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gooddaykate · 4 years ago

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You Ain’t Woman Enough

Frankie Morales x Reader

Word Count: just under 4400

Tags: Pining, Fake Dating because Frankie has an annoying coworker, cursing, my roughly unedited terrible writing, I don’t think there’s anything else?

A/N: Okay, y’all. I wrote a thing. It literally would not have been finished without the constant support of @rzrcrst. I’m just going to put this here and yeet myself into the void. Let me know what you think. Or not, it’s whatever. Gif credit to @pascalplease (let me know if you don’t want your gif used, sweetie)

The bar was crowded and loud, but you still heard Frankie’s quiet curse as he pulled his cap further down over his eyes.

“You good, Frankie?” you asked with a nudge of your shoulder.

He huffed and curled in on himself more. “You remember me telling you about that girl I work with? The one who works the gate?”

How could you not? He had complained about Kelly almost as long as you’d known him.

When Frankie and his baby girl had moved in next door six months ago, you were fast friends. He had moved to the Rockies to be closer to his parents. He got a job at the small airport to fly the puddle jumper planes for the celebrities that came and went in Aspen. It was easy to fall into a camaraderie with him, talking shit about the people who came to play in the ski town you both worked in. It was just the two of them, and it was easy to offer help. Whenever he needed someone to look after his baby, you were the first to step up. He was quiet and kind, and always willing to lend a hand in return. He’d helped fix leaky faucets and a broken water heater. You hadn’t shoveled your own drive since you’d started watching Rosie for him.

You’d lost track of the number of times the two of you had sat in one of your living rooms just talking after Rosie was down for the night. You quickly learned that you could trust each other with the truth, so you shared everything. You talked through your quiet fears together. He knew about your relationship with your family and how you felt you needed to be close enough that they could visit, but far enough that they wouldn’t. You’d learned about his brothers, Pope and Will and Benny, and his time in Delta Force and the ptsd that it had given him. He had held your hand when you told him about the college boyfriend you’d had, the one you still had an open order of protection against. He had told you about how he used to cope with the ptsd, how he’d lost his pilot’s license, and the divorce that came with. You were angry for him, but mostly Rosie, when he told you that her mom had decided she didn’t want anything to do with her, either, and left her at his friend’s place while he was out of the country. On one particularly quiet night, Frankie told you about another brother and a trip to South America and how nothing had gone like it was supposed to.

The two of you were as close as two friends could be. You didn’t have any secrets between you, apart from one. It was easy to fall for Frankie and Rosie both, and you knew you’d keep that to yourself for as long as you knew them.

Kelly was a constant talking point and source of frustration for Frankie. You had never met her, but to hear him talk about her was enough. She asked him out every time she saw him and constantly touched his arms and back and shoulders. One time she even took his hat off and ran her fingers through his hair. When you asked him why he’d let her do that, he mumbled something about just letting it be and changed the subject. Most often, he would end his rant about her with a ‘this isn’t fucking Wings.’ You’d usually just smile and move on. But Frankie hadn’t talked about Kelly in a couple weeks.

You raised your eyebrow at him, and he pointed. “Blonde in the red sweater.”

“Oh, holy hell. That’s Kelly? Does she live in the village?”

“No! She lives down in Aspen.”

You watched her as she scanned the bar, presumably looking for an open spot. Sitting in the darkest corner table would hopefully be your saving grace. When she passed over a couple seats at the bar and a few empty tables, something occurred to you.

“You don’t think she came up this way just to find you, do you?”

“Knowing her, I wouldn’t put it past her. Fuck.” Frankie took a large breath in and started talking. “Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you. I was hoping it’d never come up, but here we are. I got her to stop asking me out a couple weeks ago by saying I had been seeing someone for the last six months. And I may have mentioned it was you because I’ve got pictures with you and it was easy. And I know this sucks because we’re friends and all, but if you could just, I don’t know, hold my hand until she leaves? Please?”

You were stunned silent for a moment, and he couldn’t meet your eyes. Before you could respond, Kelly’s eyes found Frankie and she started making her way over.

“Shit, she’s seen you.”

You leaned in and took his hand. “I’ve got you, Frankie,” you whispered as you brushed a chaste kiss across his cheek. “Whatever you need.”

He raised his desperate eyes to yours in a quiet thanks, and you tore yours away from him to watch Kelly walk to your table. She was conventionally beautiful, with long blonde hair falling in waves down her back. Her jeans were so tight they looked uncomfortable and the red sweater she wore was cut low enough that you knew it was never intended as anything heat retaining.

You turned back to find Frankie’s eyes on you, eyebrows pulled low in concern. Without thinking, you raised your free hand to his face and smoothed the crease between his eyebrows before bringing it back down and cupping his cheek.

“It’ll be fine, Frankie. What’re friends for?”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Kelly had draped herself over him, making you jump and move your hand away from his face.

“Oh my god, Francisco! I didn’t know you’d be here! What a coinkydink!” She gave him an exaggerated wink and moved her body away from him, but kept her hands around his bicep.

His whole body was tense and his tone was clipped when he responded.“Yeah, well, I told you I was getting drinks with my girlfriend tonight, and that’s why I couldn’t go out with you. This is one of very few options, Kelly.”

“Oh, right. Well who’s got little Rosalina tonight if your neighbor is here with you?”

“We got a sitter,” Frankie all but mumbled.

Her eyes widened. “Wow, it’s the royal we, now?” she asked with an air of mocking incredulity.

She still hadn’t looked at you, or even acknowledged that you were there, apart from her emphasis on knowing that you lived next door to him. You gave his hand a squeeze and spoke up.

“Has been for the last couple of months, actually.”

She finally turned to look at you, a purse on her lips and heavy disdain in her eyes. You flashed her a smile and introduced yourself.

She held her hand out loose and palm down, like she expected you to kiss it. “Kelly.”

You gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Oh, I’m well aware. It’s good to put a face to the many stories I’ve heard.”

Kelly dropped your hand and draped herself across Frankie’s shoulder again, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Francisco! You talk about me at home? What does little Rosalina think?”

Frankie was three stages of red and trying to peel her off of himself, but she kept latching on. “Kelly, Rose isn’t even a year, she doesn’t think about you.”

She let him go and pouted, like she was the baby. “But if you talk about me-”

“I don’t talk to my daughter about you.”

You had to cover up your laugh with a startled cough. Kelly’s eyes turned to you as she sat down in the third chair at the table.

“So you’re the girlfriend, then?”

You laughed and squeezed Frankie’s hand. “Yeah, I guess you could call me that. I mean, he certainly does.”

“The prospect of seeing her makes it easy to get up in the morning.” He chuckled. “You know, besides having an infant in the house.”

Kelly hummed and rolled her eyes. “Right. So, Francisco, tell me, why is it just you and little Rosalina?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Kelly, that’s deeply personal and none of your business.”

Frankie brought you entwined hands up to kiss the back of yours. “That’s okay, cariño. I don’t mind.” He put your hands back on the table and turned to Kelly. “Her mom and I were in the process of getting divorced before Rosie was actually born. We just,” he trailed off and looked at you. You gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand for him to continue. “We just weren’t right for each other. About a month after she was born, I took a trip to South America, and when I came back a week later, I found out that she decided she’d rather not be a mom, either. She left Rosie and the completed divorce paperwork with my buddy’s wife and took off. I haven’t actually seen or heard from her, since. After that, it was a stupidly easy decision to move back up here. My parents live in the village, so they could help out with their granddaughter and I’d have a support system that was more than a pair of brothers. One of whom beats people up for a living.”

He shrugged. “It was the best decision I could’ve made.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

He smiled. “I moved back to Colorado and found her.” He squeezed your hand again. “I wasn’t looking for it, but I fell in love again. I was lucky. And I couldn’t be more thankful for that.I love her almost as much as I love my daughter.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you had to remind yourself that this was for show. Obviously Frankie didn’t actually love you, he was just telling Kelly that he did. As far as she knew, you’d been dating for six months. Of course you would have said you loved each other.

You figured that it would be easiest to just give the partial truth, so you smiled. This was the easiest part you would ever have to play. “I’m definitely the lucky one. He moved in next door and it was completely impossible not to fall in love with them. I’m still sure that I’m going to wake up and it will all have been some kind of dream.”

Frankie turned to look at you, and the amount of love you could see in his eyes made you suck in a breath. “Te quiero con todo mi corazón.”

You knew you had to swallow down the emotion that brought up, but damn, if that didn’t bring butterflies to your stomach. It was just too much, having Frankie talk about your nonexistent romance. The feeling of his hand in yours, every brush of his leg, all the lovely words he used to describe a love you didn’t share. You just needed to get away for a moment.

“You’re the sweetest. Right. Excuse me for a minute.” You leaned over to kiss his cheek, and met Frankie’s eyes with a sad smile and a silent apology.

Once you pushed your way through the mass of people hovered by the bar, you leaned on the counter and looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

“What the hell am I doing? Why did I agree to that?” You hung your head low and let out a heavy sigh.

The door opened and the loud sounds from the bar interrupted your thoughts. When you straightened up to leave, you took one last look in the mirror and noticed Kelly standing behind you with her arms folded across her chest. When you made eye contact, a slow smile spread across her face. The look in her eyes made you shiver before you turned to face her.

She took a step closer. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? I know you’re in love with Francisco.”

A startled laugh bubbled up out of your chest. It took a moment for you to respond because you weren’t sure if she was serious. “Of course I’m in love with Frankie. It would be impossible not to be completely in love with him and Rosie, both.”

Kelly raised one eyebrow and smirked before continuing. “Oh, I know that’s true. But I also know that you and Francisco aren’t actually dating. You’re just his neighbor and occasional babysitter. You can drop the act.”

You blinked in surprise, eyebrows shooting up your forehead. “Excuse me?”

“I know Francisco isn’t seeing you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following. How’d you come to that conclusion?”

Her eyes still hadn’t left yours, and it seemed like she wasn’t even blinking. “You know, when Francisco first told me that he was dating you, I was massively jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a huff. “You don’t say.”

She ignored you and kept talking. “But I started watching him. I came up to Snowmass and asked around. I’ve watched the two of you together. I’ve seen you with Rosalina. I know you’re not a couple. I don’t know why Francisco thought he needed to make up some girlfriend and then pawn it off on someone who he clearly has no actual feelings for.”

You were horrified. “You’ve been watching him and Rosie?”

“Oh, I just needed to see who my Francisco was spending his time with. Now that I know that I don’t actually have to worry about him having feelings for you, he can go back to being my Francisco. I can’t believe you’re still carrying a torch for him when he clearly doesn’t care for you.” She backed away and looked down at her fingernails. “I mean, come on, you’ve clearly been in love with him for longer than I’ve been watching.”

Kelly’s face was smug, like she knew she was in your head. But you were focused on the more important part of her little speech.

You started out slow, to make sure she caught that you’d understood her. “So, just to be clear, you’re admitting to actively stalking Francisco Morales and his daughter.”

“What, that’s not-”

“That’s what you’ve just said. You said you started watching him. That you have watched his home, and his daughter, and who they’re spending time with. You’ve asked about him in the town that he lives in. You made a trip out of the way of where you live, just feign accidentally running into him and to corner me. Did you go to his house before you came here?”

“I am not stalking Francisco. That’s not what this is,” she spluttered.

“Oh? Then tell me exactly what this is, Kelly.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, trying to come up with something. After a few moments of letting her flounder, she finally stepped forward and pointed her finger in your face.

“We work together! I’m not stalking Francisco! Even if that was true, you have no proof,” she seethed through clenched teeth.

A scary sort of calm washed over you. You had experience here. You could help Frankie and Rosie both.

“Get your finger out of my face, Kelly.” It took her a couple seconds, but she did drop her hand. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead three times.

“How careful were you to stay hidden when you were spying on Frankie’s home, Kelly?”

“That’s- I don’t-”

“That’s okay, Kelly. I have security cameras around my property. And we can certainly find testimony of the people you talked to. And I’m sure the airport staff would vouch for how uncomfortable you make Frankie on a daily basis. It’s easy enough to request a restraining order. Do you suppose that’s enough proof?”

Kelly’s eyes were wide and the fear you could see brought a slow smile to your face.

“We could probably even issue a protective order, since you have actually admitted to me, one of his child’s caregivers, that you’ve been actively stalking her and her father.”

Her eyes were panicked, and before anything else could be said, she was out the door. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter.

“What the fuck.”

A stall opened, and you startled. A young woman stepped out holding her phone. “I recorded that whole conversation. Do you want me to send it to you?”

Your brows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“I recorded what she was saying. Do you want me to send it to you?”

“Oh, uh,” you ran a hand down your face. “Yes, please. How much did you get?”

Her smile was sheepish when she handed you her phone. “Well, I hit record when she said she knew you were in love with him. I thought it was going to be a drunk girl confrontation that I could laugh about with my friends. Now I’m just kind of glad I’m a nosy bitch.”

You chuckled as you typed your number in. “No kidding. Thank you for having the insight to record, I guess. I don’t know what will come of it, but if he does decide to pursue something, we may need you to give some sort of statement.”

“All good. I figured. Just keep my number for if you need it.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and sent a comforting smile your way before leaving the bathroom.

You took a shaky breath and headed back to your table.

“What the hell did you say to her? She just took her bag and left, didn’t even say bye.”

You sat down and took his hand in yours. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You don’t have to do that anymore, she’s not here.”

“Frankie, what I’m about to say isn’t something nice.”

He interrupted you with a laugh. “I’d be surprised if you did have anything nice to say. She’s a lot.”

With a sigh, you looked down at your hand in his, and brought your free hand up to cover your entwined fingers. “No, Frankie. It’s really not good. Kelly…” you trailed off, unsure whether to sugar coat or just come right out and say it.

“Sweetheart, just talk. It’s me.”

Your eyes met his and you made your decision. “Frankie, Kelly has been stalking you and Rosie.”

The color drained from his face. “No. Kelly’s just a nuisance. She’d never go that far.”

“Frankie, she just cornered me in the bathroom to tell me that she knows we aren’t dating because she’s been watching you. There was another woman in a stall and she recorded it. She’s been watching me with Rosie and asking about you in the village.”

“Oh god, my baby. Would she have hurt my baby?”

His eyes were desperate again, but this time, holding his hand wouldn’t help. “I don’t know, Sweetie. I don’t know. You wait here, and I’ll pay our tab and we can go home so you can hold Rosie. You’ll be able to put your baby to bed and then we can talk about this more, if you want, okay love?”

Frankie’s eyes were glazed over with tears and he looked almost catatonic when you got back to him.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you up so we can start walking home. Just a few minutes longer and you’ll have your baby girl in your arms. It’ll be okay, Frankie. I’ll help you however you need.”

The short walk back to your houses was quiet, your arm around his. Every time you looked at Frankie’s face, you saw the fear in his eyes, and you knew that he was imagining the worst-case scenario when you got home. He was afraid that he was going to walk in and find his daughter missing. A part of you was also afraid you were going to find that.

When you walked into the door to see Taylor sitting on the sofa with Rosie on her lap, you let out a sigh of relief. You could see Frankie visibly relax, his shoulders releasing some of the tension he’d let build up on the walk home.

“Oh, you’re home early. Is everything okay?”

Rosie’s chubby hands were reaching for her father, and he moved to take her into his arms. You sent a subtle shake of your head to her, and she nodded.

“Well, Mr. Morales, she was an absolute delight, as always.”

Frankie only hummed in response, Rosie tucked into the crook of his neck, lightly playing with the curls at his ear.

You gestured over to the door and reached for your wallet. “I don’t know how much he pays you, honey, but this is all the cash I’ve got.”

Taylor looked at you with wide eyes. “I wasn’t even here for an hour, though! You don’t have to do that.”

You put both twenties in her hand and then raised yours in surrender. “Oh, no, shucks, it’s in your possession, now, you can’t give it back.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Okay, then. Thank you.” She turned to where Frankie was standing. “Bye, sweet Rose. Anytime you guys need me, let me know. I just love her to pieces. Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Morales.”

Frankie just nodded his head at her and went back to loving on his daughter.

“Thanks, hon. Have a good night. Drive safe,” you whispered as she walked out of the house. You locked the door behind her and turned back to Frankie. “You want me to hang out here for a bit?”

“Please. I’m going to put her down here in a couple minutes.”

You sat on the couch and tried to busy yourself on your phone, but your eyes kept drifting back to Frankie. He had Rosie resting on his shoulder just quietly rocking her in his arms. Her eyes were falling shut, but was fighting sleep because she’d startle awake every so often. Once she was out, Frankie looked at you. “Okay, I’m going to put her down. I’ll be right back.”

When he came back out to the living room, he sat down next to you on the sofa. “Okay. You said something about a recording?”

“Yeah, there was a girl in one of the stalls. She thought it was going to be something funny she could share with her friends so she started a voice recording.”

“Let’s hear it, I guess.”

You put your hand on his knee. “Frankie, we don’t have to listen to this right now. We can go over this in the morning, if you want. I don’t want you to lose sleep.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m already not going to sleep well. I’d rather just listen now.”

“Okay, sweetie,” you sighed. You opened the text and pressed play.

The tail end of your nervous laugh sounded and your stomach dropped. You’d forgotten that about what else Kelly had said. You just had to hope that Frankie focused on Kelly like you had.

“‘Of course I’m in love with Frankie. It would be impossible not to be completely in love with him and Rosie, both.’”

As Kelly continued talking in the recording, you just watched Frankie’s face. You usually didn’t have a hard time reading him, he was someone who rarely hid his emotions, but right then he just looked impassive.

“‘I mean, come on, you’ve clearly been in love with him for longer than I’ve been watching.’”

You could feel your face heating up.

Frankie reached over and paused the recording. “Is that true?”

You closed your eyes. “Frankie, I-”

“Dulzura, please. You have to know. How could you not?”

You looked into his eyes, but you still couldn’t make out the emotion in them. “Know what, Frankie?”

“Cariño, everything I said tonight,” he trailed off. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “Do you even know how much you mean to me?” he whispered.

“Of course. I help out with Rosie. We’re friends.” Just saying that out loud brought a lump to your throat. There were tears in your eyes threatening to spill, so you looked up toward the ceiling.

Frankie reached out and took your face in his hands, tilting it back down to look at him. A tear fell and he brushed it away with his thumb. “Dulzura, you mean so much more to me than just friends. Everything I said tonight was true. I wasn’t looking for love when I moved back here. I wanted a quiet neighborhood where I could raise my daughter near her abuelos. But love found me anyways.”

