    You can’t help but laugh. “Roger, for the love of all things holy, fuck me.”

    He doesn’t need another invitation. He slams into you, and your eyes go wide, a tiny sound of surprise leaping out of you.

    “Sorry,” Roger says, raising his head to kiss you in apology.

    “Don’t fucking apologise, it feels good,” you say back. “Come on, come on.”

    Roger laughs, and kisses you. You can feel his laughter against your lips, feel the way his smile changes the shape of his mouth, and that dangerously warm feeling in the pit of your stomach returns.

    You could get used to this. Get used to Roger laughing against your lips as he’s buried inside you. Get used to teasing him, to turning him on, to rolling around in his bed.

    As soon as the thoughts creep into your mind, you banish them. That’s not happening, you tell yourself harshly. This is a one-and-done deal. You can’t develop feelings for a man you’ve only met once. A man who is, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten, sixteen years older than you.

    Then Roger pulls out halfway and drives back into you, and all you can think about is his dick.

    Your hand goes back to your mouth, just like before, keeping yourself quiet as you moan and whimper. Your ankles hook over the small of Roger’s back.

    But then Roger pauses, sitting up, and he unwraps your legs from around him and pushes one of your knees flat on the bed, keeping you spread out wide. “Hands away from your mouth, love,” he says. “Let me hear you. It’s okay, you can let go.”

    Your face burns, and you cover it with both of your hands. It’s too big of an ask. You’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Roger…”

    “[Y/N].”

    You lower your hands. He’s watching you, his blue eyes burning with desire, but they’re soft, too. Understanding.

    “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Hold onto the sheets, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

    You nod, and, with no small amount of effort, let your arms go by your sides, your fists wrapping in the sheets.

    Roger smiles. “You’re amazing.”

    You turn your head away, overwhelmed.

    “Eyes on me. Hey.”

    You look back at him. Exposed. You’re exposed, in every sense of the word.

    Roger braces himself on the bed beside your ribs, and, keeping one hand on your knee, holding it down, he starts fucking into you again, hard and deep.

    The sound you make could best be described as a mewl, and it’s a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. Your hands tighten in the sheets, fighting the urge to cover your face again. Roger’s eyes are still on yours, and it’s too much, you want to look away, but you can’t.

    “So good for me,” Roger pants. “Fuck. God, you’re incredible.”

    You whine. “Roger.”

    “That’s it, love. Say my name.”

    He thrusts into you at just the right angle, making your back arch. “Roger.”

    Roger groans, and he lets go of your knee to circle his fingers around your clit. You gasp, your eyes finally breaking away from his to look to the ceiling, feeling yourself climbing rapidly for the fourth time that night.

    “Let me come, let me come, please,” you beg, your arms straining as your fists pull on the sheets.

    Roger leans forward again to kiss you, a mess of heavy breathing and tongues and lips brushing. You let go of the sheets to clutch onto him, pawing at his shoulders and back and hips, unable to settle on where you want to hold him.

    One hand inevitably slides into his hair, and you grip onto it, tugging it hard. Roger’s rhythm stutters, and he groans out your name.

    His fingers feel so fucking good, and, doubled with the way he’s stretched you out, tripled with how he edged you before, you just know how hard you’re going to come. You can feel it building deeper within you than you’ve ever felt before, like an impending tsunami.

    Roger readjusts, sitting back again, his brow furrowed as he searches for just the right spot to hit you.

    When he does, you cry out. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

    Your hands scrabble for purchase, and one finds your own hair, burying itself, and you don’t pull, but you keep a firm grip on it, the slight pain being the only thing keeping you from losing yourself entirely. Your other hand finds the same spot as before in the sheets, and you sob, screwing your eyes shut.

    “You close?” Roger asks, and you nod.

    “Say it out loud, love.”

    “Yes, I’m so close, I’m so close,” you gasp. You’re almost there, you can feel it, only inches away, moments away.

    “Open your eyes, come on.”

    You do, and meet his gaze. “Roger,” you whimper.

    “You gonna come for me?”

    “Y-yeah.”

    “I wanna hear it, yeah? Wanna see you. See you come undone on my cock.”

    And that’s the final nail in the coffin. You orgasm pulses through you, so hard that you convulse, and you wail, blurting out Roger’s name, clenching down on him. Your blood roars in your ears, and you’ve never come so hard in your life.

    Roger moans out, “Fuck,” and then pumps once, twice more, and then comes, groaning your name, a shudder ripping through him.

    When he comes back to himself, blinking his big blue eyes at you, you can’t help but think he looks otherworldly. His face, pink, shines with sweat, as does his whole body. Locks of hair stick to his forehead, his temples. His mouth hangs open, and his chest heaves, and maybe it’s the ten-out-of-ten orgasm you just had, but in that moment, you kinda want to marry him.

    He takes the hand you’ve tangled in the sheets, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Your heart just about explodes. “You all right?”

    You splutter. “All right? The fuck’s that meant to mean?”

    Roger smiles, massaging the palm of your hand with his thumb. “I mean, are you hurting anywhere?”

    My heart hurts from you being all hot and perfect and stupidly romantic, you think. “No,” you say. “I’m just fine.”

    He pulls out of you, carefully, and it does nothing but reignite a spark of arousal within you. Then he collapses onto the bed beside you with an unmistakable dad noise, and takes off the spent condom, tying it off and tossing it into the rubbish bin beside his bed. When that’s done, he wastes no time in rolling onto his side and pulling you in for a kiss. You hum happily, shifting closer to him, not even caring about the sweat and how wet you are all over your inner thighs.

    When he breaks away, he says, “So. How do you feel?”

    “Like I just had the biggest orgasm of my life,” you say.

    Roger chuckles. “I meant now that you’re, y’know…”

    It clicks. “Now I’ve lost my virginity?” you say playfully. “Had my sexual debut? I’ve become a woman?”

    “Not that any of it matters, of course,” Roger adds. “But it’s still… It can be a big thing.”

    You give him a soft kiss. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” you say. “Virginity is nothing but a social construct and all of that.”

    “Of course,” Roger reiterates.

    “But I feel… happy.” You hope your grin isn’t as cheesy as it feels. “It’s nice to not have to… worry about it anymore, I suppose? I don’t know if I was really worrying about it before, but it… I don’t know.” You shrug. “I just had a really good time. That’s all that matters.”

    “Good.” Roger’s hand goes to your hip, squeezing it. “I’m glad.”

    “Did…” You lick your lips. “Did you have a good time?”

    “Did I have a good time?” Roger repeats, almost aghast. “Are you joking?”

    “Even though I had no idea what I was doing?”

    “You’re a natural.”

    You laugh. Your stomach squirms – both because of those ridiculous maybe-almost-could-be feelings, and because, even though you know in your mind that the whole sex part of the evening is over, your body certainly isn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

    Your thighs clench together, but you do your best to hide how it feels. You don’t want to be greedy.

    Roger feels your thighs move under his hand, though, and he looks to you questioningly. “Are you still–”

    “No, no, I’m fine,” you say lightly, shaking your head. “I was just moving around.”

    Roger pauses, and then says, “All right.” He kisses you, and then takes a moment to gather his energy before he sits up. “I’ll get us some water.” He turns to you, pointing a finger at you, as if something just occurred to him. “You should go pee.”

    Your eyes widen, and you nod. “Oh, yes, good thinking.”

    “Bathroom’s just there,” he says, gesturing across the room at the closed door.

    “You have an en suite?”

    “Well, yeah. Much easier when there’s kids around.” His face falls a little. “Not that I’ve had the kids here very often recently, but uh…”

    “I’m sorry,” you say.