You could feel your lip quiver. “Really?”

Frankie smiled and brought his forehead to rest on yours. “Te quiero con todo mi corazón, mi amor,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Frankie. With all of my heart.”

He brought his lips up to place a kiss on your forehead. “You sure you want to do this, cariño? You know all my baggage. You know how tough it will be.”

You let out a watery laugh. “Francisco Morales, you are the easiest man to love. You are kind and selfless. You’re stubborn. You love that baby of yours so, so much. It was so easy to fall for you. I’ve loved you since that first night we sat and talked right here.”

“Funny, that’s the night I knew, too. And the first night I bitched about Kelly.”

You groaned and looked down at your phone. “It can wait, cariño. It can wait.”

You looked back up at him and smirked. “You haven’t even kissed me, yet, Francisco.”

Frankie hummed and brushed a bit of hair away from your face and smiled. “You’re right, I haven’t. You are so beautiful, cariño.”

He leaned in close enough that your noses brushed. “May I?” he whispered.

Your answering ‘please’ was barely audible, but he closed the distance anyway.

Frankie was right. He loved you, so everything else could wait until morning.

#Frankie Morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #i don't even know what to put here #don't mind me

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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This Isn’t Hypothetical for Chris

SPECIAL CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains a series of arguments regarding the Box Boy’s whole concept, and a survivor’s reactions to it, that may hit too close to home both for survivors of assault/abuse and also considering American history of institutional violence. Please do not read if you think you are not in the right headspace for this, and feel free to message me for a rundown/synopsis of this chapter if needed.

CW: References to pet whump, institutionalized slavery, Box Boy universe, vague referenced noncon/conditioning, self-loathing, victim-blaming, survivor’s guilt, ableism (both internal and external). Also includes some self-harm/negative stimming including head-banging during a meltdown.

Nicholas/Henry (referenced multiple times) belongs to @orchidscript

“Excuse me, can I ask a question?” The one who raises his hand is… Eshiram, maybe? He lives over in Dalton, Chris knows him, more or less. Sort of. The way you know people who live near you, even on a campus as big as this tone.

“Yeah, go ahead.” The grad student who teaches the discussion meetings for their Social and Political History class waves one hand in a quick, not quite dismissive gesture.

Behind him, there’s a projected photo of a young man sitting, testifying in court, wearing a suit and tie. Above his head, the words, The Human Pet Industry and Human Rights, 1952-20XX, are angled just so, framing the young man’s head like a halo.

Chris refuses to look at the image of the young man, caught mid-speech. They already had to watch the video recording of it, discuss the way the lawyers phrased their questions to make the young man look innocent or calculating, depending on what they wanted the jury to think, when Chris could have told everyone in here it wasn’t fucking possible for a pet to calculate like that.

Or maybe it was, and Chris just wasn’t any good at it, when it was him.

“So, we’ve spent all week sitting in lecture, and here, talking about how the pet industry is absolutely fucked up-”

“Excuse me?” A girl sitting three seats to Chris’s right and a little ahead of him turns around in her chair to give Eshiram a flat glare. “That is not-”

“Wait your turn, Callie,” The grad student says, looking weary. “Next time I have to tell you to let someone finish a sentence… Man, just, don’t make me do that. Go on, Eshiram.”

Okay, good, his name is Eshiram. Chris is getting better at names, but it’s still hard, and on days like today it’s harder than ever. It’s not that he isn’t paying attention, it’s just that the scar on the inside of his left wrist, that pale reminder of the life he lived before this one, itches and burns more and more as he stays silent, listening to them talk about a life he’s lived like it’s an abstract concept and not a nightmare Chris will never be able to completely wash off his skin.

“Thanks. So, we talk about the pet industry, but I just-... why doesn’t anyone fix it?”

“Fix it?”

“Go in and pass laws… the public push is there to outlaw it completely. So why doesn’t it happen?”

“Because money talks, man,” Another student pipes up, and Chris stares down at his notes, which have gone from neat, if angular, handwriting to a jumbled mix of letters that mean nothing to a series of increasingly anxiety-riddled pointless doodles of geometrics and horses that look like dogs and dogs that look like blobs and blue ink bleeding spots around them all.

On the inside of his wrist, he starts, slowly, to draw little triangles over the scars, filling them in with the deep blue ink. Their voices are all starting to have weight, pounding against his ears, and he should ask to leave, but he can’t remember how to form the words.

“It doesn’t matter how fucking miserable the pets are, if rich people want something, they just bribe the fuck out of everybody until they get it.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be like that-”

“Pets aren’t miserable,” Callie pipes up, and this time the grad student doesn’t stop her, just looks… interested. This is just a class discussion to him. To Chris it’s a building pile of rocks slowly picked up and thrown in his direction. He has to sit still, to be good, to not give away why it hurts to hear it.

He has to be good.

He drops his head more, blue hair falling across his face to hide it, and digs the nib of the pen into his skin until it hurts.

“Who wouldn’t be?” The student who spoke up rolls his eyes. “Of course they’re miserable. What, you think somebody cleans your house for no money because they’re fucking passionate about Swiffer wipes? All the bullshit in the world can’t hide what this whole system really is.”

“First off, it’s not like that, and second, please do tell me... what is it, really?” Callie asks, poison in her voice.

“Okay, guys,” The grad student says, hands out. “Let’s calm things down a little.”

“You know damn fucking well what it is,” Another girl speaks, glaring a Callie, and Chris looks up from under his eyelashes, almost smiles. Someone speaking up. He pulls the pen away from his wrist, just a little. “Starts with S, rhymes with-”

“Guys. Calm it down.” Callie and the other three all glare at each other, but the whispering among the class slowly settles down. The grad student stands up picking up some papers he has in his hands, setting stapled packets down on every desk. “I’m glad you’re all really passionate about this, and I want you to carry that passion out of this classroom, but we need to focus on the testimonies we’ve been watching this week. Now, each of you has here a written transcript of four examples of testimony from the individuals we’ve heard this week. I want you to read over what Trenton Denver, Phillipa Venn, Yuki Tanaka, and the former Nicholas-”

“You know what’s bullshit, is that you’re all sitting here judging pet owners when I bet none of you has ever even met one,” Callie snaps, and Chris stares down at the rough, photocopied photo on the front of the packet, sees Nicky’s face there. A photo of him before, standing next to his owners during some kind of press conference, and a photo of him after, years later being Henry now, giving a speech standing alone.

Something in Chris twists with an awful, sick guilt. If he’d only stayed with S-... with Oliver, he could have been a friend to Nicky, whenever he could... and instead, the other boy had had to do everything, to go through it all, alone. It’s not a fair or rational thought, but it’s there, insidious and slithering. His heart wants tries to tighten, to stop beating entirely.

Does he even deserve to breathe, living a life like this one, where everyone rescues him and he never once saved himself?

“Do you need to fucking meet one to know it’s miserable to be kept like a fucking Golden Retriever? People. Aren’t. Pets.” Chris wants to look up, to see who spoke this time, but he just keeps staring at Nicky’s face, his slight smile blurred and pixelated by the copier. Fake, and unhappy, because they were both trapped in lives they didn’t want to live.

“Golden Retrievers are pretty happy dogs,” Someone says, and Chris feels himself choke on their words.

We’re not dogs. We’re people. We’re not dogs. We’re people. We’re not-

“Oh my God, way to miss the point by approximately fifteen thousand miles and also be so insulting to dogs in the process, dumbass. We’re talking about human beings!”

Chris takes in a breath, keeps his eyes down. Digs the pen nib into his skin, deeper and deeper, as hard as he can, trying to drown out the cacophony of noise that is starting to intrude. He can hear their breathing, all of them, huffing in and out. He can hear their words pressing on him, the buzz of the lights overhead is louder for him than anyone else in here, he thinks. He can hear people talking in the hall as another class has let out, he can hear people shouting dimly outside, running to the Student Center, playing frisbee or something on the green space, and he wants to be outside he wants to be outside he wants to move.

Can’t move. Have to be still.

Can’t let them know what he is. Can’t tell. It’ll put everyone at risk. He has to sit still and pretend he doesn’t have opinions on this so nobody looks too close. He has to sit still and stop tapping his fucking foot and stop stop stop moving, stop fucking moving, be still be still be still-

“All I’m saying, is that I have actually met pets before,” Callie announces. Chris wonders why the grad student hasn’t stopped her and sneaks a look up, only to see him sitting and looking bored. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s just something he talks about. He hasn’t had to live it, to see us crying, to know how it feels when they shock you or bring the cane down or make you be still for days and days and days. He’s never seen one of us wake up screaming even when it’s safe.

This isn’t hypothetical for Chris.

“Yeah, Cal, we get it, you’re rich,” Someone says, rolling her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. “We hear about it all the time. Let it go.”

“Eat the rich,” Someone else mumbles behind him. “French had the right fuckin’ idea with the fucking guillotines.”

Chris swallows. He wants to hum, to make some kind of noise to drown them all out, but he can’t. When he, when he needs things, when he needs to tap or rock or hum, it draws attention. Too much attention is dangerous. Have to keep it in until class is over. Just a few more minutes, a few more, just, just a little longer…

“Me being rich isn’t what we’re talking about. I’m just saying none of you knows a thing about the industry, and I do! I grew up with pets! And they were the happiest people I’ve ever met!”

“You don’t, don’t know that.” He doesn’t realize the voice is his own until the eyes feel as heavy as their voices did a moment before, and he notices everyone is looking at him.

He swallows again, his heart starting to pound with nervousness, pulling his sleeve carefully down to hide the drawing he made on his wrist. “You don’t know that,” He repeats, louder this time, willing his voice not to shake. “All you, you know is what, um, what… what what what, what, what they-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Somebody says, and Chris almost stops there.

He manages to finish, “-... what they thought it was safe to tell you, what, what they were trained to tell you.”

“You think I wouldn’t know if my own pets weren’t happy?” Callie looks… stunned, is the only word for it. “You really think that?”

“No, I don’t, don’t think you… would.” Chris hates everyone looking at him. He likes to be hidden, to stay behind the scenes, to blend in with shadows. But he feels like a police siren going off, unmistakable and too loud, with the classroom all looking at him all at once. “They-... they’re… trained. To make sure you, you, you-you-you wouldn’t ever f-find out if they weren’t... if they were scared, or, or miserable, or if your f-f-family was hurting them-”

“How fucking dare you?” Callie’s eyes widened, and Chris watched them fill with glittering tears. “Suggest that my family would abuse our pets? What is wrong with you?”

He almost - almost - apologizes.

Then she adds, “I’ve known them every single day of my life! I think I’d know if they weren’t happy, Chris.” Callie rolls her eyes, arms crossed in front of her.

“How?” His voice is louder, and he doesn’t mean it to be, but his mind is sparking with anger and fear. The warning bells inside his mind are being drowned out by the other thoughts, the way he has listened to too many people give arguments like this, and this week he’s listened to four different speeches by pets detailing abuse, and suffering, and starvation, and drugging, and he’s lived all of it and here she is just dismissing Chris’s life like it’s a fairytale the pet lib people made up to sell magazines and documentaries and not Chris’s actual fucking life. And Antoni’s. And Leila’s. And Krista’s. And Kauri’s and-

And Nicky’s.

Or… Henry, now.

“How what?” Callie sneers the words and Chris shoves himself to his feet. She’s up as well, and she’s taller than him, not that it matters. He’s not intimidated by her height, and he doesn’t even really see her, he sees-... he sees Oliver murmuring, the others will all hate you if they know what you are, darlin’, and mostly that hasn’t been true for him, but with Callie… it would be.

Or she’d call someone, turn him in.

She’s the kind who would make the call herself, and she’d say it was for his own good, that he was breaking the law, that he-

“How would you, you, you-you… you know? It’d never be safe to, to, to to to to-... to-to… to, fuck, to-” He groans, smacking himself in the head with his hand, and the sudden burst of sensation soothes the broken words inside his head, he can find them again. “It’d never be safe to tell you!”

“Oh shit,” Someone whispers. The same person who made the guillotine comment maybe. He doesn’t care. He’s too angry, now, and not even at her, he’s angry at everyone who looked the other way at Oliver’s parties, or when Owen put Kauri in that video on the internet, or when they watched Jake get arrested at protests or made fun of him when he got set free later and it took two fucking weeks for him to go back to class just because he put his body between Chris and a living hell.

He’s too angry, now, to stop.

“You’re, you’re s-s-soulless,” He hisses, and there’s an intake of breath. “Every single one, of, of, of you is soulless.”

“Chris, let’s calm down,” The grad student says carefully, moving forward. “Callie just has a different point of view-”

“Is it a, a, a different point of-... of view when it’s someone’s fucking life?” He doesn’t mean to be yelling. He doesn’t know how he started yelling. He’s terrified of his own voice and he can’t stop. The lights hurt, they sit on his skin and they hurt and the world is full of noise and he just wants it to be dark and quiet and better than this.

“Everyone who hurts-” Us “-them is soulless, is, is devoid, you don’t have one, and everyone who s-s-sits, who, who sits around, who-... who does nothing while they hurt us-”

“I’ve never hurt a pet a single day in my life!” Callie shouts back at him, and someone takes her arm, a friend of hers.

No one takes Chris’s arm. No one speaks. They just watch him from every corner of the room, and later someone’s going to write a fucking post about this somewhere, and he’ll be a laughingstock, and maybe someone will see the look in his eyes and guess - and know - and call the cops - and he’ll get Jake in trouble again-

“I’d bet every d-... dollar in my, my, my bank account that you have!”

“Christopher Stanton, you need to stop, right now, or I’m going to ask you to leave.” The grad student steps between them, and Chris’s eyes flicker to the older man’s. Suddenly he’s unsure, and he wants to sit down.

Sit still. Silence is better than stammering. Stillness is better than what I do. Sit down, be good, be good be good be good be a good boy be good a pet be good be good after all-

“I mean… they signed up for it, right?” A new voice, the girl holding Callie’s arm. “Pets? They get told what it’s all about before they sign up. Isn’t this kind of… babying them? I mean, they made the choice to be one.”

“Nothing happens to them that isn’t on their contract,” Callie says, smug with triumph, and the grad student doesn’t stop her. “Besides, they really loved me! It was like having a friend right from when I was born. They signed up for this!”

It hurts so much more when he hears it said outside his own skull.

“They didn’t like you.” Chris is spitting venom, suddenly, terrified of himself, of his own anger. He’s so good at not being angry, at not having feelings like this, at having good days and knowing how lucky he is to escape, but right now… “They, they, they didn’t like you, they were told to, to, to be nice to you! You, you just-...”

“I mean, they wipe their memories and shit,” Someone says. “That’s sci-fi horror movie shit, that is definitely fucked up. You can’t think you can wipe somebody’s memory and make them, like, memorize all those fucked up things pets say and then believe they just… like you, Callie.”

“They didn’t want those memories! They sign up on purpose, to give those memories up, because they don’t want them anymore! I mean, what do they lose, really?”

Chris hitches in a breath.

Everything.

I lost everything.

And I’ll never get all of it back.

“That’s why… why-why-why, why you’re not safe, why it wouldn’t be s-safe to, to, to to tell you if they weren’t h-happy,” Chris says, throwing the packet of papers with Henry’s face on the front into his backpack, alongside folders full of paperwork, his textbook, laptop, pens and pencils. “Because you’ll b-believe any, any, any any… any bullshit you’re told.”

Someone laughs, nervously.

“Or maybe one of us has actual experience with pets, and one of us wears the same five fucking t-shirts on rotation because he doesn’t own any others.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Callie.”

Chris stares at her, and it’s not fear that washes cold down his spine, but a blistering, awful, sick rage. “You, you, you-you-you don’t know shit about, about, about about… about m-me-”

Talking is harder, it’s like trying to push words through a wall with an opening the size of his thumb. The wall is built of all the noise and weight and rage and pain and sound all around him. He wants to rock, he wants to tap, he wants to get all the energy coiled inside of him out and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Be good be still be a statue boy that’s my good boy trainee keep still for me sweet boy you wanted this you were made for this you signed up for this you knew what would happen to you you wanted this you wanted this you wanted this you wanted it you want it you’ll always want it-

“I know you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Callie snaps. “And that’s all I need to know, isn’t it? Have you ever even met a pet, Chris?”

He wants to start laughing, at the question, and he’s afraid if he starts he won’t stop until it’s tears instead, and he won’t cry in front of her.

He won’t.

“F-for, for, for, for… for y-your, infor-... fuck, for your, your, your-your-... your-”

No, no no no. He is stalling out, stammering, trains derailed and disappearing into the horrible white light that still lived inside his head, he is stuttering silence is better than stammering you have to stop you have to stop you have to stop-

Callie’s lip curls in a cruel sneer and Chris knows exactly what she’s going to do - how she will hurt him - before she opens her mouth.

“I think you should stop trying to talk until you can stop being such a fucking sp-”

“That’s enough.”

Chris had forgotten the grad student was even still here. He jumps, stumbling into his chair as the man pushes forward and blocks Callie from Chris’s view. Chris’s legs catch in the metal legs of the chair and he falls backwards, slamming on his ass into the carpeted floor, barely catching himself.

The carpet burns under his hands.

Only one person laughs.

It’s Callie.

Chris’s face burns bright red, shame and humiliation sweeping over his skin, and he lost nearly all the words, all at once, drowned in the screaming noise inside his head. All he can remember is how to spit, “I fucking hate everyone like, like, like you! You fucking bitch!”

“Leave the room, Chris.” The grad student’s voice is sharp. “That’s over the line. You’re done in this class for now. I’ll email you later and we’ll schedule a meeting to talk about whether or not you should come back.”

Chris’s lungs stop working. He can barely mouth what?

“Hey, wait a second.” Eshiram pushes to his feet, jabbing a finger in the air as he points. “Callie’s the one who worked this up into a fight, Chris didn’t-”

“Cut it, Eshiram, I’m not interested. Chris. Get out of the room, take a deep breath, and cool down. We’ll talk this out later, okay? I won’t mark you absent for class, or mark down participation, or anything. Just… take a walk.”

Chris can’t remember how to speak. All he can do is nod, good boy, take your discipline, discipline is a humane and necessary part of-

He has to get out of here before he calls someone Sir.