    He shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s fine. Great way to bring down the mood, eh?” He leans down again to kiss you, and then stands up, stretching. “Be back in a mo’.”

    You watch him, your gaze hawk-like, as he pulls on his neon-green underwear and disappears out the door, raking his hand through his hair as he goes.

    Your thighs clench together again, and you whimper.

    You try to push it aside, and slide off the bed to go the bathroom, pulling on your underwear as you go. You don’t exactly feel like putting your push-up bra back on, but you don’t want to just lounge around completely naked. Would it be too presumptuous to put on Roger’s shirt?

    You bite your lip, considering, and then decide to just bite the bullet, slipping it on and buttoning it up. It’s comfy, and smells like him; you understand why women in movies do it now. You do have to call bullshit on wearing a man’s shirt like a short, cute dress though – it’s more just like a long shirt, and you’re glad you’ve chosen to put on underwear.

    It feels odd to pee in a stranger’s house – even odder that it’s an en suite – but you’re thankful that you get a moment to properly gather yourself in private, instead of while being surrounded by the smell of sex.

    It’s when you’re washing your hands that you finally get a look at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth drops open in horror.

    You look like a fucking mess. Your foundation is patchy where you get oily and where you’ve sweated it off, and there���s a slight ring of smudged mascara under your eyes – honestly, you’re thankful that it’s not worse, and that your setting spray did at least something. Your hair, though, is the worst of it all. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.

    “Oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. What can you do? You don’t have any make-up with you to try to fix the problems, but you can’t exactly take it off, either. You have no way to fix your hair. You untie it from the ponytail it was in and try to smooth it out, but it doesn’t really do much, so you tie it back up again, but it’s a shitty ponytail, so you untie it and try again. Then you try a third time, and give up, settling on the disaster that it is, and grab a tissue, blotting at your make-up.

    You sigh, staring at your reflection. Well, fuck. What the fuck are you meant to do? How the hell can you go back into the bedroom, knowing you look like this?

    “[Y/N]?” Roger calls. “You all right in there, love?”

    You shiver. God, the way he says the word ‘love’. The way he says your name.

    You clear your throat. “Um, yeah, I’m– I’m fine. Just…” You can’t say you’re still peeing. Oh, fuck, what if he thinks you’re taking a shit or something? “I’m just fixing up my make-up.”

    “I think there might still be some make-up wipes in a drawer somewhere, if you want to have a look,” Roger says. “Maybe they’re no good anymore, I’m not sure.”

    You have a dig around, and find a packet. It’s already been opened, quite a while ago by the looks of it. Must be Roger’s ex-wife’s.

    The thought of that sits weirdly with you, but you’re not quite sure why. Almost like you feel like you’re intruding, maybe. You certainly don’t feel like you belong here, in this bougie, nice house.

    You sigh again, and pull out a handful of make-up wipes, seeing if there’s any that still hold any moisture. One in the middle has a little bit, so you carefully run it under your eyes, and lightly tap it over your forehead and down your neck to soothe your skin, fixing up any problem areas as best you can without it being too obvious that you’ve just wiped off the make-up.

    The end result is fine. Not good, and certainly not great, but… yeah. Fine.

    You throw the make-up wipes into the bin, take a deep breath, and exit the bathroom.

    Roger’s on his phone, and he looks up when he hears the door open. His face goes slack when he sees you. “You’re wearing my shirt?”

    “Isn’t that what girls are meant to do after sex?” you joke.

    “I just haven’t seen, um, anyone do that in… in a long time,” he says, somewhat stilted, and he glances down at his hands. He quickly turns his eyes back to you. “It looks good. Really good.”

    “Thank you,” you say, and pad over to the bedside table near him, where he has two glasses of water waiting. “Which one’s mine?”

    “On the left.” Roger sets his phone down and watches you as you take a sip of water.

    He’s close to you, and, like before you kissed for the first time, you’re hyperaware of every movement. But he barely moves, just waits for you.

    When you put the water down, you hesitate. You want to climb on top of him, kiss him, feeling his arms around you again, but is that too much? Does he want you to go? Are you overstaying your welcome?

    “You all right?” he asks gently.

    You nod. “Um, yeah,” you say, and take a step back. “You probably, um, have work or something tomorrow, so I should go.”

    You don’t miss the way Roger’s face falls a bit. “Oh, you want to go?”

    No. “Well, it– I don’t want to impose…”

    “If you want to go, then I’ll order an Uber for you,” Roger says. “But don’t feel like you have to go if you don’t want to.”

    The Amazonian butterflies are back yet again. “I…”

    “Because – and correct me if I’m wrong,” Roger says, reaching out and tugging on his shirt, pulling you closer, and you go without any resistance, “but I think you were telling a bit of a fib before, when you said you were… what did you say? Just moving around?”

    You press your lips together as Roger guides you between his legs, and he tilts his head back to gaze up at you. He smiles at the look on your face. “Am I right?”

    You can feel your face heating up again. “No,” you mumble unconvincingly, hiding your smile behind your hand.

    “No hands over mouths,” Roger murmurs, reaching up and taking yours. “You don’t have to hide.”

    Fuck. Oh, fuck. His voice sounds like a warm fireplace feels, and you barely even know him, but you’ve never felt safer, more comfortable, around a man. You can’t pretend now – you’re really starting to like him.

    Roger raises his eyebrows at you, just a touch, searching your face. “So? Am I right?”

    “It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine, really. You’ve done plenty, I… I can’t ask for more.”

    Roger hums, and presses a kiss to your palm before letting your hand go. “All right, okay,” he says. “I was wrong, I see. Can I at least tell you what I’d do to you if I had been right?”

    You breathe in shakily, and nod once.

    The corner of Roger’s mouth quirks up. “Well,” he says slowly, “first I’d kiss you, of course. And, as hot as you look wearing nothing but my shirt and your knickers, I’d undress you again. Get you lying down on your back, all spread out for me. I’d kiss you some more. Then I think I’d choke you, because you seem to like that a lot, yeah?”

    You nod, hypnotised.

    Roger nods as well. “Right. And then, while I was holding you down by your throat–”

    You gulp.

    “–I’d get my other hand, and I’d–”

    “Okay, yes, you were right,” you blurt out, and grab his face, ducking down to kiss him desperately. He kisses you with just as much hunger, and nudges you a few steps back, giving him enough room so he can stand up and start unbuttoning the shirt. As soon as he’s done, your shrug it from your shoulders, and Roger pulls you closer by your ass. One hand moves to cup your jaw, his tongue pressing against yours. It doesn’t take long before the hand shifts to your throat, and you whimper softly, urging him to tighten his grip.

    He does, and the feeling of it goes straight to your core. Your hands clutch at him frantically.

    He lets go of your throat, and you suck in a gasp, then latch onto his neck, kissing and nipping and sucking at his skin, licking off the salty traces of sweat.

    “Careful, love, careful,” he says shakily. “I can’t turn up to work looking like I’ve been attacked by a vacuum.”

    You huff, but soften your kisses. He moans under his breath, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything hotter.

    Soon, you break away, and crawl back onto the bed, and he follows you, positioning himself on all fours above you to kiss you deeply, his knee slotting into between your thighs. He presses it against your core, and you instinctively grind against it, shuddering when it fires an electric shock of arousal through your system. Roger shifts, readjusting his balance so he can bring his hand back to your throat, and you welcome it. You grind against his leg again.

    It’s when you have to stop kissing him, your brain going into overdrive trying to force you to focus on breathing, you have to breathe, that Roger sits back, moving his leg out of the way and replacing it with his other hand.

    “Fuck, Roger,” you gasp, twitching under his grip, your hands vice-like on his forearm. Your eyes slide closed, revelling in the way your head swims, the way your body fights to suck as much oxygen as it can into your lungs. You’re still so wet from before, still so stretched out, that Roger slides two fingers into you at the same time with ease, and you let out a stuttering moan, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers swirl around your clit, hitting it in just the right way, and within minutes you’re almost there.

    “Most people think the best part about getting choked is the actual ‘getting choked’ part,” Roger says out of the blue, and you frown, trying to follow, opening your eyes.

    “Hear me out,” Roger says casually, pushing his fingers back into you and flicking your clit with his thumb, and you whine. “Are you close, love?”

    You nod.

    Roger hums. “You look so good like this. Does it feel good?”

    You nod again. “Mm-hm.”

    “Yeah, looks like it does. Looks like you enjoy it.”

    “Ah, Roger, please.”

    “It’s all right, love, I’ve got you.” Roger’s fingers quicken their pace, and you make a sound, squirming.

    “As I was saying,” Roger continues, “people think the best part of getting choked is actually getting choked. But it’s not. The best part of it is actually being let go. Do you want to see?”

    You nod, barely even listening to what he’s saying. You’re too close to coming to pay attention.

    And then Roger lets go of your throat at the same time he brushes your clit, and a rush of oxygen flows into your lungs, a rush of blood flows back to your head, and your orgasm slams into you, and the world seems so much brighter in that moment. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, your back arching, your eyes wide.

    It feels like it goes on for a lifetime, although perhaps that’s just your mind trying to sort itself out. When you do finally start to come down from your high, you realise you’re shaking, and Roger is grinning at you. You blink at him owlishly.

    “Wh– Huh?” you breathe, your heart racing, and Roger laughs.

    “So you’re alive, then,” he teases, and leans down to kiss you.

    You grab onto him, kissing him soundly, and roll the both of you over, so you’re straddling him. You just stay like that, just making out, letting the frenzied kisses lull themselves into something slower, something calmer. Just kissing for the sake of it. Roger’s hands stroke up and down your back, and you could almost fall asleep like this.

    Speaking of falling asleep – you have to break away, hiding your yawn by tucking your face into his chest. Roger hums, and you can feel it vibrating against your body. You smile. “Sorry,” you mumble.

    “Can hardly blame you,” Roger says, his voice low. “It’s late.”

    You let yourself slump against him, a moment of pure self-indulgence, and then roll to the side, dumping yourself onto the bed. You groan, unable to stop yourself from instinctively shifting into a more comfortable position for sleeping, your arm beneath your head like a pillow, your eyes closing.

    “I’m sorry,” you say again, muffled by your arm. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

    Roger says nothing, and you feel your stomach coil in guilt. God, he wanted you to leave fifteen minutes ago, didn’t he? He was just too polite to say anything. And then you pressured him into making you come again, because you were too selfish to know when enough was enough. Great, fucking great, you’ve fucked it all up, and you’re a huge piece of shit, and you–

    “Did you want to stay the night?” Roger asks tentatively.

    Your eyes fly open, and you shift up onto your elbow. “What?” you say. “Stay?”

    Roger glances away from you. “It– It was just a suggestion,” he says. “Just an idea, I don’t know. I, um – it’s just late, and I don’t want you travelling all that way on your own. You can, obviously, if you want to, that’s up to you, I just…”

    You’re hardly even listening. You’re still struggling to drink in the first thing he said. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

    Roger looks to you, and bites his bottom lip. “If– Well, if you want to, then, um, yes, I’d like you to. But only if you want to.”

    You beam, and your heart triples in size. “Um, yes. I’d like to.”

    Roger smiles back. “Good. Great. That’s–” He clears his throat. “Did you want to have a shower?”

    “I think so,” you say with a laugh. “I’m…” You went to say I’m so disgusting right now, but you don’t want to fuck up your now-sleepover before it’s even properly begun. “Yes please.”

    “Well, you know where the bathroom is,” Roger says, nodding towards the en suite. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer, if I remember correctly. I’ll get you a towel.”

    “You’re not coming into the shower with me?” you ask coyly.

    Roger blinks, and you laugh.

    “Oh,” he says. “You were joking.”

    “I wasn’t,” you say. “You just made me laugh.”

    Roger swoops down to steal a kiss, and you don’t let him leave, pushing up into him, stealing a few kisses back.

    “Let me get you a towel,” he says, and then climbs off the bed and pads out of the room.

    You bite on your finger to stop yourself from making some stupid giggle, or maybe a dumb squealing sound like a little girl. He asked you to stay the night. He wants you to stay the night.

    Oh, shit, you realise, your finger dropping from your mouth. Justine. You never told her what was happening.

    Where’s your phone? In the living room. Spitting out a curse, you pull on your underwear and Roger’s shirt again, and hurry out. You run into Roger, arms full of sheets, in the hallway. “Hey, is everything all right?” he says. “What did you forget?”

    “I never told my roommate I wasn’t coming home,” you say. “Last she heard, I was about to book an Uber.”

    Roger’s eyes go a little wider. “Shit, whoops. Yeah, go tell her.”

    You shoot him a smile, and scurry off to the living room. Your phone is on the couch, and you snatch it up. Wow, shit, it is late. You’re glad you only have an afternoon lecture tomorrow.

    Thankfully, just one message from Justine, from about half an hour ago. hey, haven’t heard from u in a while. just send me a message when u get this ok? xx

    You respond. fuck sorry, left my phone in the other room. I have SO MUCH to tell u omg, but in a nutshell uhh we ended up sleeping together, it was fucking amazing, and now he’s asked me to stay over, so ill see u at uni tomorrow maybe? if not then at home xx

    You keep your phone in hand, and head back to Roger’s room. He’s started cleaning up in the minute you were gone, stripping the bed. Fresh sheets sit on the floor. “What’s this?” you ask.

    “I’m making the bed,” Roger says simply, tugging a pillow from its case. “I’m too old to be sleeping on sheets I’ve just had sex on. Let me tell you, it makes a difference. And the sheets were due for a change, anyway.”

    You step forward. “Well, let me help.”

    “Don’t be silly, jump in the shower.”

    “Don’t tell me what to do.” You set your phone down beside his on the bedside table, and together the two of you help remake his bed.

    Roger chases you into the shower then, and says he’s going to tidy up the room a little more before he joins you. “I’m on a roll now,” he says, picking up your shoes from where you kicked them aside during the bed-making. “Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

    You take the make-up wipes. The door is about halfway open, and you can hear Roger moving around, hear when he trips over something and hisses out a curse, making you smile.

    The make-up wipe freezes in the air near your eye. You can’t very well have a shower and go to bed without taking your make-up off – it does not make even a vague semblance of a pretty picture – but this is… way more intimate than you were expecting. Why didn’t you think of this when you agreed to stay over? Roger’s going to see you without your make-up on, with your hair tied up in a bun. He’s going to see you in the morning, all bleary-eyed and disgusting. Fuck, morning breath. You have the spare clothes you brought that you can change into tomorrow, but no extra underwear. Nothing to wear tonight. It’s a miracle that Roger even has a spare toothbrush. What time does he get up for work? Will he expect you to leave before he wakes up?

    Are you a one-night-stand? Is that what this is? Are you asked to stay the night if you’re nothing but a one-night-stand, or does the fact that he asked you mean something else?

    “Is your roommate all right?” Roger asks, coming to the door, leaning against the doorjamb. “No freak-outs?”