“If he goes, I’m walking out, too,” Eshiram says, strong. He was taller and bigger than the grad student, who looked at him, weary, as Eshiram steps over and offers Chris his hand. Chris takes it, skin crawling, and pulls himself back to his feet. “It’s not his fault and I’m not going to sit here like it is.”

“Yeah, me too,” Guillotine-Kid says, pushing to his feet and grabbing his backpack. “I’m out, too. I’m not going to fall for that propaganda bullshit.”

“Me, three,” Says the girl who had very nearly called the human pet industry exactly what it is. “This is bullshit, Darian’s right. She works him up and gets him all mad, and then you kick him out when he fights back? This is exactly the fucking problem we’ve been talking about!”

“Don’t be fucking dramatic, Tali,” Callie says, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be such a fucking nightmare asshole, Caledonia,” Tali shoots back.

“Okay. Okay, okay. Just… class dismissed for today. Look over your packets and we’ll meet next time and talk it out. I can see this isn’t going to get back on track. Chris, we’ll talk about you coming back to class when we meet, but until then… just… just work on the assignments.” The grad student sighs.

Chris yanks his hand away from Eshiram, and Callie’s triumphant little snort hits him in the back like a blow as he stomps out of the classroom and into the hall, the rest of the class streaming out behind him.

Eshiram calls out his name, but Chris doesn’t stop.

He should, he should stop, Jake and Nat always say it’s important to reward people for their work towards changing hearts and minds, and to appreciate the little things like people helping you stand up when you can’t stand for yourself, but he… he can’t stop.

If he stops, they’ll know what he is.

If he stops, they’ll tell someone.

If he stops, he’ll cry in front of them, and Chris has cried too often in his life. He just runs down the hallway, as fast as he can, taking turns and twists and stairways until he’s on a different floor, a different side of the building, and he’s totally, utterly lost in it.

He curls up in a tiny bathroom the size of a closet, lights off, door locked, presses himself into the corner in a room that smells like air freshener and bleach, and starts to rock, violently, forcing his head to smack into the wall with each forward motion, and again when he rocks back.

Again, again, again.

It quiets the screaming inside his head, but it can’t make the last hour not have happened.

Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do, I signed up for this, I signed up for this, I wanted this I wanted it I was made for it I deserved it we’re happy we’re supposed to be happy I’m broken because I wasn’t happy like this I signed up for it I have to be good to be good I am a good boy be still be silent be still be be be-

His phone starts buzzing an hour or so later, when he misses his lunch date with Laken. Over and over and over again.

He doesn’t pick up.

He wouldn’t be able to speak if he did.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth

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out-of-jams · 4 years ago

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Yield To Pedestrians || teaser || pjm

↠ Yield To Pedestrians ↞ when you’d said that you wanted to be taken out, you’d meant on a date. not by santa’s sleigh. on christmas eve. it was a dream. it all had to be a dream, right? waking up in the north pole to a pointy-eared weirdo performing kumbaya christmas elf-on-the-shelf magic could only be construed as a nightmare. and wasn’t santa clause supposed to be old and jolly? not young and hotty? you had to find a ticket off the crazy train ASAP!

Word Count: TBD. estimated 10-15k.

Warnings/Genre: santa!jimin. fluff. comedy. christmas au. does it count as kidnapping if it’s to save a life? keebler elf magic. brief mentions of blood. y/n gets ran over (lol). elf!jin. cliche character-doesn’t-believe-in-christmas-magic-plot-point.

Release Date: TBD. sometime before/after Christmas. idk don’t pressure me.

Pain. So much pain.

You weren’t sure what part of you hurt the most. From the way your head pounded, to the stabbing ache emanating from where your ribs would’ve been if you hadn’t felt like you were being sawed in half by an amateur stage magician. Dim light bled through your closed eyelids and as the ringing in your ears slowly started to clear, a low-pitched voice sluggishly coaxed you out of your coma-like state.

“…just a few more drops of candy cane extract in conjunction with…”

Whatever you were lying down on was so soft that it almost lured you back to blissful unconsciousness. And it would have too, if it weren’t for the memories starting to trickle down from behind your pulsating eyes, to your woozy, fogged up brain.

Taking a break from writing your impossible-to-finish manuscript. Going outside in the very late hours of Christmas Eve to take out the trash. The feeling of cold winter air biting your exposed cheeks as the blizzard raged on; the sound of bells jangling. A panicked shout. The disgusting, pungent scent of wet animal. Blinding pain. And then nothing.

“…this should do. Yes, this should do just fine!” A nervous chuckle reverberated through the confuddling mist caging your mind and you begrudgingly – oh, so begrudgingly – peeled your crusted eyelashes apart and immediately hissed in pain when the light in the room caused your pupils to contract. “Oh, you’re awake! Excellent, just in time!”

Brown, red, and green colored the room in a single blur. You couldn’t make out anything else beyond the worried, inquisitive brown irises staring down at you. His face shifted in and out of focus; plush, full lips parted slightly, symmetrical features, light honey hued skin, and straight brunette hair flopping across his forehead.

Apparently, you’d been hit by a car and dropped straight into an episode of Grey’s Anatomy with your very own Dr. McDreamy. “Wha..,” your voice came out groggy, rough like you’d gone and swallowed a handful of rocks from your driveway for fun.

“Shh, don’t try and speak. Here.” Dr. McDreamy popped out of your field of vision to dig around somewhere off to the side, the noise of clinking glass bottles filling the room. You tried to turn your head to follow, but the movement had nausea bubbling up the back of your throat. Oh, god, you really hoped you weren’t going to vomit.

The mystery man returned holding a small glass vial filled with a bright orange colored liquid. “Drink this.”

He tried to push the opening against your lips, but you leaned back as far as the pillows behind your head allowed. “Who are you? Where am I?”

A sigh left his nose, plush lips pressed into a thin line at your refusal. “I am Seokjin, Head Elf here at the North Pole. Which is where you are. Well, technically,” his head tilted a little to the side, “You’re in one of our healing rooms. Drink this.”

Seokjin raised the glass vial once again, and you attempted to back away once again. “I’m sorry, you’re what? What kind of a prank is this? What kind of a doctor tells this shit to his patients when they first wake up?” Your voice started to raise in pitch at each question that left your mouth.

A flicker of amusement danced through his eyes, along with the raising of a brow behind the curtain of his hair. “As much as we elves love our harmless pranks, this isn’t one of them, I’m afraid. You’ve been in an unfortunate incident involving Santa and his sleigh. He seems to have, well, to put it frankly, accidentally run you over.”

You were gaping in disbelief despite the fact that any movement whatsoever caused a ripple of agony to spread through your body like a stone dropping into a lake. Either you’d been hit a little too hard by the car that ran you down, or you were still unconscious, locked into the weirdest dream you’d ever had. Santa? As inSanta Clause? North Pole?

“You’re insane. You’re insane,” you breathed. “I demand to know what’s going on here. Let me speak to someone else!”

“You can talk to Santa when he returns then,” Seokjin murmured before letting a reassuring smile touch his lips. It lit up his whole face, but the concerned knot between his brows still remained. “Just drink this first so you’ll heal. You have a pretty nasty concussion along with a few broken ribs.”

He extended the vial to hover beneath your nose and the scent of peppermint and some kind of herb filled your nostrils. “What the – what the hell even is that? I’m not drinking that!”

“It’s a pretty common healing agency here in the North Pole; it’ll get rid of your injuries like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“The injuries,” you stated slowly, doubt coloring your tone. “That I got from Santa Clause, right?”

“Those very ones,” Seokjin ran his fingers through his hair to brush it out of his eyes and your heart nearly stopped. “So, please drink it.”

You didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you were a little preoccupied staring openmouthed at what poked out behind his hair. Pointed. Pointed. “Pointed.”

“Hm?” He followed your stare and touched the tip of his pointed ears as if he’d forgotten that he had them. “Oh, yeah. All of us elves have them.”

“What in the Star Trek convention..,” the words left you in a hurried mumble. If you weren’t sure that you were dreaming before, you definitely knew it now. Because Seokjin’s ears looked a little too real to be fake.

“Medicine,” he began once more, more insistent. “Drink.”

You scrambled back from him so quickly that the room tilted on its axis, and the nausea that touched the back of your throat found a home in your mouth as you proceeded to vomit all over the floor.

put your name down here to be added to the tag list

#bts #bts fic #jimin #jimin fic #seokjin #seokjin fic

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herondaleholly31 · 4 years ago

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The Book Swap Chris Evans X Reader

Overview: You and Chris read your favourite books to each other

A/N.....It’s been 84 years. No seriously it has been a LONG time since I’ve put something on here, but I’ve been taking a break writing imagines and I am beginning to love writing bigger projects. I’ve had lots of inspiration during lockdown however so those should start to come on here at some point. Thank you for continuing to show love to the rest of my imagines and I hope you like this one. If there’s any requests for both scenarios and people keep sending them to me and I’ll make sure to keep wokring through them :)

Like and Reblog!

Word Count: 2400

“Can we eat this in bed?” You jiggle the bowl of steaming pasta as you deliberately shuffle towards the bedroom. Chris looked up through his eyelashes and raised an eyebrow.

“You want our bed to smell like meatballs?”

“But it will just make all of this perfect.” You pointed to the large windows which were dark and splattered with rain just as a flash of lightning lit up the skyline. Dodger whimpered nervously from his bed and gnawed further into the neck of his lion toy. “Dodger can hang out with us, and we can watch TV in bed and be nice and warm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Dodger?” You cooed and bent down to rub behind the dog’s ears, holding your food high so he couldn’t eat any of it. Dodger stretched and padded to Chris’ feet. Chris looked at you both and smiled with fake reluctance. “Okay, fine. Come on Bubba,” he picked up his bowl and slowly walked towards the door, making sure not to trip over Dodger’s bounding in delight.

“Let’s just both promise we’re not going to spill anything,” Chris said jokingly, widening his eyes in a telling expression.

You rolled your eyes. “It was one hot chocolate.”

“And now there’s a stain that looks like someone pooed on one of the sheets.” Chris took your bowl and motioned his head for you the get into bed first. You turned on the fairy lights and lamps and dived underneath the puffy white duvet, wrapping it around your legs and hips while shifting it, so it was easy for him to get in too. Dodger sat at the end, his tail thwacking the air out of the duvet, eyes wide and staring at the food with longing. “No Bubba,” Chris warned as he gave you back your meal, “this isn’t for you. I’ve saved you some already.”

“You made extra meatballs for the dog?” You shook your head in disbelief. Chris shrugged as if to to say of course I would and then gently pushed Dodgers sniffling nose away. You ate in silence watching the TV, the storm growing louder outside. As stomach full, you sank into the pillows, feeling so comfortable you never wanted to leave. Chris left only once to take the bowls away and bring in cups of coffee, but apart from that, he seemed to sink beside you.

“Is it alright If we turn off the TV?” You asked a little while later, “I’m in the mood to read.”

“Yea, ‘course.” The TV went off, and you leaned over to your bedside table, shuffling further into the pillows as you got yourself comfortable to read. You had only read a few lines when Chris asked what you were reading.

“A room with a view,” you showed him the cover.

“Didn’t you read that at Christmas?”

“Yea, but I was in the mood to reread it. Is that okay?” You jokingly confronted him, leaning closer to him feign intimidation. Chris copied you and gently pushed you on the forehead, so your head moved back. “I never understood the fun about classics.”

“Because they’re amazing stories.”

“You can’t even understand them.”

“Only smart people can.”

“Oh, so are you saying I’m not smart?”

“I don’t see your degree,” you pointed at your framed degree hung proudly by the bookshelf.

“You mean the degree that’s next to my THREE shelves of awards?” Chris smiled cheekily as he pointed at the collection of statues glimmering in the soft light. “I don’t see your shelves there?” He laughed when you smacked him playfully with the book, leaning down to kiss you on the shoulder a couple of times. “We know you’re smarter than me.”

“Thank you.” You moved closer to him, so he stayed propped up near you, breathing steadily as you went back to the story. He kept his head by your shoulder, sighing deliberately, so a gush of breath tickled the loose hairs around your neck. After a few minutes, you instinctively crumpled your ear into your shoulder, whinging at him to stop.

“Sorry, sorry,” but his tone was edged with mirth. You tried to immerse yourself again, although this time Chris was starting to read lines out, intentionally dotting around the page, so your head began to swim.

“…Was she was wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two…”

“Chris.”

“…she reflected, feeling rather sinister again, making Minta marry Paul…”

“Please stop.”

“….There was always a woman dying of cancer.” He frowned and shook his head. “This sounds so depressing.” You clapped a hand over his mouth, gritting your teeth as you smiled but muttering threats into his ear as he widened his eyes in phantom shock. “I swear you better shut up I’m trying to read.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Chris mumbled behind your hand.

“Are you going to stop?” You frowned. Chris nodded. Slowly, you pulled your hand away. Chris opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but with a quick “NO,” he closed it again. He halted for a moment, then spoke again.

“What is it about this book that makes you love it so much?”

“The writing is beautiful,” you sighed with content, “you don’t have to fully understand what E.M Forster’s saying because you FEEL what he’s saying through his words. He can perfectly describe a feeling which I’ve never been able to put into words. Like here,” you rapidly thumbed through the pages, stopping and jabbing at a line underlined in smudged pencil. “For that reason, knowing what was before them – love and ambition and being wretched alone on dreary places – she often had the feeling, why must they grow up and lose it all?” You shook the book in delight, expecting Chris to be just as excited. When he didn’t, your jaw slacked. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

‘If you think it’s wonderful, then it must be,’ Chris shrugged. He pointed at the multitude of lines underlined in silver, gently moving underneath your hands to peer at the next few pages. “Why do you underline so much?”

You bit the side of your cheek in an attempt to not sound embarrassed. “It depends. Sometimes it’s lines that are written really well or things that made me laugh; mostly it’s moments which make me love the book in particular. Like first kisses or when two people are reunited. Like here.’ Flipping the page, you read “‘this is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.’ Forster could’ve just said love is excellent, but this means so much more.”

“Uh, huh.” Chris was pretending to doze off on you, but when you retaliated by starting to shuffle away, he held you back. “Stop moving! you know I like how you pick up on those things.” He held his hand out as an invitation for the book, and when you handed it over, he flipped through the pages, reading the lines you’d memorised for so many years. “Is this how you feel? The way he writes?”

“Maybe not exactly. But I knew exactly what Forster meant by that last line because it made me think of you.” You enjoyed the way Chris’ face softened, the usually prominent bone structure hiding as his cheeks filled with a smile.

“Maybe I should read it sometime if it means this much to you,” he mused, nodding slowly. “Even if it is all about ladies dying with cancer.”

“Please do.” You half rolled over, your eyes drying out as you tried to look pleadingly at him. “I would die if you did that for me. I’ll read your favourite book if that persuades you.” You frowned. “I don’t even know what your favourite book is.”

“Easy,” Chris said “Ferdinand the Bull.”

“That’s a children’s book.”

“So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly emotionally challenging.”

“Hey, I cried at Ferdinand when I was a kid. Mom used to read it to us all the time. Didn’t you have Ferdinand in England?”

“Probably, but my parents didn’t read loads to me.”

“Aw man, you gotta read Ferdinand.” Chris swung out of bed, and half walked half skidded out of the room, Dodger tearing after him in excitement. You heard doors opening, lights being flicked on and bound books being dragged against wooden shelves, and then Chris came back down the corridor, turning to pick up the leg of Dodger’s stuffed lion and pulling both toy and dog back through the door. Dodger easily winning the tug of war sat underneath your vanity, chewing on his prize and Chris climbed back into bed, holding a battered picture book in triumph. It was obviously ancient. The red front cover had faded at the spine and at the edges due to sun exposure and a faint green stain which looked like paint coated the bottom. Chris still held it like it was a photo album and as he opened to the first page, he emitted a small gasp in wonder.

“Oh my God, I haven’t read this in so long! Look, there’s my name.” He pointed at a scribble in the corner of the page, barely eligible. You smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell him that he could’ve written a swear word and you wouldn’t have been able to tell. “It’s exactly how I remembered it,” Chris spoke fondly, and he adjusted the lamp by his head, so it shone brighter on the pages. “I’ve got to read this to Stella next time I see her,” at the mention of his niece he softened even more, and his expression went slightly gooey.

“You can read it to me if you want,” you offered.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep reading your book?”

“Nah, I want to see what all the hype is about.” You gently closed A Room With A View and tapped on Chris’s arm, to which he lifted it up so you could lie between the pillow and his side. He shifted himself up so he could read and pushed your head to rest on his collarbone. “Can you see the pictures?” He spoke in a mocking baby voice but didn’t start until you’d stop shuffling and were comfy. Then he began to read, soft and slow at first but a couple of pages in he seemed to forget you were there. His voice started to rise and fall and get more expressive as he told the story of the bull who loved to smell flowers, and he laughed at the spindly drawings. You felt your eyes becoming droopy, and you shook your head to stay awake as he started to stroke your arm with the back of his hand, propping the book upon his knee so he could keep turning the pages.

“…And for all, I know he is sitting there still, under his favourite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.” Chris nodded once in satisfaction, and the story was over. Putting the book on the floor, Chris shifted you slightly to rest back into him, smiling. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” you nodded, my head bobbling slightly as it bumped over his collarbone, “I especially loved your animated voice halfway through.”

“Stella insists on giving each person a different voice, even if none of them actually speak. Apparently, it helps her ‘become friends with them.’”

“That’s going to be fun when you start reading her Harry Potter.”

“Eh, it’s good to practise.”

“For what?”

“When I get to read it to my own kids.” He laughed at your widened eyes and lips which had now pouted out in surprised, “are you getting a little emotional thinking about me with children?”

“No,” you lied.

“Sorry, not my kids, OUR kids,” Chris’ eyes twinkled mischievously. You had to turn away then as a wave of motherly instinct you didn’t know was there filled your stomach, and your breath caught momentarily. “With their little curly hair and Boston accents.”

“I’m going to have to sleep after this.”

“And we can read to them loads and eat spaghetti with them…”

“you’re really mean, you know that,” you scowled, but you couldn’t help but see these children, running around in your mind in that teetering away all toddlers do on their chubby legs.

“You know what will be great too?”

“I swear if what you’re about to say is going to taunt me in my dreams-“

“Disney-world trips.”