    You lower the make-up wipe. “Um, no. It’s all fine, I think.”

    “Have you found the toothbrush?”

    “No, I haven’t checked yet.”

    Roger moves around you, pulling open the drawer and rummaging through. “Ah, here it is. Still in the packet! How good am I?”

    You smile as he presents it to you like it’s a medal of honour. “Thanks.”

    “Sorry about the make-up wipes,” Roger says. “They’re not great.” He huffs, and then leans against the edge of the sink, rubbing his hands down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m… I’m actually really nervous.”

    Your eyebrows shoot up. “Nervous?” you repeat. “About what?”

    “About… you staying over,” he confesses. “It’s been, I don’t know, ten years since I’ve had anyone new sleep over. My brain is suddenly filled with every annoying thing I do when I sleep. And I look awful in the mornings, let me tell you. If you think I look bad now, just you wait.”

    “Who says I think you look bad now?” you say. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I think you’re a hot piece of ass, Roger.”

    Roger splutters, flustered, and you grin.

    “I move around a lot,” he says. “When I sleep. So be prepared to cop an elbow to the face.”

    “Don’t you worry, I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say. “And I move around, too.”

    “I run hot,” Roger adds. “I’m like a space heater. And sometimes I talk in my sleep, but only when I’m really stressed about something, like work. I can be really very clingy.”

    “I run cold,” you say with a shrug. “So clingy suits me fine.”

    Roger pauses, staring at you, like he wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Then he snaps out of it, glancing away. “Sorry,” he says for a third time.

    “Don’t apologise,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to. I’m nervous, too. Like, really fucking nervous. I’m– I’m too nervous to even take my make-up off.”

    Roger’s eyes search your face. “I won’t care what you look like,” he says gently. “I’m sorry that you feel nervous about taking it off. But it won’t matter, I promise.”

    “Just wait and see,” you joke in a sing-song voice.

    Roger is silent for a few moments, and then he says, “Well, I hope you’re ready. I’m going to kiss the bloody daylight out of you when you take it off.”

    You don’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to do that.”

    “I’m going to. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable without make-up on. And if that means I have to keep kissing you all night as a reminder that it doesn’t matter what you look like without make-up, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

    You duck your head, making a disgruntled sound. Why does he have to say cute shit like that? Why must he make you suffer?

    Roger pushes the packet of make-up wipes a little closer to you, waggles his eyebrows at you, making you giggle, and then reaches across you for his toothbrush.

    You start wiping off your make-up.

    Roger waits until you’ve finished taking it off, until you’ve brushed your teeth, until you’re well and truly left without anything to do, and then he cups your face in his hands and does exactly what he promised he’d do.

    One steamy make-out session and one far-too-long shower later, you’re sitting on the newly-made bed, wrapping in a towel, the strands of hair that slipped loose from your bun sticking to your neck and temples. You’re watching Roger pull on a pair of underwear and rifle through his chest of drawers. He pulls out a huge shirt, clearly worn and well-loved, and turns to you, holding it out. “I went on a day trip once to Brighton,” he says. “We were out to a pub and I spilled red wine all over my shirt. Had to buy a new one. Sent one of my mates to get it for me and he came back with this. Hence why I have a shirt about five sizes too big for me.”

    “You didn’t have to explain,” you say with a chuckle, taking it from him.

    “I feel like I did,” Roger says. “I, um, usually use it as a sleep shirt when I travel.”

    You slip it on, and then stand up, letting your towel drop to the floor. The shirt is long enough to cover everything, but you’re not about to bend down any time soon.

    You glance over at your underwear, where they’re in a pile near the door. Should you put them back on?

    “Please don’t,” Roger blurts.

    You look to him. “Huh?”

    His face goes red. “Um. I just– I– You– I saw you look over there, and–” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “I, um…” He looks to the ceiling, and says it in a rush. “I’m sorry this sounds awful but I saw you looking over at your knickers and I don’t want you to put them on because you look really hot wearing my shirt and the thought of you wearing nothing underneath makes my brain explode.”

    “You’re one to talk,” you say, “standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers like that doesn’t make my brain explode.”

    Roger’s eyes flick towards yours, and he breaks out into a smile, and then laughs. “I guess we’re even, then.”

    “We’ll be truly even when I see you wearing my clothes,” you say teasingly.

    Roger steps in close, his hands coming to your waist. “I don’t think your dress would fit properly, love.”

    “I’ll have to come better prepared next time,” you say, and Roger hums, leaning in to give you a kiss.

    Next time. Next time. You said ‘next time’. Talk about presumptuous. Christ! What is wrong with you?

    You break away. “Not that I think there’ll be a next time,” you say quickly. No. Bad phrasing. “I don’t want to assume there’ll be a next time.” Still bad. “I don’t want you to think that I think there has to be a next time.” Even worse. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to have a next time if you don’t want there to be.” Better. Not great, but passable.

    “I want a next time,” Roger says. “If you want one.”

    “I do,” you say, God, far too eager. “I’d really like there to be a next time.”

    “Me too,” Roger says.

    You press into him for another kiss, and then, finally, the two of you make it to bed.

    Once you’re under the covers, you almost fall asleep immediately. You didn’t realise how exhausted you are. Roger reaches over and switches off the light, and then wraps an arm around your stomach, his front against your spine. You allow yourself to smile freely in the dark, even as your eyes close and you drift off to sleep.

                                                      ~~~

    “I’m… I’m going to send you the rest of the payment,” Roger says. He’s dressed for work, just in a white dress shirt and black slacks, and you’d been admiring him and enjoying the coffee he’d made you after you’d gotten out of the shower. It’s early – too early, for both of you.

    But now your stomach drops, and you lower your mug of coffee from your lips. “You are?”

    “Yes,” Roger says.

    “You don’t have to,” you say. “I said it last night, I don’t care about the money.”

    “I know,” Roger says. “But it’s still right. You started this whole thing to help pay the bills, and it’s not your fault that there was that whole mix-up. You don’t deserve to miss out on getting the money you’ve rightfully earned.”

    “You don’t deserve to fork out that much money because of that whole mix-up,” you say. “You’ve already paid half of it. And it’s– it’s quite a fair bit, Roger.”

    “I can afford to pay it,” Roger says. “I’m living more than comfortably. Giving you the money you’ve earned would just mean that I can’t, I don’t know, travel overseas this year.” He raises his eyebrows a touch. “Well, now that I might not have to be paying for three kids as well, maybe I’ll still be able to afford to go.” He shakes his head. “That’s beside the… My point is, I can afford it. And you deserve it.”

    You don’t know what to say. “Roger…”

    “Just let me,” he says earnestly. “Please. I want to.”

    You open and close your mouth a few times. God, you’d be mad to turn down the money. But it doesn’t feel right. Does it? You don’t even know what to think.

    You glance down at your mug. “All right,” you say quietly, so much so that you’re not even sure if he can hear you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder. “Thank you, Roger.”

    “Hey.”

    You look up at him, and he smiles. “You can pay me back by letting me take you out to dinner.”

    Your face immediately grows hot. “Suave motherfucker,” you say, and he laughs.

    “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says playfully.

    Your stomach squeezes. “Sure,” you say. “But I’m paying.”

    Roger snorts. “Not bloody likely.”

    “I’ll fight you for the cheque, don’t think I won’t.”

    “Maybe I’ll just sneakily pay for it before you’ve even realised.”

    You narrow your eyes at him. “Can we settle on going Dutch?”

    Roger sips his coffee. “All right,” he says eventually.

    “Good.”

    He takes out his phone, holding it out to you. “Text me some time during this week,” he says. “About where you want to go. Or just text me if you want to say hi. Or call me. Y’know, whatever.”

    You tilt your head to the side as you take his phone. “That wasn’t quite as suave, I have admit.”

    Roger sighs. “Damn.”

    You laugh, and send a quick text to yourself, then slide the phone back to him.

    He seems extremely pleased, but he takes a casual drink from his coffee like he’s trying to hide it, and you can’t help but think it’s horribly cute.

    He shoots a glance at you, and sees you grinning at him, and his cheeks turn pink, and he clears his throat, turning away to the sink to rinse his mug out.

                                                      ~~~

    You’re at uni, half-asleep, shuffling back to the bus stop after your never-ending lecture, when Justine barrels into you, grabbing your elbow so tightly that you yelp. “What the fuck happened last night?” she exclaims.

    You don’t know why it hadn’t been awkward this morning. Apart from the money conversation. There had still been some nervousness, on your part anyway, but Roger had been too focused on getting ready for work to let any uncomfortable silences hang. You have to admit that it had been nice to wake up with someone’s arm around you, and you had been quietly delighted to see Roger fussing over the faint bruises on his neck, pulling up his shirt collar and adjusting his tie to try to cover them. After you’d both gotten ready for the day, he’d dropped you at the nearest bus stop. “And I will text you,” he’d said seriously. “Don’t think I won’t.”

    “Good,” you’d said. “I’ll be waiting for it. Three days is the general rule, right?”

    Roger had groaned. “Don’t make me wait three days.”

    You had chuckled. “I’m not making you do anything.” You’d hesitated, and then said, “Is it weird if I kiss you before I go?”

    Roger had taken a breath. “I… wouldn’t say so, no.”

    So you’d leant in and kissed him, and he’d kissed you back, and you’d wanted to keep kissing him, but a car had pulled up behind you and honked, so you’d drawn back, whispered, “Bye,” and gotten out of the car.

    Once you’d figured out how to get home, you’d crashed, sleeping until your alarm had woken you up again for your lecture.

    “Stuff,” you say to Justine.

    “Stuff?” Justine squawks. “Don’t give me that shit. You have to tell me literally everything, or I’m going to kill you. Come on.” She loops her arm through yours, and starts towing you towards the bus stop.

    Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out of your pocket.

    I know it hasn’t been three days, but it’s been more than three hours. Is that enough time, do you think?

    You smile, reply, I think so, yeah, then quickly pocket the phone before Justine can sneak a glance as Amazonian butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

[lunarrwolf]

black butterflies [colby brock]

fandom: sam and colby/traphouse

pairing: colby x self

word count: 1,864

part(s): one two

summary: after a prank gone wrong, colby and his friends meet another youtuber during her meet and greet in hopes it will cheer her up

A/N: this is a self-insert because it’s a fic that was started for my own personal pleasure. it was supposed to be shared last year on my fan account after a poll was done but never was bc i ended up not feeling ready to do so. i figured since i‘m ready to share it now, it would be best to do it here since it’s pretty detailed

TWO

She was going to be okay, right? She didn't need Casey to be there every step of the way. The redhead wasn't even needed for the business over in California. She always did perfectly fine without her longtime friend in all the solo videos. Casey was only there for a fraction of the recorded moments. Besides, the argument that night made it clear that she only ever pretended to enjoy the spooks that came with being a part of the channel. There was never any pure joy or thrill that usually came with experiencing such things with your friend. Yet those were half of the best memories Kirsy had with her since the beginning of the channel. They'd been best friends since eighth grade, and yet one prank likely destroyed a friendship of seven years. It was a sad fact that she had to suck up and admit so it wouldn't ruin the trip. So far the only bright side was that her best friend since her sophomore year of high school was going to be keeping her company.

“Please don't tell me you're sulking.” She blinked, realizing she was thoughtfully staring at the half packed suitcase on her bed. She turned her head to the doorway that had a twenty-four year old leaning against it.

Aiden met Kirsy during a school talent show that she was chosen to film. He was one of those viewers always looking for new people to subscribe to, and he found her page only weeks before the show when she had around 1,000 subscribers. He helped a lot with photos and editing, and was the only person who was a real friend for her out of the new ones she made after her channel became widely known. After Casey left, he stepped up as what he described as the 'better best friend’.

She sighed at the raised eyebrow adorning his face and sat on the bed, crossing her legs. “I have a right to sulk, jerkface.”

“Jerkface? You've had better insults than that.” He straightened his posture and walked over to the girl, sitting on the other side of the suitcase. “Was it fair to spring a horror movie on her less than a week after her return from vacation? No- no it was not. But she was in the wrong to just leave you like that. You apologized several times, and has she responded at all? No. And why?”

“I really don't want to have one of your sometimes vulgar speeches right now-”

“Why hasn't she replied?”

Kirsy sighed and hung her head back, letting silence sink in for a brief moment. “Because she’s a jealous supporting character who only stayed because I ended up making money from my videos?”

Aiden raised his eyebrows and leaned back against the mattress, “That wasn't a statement.”

“Well what is it that you want me to say?!” She lifted her arms in exasperation, throwing herself back only to realize that the half empty trunk was still there. She groaned, hiding her face in the side of the object as the young man beside her rolled his eyes.

Once he became familiar with the ginger himself, he was an eyewitness to all fights and disagreements between the pair, as well as the resolutions that came along with them. After the second or third time, he started to observe the way they interacted with one another. Kirsy used to have a tendency of going too far with what she said or did but stopped when she saw how it affected people, which is why this last prank really surprised him. On the other hand, Casey was someone who held grudges and would say the opposite of what she meant when she was upset by something. Her temper raised more than others he knew, and after such a long vacation from the type of content his friend makes, it probably pushed her off the edge. It wasn’t right to pull a stunt like that but it was less right to refuse to resolve issues or just be civil after the other party puts in so much effort to fix a wrong.

They may have become friends when he was a senior and they were sophomores, but he considered Kirsy his closest. She was the type to either not be fazed by other people or bottle things up if she was; there was never an in-between. He watched her bemused as she kept her face on the side of the suitcase, reaching for a pillow to throw on top of her head. “I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to stop being so depressing.”

“Depressed is my default.”

There was a beat of silence after her muffled reply, then laughter broke out in the empty room. She lifted her head from underneath the pillow to see Aiden trying to keep himself from laughing too hard. He didn’t know if it was because of how she sounded or because of the fact she said it so casually, but he couldn’t help himself. Seeing her friend enjoy himself over something she said did make her feel better. So - she threw the object back at him and sat up. He dialed it down immediately, chuckling when they made eye contact. “I’m sorry but while that wasn’t the thing I was looking for, it was something. And you need to realize that you can’t control what other people do and how they handle things. You can, however, control how you handle shit. Now I say you finish packing so we can get our asses to fucking California and you can show me off to all of your west coast kids.”

She stared at him for a short moment before pointing at him, “See? Vulgar speech.” He rolled his eyes and she grinned, hopping off her bed to go to her closet.

The young man followed suit, staring at the mostly black attire. “Alright- you better pick the cutest alternative clothes you have if we’re going to be meeting cute boys.”

Kirsy rolled her eyes immediately, not surprised at all with her friend’s judgement and eagerness for them to find boyfriends. Or even just someone for each of them only for the time they would be over there for the trip. “We’re going to Los Angeles, Aiden. Where is there going to be a cute guy who’s also not going to end up being a jerk?”

-

The former blonde eyed the boy going over how they could approach the vlogger when the time comes.