“For God’s sake, Chris!”

“They’ll be so cute though!”

“Yeah well, now I’m going to dream about that.” You rolled over as if to try and sleep, but Chris rolled with you so now you were spooning, his knuckles continuing to stroke your skin in half soothing, half taunting way. “Our kids will be adorable,” you mumbled as you smiled into your pillow, “and they’ll love Ferdinand.”

“And I hope they see the world like you do,” Chris peppered a couple of kisses behind your ear and down your neck and then turned off the last light, so the room plunged into darkness. Dodger was finally settled and asleep, and there was a moment of creaking as Chris settled back into the spot he was lying in. For a moment, there were only the sounds of breathing, but you were now wide awake. You felt your mind whirring away, and you didn’t know if you wanted to punch the man next to you or kiss him.

“Okay so technically,” you spoke into the dark “we don’t want to have kids for a while.”

“Right.” Chris agreed.

“But there’s nothing wrong with practising.” You felt the arm around you tense suddenly, and his shadow popped up like an excited dog.

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No, there isn’t at all.”

“You said the Disney comment on purpose didn’t you?” You held a finger out as he leaned forward. Chris shrugged unapologetically and grabbed your arm to pull you on top of him, his chest already rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“I might have done.”

“Ooo, maybe I should go sleep in the spare room then,” you teased and started to wriggle off him, but with a low laugh, Chris’ hand moved from your arm to the back of your legs.

“You’re not going anywhere,” his voice was gravelly as you became lost in each other.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x #chris evans imagine #Chris Evans #chris #evans #steve rodgers x reader #steve x reader #Steve Rogers #masterlist #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x ofc #fluff #rogers x reader #imagine

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 years ago

Text

Fruit. (Part 2.)

Tony Stark (Sugar Daddy) x Reader Insert.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: Sugar daddy relationship, alcoholism, drunk driving, language, slight foot fetish?, public displays of affection, reader is a little brat.

(Chapter 2 of the Guns n’ Glitter series.)

A fluttering of lips against your face, you turn away and bury yourself under your covers, desperately trying to cling to sleep for as long as you can. But Tony is persistent, hands on your hips tugging you against him.

His voice is low and hoarse in your ear, "Wake up." A chill ghosts up your spine as he squeezes your hip. "We're going out today, remember?"

Yes, you remember, his fingers laced with yours as you drove his car, he told you everything he wanted to do today, each statement followed with a kiss to your knuckles in promise. But you feel exhausted. Well not really, just too comfortable to get up, and his hands on you aren't helping. He kisses the back of your neck, baby hairs standing to attention at the sensation. "No," is all you can say, pushing your face further into the pillow.

What time is it? It's a Saturday, why is he rushing?

"Come on baby," He says, a strain in his voice as he tries to be patient. "The longer we lay here, the more time we waste."

That's right, you only have two days, you're only staying for the weekend, and that has you letting out a deep sigh through your nostrils, turning to look at him.

"Five more minutes?"

He smiles, "Only if you kiss me."

Yesterday you wanted nothing more than to stay up with him, but now, Saturday morning washing over you, you just want to sleep in.

So you do kiss him, a hand in his hair as you pull his face closer to yours. It's disgusting, too sloppy and too wet this early in the morning, a mix of morning breath and an occasional mash of teeth, but he's set on devouring you, his tongue in your mouth ever so slowly pushing you to lay on your back. But you've done worse.

He slots himself between your legs, hands on your hips pressing you firmly against the mattress, and when he bites your lip, the moan that comes from your throat sounds painful, scratching it's way up and out. He swallows it, humming in approval, lips pressing to yours gently to sooth his previous action.

"You know," A huff of breath against your lips. "Believe it or not, this was supposed to be innocent."

You scoff, nails scratching his scalp, his eyes slip closed. "You're the one who climbed on top of me." You press a kiss to his chin, the hairs of his beard tickling your face.

"I can't help it, you're just so," He catches himself, thumbs rubbing little circles against your hips. "You're perfect, and you're stalling." His eyes snap open, glaring at you. "You little devil. Get up."

He's off of you before you can protest, grabbing you by your wrists and pulling you with him. Cool air bites your bare skin, the warmth of the covers was all that was protecting you from the insanely low temperature of AC in your room. He smiles at you, running a hand through his hair.

"Put on something pretty? Be ready in twenty. I'm not kidding."

You do put on something pretty, something that makes him want to say fuck it and take you back to bed like you wanted all along. But first, you freshen up in the bathroom. You brush your teeth, then walk through a delicate skin care routine, products applies with the light tap of your ring finger. You apply a light layer of makeup, slick your hair into a pony tail with some gel, then you get dressed.

You put on a little pink dress with thin straps, shoulders bare and thighs proudly on display. You dress it up with a pair of heels and a mini bag, a cuban link chain on your neck, matching diamond earrings, and bracelets that jingle every time you take a step.

"Tight," His pinky finger is caught between his teeth when he sees you, because, "My god, you don't disappoint, do you?"

"I live to please, Mr. Stark." A bat of your eyelashes, and an air kiss against his cheek, you know you'll be in trouble later.

But for now, he lets you play your part, teasing him and winding him up, because he lives for reminding you of who wears the pants in the relationship.

He pick a different car this time, the Roadster, and for a moment you think he's going to let you drive again. Reading your mind, he kisses your cheek, not on your life, and holds your hand to help you inside.

The first stop is breakfast, the sun barely risen as you leave the garage, and you're squinting against the bright light to take a few pictures. Because daddy's rich, and he's taking you out today, and you can't help but feel entitled. You work hard for the things he gives you, so damn right you're going to brag about it. Because who else can say they have Tony Stark wrapped around their finger? He drives with the top down, giving you the perfect view of the State of California.

Breakfast is more like brunch, he drives you across the state to take you to a restaurant in L.A. It's nice, on the water and not too crowded since it's so early. The sun feels warm on your skin, a mimosa in your hand, Tony takes pictures on your phone for you. Your outfit is adorable, you get many complements, the kind that makes Tony's left eye twitch if someone stares at you for too long.

"You look like you're going to have a stroke." You say, nodding to his water. "Are you hot? Drink something."

He shakes his head, plucking the lemon from his ice water. "Keep it up." Is all he says, taking a sip.

You smile, faking innocent. "What?"

He has the nerve to smile back, mocking you. "You know exactly what." He says, looking up as the waiter brings your food.

You ordered an omelette with hash browns, and Tony ordered a stack of blueberry waffles. He pours the syrup for you both, and per his request you feed him a piece. You also order a fruit bowl, sharing it between you. Your fingertips and lips stain red from the strawberries, which earns you a sweet kiss from across the table.

"Blueberries or strawberries?" You ask him suddenly, his eyes floating up from his food to your face.

"Do I get to weigh my options?" He raises an eyebrow.

"You can walk me through it." You trace the rim of your glass with a single finger, and his eyes catch it for a moment before putting his knife and fork down.

"Well, they both stain." He says it with a deviant little smirk that turns your face the color of your lips. "But strawberries taste sweeter."

"Then why do you like blueberries so much?"

"I don't necessarily like them," He says. "But I don't mind them."

"You prefer strawberries but choose blueberry pancakes?" You ask.

He lets out a huff, reaching over for your mimosa. "Must you question everything I say and do?" He counters. "Is this boring you?" He's teasing you, so you don't respond. "There wasn't a strawberry pancake option on the menu, sweetie."

You are a bit bored, your pestering is a bad habit, find anything to pick apart simply because there is nothing else to do. So you decide to occupy yourself with another task, the man sitting across from you more than willing to receive your antics.

"Is this strong enough for you?" He asks, pulling a face, placing your drink back down in front of you. "Want some wine?"

Under the table, you slip your feet out of your heels. "It's not even lunch time." You point out. "Will they serve it?"

"Did you forget who you're talking to?" He waves down the waiter, and sure enough a bottle of their most expensive wine is brought out to you.

He pours you a glass, then another, matching your one with two for himself. Your cheeks are flushed with color before you can even finish your food, and of course Tony notices, eyes dark as he watches you tap your nails against your wine glass.

Thoughts cloud his mind, The smooth look of your skin in the sunlight, face glowing and kissed by the sun. The pout of your lips, tinted red in color from fruit juice and wine. Your cheeks are flushed, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek bones each time you blink. You're comfortable, relaxed, and that's all he wanted for you today.

But then his eyes wander, down your face and to the jewelry sitting on your collar bones, jewelry he bought for you. The dress you wear is tiny, he imagines that if he looks under the table he'll see your bare panties between your legs, it hugs you like a glove, reflecting the sunlight, and there's something seductive about the way your curves move fluidly each time you shift in your seat. And then, that ghost of your touch traveling up his leg, he thinks he's imagining it at first, but then you bite your lip, resting an elbow against the table to lean forward.

He reaches a hand down, catching your foot just as it reaches the top of his thigh, and you fail at concealing a gasp.

"Forgotten our table manners, have we?" He raises an eyebrow at you, making you sit up straighter, clearing your throat.

"Of course Mr. Stark. My apologies." You decide to play coy, holding your head high, reaching a hand up to fluff your pony tail. "How do you like the wine?"

To your surprise, he doesn't let you go, fingers inching up to your ankle. "It's sweet, strong." He says, "Fruity."

"I like it too." You say, bracelets jingling as you reach for another piece of fruit. "But I think I've had more than enough."

His finger slips, over your ankle and down the arch of your foot, and you flinch in response, knee knocking the table. Your eyes widen, and you're quick to save your wine glass from tipping over.

He laughs, dropping your foot. "I agree."

He holds his hand out suddenly, eyes glistening with a sense of mischief, and you're hesitant to place your hand in his. Slowly, he guides your hand to his mouth, sucking your fingers clean of syrup and fruit juice. His tongue slides across your skin, dipping between your fingers and trailing up to the pads of your finger tips. His tongue is hot, warm, his eyes never leaving yours as he licks you clean, as he tastes you. Then as if nothing happened at all, he reaches over to dab your lips with a napkin, kissing the underside of your wrist before letting you go.

He waves down the waiter for what feels like the tenth time, leaving you flustered, wanting something much sweeter than fruit. But Tony has the day planned for you already, so you bite your tongue and let him drag you around the city, stealing one last sip of wine before you leave.

Your nail appointment is booked for noon, and it takes over two hours to get done. But being tipsy helps the process, bursting into a fit of giggles each time you look over at Tony. He sits beside you with his phone in hand, playing a game, which he lets you watch occasionally. He looks like a bored child, dragged out for a day of shopping with their mother.

When asked what color you want, Tony's hand on your thigh, you decide to let him pick.

"Red," he says, lips lingering at the corner of your mouth.

Red like those strawberries, like the juice he licked from your fingers, like the wine that's clouding your judgement. Red like the car he let your drive yesterday, red like your cheeks, because you know what he's implying. Red is his color, and now he's making you wear it.

But you continue to tease him, crossing and uncrossing your legs, arching your back to stretch your spine, shifting back and forth to pull your dress down. His eyes hardly ever leave you, looking up only when you turn to smile at him. He tells you to behave, which you blatantly ignore, shifting in your seat to face him. He doesn't complain though, taking in the sight of you, watching you relish in the feeling of being pampered.

On a couple accent nails, you get crystals and rhinestones, fingers catching the light as you hold your hand out for his credit card to pay.

Keep it up, his eyes are screaming consequences at you for your bratty behavior. But you can't help it. He's torturing you with a good time, so you're returning the favor. You thank him with a wet one right on his lips, his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the salon and back into the warm California air.

Your heels click against the pavement, hair swaying in tune with the switch of your hips, and you can't stop staring at your new nails, hands spread out in front of you as you examine them in the sunlight. Tony has good taste, the red really does suit you after all.

"Are you hungry?" You just ate a couple hours ago, but you can go for a snack. So you nod, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers. "Want some ice cream?"

Ice cream. Tony Stark has a wicked sweet tooth, or maybe he just wants to see your lips wrapped around an ice cream cone. Either way, he buys you one, strawberry for you, cookie dough for him. You let him have a lick, and you're half tempted to smear it across his face.

You're surprised that you don't get any on your clothes, especially with the rate your ice cream is melting under the sun. It takes several wet napkins to clean your hand free of that sticky feeling, because you don't think you can handle Tony licking your fingers a second time.

There's something cute about watching Tony eat ice cream, something that makes you take a picture of him, which earns you a scolding about being addicted to your cell phone. You remind him of your age difference, which has him grabbing your hip and rolling his eyes. You're just trying to get a rise out of him, and it's working, the remnants of his ice cream gone, both of his hands on you now.

"You like my age." He says, voice low and eyes squinting against the sun. "In fact, if I were closer to your age you wouldn't like me at all."

It's true, you don't like men your own age. You're too mature for that, you're chasing a career, and boys your age just want to get drunk and party all the time. Tony is a business man, an established business man, someone who encourages you to work hard and chase your dreams. Boys your age could never.

So you seal his affirmations with a kiss, "Just don't let it get to your head."

It's far too late for that already, his hand in yours as you drag him down the street.

You decide to stop in the shopping mall, Tony tucks a wad of cash in your purse and tells you to go crazy. So you do. Gucci, Chanel, Fendi, you're reaching for cash more than you can keep track of, burning through it far too quickly. When you ask for his credit card instead, he appears unphased as you run up his bill, handing him receipts to sign and bags to carry. You spend hours shopping, trying things on for him, dragging on the occasion as long as you can.

He hardly ever lets you go shopping. He much rather prefers to gift you things, let you order online instead of getting up and going to an actual store. He prefers the privacy and convenience, but today he's in a spoiling mood, tolerating all of your antics so that you can treat yourself.

You don't mean to act like a brat, he just makes it fun. You truly do appreciate all he does for you, and you decide to remind him of that when you're ready to go, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"All shopped out?" He asks, lips pressed to your ear.

"My feet hurt, and I'm hungry again."

He can hear the pout in your voice, which makes him laugh, an arm tucking around your waist. "I bet. You might as well have run a marathon in those shoes today."

You pull back, looking down at them. "They're cute."

"Very cute." He kisses your nose. "Let's go."

He loads your millions of shopping bags into the trunk, and you take your heels off while you wait, letting your hair down just for a moment to massage your scalp. You reapply a bit of lip gloss and blot your forehead using your phone camera as a mirror, refreshed by the time he's finished stacking everything in the trunk.

He takes you to an authentic Italian restaurant for dinner, the menu's written in actual Italian, which Tony has no trouble translating for you. You knew he was Italian, but hearing him speak it is another story.

You order pasta and a salad, trying to be good after eating an entire basket of bread sticks. But good never lasts too long when in Tony's company, a glass of champagne is set in front of you and all morals are out of the window. You drink until you can no longer feel the pain in your feet, twirling your fork full of pasta to feed to him across the table. You're not a light weight, but he makes sure you're responsible, encouraging you to drink water and eat more bread.

He lets you sample off of his plate as well, speaking in hushed tones as he fusses over you. Are you sure you're okay? Take a break and drink some water. No more. Okay fine, this is the last one. Yes, drinking out of my glass still counts. Watch your arm, don't set it on your food. It's cute, and it keeps you smiling all night.

Tony made good on his promise to treat you today, good food, a fresh set of acrylics, and cute clothes. You felt thoroughly spoiled, shopped out and ready to go back to the house.

But he isn't finished yet.

"You got to do everything you wanted," He says, wiping his mouth clean on a napkin. "Now it's my turn."

You groan, thinking that he's going to do some shopping for himself. If that were the case, he could have been doing it with you the entire time. But that isn't what he meant at all, your eyes wide as he walks you to a jewelry store, hand firm on your back just in case. You're tired, and drunk, but nothing beats the sight of diamonds.

"I have something special in mind." He pulls his shades from his face and tucks them onto the collar of his shirt, like the true asshole that he is. Too cool to even make eye contact with the poor guy behind the register. "Something custom."

It's not everyday that a store owner sees Tony Stark walk in, so Tony cuts him some slack, flashing him a smile.

"Of course. What do you have in mind?"

It's whispered behind his hand, out of earshot and out of your line of vision. You're instantly annoyed, stepping away from him to look at the display case behind you.

He's back on you in an instant, hands next to yours on the glass, his chest against your back. He kisses your cheek, sensing your change in mood. "It will only take about an hour. Until then, let's take a look around?"

With all the spending he's already done on you, you figured he would be done. Apparently not. "Sure," You say, turning your face against his lips, stealing a quick kiss. "Thank you for today."

"That's the whole point of this, isn't it?" It's his own weird way of saying you're welcome, but it makes you roll your eyes anyway, stealing another kiss.

You're undeniably handsy, clinging to his arm as he walks you around the jewelry store. You're a bit bored though, your collection is already large enough to be over the initial excitement of basic diamonds and gold. But something does catch your eye eventually, nail between your teeth as you stop dead in your tracks.

"See something you like?"

Nail tapping against the glass, "That one." It's a cuban link chain, encrusted with pink diamonds, "I don't have a pink one."

He realizes that you don't, so it's added to his tab. So is a pair of earrings, an anklet, another necklace, by the time his custom piece is done, you've run up the total three times what it would have been originally. Oops, he doesn't seem to mind though, once again swiping his card, not blinking twice at the price. You consider this payment for making you stay out so late.

He's silent as you walk back to the car, arm tight around your shoulders, he holds the bag just out of your reach, and you feel like a child being restricted from having too much candy. You just want to hold your spoils.

"Are you still not going to let me drive?" You ask, and the laugh he lets out actually shocks you.

"God, no. You can barely keep your eyes open. Yesterday was different." Yesterday wasn't different, but you don't complain as he leans you against the car, walking off to place the jewelry bag in the trunk with the others.

You take it upon yourself to climb in, landing hard against the passenger seat. You pull your hair free form it's pony tail and kick off your shoes, placing them up on the dashboard. You can tell that he's tired too, letting out a little huff as he gets in the car finally. You smile, raking your nails across his scalp, and he enjoys your touch for a moment.

"I was going to fuck the shit out of you," He says, eyes barely open, "But I think we're both a bit too tired for that now."

You visibly deflate, pouting as you lean over the console, kissing his forehead. "Can't hang old man?"

He laughs, pointing a finger at you. "You're drunk, and we have a long ride home."

He does have a point though, by the time you do actually get home you doubt you'll be able to do anything.

"I got something for you." He says, breaking your silence.