Colby didn’t want to come off cocky or dismissive by bringing up their channels. He also didn’t want to seem too eager since they all now watched her videos just as much as she did theirs. It felt like there was a lot riding on this. It was different than if they would run into each other at a convention somewhere, and he didn’t fully know why. At least, he would always tell himself he didn’t know. “Her meet up isn’t for another two days- why are you freaking out?”

He slumped over the counter, planting his head down into his folded arms. His roommates and closest friends all watched him with knowing looks as he tried several times to brush off the subject. He met each of their gazes, “I’m not freaking out. I just want her to meet some nice people.”

“Her fans are nice people.” Corey cut in, jumping up to sit on the counter across from the kitchen’s island.

The dark brunette only attempted the same trivial action, waving a hand to dismiss the sentence as if it wasn’t a fact. He knew how great a community the girl built up. She always talked about wanting to grow her own family and have that connection with so many people; not one based off of fandoms she was in but based on her own content and genuine following. He was one of those members, only he kept it more low-key than his friends in order to let her have that part of her dream. What Corey said rang, yet at the same time- “Ones she can talk to. I’m sure she would love to meet someone who understands.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you like her.” Jake stated, raising an eyebrow at his friend, daring for him to deny it. It was something he was ready to do the moment the words left his roommate’s lips.

It just didn’t make sense to develop feelings of any kind for something you’d never met or even spoken to - did it? They were two YouTubers who started at different times, somehow never ran into one another at conventions, and she was a fan of his and his roommates long before she started launching her own career in this industry. He never followed the account she had that was mostly dedicated to him but he remembered liking countless posts and reading some of the captions directed at him that he never replied to.

He did notice how similar they were - sense of style, music taste, outlook on life and the many hair color changes - but it couldn’t have stirred anything up. Maybe he just knew that they would get along well if they met in real life versus just knowing that the other existed. There didn’t have to be a whole situation where he developed a crush on a girl who made a fan account for him and showed up in his mentions a lot. Someone who was a fan of him and his content for years before he even acknowledged her; and that was before she started her own channel and brand. At the same time though, before she stopped tagging him in edits and posts, every time she would respond to his posts and such were done without sounding like an actual fan. From the few times he would catch her comments, she made it seem as if they were friends. And her replies always matched his own feeling and hope of someone understanding what he would mean.

The self proclaimed ‘emo god’ of the group could only voice his denial before announcing his leave of the kitchen. After so long, his closest friends knew exactly how their comrade behaved when he was attracted to or was beginning to like someone. They knew he was going to be in denial for at least the two days leading up to all of them seeing the twenty-two year old off screen.

When Colby reached his bedroom, he threw himself on top of the large covers on his bed, placing his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. The ding that indicated a Twitter notification sounded in the silence, and he fished his phone out of his pocket. He saw that he’d been tagged in another post and decided to check it out, expecting it to be art or some selfies for the trend his fans started. It was the latter, although it ended up being a tag from Kirsy’s account. He looked at the photos thoughtfully before pressing the heart on the screen.

Maybe there was another reason for going to her meet up.

[enthusiasticmusicalquotes]

QUESTION OF THE DAY #6: Send me your most unpopular theatre opinion. Something that might make someone want to fight you. Please don’t be offensive (racist, misogynistic, etc.), but other than that…go as hard as you want. Spill all the tea.

MY ANSWERS: 1) The Pretty Woman score fucking slaps idek, 2) Come From Away (or even Bandstand...) should’ve won the 2017 Best Musical Tony, 3) I prefer the West End Heathers cast album to Off Broadway, 4) Shows shouldn’t sweep the Tonys just because they’re Best Musical worthy...shows that aren’t too critically acclaimed but have really impressive elements should get recognition too.

SUMMARY: Out of 37 responses: 5 were about Dear Evan Hansen, 3 were about Hamilton specifically, 2 were about: Rent, ALW, Wicked, In The Heights, Be More Chill, etc. etc....if your favorite musical is one of these and you get easily offended i wouldn’t read these.

NOTE: I agree with some of these, I highly disagree with others. I do not endorse any of the things that were said, I am simply sharing them with you all. These were what was sent to me. I’m going to number them so if you want to complain about or agree with one you can send me an ask with the number you’re referring to. 

1. howmuchchildrens said: unpopular opinion: i really liked the 2012 version of les mis. i liked russel crowe as javert.

2. Anonymous said: Unpopular opinion: Bootlegs harm to local theatre communities, though I do not believe anyone intends for that to be the case. While it's possible to bootleg responsibly (and I might even say it's beneficial to do so), those who may not know the intricacies of theatrical copyright law or who haven't heard the horror stories from a theatre that's been hit with legal action DUE to a bootleg may record or watch a show irresponsibly, which can greatly harm other routes of theatre accessibility.

3. Anonymous said: Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals are mostly terrible. He only got and stayed popular because a lot of other musical creators and taste makers died in the AIDS epidemic

4. Anonymous said: Almost all musicals using the songs of one artist are cash grabs with no plot or point.

5. Anonymous said: If your musical only has 1 woman OR the women only get sad/romantic songs you need to do something else with your life.

6. nerdshrimp said: Unpopular opinion: Next To Normal does a better job of portraying the effects of mental illness than Dear Evan Hansen does. N2N also doesn't romanticise mental illness & excuse shitty behavior like DEH tries to

7. Anonymous said: Hadestown is a lesser show on Broadway. I fell in love with the live album, and I was so excited for it to come to Broadway. I was so disappointed to see the changes they made. Orpheus and Eurydice's relationship is less interesting and more generic. The changed lyrics are often sloppy and not as good as the original. They fucking wrecked Epic III. Also, no hate to R/ee/ve, but he's just not a good enough singer to convince me that he could soften the heart of Hades. His high notes are awful.

8. Anonymous said: opinion: we are the tigers deserves a broadway run or at least a proshot

9. bimystique said: e/c is NOT A GOOD FUCKING SHIP. the ENTIRE PLOT OF PHANTOM OF THE OPERA is christine trying to escape erik's abuse. WHAT FUCKING PART OF THAT IS ROMANTIC TO YOU PEOPLE.

10. Anonymous said: unpopular theatre opinion(s): Dear Evan Hansen is Very Bad for its handling of mental illness, Hamilton is overrated and praised too much, and high school/college musical theatre programs can be just as good as Broadway. (also, musical movies would be better if they hired broadway actors, but that's not an unpopular opinion)

11. Anonymous said: I don’t like Lin Manuel Miranda and Hamilton is overrated

12. Anonymous said: I don’t like dear Evan Hansen..... at all. I think it’s kind of boring and really overhyped.

13. Anonymous said: unpopular opinion: in the heights is far better than Hamilton. both are good but ith hits different yknow

14. Anonymous said: The bring it on and legally blonde musicals are BAD! The movies are 100 times better

15. Anonymous said: unpopular opinion? wicked is the epitome of white feminism. it's preached as super great for representation but we literally got the first black glinda in 2019?!?!?!? and before that woc could only play elphaba who's villainized and deemed evil by the whole city

16. Anonymous said: Not so much an opinion as a reaction, but of all Lin's works (ITH, Bring it On, 21 Chump Street, Hamilton), 21 Chump Street gets the biggest emotional reaction of all the cast recordings. The second Justin is like "I don't want your money" (And then later on with the "...what the heck did you.... dooooo", I am a complete goner. Worse than Abuela Claudia and Philip Hamilton's deaths combined

17. Anonymous said: Whenever Je.ssie Mu.eller hits certain notes, she sounds like Tommy Pickles from Rugrats.

18. Anonymous said: aotd6: not everyone knows what im talking about, but the cats 2016 broadway revival choreography was WAYYYY better than the original. the original had a lot of creepy uncomfortable moments and the new one looks way cleaner and up to date

19. Anonymous said: raoul is better than the phantom in every conceivable way

20. Anonymous said: I hate Anastasia so much. it's such a boring show and the music is uninteresting. I wanted to like it so bad but GOD is it boring.

21. Anonymous said: In the Heights.... Overrated.

22. Anonymous said: I do not know if this is an unpopular opinion or not, but here is my opinion: Musicals that are entirely or nearly entirely songs (Hamilton, Hadestown, In The Heights, etc) are the most valid bc I can understand the plot without using wikipedia (I'm looking at you, Jagged Little Pill, I love you but what is your plot????)

23. Anonymous said: I'd rather have a bad film adaptation than no film adaptation

24. Anonymous said: Rent sucks and while it was a stepping stone for more ""controversial"" topics to appear on Broadway it's actually biphobic and features several generally terrible people doing generally terrible things and doesn't actually address the real crisis at all; it's all performative wokeness. The only real good it did was cast a bunch of "nobodies" for the time and make theater somewhat more accessible.

25. stardust-and-seas said: Dear Evan Hansen doesn't properly address mental health despite being about mental health and resolves nobodies character arcs satisfactorily. It's another show that reaches its hands around the throats of marginalized teenagers saying "look I'm relatable!!" The songs taken out of context are significantly more powerful than when placed in the context of the show, which gives us exactly zero evidence of Evan's work to improve and also never resolves Evan's u healthy goals in the first place.

26. stardust-and-seas said: Be More Chill is a raging dumpster fire and the only decent song from it, Michael in the Bathroom, reads as a whiny rich white boy whose potential social anxiety and depression is left ambiguous, which is exactly what it is. When taken out of context it better exemplifies the othering that happens to marginalized groups but lets be real here: bullying/cliques don't happen to "just anyone"; it's the marginalized groups that are othered and abandoned for not being "normal"

27. stardust-and-seas said: There's a difference between shows that don't take themselves seriously because they're meant to be fun and light and shows that pretend not to take themselves too seriously but want to be taken seriously by the audience and the latter always ends up mediocre at best

28. redueka said: i think that dear evan hansen handles every issue it presents badly. i also think that beetlejuice was badly directed

29. Anonymous said: Well I don’t EVER condone cheating, I’m team Jamie in the last five years. He tried so hard to make their relationship and life good, and Cathy gave him nothing in return

30. youcanlolyoucansayohwell said: The answer of the day- I don't get the BMC hype. I'm out of the age bracket it's meant for that might it be. I enjoy it but I don't think it's the greatest thing in the world like some theatre fans do.

31. Anonymous said: i like the rent 2005 recording better than the obcr

32. Anonymous said: unpopular opinion ? : the music of wicked just like isn’t that good. like it’s good but it’s not like, Good, yknow. it’s pretty standard it doesn’t stand out to me. kinda boring

33. Anonymous said: mari.ah r.ose fa.ith is not a good regina george. everything she says sounds monotonous and while i understand she's trying to play off the ""whatever"" teenager (she does this a lot with her teenage characters), 90% of the time she sounds and looks like she doesn't want to be there; her voice is great but most songs feel unnatural and forced and she changes them too much. she's just not selling regina to me as a believable character (this is all from a technical point of view)

34. Anonymous said: Unpopular Opinion: as much as i like musicals based on movies (like waitress), i think not every movie needs to be a musical.

35. Anonymous said: Unpopular opinion (?) the emojiland musical Kinda Slaps

36. Anonymous said: as one of my high school tech theatre teachers once said: "Andrew Lloyd Webber is overrated"

37. Anonymous said: sorry to whoever likes it but Seussical is an absolutely nonsense crackpot plot disguised with okay-to-good music, like I don't even know where to start. I was in the show and didn't even know there was an entire secondary plot line featuring sending children to war until we were halfway through rehearsals

[codeblve]

howdy y’all ! lilac’s the name, writing trashlord character’s the game. i hail from a lil island known as australia... so in essence, i am never gonna be online at the same time as anyone else dkjfghdkfjgd. but !! don’t let this deter you. like a lil ol’ boomerang i’ll eventually find my way into your dms and hopefully we can plot/write with all your incredible muses. <3 a lil info about me though, i’m a tea connoisseur, sims enthusiast, and i talk daily about how i consider the barbie films cinematic masterpieces. if i haven’t scared you off and you’d like to get to know my sweet and memey tough boi, please press that readmore to complete your transaction.

⌠LUKE HEMMINGS, TWENTY ONE, CISMALE, HE/HIM⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, BLUE HAWTHORNE! according to their records, they’re a THIRD year, specializing in AWARENESS TRAINING, BREATH CONTROL, HAND TO HAND COMBAT + COVERT OPERATIONS (CP); and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (a smiley face traced into the precipitation on a mirror after a long and warm shower, a constellation of bruises strewn across your body, impatient foot tapping in the hallows of detention, chopsticks fashioned into walrus tusks over a meal, climbing higher and higher with no sign of stopping). when it’s the (aquarius)’s birthday on 2/13/1998, they always request their CHEESY NACHOS WITH EXTRA GUAC from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

( PERSONALITY ! )

( for more details about blue, check out his stats & hcs here ! )

he is playful, jocular, impulsive, and honestly? immature lmao. he is honestly a Soft Jock™

he’s always been looking for the childhood he never got to have, y’know? he does this in the way he’s always cracking jokes, a bit of a class clown, disruptive. a wholesome prank or two. 

he gets in trouble in school more than his fair share, simply for daydreaming or sneaking out. he doesn’t let the institution define him, but he can take orders when needed. he can be very loyal tho, and much like eggsy in kingsmen, if someone asked him to choose between his dog or orders ?? he’s always choosing the dog kdjgf

he is secretly very insecure and always has a need to please. if someone doesn’t like him, he’ll tear himself apart to figure out why.

he’s always telling jokes and always laughing. he’s known for his Memes and is always a good time to be around. social butterfly, gregarious. chances are if you don’t know him, you’ve heard him dkfgjdf

he’s also a bit Anti-( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( sex lmao ) because ya boi has commitment issues so high they’re floating out there in space

he can also be very maternal when the need arises. he is not good at talking about emotions but he’ll give you a meme or a hug to Heal You

he very much reminds me of the human embodiment of a puppy. cannot be alone for very long, has a short attention span, and craves validation lmfao. give him a squeaky toy and he will be Contented

as a soon-to-be spy he can be Tough in the field when he needs to be but he’s also v sensitive. most see him as a macho, just genuinely happy kinda dude but, he truly feels a lot. he won’t let you know that, though.

he struggles academically as he has a short attention span most of the time and thinks too little of himself. however, he’s a lot brighter than most people give him credit for. he’s incredibly creative and a lateral thinker. maths makes him want to die, tho. he does shine in physical trials at least, which is something !

also what’s money? blue does not know. he grew up with hardly anything, and has been working since he could. for this reason he’s quite frugal and struggles to throw things away. 

blue’s troubled past ( explained below ) is something he doesn’t acknowledge, and not a lot of people know about. to many, he’s known as the local Meme Dealer. but to a lucky few, he’s known as a friend who would do anything for you.

most just know him as the moron named after a colour tho.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

( HISTORY ! ) - tw: illness/cancer, death, substance ( alcohol / drugs ) & depression.

blue hawthorne, who never goes by his birthname bc he hates it dfkjgdgdf, was born in the town of sparks, nevada ! 

it was always just blue and his mother, margarette. he never met his father and he was gone long before blue’s mother could even tell him about a pregnancy test. cut off from her family due to having a child out of wedlock, the pair started a life for themselves. all they had was a humble abode in a trailer park. material possessions were lacking, but blue never felt like he went without. 

blue’s mother was by very definition blue’s best friend. they both shared a love of music and ballet, and margarette worked as many jobs as she could to allow for her son to take lessons. starting quite young, at the age of four or five, blue was actually quite good. the usually mischievous and erratic child found structure in the discipline, and it was the thing that brought him the most happiness.

as a child blue was often teased for his interest, and the fact that he was so close with his mother. despite being incredibly short and frail at the time, he was also very outspoken and strong-willed, and never let his peers get the best of him. he danced, he laughed, he bruised his knees at any given opportunity. made a lot of mistakes. what he lacked in possessions he gained in the abundance of joy he felt in his heart growing up. his mother and a few of his close friends were his world.

when blue turned fifteen, everything changed.