You laugh, "You got me a lot of somethings."

"No," He shakes his head. "A special something."

"I want to see."

"Tomorrow. I promise." The smile he gives you is dazzling, washing away your annoyance almost instantly. "We need to sleep."

He looks a little guilty, but you don't hold it against him, enjoying the warmth of his hand on your thigh as he drives.

The radio down low, wind blowing your hair, you can barely hear him when he asks, "Did you have fun today?"

You nod, doing your best to look over at him. "Thank you."

He pats your thigh reassuringly, the touch comforting. "You're welcome, baby. Anything for you."

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

Guns n’ Glitter masterlist.

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#tony stark fanfic #tony stark series #sugar daddy tony stark #tony stark x reader #reader insert #brat #spoiled brat #sugar daddy fanfic #iron man #avengers fanfiction #adult themes #spoiled #tony stark smut #eventual smut #to be continued

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spooky-luvur · 4 years ago

Note

Is it possible for you to do a fic with Dutch with a male s/o who's deeply in love with him but has a shitty, very homophobic and abusive family?

Anything is possible, dearie.

Also, idk how to put in a ‘read more’ on mobile, so until someone helps me do that, you’re stuck with a big block of text sorry.

I really enjoyed writing this. I hope it’s okay. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

(Warnings: abuse, mentions of rape, language)

(Sorry for any spelling mistakes)

Ranching had been your family’s life since the day your great-great grandpappy had built the entire thing with his own two hands. It was for his wife, Amy Rose. She had come down with a serious illness one day, and she told her husband that before she died she wanted to own a ranch. And he loved her enough to let her have her wish. And so Amy Rose Ranch was born.

You lived and worked here with your parents and two older brothers. Although you wouldn’t exactly say they worked here too. Your family wasn’t...the nicest folk. At least, when it came to you. They thought you were no good, so they left you with the dirty work around the ranch. Which was pretty much...everything.

Shoveling shit, for one. It had to be your least favorite. You also had to do it quickeri than a man could pull a gun on his enemy during a duel. If you took too long, your brothers would come in and force you to clean it all up with your hands, saying the shovel was the reasons you was taking so long.

Ma handled the fancy stuff that didn’t require no shit shoveling or cow milking. She busied herself with the money and who owed them what. Money was a big thing to Ma. She always had to have as much as possible so Pa could buy her that new jewelry set or a fancy mirror. Buyin’ herself all the new clothes and looking more like a queen than a ranch owner.

Pa wasn’t no good neither, but don’t let him catch you sayin’ that. He’s as good as a saint around other folk, but around you, he was as mean and nasty as the devil himself. He’d beat you when he was mad, or when somethin’ around the ranch went wrong, or, on real nasty days, he’d lock you up in the cellar, yelling at you that is was your fault they was losin’ so much money. You never thought too much of it. Honest. It’d been the same for so many years that you’d begun to think it was only normal. That maybe you were the cause of all their problems.

But not this one.

—————

Loud laughter from outside the barn made you pause from laying out hay for the pregnant cow in there. You recognized your pa’s very loud and very fake laugh he saved for folk with lots of money. Shaking your head in sympathy for whatever man stupid enough to fall right into your fathers greedy hands, you turn back to the hay. Before you can finish, though, you flinch at what Pa says next.

“My youngest boy, (M/n), is the one that handles the horses. (M/n)!”

You force back a loud sigh and set down the rest of the hay, pushing open the barn doors to stand next to Pa.

“Yes sir.”

“Take these fine gentlemen to pick out a few horses.”

Your gaze skins over the rough-looking men before you nod.

“Yes sir.”

Before you can turn to lead them to the stables, your father roughly but discreetly grabs your arm and hisses in your ear.

“Don’t screw this up. They have big money.”

You incline your head in a nod, and he lets go, allowing you to lead the men away.

“Dutch Van der Linde.” The nicest dressed man beside you holding out his hands, metal rings gleaming in the harsh sun. You hesitate. Pa had always told to never interact with anyone more than you needed to. For the sake of the other person, of course. Finally getting a good look at the mans face, your breath catches in your throat awkwardly.

By god, he was lovely.

Warm brown eyes look at you curiously. You remember his hand and hurriedly shake it, eyes never leaving his face.

“Uh- I’m- (M/n), I’m (M/n)...”

“Well it’s good to meet you, Mr. (M/n).”

“This is Colt. Four years, Thoroughbred. Good if you wanna be fast. Ezra, five years, Paint.”

Dutch nods along as you list off fair horses. The other two men were off somewhere else in the stables after he’d nodded for them to trot off and check out the other horses.

It was all going well, with Dutch asking a question ever now and again, until you were in the middle of explaining how you bred one horse. The sound of a gun cocking makes your entire body freeze up at the unfamiliar sound. You put your hands up by your head like Pa had taught you to.

Dutch’s warm breath fans over your neck, making you shiver. His voice comes close to your ear.

“Now, Mr. (M/n), we’re going to take a few horses, and you’re going to tell your Pa we’ll be back in a day or two to pay. You think you can do that?”

A sinister laugh from the side makes you flinch.

“Aw, Dutch, don’t make the kid piss himself! He’s shakin’ in his boots!” The mean voice taunts, making Dutch chuckle. The cold barrel of the gun leaves your back, making you relax slightly, hands lowering. He turns you around, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You gonna answer me?”

“Yes sir, I- I can do that.”

He pats your shoulder. “Good.”

“What?!”

“Th-they said they was gonna be back Pa, I didn’t-“

He backhands you, making you fall back with a pained noise you cut off in your throat.

“They better. They better come back, and they better pay, or it’s you I’m putting a bullet through next! Understand me, boy?!”

“Yes sir...”

A few days later, the men do return. They don’t return on the horses they took, which confuses you a bit, but you don’t have the time to think about it once Pa offers them to have some fancy whiskey in the drinking room.

They laugh like they did when the men was first here. This time, both Ma and Pa were laughing with them. Pa yells for you to come pour some more drinks. You go and do so, handing them out. Once you offer Dutch his, he grabs your arm instead of the glass, making you let out a small startled noise. His eyes meet yours before they move down to your uncovered arm, tracing the bruises left by the many harsh grabs from your Pa and brothers. He lets go after a few moments and grabs his glass, taking a sip as if he didn’t do a thing. You blink, straightening up and taking your place beside Pa’s chair.

“What do you and your men do for a living, Mr. Van der Linde?”

Ma’s honey eyes trail over the mans strong arms, down to his several expensive-looking rings. She flutters her eyelashes, giving him an attractive grin.

“We’re merely men, Mrs. O’Malley. Men that needed horses.”

She gives him a fluttery laugh, trailing her fingertips along her exposed collarbone. To your relief and amazement, he doesn’t even give her a second glance. She doesn’t seem to notice his attention is no longer on her.

“So, Mr. Van der Linde, our money?”

“Of course, sir. We have your money. But first, how about another drink?”

Pa never refuses another drink.

“Of course! You can even pick it out. (M/n)!”

“Yes sir.”

“Show Mr. Van der Linde our selection. Help him choose well.”

“Yes sir.”

The entire way to the room, you can feel Dutch’s eyes burning holes into the back of your head. Neither of you say a word, though. You were still wary of the man that held a loaded gun to your back.

You open the door to the room filled with various kinds of alcohol, bowing your head once Dutch passes.

His eyes skim over the room before he turns to you, making you straighten up, keeping your head down. You clench you’re first to stop them from shaking.

You hear the well-dressed man slowly walk closer and closer, until you can see his polished shoes. Nearly jumping at his fingers curling under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His...kind...eyes.

“Your daddy ain’t very good to you.”

It’s not a question.

“I...Pa’s just...he works hard-“

“A daddy should work hard and respect his son.”

Dutch grabs your arm with his other hand, turning it over to look at all the scars and bruises. “This, this is *not* respecting your son.”

Your eyes start to water. “Please...Mr. Van der Linde-“

You look back up, into his eyes, and your face falls completely. That look...a look of pure concern...you’ve never seen a look like that directed to you. Ever. But...they’re not good men. You can tell. Pa can tell. Something’s off. But even with that, you can’t help but feel a pull toward the man before you, as if you need him. Need him to care about you.

But before anything else can happen, the door swings open, making you jump back. Dutch, however, doesn’t move, staying perfectly calm.

Your brother stands in the doorway, eyes wide. He looks between the two of you, putting the pieces together.

Then, his mouth curls into the most sinister and evil grin you’d ever seen.

That’s when you knew, you were fucked.

Pa didn’t say a word to you the rest of the night. You didn’t know if your brother, Alan, had told him what he’d seen. You were tense, waiting for someone to jump up and strike you so hard you’d die.

But nothing happens.

By the end of the night, Pa and Ma are as drunk as a crook. They laugh heartily as they show the men out, completely forgetting all about the thousand or so dollars they still owe them. It was a trick, you realize. You don’t think the men have the money. And Mr. Van der Linde, you realize as the man meets your eye, knows that.

Pa beats you that night.

Two days later, the men return. But things are different. Pa is impatient, and is also starting to wonder if they actually have any money, or if they’re the drunk crooks. They take their seat in the sitting room, but Dutch is the only man from his side to sit as well. The other two men remain standing. Tense. Like a guard waiting for a moment to strike.

No drinks are poured.

For the first several moments, no words are exchanged.

Then, Pa asks the question.

“Where is my money Dutch Van der Linde.”

Dutch intertwines his ringed fingers. The corners of his mouth twitch. He looks amused.

“There is no money.”

Faster than anyone else can move, Pa lets out an angry cry and whips up out of his seat, taking the bottle of expensive scotch on the table and smashing it over your head. Foul smelling liquid and tint shards of glass rain down on your face, that and the pain making you cry out, stumbling to the floor. The alcohol stings your eyes and blurs your vision.

Dutch, to the others astonishment, springs to his feet, clenching his jaw as he takes in your crouched form.

“My money! Give me my money!”

Ma gasps as the other two men whip our their guns, both of them pointed at Pa. The man seethes, deciding to turn his anger to you. He kicks you in the chest, making you let out a pained wheeze.

“Faggot! You goddamn faggot! This is all your fault!”

“Settle down, Mr. O’Malley. Your son did nothing-“

“Nothing?! Why are you so concerned for him?! Did he suck your cock?! Did you fuck him?! That’s all he’s good for!”

The air in the room itself seems to pause. All three of the men freeze and look at Pa with wide eyes. He wouldn’t...

“Fine! If you want him so much then take him!”

He pulls you up by your hair, throwing you at Dutch who catches you in his arms. You push yourself into his chest, tears and blood running down your face.

Someone’s gun goes off. Something falls to the floor. Ma’s scream is cut off by another shot. Something else falls, and then it’s silent.

That night, you stand outside the house with Dutch.

“I am...sorry...you had to live like that, (M/n).” He pulls out a nice stack of bills from his pocket, putting them into your hand. “But you don’t have to listen to them anymore.”

You frown.

“You can go into town, take the train somewhere and-“

“No!”

Dutch raises his brow. “No?”

“I...” you shift, embarrassed. “I want to come with you. Please.”

He shakes his head. “My life isn’t-“

“I don’t care!” You force the money back into his hands.

“If it isn’t with you then I don’t want it. I’ll...I’ll never be safe!”

Dutch studies you for a long moment. Finally, he grins.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

#dutch van der linde #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x male reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #red dead resemption 2 x male reader #read dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 dutch #anon request

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marvelslut16 · 5 years ago

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A helping hand

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader

Synopsis:(Y/N)’s younger sister is part of the party. so what happens when she witness’s Billy getting hit when she goes to pick Max up and then when he arrives bloody and bruised on her doorstep two days later? Will she help him and let him in on her life before Hawkins, or will her hatred for him make her turn him away? Takes place between seasons 2 and 3.

Word count: 2602

Warnings: First (and possibly only) time writing for Billy, so he’s pretty OOC. Swearing. Abuse. Neil being the grade a asshole that he is. Talk of domestic violence. Angst?

“Stay in the car, I’ll be back in a minute,” you turn around to face your little sister, Carol, who’s sitting in the back seat flipping through the pages of her seventeen magazine.

“Okay,” she glances up at you. “We’re supposed to be at the arcade in ten minutes, we can’t be late.”

She’s frantic that she’ll be late and upset Dustin. “Ah, young love,” you tease her as you step out of the car, catching the last seconds of her sticking her tongue out. Carol and Dustin had been friends their entire life, and she’s been in love with him for almost as long.

You make your way to the front door of the Hargrove house, you’re here to pick up Max and drop the two off at the arcade to meet up with the rest of the party. It was a cold and snowy January in Hawkins, so the kids obviously couldn’t ride their bikes or skateboards. As you get closer to the door, you swear you can hear the hushed tone of someone yelling at their kids. You ignore the uneasy feeling rising in your stomach and knock on the door.

Susan Hargrove answers the door with a fake smile plastered on her face. You’re about to greet her when you hear shouting coming from down the hall. “You’re just a worthless fucking faggot Billy,” you hear a male voice bellow, you make eye contact with Max over her mothers shoulder. She looks embarrassed, which makes a deep frown appear on your face. This must be normal. “You’re too busy staring at yourself in the mirror that you can’t drive your sister to the arcade, you make some girl come out of her way to get Maxine.” Billy and his father are now in your line of sight, but blocked from your sister's view because of your frame.

Before you can assure them that it’s no problem and that it was actually on the way Billy mumbles, “she’s not my sister.”

“We’ve already talked about this,” his father seethes. “You need to learn respect and responsibility.” As the last word leaves his lips the sound of flesh on flesh resonates in the air.

It takes you half a second to realize that Neil’s hand is in the air and Billy’s face is turned away from the door. The smack happened so fast that you almost missed it. A small gasp leaves your lips, reminding everyone that you just witnessed their dark secrets. Billy’s blue eyes snap to yours as they seem to glow in rage, but towards you and not his father. There’s also a sadness deep within those angry eyes, a sadness that only someone who can relate can see.

Max is frantically pulling on her red winter coat, trying to get out of the house as fast as humanly possible.

“I’ll have Max home by eight,” you give Susan a sad smile. “I have to go shopping, but then I’ll be at the arcade with the kids for the rest of the time. And really, it was no bother picking her up, Max and Carol get along great.”

“Bye mom,” Max mumbles as she pushes her way out the door and towards your car. Susan gives you one last sad smile, and your eye’s briefly flick to Billy who looks like he’s about to break something, before the front door closes.

As you walk away you can hear Neil’s voice pick back up, there’s a part of you that wants to cry for the poor broken boy on the other side of that door. But it’s Billy, the bully, the new king of Hawkins High. The Billy that goes around tormenting Steve, and the one that makes fun of the nerdy kids. No, you wouldn’t cry for him. He’s just as bad as his father.

Max and Carol talk and laugh the entire way to the arcade. Max pretending nothing happened, and Carol none the wiser to what goes on in the Hargrove house. Carol is impatient and practically jumps out to the car before it stops moving, five minutes late from when she promised Dustin she would be here. Max is slower, almost like she’s at war with herself on whether to say anything or not.

“Max,” you say as she slides a foot out the door. “If it’s ever too much and you need somewhere to stay for a night, our door is always open. No questions asked and no one has to know.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly before following your sister into the arcade.

When you drop Max off later that night Billy’s Camaro is nowhere to be seen.

At school the next morning you feel a tight grip around your wrist as you’re walking down the hall to first period. Before you can properly react you’re spun around and engulfed in the strong scent of cologne and cigarette smoke. You’re once again greeted by Billy’s angry blue eyes as he pulls you into a secluded corner.

“Let go of me,” you glare at him, yanking your wrist away from him. Taking a few steps back, wanting as much space between you and him as you could get. Billy looked angry, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be on the receiving side of that anger.

“I don’t want your pity and you best not say anything to anyone about what you saw yesterday (Y/L/N),” Billy threatens. Even though it’s the middle of January Billy still only has half of his shirt buttoned. His chest muscles visibly flexing with his erratic angry breathing.

“Why the hell would I say anything? Just so you can deny it before beating me to a pulp like you did to Steve? I’ll pass,” your eyes narrow at the bad boy. “And I sure as hell don’t fucking pity you. Yeah, you’re life sucks, Neil sucks. But you choose to be just like him. Abused or not, that’s no excuse to become the bully Hargrove. A bad life doesn’t give you the excuse to be a shit person. And you could try to be nicer to Max, while she may not be the one getting hit, living in a toxic home is just as terrible.”

Billy takes a step back, like you’ve burned him. His face holds a faint trace of sorrow, good. Maybe he’ll be knocked down a peg or two. Out of the corner of your eye you see Steve shoot you a weird look as his eyes land on you and his enemy.

“Harrington,” you call as Steve walks passed you and Billy. He stops and turns around, raising an eyebrow when his eyes flick to your company. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Studying for our calculus test,” he watches you intently as you step closer to him, still wondering why you were with Billy.

“The kids are coming over to watch the new Indiana Jones, do you want to join us? We can study after the movie, I love Harrison Ford too much to actually miss the movie,” you laugh softly. “Plus my parents left this morning, so I’m babysitting seven hormonal middle schoolers alone, please save me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Steve laughs at your over dramatic attitude.

“Half of them are dating each other, and then my sisters crush on Dustin, I can’t handle all that drama on my own,” you whine as you start to walk down the hall. “Plus it's free pizza, popcorn, and all the ice cream you can eat. And a new episode of Saturday Night Live when the kids fall asleep” You bat your eyelashes at your friend and co parent to the party.

“Fine,” he sighs reluctantly. “But Hargrove better not be there.”

“Like he’d ever show up,” you laugh as you run down the hall as the warning bell sounds.

Before you know it, it’s Saturday afternoon and you’re surrounded by kids. Susan dropped Max off first, and the poor woman couldn’t look you in the eyes. And that fact that Billy, who according to Max always takes her places, wasn’t the one dropping her off made you slightly worried.

You’re about twenty minutes into the movie and throwing popcorn at Steve when there’s a hesitant and irregular pounding on your front door. “Stay here,” you tell the kids. Steve follows a few steps behind you.

You’re greeted by Billy’s bruised face when you open the door. He has a bruised and swollen eye that pairs with his split lip. Dried blood on his chin and drops on his white shirt.

“Oh my God, Billy,” you breathe. Your body works without your brains help, and you gently grab his wrist and pull him into your house.

“I know you said the door was always open for Max,” his voice hoarse, almost like he was in a screaming match earlier. His right arm wrapped tightly around his torso. “Do ya think you can make an exception for me?” Max joins the three teens when she hears Billy’s voice, her face falls slightly at the sight of his condition.

“Steve, Max, why don’t you guys go back to the movie. Billy, let’s go get you cleaned up,” you grab his hand and gently pull him towards the stairs. Steve goes to protest, but Max pulls him away with her.

“What happened?” you ask after you shut the bedroom door behind you, running to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth. Billy remains silent as he watches your concentration face as you lightly dab at his split lip.

“I was working out too loudly, then I accidently spilled his beer,” Billy won’t look you in the eyes.

“We graduate in a few months and then you’ll be free,” you interject optimistically.

“You know I’ll never change, right?” Billy says as he thinks back to what you said to him school.

“I think you can,” you sigh, grabbing some aspirin. “You just choose not to.”

“What do you know?” he snaps, blue eyes murderous.

“More than you would think,” you deadpan, lifting his shirt to rest under his pecs. Boy was it hard not to just rip it off completely.

“If you wanted me shirtless you just had to ask sweetheart,” Billy winks and seductively licks his lips. You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the rush of heat you feel throughout your body. Sure he’s hot, bet he’s a manwhore and an asshole. Don’t fall for it. Instead of verbally responding, you push on his ribs without warning and it’s his turn to inhale. “Shit!”

“They don’t feel broken or fractured,” you stare at the splotchy blue and purple bruises forming over his rib cage.

“How would you know?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“I have years of practice,” you hand him the aspirin and wait to talk until he swallowed the tablets. Were you really going to tell him this? “My dad, my birth one, used to toss me around like a rag doll. Carol got lucky, he liked her so he would never hurt her. But when he was mad at something she did he would just take it out on me twice as hard. I had to clean myself up when my mom would shut down, and I’d have to fight through the pain to check to see if anything was broken. One night it was so bad that I was unconscious on our kitchen floor when my mom and Carol got home. That’s the day my mom decided to leave him.”

“How old were you?” Billy’s face a mix of sadness and anger.

“Younger than Carol and Max. We moved around a bit before finally landing in Hawkins,” you’re afraid to look in Billy’s eyes. Afraid to find that pity he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. “I know you have a distaste for the town, I did too when I moved here my freshman year, but it’s the first place we stayed. It’s where my mom met my amazing stepdad, it’s home to some of us.”

“That’s why you offered Max a place to stay when it gets bad,” his voice softens as he stares at the side of your face.

“I had nowhere to go. Carol had nowhere to go,” you sigh. “I couldn’t let Max suffer through the same life we did.”

“I didn’t know,” he reaches forward and rest his fingers on top of yours.

“No one did, you’re the only one,” you pull your fingers away from his to wipe a single tear away. “Carol doesn’t even know, the doctors say she’s blocking out the memories, that it was so painful her brain refuses to remember it.”

“I want to be better,” he refuses to look you in the eye, opting to pick at the corner of your comforter instead.

“And you can be, one step at a time Billy,” you gently place your hand on his shoulder He finally looks up at you, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s why I said you could change, be better. I’m nothing like my father, and I know you're strong enough to be better than yours.”

“Will you help me?” he sounds so vulnerable and defeated. So broken.

“Of course, as long as you’re actually trying.”

Thank you,” he lays down on your bed, pulling the sheets up over him.

“Do you like Saturday Night Live?” you ask as you walk to your door,

“I love it,” he gives you a lopsided smile you’ve never seen before.

“Cool. Get some sleep, and you can join Steve and me when it’s on tonight.”

“Anything for you sweetheart,” he shoots you a lazy wink.

“And Billy? You owe me big time,” you put on a fake scowl as you look into Billy’s tired blue eyes. “You made me miss shirtless Harrison Ford.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He’s too caught up in the way the bed smells like your floral perfume, and the strawberry shampoo that you use. He takes a deep breath, deeply inhaling your scent, trying to memorize it. To memorize the smell of safety and home. His eyelids grow heavy and he drifts off to sleep, wondering what changing would mean for the two of you.

“Where is he?” Steve immediately jumps up from the couch when you walk back into the living room.

“Upstairs sleeping off some pain meds,” you send hi a warning look. “Now how much did I miss?”

“Harrison is making out with the blonde chick,” Lucas says through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Well that narrows it down,” you laugh lightly.

“They’re giving the stone back to the village,” Carol adds. You let out a long sigh as you realize you missed almost the entire movie. You give Max a small smile, hoping that it conveys to her that Billy is alright.

“When’s Hargrove leaving?” Steve asks annoyed.

“He’s actually gonna watch SNL with us tonight,” you meet Steve’s angry eyes. “He promised to help make french toast in the morning.” That may have been a lie, but Steve doesn't need to know that. But something tells you that you’ll be able to convince him to help.

“So when are we gonna order pizza?” Carol cuts in, wanting to cut the tension.

“In a little,” you promise, as you sit down to enjoy the last few moments of Harrison Ford.

An hour and a half later, when the pizza’s on it’s way, you go upstairs to wake up Billy. “Don’t let me down Billy,” you whisper to his sleeping form as you lean against your door frame.

Part 2: Too much

Forever tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny

#dacre montgomery #billy stranger things #billy x you #billy x y/n #billy x reader #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 3 #stranger things x reader

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dreamcatcherfication · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the Murder House - Lights Up on Hampton High

Fuck it. I wasn’t going to post anything today, mush less this, but I thought I’d surprise you all. The only person who really knows about this is @theatergirl06 who read half of the first chapter way back during our ask war (it’s been over a month since then, I think!). I have the whole plot written out already, but I realized I would never finish this unless I started posting and pushed myself to work on it.

A little context! This is my high school/murder mystery AU that’s been in my google drive for a while now (no, it’s not based on WATT - not majorly, at least). PSA: I’m using American style high schools because I’m not British and I don’t want to mess something simple up. I’m cruel, and let’s just say there are going to be many, many plot twists. Also Parrlyn is in there. But enough rambling - it’s time I welcome you... Welcome to the Murder House, please enjoy your stay.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Talk of death, the typical amount of swearing/insults you’d expect from high schoolers, brief slut shaming/sexual harassment, high school bullying, mentions of parental abuse

Anne Boleyn was the most popular girl in school, and it was obvious to anyone just why. She was the prettiest girl around with the most desirable figure. She had a sharp wit, ready to cut anyone who got too close for comfort, yet at the same time drew everyone in. Everyone at Hampton High bowed down at the feet of Anne Boleyn, worshipping her very existence. Any newcomer to the school would immediately be enlightened on her legendary rise to fame.

The only thing Anne Boleyn was more infamous for than her rise to power was her fierce protectiveness over her cousin, Katherine Howard. Katherine was only a sophomore but she had quickly climbed the ranks at Hampton due to Anne keeping her close at all times. It was rare to see the cousins separated outside of their classes.

Kitty Howard was an innocent lamb compared to the predator that Anne was among the student body. Anne sheltered her from any boy wishing her harm and attacked anyone who even looked at Kitty wrong. Unaware to Anne, this backfired on Kit, keeping her from making any friends of her own other than the seniors Anne deemed acceptable to be around Kitty.

This included Anna von Cleves and Cathy Parr, two of Anne’s classmates whom she had the most faith in. Anna was vulgar and unafraid to fight someone bold enough to challenge her, a butch senior with a history of disciplnary trouble. Anne had known Anna since elementary school when their teachers thought it would be fun to pair the two together due to their names. On the other hand, Cathy was quiet and supportive, but also a talented writer with distinct opinions and uncontrollable stubbornness. She had transferred to Hampton in junior year and Anne had taken her under her wing, hurling her up the social standings. The four of them were the golden quartet of Hampton High and no one dared mess with them.

Not when they were together at least.

Henry Tudor was a popular, brutish jock with as many brain cells as inches on his dick. In his time at Hampton, he had dated six girls, including all of the four aforementioned girls. His first girlfriend, Catherine de Aragon, had dated him for the entirety of freshman year and half of sophomore year. It was in their second year when Catherine found out that Henry had been cheating on her with Anne Boleyn, some popular queen at school. Catherine tried to confront Anne but was instead humiliated and kicked down the social ladder. Anne was boosted to the most popular girl after getting together with Henry.

But karma always came back, and Anne found out her idiotic boyfriend was cheating on her as well. Jane Seymour, the sweet student council member had been seeing Henry before he broke up with Anne. She refused to back off Henry, leading to Henry breaking up with Anne so the two of them could be together. But Anne wouldn’t let herself be pushed out of the light like Catherine, so she fired back at Henry, stepping on him to secure her spot at the top of the social ladder.

After a pregnancy scare, Jane broke up with Henry, too frightened to stay with someone like him. So Henry moved on and tried online dating, meeting HotAC and taking a liking to her. Too bad that when he tried to hook up with her, he found out that she was one of Anne Boleyn’s friends. Too embarrassed to admit that he was scared of getting on Anne’s bad side again, Henry accused Anna von Cleves of being an ugly horse and turned half the student body against Anna and the others.

Thus began the ongoing feud between Henry Tudor and his jocks with Anne Boleyn and her Golden Quartet.

Henry’s final girlfriend was Cathy Parr, if only briefly. When she first got to Hampton, Henry latched onto her and essentially peer pressured her into dating him. Barely a month into the two of them being together, Anne pushed her way into the relationship and saved Cathy from an unsavory high school experience with Henry.

The bad blood between Anne and Catherine and Jane kept the three from interacting, but Anne was fiercely protective of all the other previous girlfriends of Henry Tudor. Senior year, finally the drama with Henry had cooled down and the school seemed to be at a standstill, waiting for the next bombshell to drop. No one dared to talk about Henry’s fifth girlfriend to Anne’s face for fear of what she would do at the mention of his actions...

Like any other day, Anne was sitting at the quartet’s lunch table while Anna was on top of the table itself. Anna had one hand leaning against the table as well as one foot up while the other dangled off the edge. “It said some pretty nasty stuff, are you sure you want to know?” Anna asked hesitantly, her eyes on Anne’s clenched fists.

“Yes, I want to know what they’re saying about my cousin,” Anne gritted out through her teeth.

Nervously scratching her nose, Anna relented. “It was on her locker, thank God she didn’t notice. There was some cheap photo from a porno with the words ‘Slutty Kitty’ written under it.”

“Those dickwads!” Anne slammed her hands against the table.

Rushing to calm Anne down, Anna assured her, “Hey, Cathy and I cleaned it off before Kit could see it.” It was a miracle she managed to calm Anne down, even if only by a little bit. The popular girl was known for having a temper, and it had been a long time goal of Anna’s to balance her out.

What neither of the girls noticed was Kitty herself approaching the table, her backpack pulled tight around her body. She had overheard the conversation, but put on a perky attitude to make it seem like she was oblivious. Anne didn’t like when Kitty was sad, so she tried to avoid being sad around Anne. No need to worry her cousin about something stupid like high school bullying. “Hi Anna, Hi Annie!”

The two girls turned to face Kit and smiled. “Hey Kit,” Anna said, sliding off the table to sit on the bench across from Anne.

“How’s my favorite cousin?” Anne asked, scooting to the side so there was room for Kitty.

Shrugging, Kitty put her backpack on the floor. “I’m fine. Science was boring, as usual. But in history we started talking about the French Revolution, and I told my partner about the time you built a guillotine -”

Gasping in playful shock, Anne covered her cousin’s mouth. “I thought I told you never to talk about that incident!” Anna leaned forward dramatically, even though she had already heard the story multiple times.

“You tried to chop my head off for treason!”

“It was out of love -”

“How do you chop someone’s head off out of love?”

Before the conversation could escalate, Cathy entered the cafeteria and made her way over to the table, catching the trio’s attention. “Hey Cathyyyy,” Anne said, batting her eyelashes at the other girl.

Ignoring Anne, Cathy sat down on the other side of the table with Anna. “Are you still working on that article for the newspaper?” Anna asked before taking a bite of her rice and chicken (yes, she was the stereotypical black girl. She knew and was proud of it).

Nodding in confirmation, Cathy sighed and banged her head on the table. A moment later she lifted her head again and gave the others a tired smile. “Yeah, and it’s kicking my ass. I was just interviewing Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon about -”

“Woah woah woah, you were talking to Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon?” Anne gaped at Cathy.

“Well yeah, it’s for -”

“Why would you talk to them?” Anne exploded. “They’re massive bitches and you know our history. They’re the reason behind all the rumors at school and you entertained their bullshit?”

Giving Anne an incredulous glare, Cathy shot back, “Okay first, I was only talking to them because they’re both in charge of the student community service branch of council and I needed their interviews for the paper. And two, even if I did want to talk to them, who are you to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with? You’re popular Anne, but you’re not our dictator.” All the girls were open mouthed at Cathy’s tirade, but the girl in question only sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry Anne, but let me make my own decisions.”

Swallowing thickly, Anne nodded. “Right, I’m sorry Cathy. Just… the three of us don’t have a good history.”

Laughing lightly, Cathy made eye contact with Anne. “Yeah, I know.”

“More like the whole school knows,” Anna mumbled, giving Anne a fake smile when her head shot to the side to glare at her friend. But when Kitty giggled, Anne let Anna off the hook and laughed with her cousin.

“Hey Anna, you’re still good to walk Kit home, right?”

Shooting Kitty a cheeky grin, Anna confirmed with Anne. “Yeah, I’ll make sure no wild kidnappers jump out to catch her while you’re not there.” They all joked about it, but everyone knew how protective Anne was over her cousin.

“And Cathy, you and I are still -”

“Still going to infiltrate the cafeteria in order to prove there is malpractice going on, yes.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne complained, “Come on, you make it sound so boring. We’re going to break into the school and cause chaos in the cafeteria.”

“That sounds like fun!” Kit agreed, bumping shoulders with Anne.

Resting her chin on her hand, Cathy exhaled loudly. “It is not fun, it’s important. If we can prove the food isn’t up to health standards, then we can finally take some steps towards proper changes around here,” the writer explained.

“Wait, does that mean they’ll get rid of the pizza?” Anna asked.

“NOT THE PIZZA!” Anne cried, far louder than she should have. Kitty shushed her when some of the nearby tables looked over. Protectively, Anne hunched over the last slice of pizza still on her plate. It was far from healthy but Anne was addicted to the grease.

The only ones at the table who didn’t have lunch were Cathy and Kit. Cathy tended to sleep or work during lunch, so she trained her body to run only on two meals and a plethora of snacks throughout the day. And although Kit wouldn’t admit it, her father never gave her any lunch money or provided her with lunch foods. If she asked, he would give her lunch but then refuse to serve her dinner, so Kitty learned to stop asking. “Look Anne, if you want to break into the cafeteria with me, you’re going to have to forfeit your pizza rights.”

In an almost comical moment, Anne actually contemplated whether to choose pizza or breaking and entering, but eventually she gave in. “Alright, I’m sorry pizza, my second love!” And then Anne devoured the slice.

The other three girls rolled their eyes. Whenever Anne made a comment about “my second love” it was almost always followed up with something like - “As much as I love you pizza, you never stood a chance against Cathy Parr, the apple of my eye.”

For as long as the quartet had been friends, Anne had been flirting with Cathy. None of them questioned it anymore, and even Cathy had become accustomed to the constant shows of affection. Both girls were obviously attracted to each other, but Cathy made it very clear she didn’t want to date anybody anytime soon. So instead, Anne kept serenading her with proclamations of love.

Later that day, Anna and Kit were talking home together, comfortably chatting with each other. “She built the guillotine to threaten Mary, but Mary scares Anne way too much - even though she’ll never admit it - for her to actually attempt it.” Anna nodded along to the story, even though this was probably the fourth time Kit was telling it. “So when I told Anne that the guillotine idea was stupid - which it was! - she accused me of treason.”

“How dare she,” Anna spoke in mock horror, playing along with Kitty.

“Right! Ugh,” Kit groaned, “so of course George was on board with it because he’s always on board with Anne’s shi-”

Anna shushed Kit aggressively before she could curse. “I may not be your cousin but I don’t want my head chopped off if she gets wind I let you curse.”

Kit frowned but then continued her story. “So they got the guillotine which looked so scary, because I was only ten, and carried me to it execution style. George held me down and everything while Anne tied a blindfold around my eyes. By now I’m freaking out because no one’s stopping them - I didn’t actually think they were gonna kill me,” Kit scoffed in the self assured voice of someone who was most definitely lying. “And whoosh! The blade comes down and I don’t scream, and the two of them are laughing at me!” Kit pouted and stomped her foot in frustration. “The blade was fake, it was only styrofoam.”

Lightly punching Kit’s shoulder, Anna commented, “Must’ve been traumatising.”

“It was embarrassing,” Kit groaned.

“Well it’s your fault for hanging out with them.”

Perking up at those words, Kit ran ahead and spun around so she was walking backwards and facing Anna. “On the topic of hanging out with people…”

Quirking up an eyebrow, Anna invited, “Yes?”

“Do you think Anne would be mad if I hung out with other people?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Anna shrugged. “I don’t know, Anne’s pretty unpredictable. But it’s like Cathy says, she can’t control who you hang out with.”

“So…” Kit waited for confirmation. “Does that mean it’s okay to be friends with other people?”

“Of course Kit, you can be friends with whoever you want,” Anna told the sophomore. The two of them had known each other practically their whole lives, Anna remembering Kit from when she was a toddler. It gave her a lot of teasing material, but usually she left that to Anne. If Kit wanted to branch out and meet new people, Anna would support her without hesitation.

Unbeknownst to Anna, Kit already had an idea of who she wanted to befriend. In her mind, it made perfect sense. Together, the six of them all shared the misfortune of dating Henry, so why shouldn’t they be friends? Or at least acquaintances. She had never told Anne, but Kit found her rivalry with Jane and Catherine stupid. They had so much they could relate to, why let past bad blood govern their relationships?

Anna waved Kit goodbye when they reached her door. “I’ll see you tomorrow Kit,” Anne called, watching to make sure Kitty got inside safely.

“Bye Anna!” she replied, unlocking the door and moving inside. Once the door was closed, Kit let her backpack slide off her back as a smirk grew on her face. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Anne kept turning around in her seat to watch the cafeteria doors, completely ignoring her lunch. Whatever Cathy and Anna were talking about faded into white noise as she peered through waves of students passing through the doors. She couldn’t focus on anything, frantically searching for any sign of her cousin. “You alright Anne?” Anna asked, breaking her conversation with Cathy.

Removing her gaze from the crowds, Anne faced her confused friends. “Have either of you seen Kitty today?”

“I saw her during passing period,” Cathy commented, twirling a pen in her hand.

“Right,” Anne mumbled, shooting another glance at the door. “She’s late for lunch.”

“Maybe a teacher’s holding her up,” Anna offered,

Still, Anne was unconvinced. “You think something’s wrong?”

“No,” Cathy waved her hand. “Kit can take care of herself, Anne.”

“But what if -”

“But what if nothing,” Cathy cut her off. “She’s not eating lunch with us for one day. It’s not a big deal. You’ll see her after school Anne, and everything will be fine.”

Sighing, Anne shook her head, glancing at the empty seat next to her. “Everything will be fine,” she told herself.

As for Kit, she was on a mission. Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon tended to stay away from others, not interacting all that much with the student body. They were both reserved, so Kit didn’t expect to be able to confront them easily. It was pure dumb luck she ended up where she did.

While leaving her classroom for lunch, Kit had been swarmed by a bunch of juniors who knocked her over without apologizing. All her books went sprawling across the floor, stepped on by her inconsiderate peers. Scrambling around, Kit tried to pick up her papers before they could be ripped or further damaged.

A hand came into view, holding her history textbook. Looking up, Kit was stunned into silence at the kind face of Jane Seymour. “You dropped this,” she prompted, holding out the book.

Hesitantly taking it, Kit murmured, “Thank you.”

Her eyes sweeping across the floor, Jane offered an apologetic glance at the mess of papers. “Do you need some help with this?”

“Uh,” Kit blanked. “That would be great!” she accepted a little too enthusiastically. Jane only chuckled and bent down to help grab the papers.

It occurred to Kit for a moment that Jane might not know who she is. But when Jane handed her the last of the papers and said, “There you go Katherine,” that thought went flying out the window. Biting her lip, Kit awkwardly shifted on her feet. She could leave right now and go have lunch with her friends or… Jane seemed to catch on to what Kit was waiting for. “Would you like to eat lunch with me?” she asked.

Without a second of hesitation, Kit nodded her head. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Well okay then,” Jane grinned, leading Kit away from the cafeteria. “Catherine and I - Catherine de Aragon,” she clarified as if Kit didn’t already know, “we sit outside. It’s peaceful and not many people come to bother us.”

“Sounds nice,” Kit replied, her voice still soft. Jane noticed but decided not to comment on it. She wasn’t one to judge people.

When the two of them made it out of the building, Jane was flagged over by Catherine de Aragon who was sitting on a blanket under a tree. It seemed like she had set up for a picnic, even though they were still on school grounds in the middle of a school day. “You brought a guest today?” Catherine raised her eyebrows at Jane, her lips tugging upwards.

“Sure did,” Jane replied, plopping down next to her. “You can sit down wherever you like Katherine.”

Awkwardly shuffling to the opposite side of the blanket, Kit sat down and hugged her backpack to her chest. She didn’t have any lunch, as per usual, so she used her backpack as a barrier between her and the other two girls. Suddenly, she cursed herself for wanting to make new friends. Where had this social anxiety been before she got here?

Catherine and Jane seemed to notice her awkwardness (who wouldn’t?), so they attempted to get rid of it. “So Katherine…” the other Catherine started. “Why’d you want to have lunch with us today?”

Mumbling lightly, Kit felt a small blush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. “What?” Jane prodded, unable to hear Kit’s answer.

“I wanted to make new friends,” she told them, burying her head in her arms.

The two seniors shared a glance before turning their attention back to Kit. “Of course you can be our friend,” Jane assured her.

“Really?” Kit peeked her head up.

“Sure, why not,” Catherine answered. “You seem nice enough, and there’s no reason for us not to be friends.”

Frowning, Kit picked at her fingernails. “But Anne.”

Visibly, Jane flinched and Catherine’s face morphed into a snarl. “You’re not her,” Jane spoke calmly, putting a hand on Catherine’s arm. “If you want to be our friend, we’re not going to let that come between us.”

For a moment, Kit almost ran away. This is what she wanted, but now that it was being presented to her, she was terrified. She had never had friends that weren’t also Annie’s. She didn’t know how to start her new friendships other than with, “Okay.”

Catherine and Jane shared a glance. “Okay.”

“Well this is going to be awfully confusing for me,” Jane laughed, “Two C/Katherines!”

“Oh!” Kit perked up, “You can call me Kat. Or Kit. Or Kitty. Any of them work.” Then to herself, “Wow, I have a lot of nicknames.”

Chuckling, Catherine stuck out her hand. “Kat’ll do. Well Kat Howard, I’m your new friend Catherine.”

“And I’m your new friend Jane. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

At the end of the day, Kit almost screamed in surprise when Anne practically rugby tackled her to the ground. “Where were you!” Anne demanded, hugging Kit tightly. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine Annie,” Kit assured her cousin.

“Then where were you?” Anna stood beside Anne, watching the scene unfurl. Anne was huffing, her face red, a cross between relief, fear, and anger. The Boleyn girl cared so much about her cousin, but sometimes she became overbearing.

Hugging Anne back, Kit explained, “With my new friends.”

“You have new friends!” Anne brightened, pulled Kit closer. “That’s amazing! Do I know them?”

Letting out an awkward laugh, Kit prepared for the worst. “Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon,” she admitted.

Freezing, Anne slowly pulled away from Kit. “What?” she asked, her face as hard as stone.

“Jane Seymour and Catherine de -”

“I heard what you said!” Anne screeched. “You of all people, Kit!” Turning around and stomping a few feet away, Anne screamed into her hands. She spun back around to face Kit and marched up to her. “Those girls aren’t worthwhile friends. They don’t actually care about your wellbeing -”

“How do you know that!” Kit fired back in frustration. “You’re blinded by this stupid fued that’s been going on for years. They were nice to me and we didn’t even have to talk about Henry or any of that.”

Clenching her fists, Anne tried to stay calm. “I don’t trust them Kit. I don’t feel comfortable letting you hang around them.”

“Good thing it’s not your choice then,” Kit stood up for herself. Anna continued watching to the side, frantically texting Cathy for backup. She wasn’t getting any response.

Yelling through her teeth, Anne pulled at her hair. “Kitty, my dearest cousin,” she spoke in a sweet voice. “You know I love you.”

“Don’t you dare and try and guilt me.”

There was a moment where Anne almost continued, but her conscience kicked in. She knew Kit’s history with guilt tripping, and that was a line she would never cross. Before either of them could make another comment, Cathy came bursting out the school doors, sprinting towards them faster than she had ever run in her life. Anna looked up from her phone which she had been repeatedly texting Cathy on. “Cathy? What’s wrong?” Anna called.

Gasping for air as she slid to a stop in front of them, Cathy’s face was ghostly white. “Christina Denmark is missing. The police think she’s been murdered.”

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

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thenicestnonbinary @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @frogs-in-clogs @timetoriseabove

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #murder myster au #high school au #parrlyn #welcome to the murder house #the trigger warnings make it sound worse than it is #i mean it's not all sunshine and rainbows #but it's not super dark either #this has been sitting in my drive for so long #but its time i finally posted it #please don't let this flop #because i have such good plans for it #this is a serious murder mystery #and i have a lot planned for it

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just-my-sickly-pride · 5 years ago

Text

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.

#queen fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #rpf #mine #smut

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lukatheselkie · 4 years ago

Text

PruMano Week Day One - Books

@prumano-week

This got super out of hand length wise, but I’m VERY happy with it! College AU. Romano wears glasses like the cute nerd he is.

Warnings: Mentions of bullying. Hinted neglect if you squint. There’s a brief moment at the end with a scene of someone doing something without being given consent.

“Ouch!” Lovino growls under his breath, bending down to pick up the book that hit him in the head. He storms around to the other side to give whoever did it a piece of his mind, but the aisle is empty. He forces himself to take a deep, calming breath, and places the book in its proper spot. He scoffs, shaking his head as he starts tidying them up again. Some people just don’t know how to respect books! He loves books, which is why he jumped on the opportunity to become the library assistant at his University when the job came up. He gets paid to be around something he adores! What a perfect job. But that doesn’t mean it’s problemless. Flying books aren’t commonplace, but they aren’t exactly rare either. This is the first to hit him in the head though. He hopes some jerks aren’t playing a game. ‘Hit the nerd. One hundred points if you hit him, a hundred more if you do it without being noticed by him.’

Not that he hasn’t been used for such a game before. He supposes it comes from his love of knowledge, and the fact he’s blind without his glasses. Thick glasses and an unquenchable thirst for information is enough to have him labeled as a nerd. Though this is the first time he’s been targeted since starting at this university, if he is being targeted. There’s a possibility it was an accident. Maybe the person ran away because they were scared of how he might react. He rounds the corner of the aisle, and his blood both boils and runs cold at the sight in front of him. In the area meant for seats, there’s a ton of books in the floor. A few piles vaguely resemble destroyed buildings. His left eye twitches, and his right hand jerks. Who in their right mind uses a bunch of books as a domino war?

His question doesn’t go unanswered long, as someone sits up from one of the piles. “Time guys! I zink ve’re all dead!” More heads pop up, and Lovino’s other eye twitches. He’s going to strangle them all! But their ringleader is first for certain. He steps toward the mess, and the first person glances around the room, seeing him. His eyes widen comically, and he shrieks. “Abort! Leave! Ve’ve been caught! Angry librarian, coming right at me! Save jourselves! I’m a goner!” He falls back into the pile of books dramatically, hand on his forehead in a fake faint. Everyone one else takes off, but not without Lovino taking note of a feature on each that stands out. One has spikey hair, another has thick eyebrows, the third has long wavy hair, the fourth has a scar over his right eye, and the fifth has a big bow in her hair. He turns his attention back to the man laying in the largest pile of books, pretending to have fainted.

“Get up. Now. And listen to my instructions. Otherwise you’re getting strangled for ruining my library.” The man stands up cautiously, and Lovino looks him over with a scowl. He’s taller than him, and more muscular, but at the same time he looks like a big gust of wind could blow him over. He realizes it’s because he’s an albino. That’s not going to stop his punishment though! Don’t make messes you can’t clean. He tilts his chin up to look the man in the eye, and forgets how to breathe. His eyes are beautiful rubies, and his hair spun cotton. Oh god. I really am a helpless bisexual. After a moment, he figures out how to breathe again, and lays into him. “You will place each and every one of these books back on the shelf where they belong! I don’t care if it takes you days! Weeks! This was your idea, so I won’t let you get by without taking responsibility! Your friends can have detention. Be glad you don’t get it too! I will help you by telling you where they go, but that’s all the help you get. Now get busy!”

“Yessir!” He snaps a salute, then frantically grabs an armful of books. Lovino cringes at his treatment of them.

“Not like that.” His voice is softer now, more exasperated than anything. “Here. Let me show you.” He picks up a book of his own, then another. He places the second on top of the first, making sure the spines are facing the same direction. He gathers a few more in this fashion, and holds them out to the albino. “Place the ones in your arms down gently. Take these. Read the last name of the author and find the right spot. I’ll follow behind you to make sure you get them right.” Gilbert tilts his head slightly, confused. This man was just yelling at him, and now he’s helping? After saying he wouldn’t?

“Jou must really care about zese books.” He places the pile in his arms down, and takes the ones offered to him. A fond smile spreads across the stranger’s lips.

“I do.” He sighs quietly. “I wish more people appreciated them. But no one seems to care about reading anymore. The world has become too fast-paced to sit and read a nice book. It doesn’t even have to be factual. It would be nice to see someone like you sit down and read any book, even a fantasy one.” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. “But I guess they’re going out of style. Not many people care anymore.” His eyes open just long enough for him to dust a book off, and hug it tightly to his chest. “I’ve failed you. I’m sorry.” His bottom lip trembles. “My only escape.” Gilbert feels like he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t, especially considering who it is he’s watching.

He backs away slowly, and starts placing the books back where they belong, triple checking each one before moving on. He doesn’t want to cause the librarian anymore stress. He feels awful for their impromptu game now. Books might be objects to play with to him, but to people like… what’s his name? Lovino? He thinks that’s what’s on his name tag. To people like Lovino, books are one of the most important things to exist. And an escape. But an escape from what? He glances back at the man, and he suddenly understands. From people like me. It’s a sad realization, one that makes him want to apologize for being so awful. But will he even listen? He doubts it, so he keeps his mouth shut and just works.

Gilbert has learned two very important things from the past month of putting books up every day after class for an hour. One: Lovino has a younger brother. Two: that younger brother receives much more attention than he does. Which expands on his attachment to books. He’s most definitely lonely, but he likely won’t ever admit it. He’s probably felt alone since his little brother came along, and being distanced against his will in school because of his glasses didn’t help any, he imagines. He feels bad for the man. He wants to show him that he isn’t alone, but every time he tries to befriend him, he’s cruelly cut off. It’s not his fault though. He’s been conditioned. Everyone prefers his brother. Why should he believe anyone that wants to be his friend now won’t ignore him later? Gilbert grips the book in his hand tightly. He knows how that feels, to a lesser extent.

Ludwig isn’t albino. He’s always had the favour of their father because of that. But he’s also stronger, and more handsome. Two things that draw in attention from others. He’s aware of it, though, unlike Lovino’s brother. And Ludwig makes it up to him the best he can. Besides, he does have a few friends! Ones that don’t mind being with him. He might not be like Ludwig, but he’s still active in university activities. That gets him plenty of attention. Lovino doesn’t have that. And he hates people that do. Rightfully so, because from what he can gather, they used to bully the Italian. He places the book where it belongs, and goes to get another stack of them. He casually flicks his eyes up to the desk where Lovino is, and chokes on his own saliva.

His eyes are closed, his glasses are skewed, his lips are parted slightly, and he’s got a book in his hands. But most noticeable of all is his shirt. The left side of his collar is pushed down, exposing his collarbone and shoulder. Gilbert steps closer out of instinct, and doesn’t stop until he’s just on the other side of the desk. His skin is a bit lighter there, but not much. There’s freckles across his shoulder, up his neck a bit, and down his arm. He’s not been this close to Lovino since he was yelling at him. His eyelashes are long. They’re pretty. And his lips aren’t as thin as he thought. Maybe that’s just a side effect of his perpetually agitated expression. The door slams open, and he scrambles away from Lovino quickly, scooping up an armful of books on his way to the shelves. “Brother? Why are you sleeping? I brought you some gifts, silly!”

He peeks between the shelves at the two of them. He’s not sure why he’s not out in the open, but this feels important. It’s the first time he’s seen the brothers in the same room together. Lovino is rubbing his eyes, grumbling about something. Probably being woken up so rudely. Gilbert can’t even begin to imagine why he’s sleeping at the job he loves. Maybe there’s stress at home? That would explain why his brother’s here. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were sleeping! I wouldn’t have come if I knew!” His lips turn down in a pout, and his bottom lip trembles. Lovino sighs loud enough for Gilbert to hear him.

“No, I’m sorry. You’re here to give me gifts. I shouldn’t be rude.” He rubs at his eyes again. “Please don’t cry. I love you.” The younger of the two smiles brightly, all signs of sorrow gone. Gilbert clenches his fist. That little brat! It’s all a show! He wasn’t about to cry at all! It’s a way to make Lovino refrain from being grumpy!

“Ve~! Here!” He hands him a bag, grinning widely. “Read my note first! I have to go study now, bye! Love you!” He pecks him on the cheek, and runs off. Gilbert watches Lovino closely. He’s still just a bit asleep, judging by his slow movements. He pulls out a piece of paper, and flushes crimson after a few seconds of reading it. He wonders what’s on it, but doesn’t let it bother him. Lovino sighs again, shaking his head. He pulls out a mini flag, waves it around with a grimace, and places it in a little cup he keeps his writing utensils in. He doesn’t bring anything else out, despite looking through the contents. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and goes back to reading his book. Deciding nothing else interesting is going to happen, Gilbert starts putting the books up once again.

When he comes out for another pile, Lovino clears his throat. “You can leave early today.” Gilbert turns to him, brows furrowed.

“I’m supposed to be here for anozer half hour.”

“And I said you can leave early. What don’t you understand about that?” He sounds mentally exhausted. He decides not to fight him on it, though he wants to stay longer. On his way out, he is filled with excitement upon seeing the bisexual flag now in the cup of pencils and pens.

“Get away from me!” Gilbert frowns. He knows that voice. He’s never seen Lovino outside of the library though. He must be on his way to it. He follows the voice, readying himself for a fight. “No! Stop! I told you to get away from me!” He sounds like he’s about to cry. He looks like it, too, when he comes into view.

“Hey! He told jou to get avay, so jou better do zat!” The man pinning Lovino to the wall curses, and runs off. Gilbert wants to run after him, show him what he thinks about him tormenting his friend, but Lovino’s well-being is more important than that. He holds out his hand to him, and gives him a reassuring smile. “Are jou okay? He didn’t do anyzing bad to jou, did he?” His smile and stomach fall when Lovino nods, letting out a quiet sob. “Hey. Come here.” He opens his arms wide. Without hesitation, Lovino runs to him, burying his face in his chest. He rubs his back gently, hugging him tightly. “Jou don’t have to tell me vhat happened. But jou can if jou vant. I’m here to protect jou.” The Italian starts speaking, but he trips over his words too much for them to be comprehensible. After a moment, he takes a deep breath.

“H-he tugged on my curl! He saw the bisexual flag Vene got me, a-and thought I would be interested in him, j-just because I’m bisexual! I-I have standards! And th-those do not include p-people that do th-that!” He dissolves into tears again. Gilbert starts singing, being sure to do it quietly so he doesn’t interrupt any classes. He rocks them back and forth, hoping to calm him down. Slowly, Lovino’s tears dry, and his sobs turn into hiccups. Those go away too though, and when they do he looks up at Gilbert. The German smiles at him, and gently wipes at the tears that are left on his cheeks.

“Better?” Lovino nods slowly. After a moment, he gives Gilbert an awkward smile.

“Yeah. Sorry you had to see me like that.” He pushes Gilbert’s hands away, though he really doesn’t want to. “I can get my own tears.” He wipes at his face quickly, knocking his glasses in doing so.

“Vhoa zere. Don’t vant to lose zose!” Gilbert laughs, trying to make light of the situation. Lovino shakes his head to get him to stop. “Sorry.” He bows his head. “Zat vas in poor taste.” He looks at Lovino again. “Vhat does tugging on jour curl do?” A heavy silence falls between them, where they’re just staring at each other. An uncomfortable amount of time passes before Gilbert decides to take it back. “Nevermind. Zat vas also in-”

“It turns me on.” Out of all the things…

“So he violated jou.” It’s not a question. Lovino’s bottom lip trembles. He hugs him tighter, nudging his head with his hand. That’s all the encouragement he needs to bury his face in the crook of his neck. They stay like that for awhile, just enjoying the comfort of each other.

“Gilbert,” he grumbles into his chest. He brings a hand up to his hair in response, being careful not to touch his curl. “I guess this answers my question.” He laughs quietly, brokenly.

“Question?”

“Mmm yeah. I’m sorry for telling you to leave yesterday. I didn’t want you to. It’s just Vene wrote me this really embarrassing note, and gave me all these… things. He mentioned you in the note. Specifically, he mentioned the possibility of me liking you. Romantically. I wasn’t thinking about it until then, and I got upset with you for no reason. I know now it’s because I didn’t want to admit my feelings to myself. But I can’t deny them anymore. My question was if I had them, and I have my answer. But I have a question for you. Will you go out with me?” He looks into his eyes earnestly. Gilbert’s heart skips a beat, and he nods wordlessly. A genuine smile spreads across his lips. “Thank you for caring more about me than you do about Vene. You’re the first.” He nuzzles his nose against the base of his throat.

“Jou’re going to have to stop zat right now. I’m sensitive zere.” Lovino giggles.

“Good.” He tilts his head up at him, like he did when they first met. But this time, he voices what he’s thinking. “Kiss me.” Gilbert doesn’t have to be told twice. He closes the distance between them, putting as much care and love into the kiss as he can.

#prumanoweek2020 #day 1 #prumano #aph prussia #aph romano #aph hetalia

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agentbarton12 · 5 years ago

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Die Hard or Not At All - 1

bucky x black!reader, avengers/brooklyn 99 crossover because why the hell not?

summary: you are a shield agent caught by the nypd where you are reunited with your old high school best friend, jake peralta. investigating the same robberies, you team up and go undercover as a married couple to infiltrate a crime mob. the only problem? bucky barnes, your collegue and love of your life was assigned as security. this was going to be fine.

warnings: swearing, fluff, dumbassery, fake marriage, idiots in love, jealousy

word count: 2.7K

a/n: here it is. this probably gonna be a three parter but we'll see. send an ask if you wanna be tagged!

inspired by the amazing works of @mypassionsarenysins, @seasaurusrrex, @sunmoonandbucky, @maarrvveell and @morsmordrethings

series masterlist | masterlist

you were gonna get it this time. fury was going to be up your ass as soon as he found out. but really, you were too tired to care.

you were one of shield's top agents and were investigating a string of robberies that could be linked to a major crime syndicate, the iron shadow, that shield has been chasing for months. it was a tough job, doubled by the fact that you were doing this alone was not making this any easier.

given your current predicament, you maybe should have asked for back up when you had the chance.

you dropped your head on the table you were seated at and allowed yourself a couple seconds of rest before the bad part started.

the door to your left opened and without lifting your head from the desk, you heard footsteps stop in front of you, on the other side of the table.

“hello, i am detective charles boyle.”

yeah, fury was not gonna be happy about this.

you groaned.

***

“listen, i just need you to tell me what you were doing at that bank and maybe i can let you go.”

you groaned for what seemed to be the tenth time in what only must have been twenty minutes. “i already told you, looking for the bad guys, same as you.” you gestured to him and your handcuffs rattled.

he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “you say that but you were on the scene of the crime before we were notified of the robbery and yet you missed the robbers? sounds suspicious.”

hearing him say that, you sighed because he was making sense. “they’re good criminals! that’s not my fault!”

placing his hands on the desk, he leaned down. “how about you tell me who you work for?”

“i want to, but i don’t know if i have the permission to. my boss is...difficult. he’d hate if i gave out that kind of info without expressed permission. hey!” you perked up at the sudden idea you got. “phone call! i get a phone call, right? or is that just tv stuff cause i haven’t actually been arrested before.” the detective nodded. “great. can i call my boss then?”

detective boyle sighed before standing up straight. “i’m giving you ten minutes then i’m coming back in, got it?”

you nodded your head and accepted the phone he pulled from his pocket. when he left the interrogation room, you debated on who you should call. clint was out since he was away on a recon mission with nat, and you were pretty sure you heard something about sam and steve being out of town. you sighed as you realised that you’re only options were bucky and fury himself, and there was no way you could ask bucky to help you. not again.

so, ready to face the wrath of your boss because of pride, you dialed fury’s number and placed the phone by your ear.

it didn’t even ring once, before you were immediately redirected to voicemail.

“you know who this is, and if you don’t you’re in the motherfucking wrong place.” you rolled your eyes as you waited for the dial tone.

“hey, fury, i know you’re listening to this. it’s y/l/n. i may have been compromised. i’m in no danger and no one knows who i actually am, but i’d really like to get out of these handcuffs, so can i tell them? pretty please? oh yeah,” you said as an afterthought, “i’ve been arrested. some precinct in brooklyn. i just need your okay, okay? okay, bye!”

you hung up and left the phone on the table. it was way longer than ten minutes when detective boyle came back.

“you’re lawyer’s here,” was all he said before stepping aside for someone else.

your eyebrows furrowed. “lawyer...?” you muttered to yourself in confusion. then you saw who walked in and you groaned.

bucky barnes stood at the door in a navy blue suit and dress shoes looking unfairly handsome, in your opinion. he had on a pair of black tinted sunglasses and a glove on his left hand, probably as a disguise. you didn’t fail to catch the subtle lift of his eyebrow as he looked at you in silent question. you playfully rolled your eyes in response.

bucky turned back to the detective and asked, “may i get a moment alone with my client?”

you assume detective boyle agreed, because next thing you knew, bucky was shutting the door and walking towards you.

“really, doll? you had to get yourself in trouble on thursday? you know thursday’s are my me days.”

you scoffed playfully. “please, barnes, you and i both know you had no plans. your life revolves around helping me.” you fluttered your eyelashes at him.

he grinned. “that so?”

you nodded. “oh yeah. speaking of, how are you helping me exactly?” you raised your hands to show off your cuffs to him.

“maria convinced fury to let you confess and try to get some sort of partnership going with whoever is working on the case. team up, take down iron shadow together.”

you nodded along. “tell them what we know, they tell us what they know, okay.” you let out an involuntary yawn and shook yourself awake.

it was then that bucky looked at you properly. your hair was a knotted mess and he took pity on you for when you would have you comb it. there were visible bags under your eyes and he worried about the last time you slept. “god, you look like shit.”

you chuckled. “good to see you too.”

“seriously, y/n, when was the last time you slept?”

straightening your back, you said, “sleep is for the weak and mama ain’t raise no bitch.“

bucky rolled his eyes at your stubbornness. you were always like this. whether it was with training, or paperwork, you poured yourself completely into your work and wouldn’t come out until you were literally passing out.

(you did once, and bucky won’t admit how much it scared him thinking you were dead. he made sure to give you grief about it when you finally woke up after 57 hours of sleep.)

detective boyle came back into the room and bucky cleared his throat. “she’s ready to talk.”

charles looked visibly confused. “really? what about her boss?” he asked, crossing his arms and eyeing them suspiciously.

“he gave the okay. she’ll answer your questions, on one condition.”

“well, what’s that?”

“you give us all the information you have on this case in exchange for all we know.”

charles’ eyes narrowed at this. “and why would i do that?”

“because we work for shield! i’m an agent and he’s an avenger and we could help each other!” you blurted from behind the table, causing both men to look back at you. “sorry,” you said raising your hands in defense, “i wanted to speed this up, you guys aren’t the ones in handcuffs.”

detective boyle looked between the two of you. “you guys are—you guys are avengers?” he asked a little breathlessly.

“he is, not me,” you corrected, pointing between you and bucky. “show him,” you instructed to bucky.

he rolled his eyes as he took his sunglasses off and you swore you heard charles let out a squeak. then, when bucky removed his suit jacket and glove, detective boyle gasped. “i arrested avengers.”

he froze and stared straight ahead in shock.

“uhh...” bucky drawled, confused.

picking at your nails, you said, “just give him a sec.”

bucky did and it didn’t help his confusion. after nearly two minutes, you spoke up again, “hey, check if he has the keys to these on him.”

“yeah, okay.” bucky nodded and patted charles down until he found them in his back pocket. it was an awkward ordeal getting them out and you could not stop cackling.

“i swear, y/n, i will swallow these keys.”

“do it, coward,” you dared deadpan.

bucky sighed. “i hate you,” he said as he moved to unlock the cuffs.

“lies.”

“how can you be so sure?”

you weren’t. because if you were, bucky would be your boyfriend and not your best friend. but, you obviously knew that bucky did love you, platonically at least.

“because, you’re here and saving my ass. again.”

“always, doll,” he said with a slight smile. your heart jumped a little and you smiled back in response. you shook your hands out as the handcuffs fell from your wrists. you dropped your arms to you sides and leaned back in the chair. “oh, that feels better.” that’s when you remembered that you two were not alone. you glanced at charles. “we should make sure he’s breathing.”

bucky looked at him with his head tilted to the side. “i don’t think he is.”

you groaned and stood up from you chair. you walked to charles and slapped him across the face.

at the same time bucky was yelling your name, detective boyle screamed, “i arrested avengers!”

“yeah, you did, buddy,” you agreed, placing your hand on his shoulder. he followed your movement with awe in his eyes. “you wanna help some avengers too?”

“do i?” he asked excited.

“great, now take us to whoever’s in charge, please.”

“yes, yes, of course, miss avenger ma’am, but i’d like to show off to my best friend a little. can i put you back in those handcuffs?”

you looked back at bucky who shrugged in response. shrugging as well, you turned back to boyle. “why not, detective? i’m all for messing with friends.”

“oh my god, jake is gonna freak,” he confessed as he moved to get the handcuffs. he placed them back on your wrists and he led out of the room.

“ms avenger?” bucky teased from behind you.

you smirked. “honestly, i kind of like it.”

charles led you through the halls and into the bullpen where they passed many officers staring at bucky in shock.

“jakey!” he called out when you made it to the bullpen. a man with dark hair turned around from his conversation to look at charles. “you’ll never guess the arrest i just—”

“—peralta?” you exclaimed incredulously.

the man’s, jake’s, eyes widened as he looked at you. “y/l/n?”

charles looked at the two of you with shock evident on his face. “no, no, no, what is happening?”

jake walked towards you. “is it really you?”

“is it really you?” you countered.

“it is really all of us. can someone explain what is going on?” charles asked.

“um, this is y/n, my best friend from high school,” jake answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

to you, it looked as though charles short circuited. “best friend? best friend? best friend? cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, yeah sure, cool.”

jake waved him off. “don’t worry about him, he’s like that.” you nodded, glancing at charles cautiously. “so how have you been? it’s been a while, right? what are you doing here and—OH MY GOD IS THAT AN AVENGER?”

you looked to your right where bucky had been standing silently for the interaction. nodding your head, you looked back at jake. “yeah, uh, old bestie meet new bestie.” you pointed between the two and jake’s jaw dropped.

“you’re best friends with an avenger?”

“uh, all the avengers actually. i’m a shield agent.”

“what? you’re a shield agent?” you nodded with big smile. “this is insane!” he then turned around dramatically to face the rest of the bullpen with his arms raised to his side who were watching in shock. “to all the people that said the only cool people i know are from work, i bet you all feel stupid! hah!”

he turned around abruptly and stuck his hand out for bucky to shake with a big dopey grin on his face. “detective jake peralta, nice to meet you.”

you watched as bucky schooled his features and clenched his jaw. “james,” he said accepting jake’s hand. your eyebrows furrowed. bucky never introduced himself as james to anyone. you didn’t understand why he was being cold. you shot him a look but he ignored you by looking straight ahead. rolling your eyes, you looked back at jake. you pointed at him. “i need to speak with—”

“woah, are those handcuffs?”

charles spoke up for the first time in what seemed like forever. “uh yeah, i arrested her.”

“why would you arrest avengers?”

“caught her at a crime scene, thought she was a criminal, cleared everything up and then i thought it’d be cool if i walked in here with avengers in handcuffs.”

jake wagged his index finger at charles. “that...was a great idea, sorry i didn’t appreciate it properly.”

“no worries, jakey.”

you rattled your handcuffs. “yeah, i was tracking this crime mob, led me to the bank but they had already gotten away and then nypd shows up and i get arrested as a primary suspect.” the hint of pride in your voice was not lost to everyone else.

“noice,” jake praised.

“not something to brag about, y/n,” bucky chided.

“definitely not,” you backtrack. “uh, we need to speak with your boss.”

a large man with broad shoulders walked up to them. “that would be me. captain raymond holt.” he held out his hand for you to shake which you took, shocked.

you stood transfixed staring at him because of the similarities between him and fury. you snapped yourself out of it and apologised. “sorry, you just reminded me of my boss.”

“no worries,” he said politely.

“yeah, never mind. agent y/n y/l/n. we’ve been tracking this crime mob for a while now and we have reason to believe that they are linked to the string of robberies you’re detectives are investigating.”

“cool, cool, cool, no doubt, no doubt,” jake said from behind you. you ignored him and continued. you were in agent mode™️; this was when you were at your best, no matter how tired you were and bucky could only watch in awe. he loved getting to see you like this.

“shield would like all the information you have on the case.”

“oh?” raymond’s eyebrow lifted.

“the avengers need our help,” jake squeaked out.

“what do you require? our files or detectives?” raymond asked holding his hands in front of him.

“both, preferably. we wanted to team up. we tell you what we know, you tell us what you know, we take these guys down together.”

a woman in a pantsuit spoke from where she was standing a little ways from you. “the avengers need our help?”

“dope,” another woman in a leather jacket and curly hair.

you looked back to captain holt. “you don’t have to agree, obviously.”

“uh, we want to, obviously,” jake interjected.

captain holt didn’t answer immediately and you looked back to bucky who gave you a reassuring smile. you nodded slightly and turned back ahead. it annoyed you on most days, but when it came down to it, you were glad bucky was always there for you.

captain holt cleared his throat. “well, if my detectives are available, we would love to assist you.”

jake jumped in between the two of you. “we are!” he exclaimed. “rosa just has a murder case; hitchcock and scully never do anything; and amy and sarge have a boring drug bust! i mean, what’s a little cocaine in the grand scheme of things?”

“illegal,” bucky deadpanned.

raymond thought about it for another moment before straightening his back. “the 99th precinct would be honoured to assist you.”

the bullpen erupted in cheers, but no one was louder than jake. he hollered and whooped and danced around the bullpen. “you’re welcome, bitches! you know why? cause i! know! avengers!”

when the commotion died down, you commanded the attention of everyone. “okay, listen up!” the detectives looked at you. “a car’s coming to take us to shield hq so you better be ready to leave when bucky gives the say so. now, someone get these handcuffs off me, so we can put some criminals in them!”

“so cool,” jake praised. “you sound like john mclane.”

“that is totally what i was going for!”

taglist: @dianadov, @morsmordrethings, @smol-flower-kiddo, @darkness-doughter, @winterprincess-sky, @pinknerdpanda, @holybatflapexpert, @farfromjustordinary, @thegriefcollector, @marvelstank

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jamaiskookie · 4 years ago

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reese-with-her-spoon [ksj x reader]

👾 warnings: really shitty writing, honestly not my best work. :-((

👾 word count: 4.5k

👾 genre: fluff!!! crack!!! all the good shit!!!

👾 A/N: kicking the week off with some fLUFF to prepare you for the ~spook~ that is arriving soon. hope you enjoy this! why do i feel like i have to mention joon’s bonsais in every fic

main masterlist. spooktober masterlist.

👾 synopsis: in hindsight, attempting to get back at the biggest prankster you know during halloween was probably not your most stellar idea.

“Kim Seokjin!” You screech furiously, pacing outside his ridiculously large cottage-style home. Passerbys worriedly look your way, but you cannot bring yourself to be embarrassed. The house stands still. Nobody seems to be moving, much less rushing to get the door, despite the fact that you’ve pressed the doorbell countless times already.

“KIM SEOKJIN!” You yell again, glaring at the house as if your steely gaze will force him to come out. “What the hell could you be doing?” You mutter to yourself. “It’s not like you have a life or anything.” You reach out, stabbing the doorbell again.

“I can hEAR the goddamn bell ringing inside come get the dOOR JIN!” Someone on the inside is stomping down the doors and you hear a scuffling accompanied with whispers. Smirking satisfyingly, you bang the door. “Good, now come out, you coward!”

The door opens… to someone that is not Seokjin. Kim Seokjoong stands on the other side, quizzically raising an eyebrow at you.

“Y/N, hey- wow. He did that?” Kim Seokjoong is Seokijn’s older brother, a self taught coder who basically spends every waking moment of his day on his computer. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him out of the house.

His eyes are fixed above your eyes, and he smiles, quietly giggling to himself. You pull your hands back, reminding yourself that you need to save your temper for the real culprit.

“Would you just-” You point inside, not meeting his eyes. “- let me in?” Seokjoong nods, stifling a laugh. You glare at him, and he promptly shuts his mouth. “Aren’t you supposed to be in university now, you unemployed leech?” Seokjoong flinches and mumbles something about how you’re supposed to respect your elders.

“Here, come in.” He says, sighing. “Just don’t murder him in the house, okay? Mom’ll get mad.” Seokjoong stands aside and lets you in, looking around outside and shutting the door, putting a finger to his lips. “He’s been upstairs cackling his ass off since you started screaming and pounding the door twenty minutes ago.” You look up at the ceiling, only to wince at the screaming picture of a witch stuck on the ceiling.

The Kim household during Halloween season is quite- festive. Pumpkins, witch hats, ghost cutouts and much more are scattered and adorned all around the house. You just know this is Jin’s doing… the doctor printout with cat ears on the wall that reads ‘I’m A Purr-amedic!’ gives it all away. You squirm when you have to pull away fake cobwebs out of your face to go up the stairs.