( illness / cancer tw ) the jubilant, mischievous, but altogether kind-hearted boy was given the heart-breaking news that his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. margarette hawthorne, much like her son, was a fighter - and didn’t let such a diagnosis keep her down. despite their dwindling lack of funds now going towards medical bills, and the fact blue began sacrificing his own childhood as he took to the role of a caretaker of sorts for his mother, he never took his time with her for granted.

things were okay for a while. there was a point where the doctors were convinced that she was going to make it. blue was a fool. blue believed them.

at the age of sixteen, blue lost everything. he lost his place to live, he lost his childhood and lust for life, and he lost the person he loved most in the world. he lost his best friend.

it wasn’t long before the overbearing sympathy from those around him soured blue. he was sick of being bullied, people not liking him, and altogether not being in control of his own life. most of all, he felt so hopeless as his best friend in the entire world was starting to fade. so what did this boy do ? he quit ballet (the thing he’d loved since he was able to stand), he started drinking, he got involved with a very bad crowd and became a frequenter of the local police station. blue became a certified Bad Boy™

blue was sent to live with the grandparents that despised him and never acknowledged his existence before that moment, having met them at his mother’s funeral. righteous and conservative in their views, they had cast aside their daughter when she had blue, and only reached out to her in her final months. for this reason, blue despised these people (he refused to call them family). he tried his best to be appreciative of a house and food ( which was much better than anything he had growing up ). but he was cold. always cold.

( substance tw ) in his latter adolescence, blue fell into a rapid succession of bad decisions. still small, still frail in stature, he found himself at a dissonance with his image and began growing insecure about his looks, the years of torment weighing on him. he found anesthetic in the party scene outside of school, taking to alcohol and drugs as a sedative from the life he felt forced to lead. he couldn’t decide if he hated himself or he hated the world more.

at the age of 17, his rap sheet seemed to grow with each rise and fall of the sun. he was hardly ever ‘home’ and couch surfed. at the age of 17 he’d gotten his own car and lived more out of that than the stuffy house on top of the hill where he was supposed to be. his grades were debris lost in his tumultuous storm, he was always looking for validation from the kids he hung around with and made some very poor decisions in the hopes he’d be liked. in the hopes he’d find a new family.

the partying, the stream of hook ups, his criminal record (mainly with petty theft, a few write ups for public intoxication and fighting), the instability of his living situation and his future all came to boil just before he turned 18. physically he’d started to fill out, and look more like the man people know today. he was no longer frail and no longer weak, and when asked, he used to his fists to forge that path he thought he wanted.

after a dark night, it became apparent to blue that his path of self destruction was hurting no one but himself. things had to change.

through nothing short than a McMiracle (sponsored by Ronald McDonald, bc no one else is rich enough to pull it off lmfao) blue managed to scrape by and complete high school. not well by any means. but he did it.

it was about now that blue had been informed of a small school called blackthorne academy. details were scarce, but what drew the blond’s attention was the tuition ( or lack thereof ). his acceptance cited his physical capabilities as seen through his many years of dance and explained why he was of particular interest to the school. he was suspicious, to say the least. but blue knew he wanted to become something, and to go to this school would not only take him away from a life he wanted to forget, but he would become self sufficient, and be able to leave his toxic family situation on his own terms. 

bidding farewell to the grandparents he was only beginning to know, his grandfather saw no reason to extend her kindnesses, and cut blue off. at the age of 18 he was homeless, with nothing but a car and a handful of pokemon cards he’d had as a kid. not worth anything or even particularly sentimental, he just likes pokemon kgfjfd.

living in his car for a while before eventually crashing with a close friend, blue managed to absorb his days in work before eventually starting his tenure at blackthorne. although blue’s wild days are behind him, there are some things locked in his past that still haunt him. there are doors he never hopes to open again. but he got his fresh start, and is determined to live the life a young blue would have wanted for him, and one his mother could be proud of. and who knows, maybe he could go on and save the world. 

( WANTED CONNECTIONS ! )

all of these are absolute trash, and i much prefer plotting with specific characters in mind to cater it to our muses and make it unique to them. (~: but i do have a few wanted connections here as a starting off point !! if any of them really call to you though, please let me know as i would adore to have anything listed !! with that in mind, i wanted to include a sample of a few of the connects on the page here to make things a lil easier. 

— *. ; ( co-workers ) || this connection is a little up in the air as i understand that students aren’t allowed to leave campus without staff supervision, and tuition isn’t awfully high if you can’t afford it ! however, blue has no money, and if at all possible he would try and get some sort of job whilst at blackthorne/gallaghers. whether that be doing odd jobs as part of his covert ops classes, or even working for the campus doing things like lawn maintenance, working in the stables, or literally anything that was open ! ( his ‘job’ could even be bringing in dkfjgdf some sorts of contraband to sell to other students, lmfao. nothing illegal, just stuff you can’t get on campus ). this connection is meant for any muses that may also be employed, or want them to be, and these two could be co-workers ! with an admin blessing we can figure out what is logistically possible within the plot, and if your muse already has a job i’d be very interested to have blue be a coworker if you were at all interested !! <3

— *. ; ( protector ) || there are two things blue hates most in this world: liars, and bullies. as an older ( and arguably large ) student, he comes to find someone who is going through a rough time assimilating to life at the academy for whatever reason. on the surface neither of them have anything in common, but the pair form a sibling like bond, and blue is willing to do anything to protect their friend. 

— *. ; ( aggressor ) || blue is very mild mannered for the most part, save for any jokes he likes to make. however, there is someone on campus who absolutely makes his blood boil. whether this person dislikes blue for his lack of wealth and sophistication, his inherent need to never pick sides, or his immediate abandonment of respect for blackthorne once the truth came to light. or perhaps he made a joke in their early days that rubbed this person the wrong way, and a toxic environment has persisted since then. i imagine this relationship has escalated to violence, and for whoever picks this up i’d really love to delve into their hatred and flesh out their angst !

there are plenty more connects on the page and like i said, i am literally happy to plot anything under the sun. (~: 

thank you so much for reading ! if you made it all the way here ?? you’re a h*cking legend lmfao. if there’s anything here that stood out to you please hit me up either on tumblr dms or via discord ( my user is lilac 🍕#1835, or kjgdgdf the person with the crying squidward icon in the gc lmfao ). as there are quite a lot of members here, please like this here intro if you are interesting in plotting/writing with me so i know !! i’ll check out your beautiful intro and Throw (or rather, gently pass you) some ideas your way if you haven’t messaged me first. <3 but thank you so much again for making it to this point, here’s a proverbial cookie for your troubles. it’s double choc chip, enjoy it. (~: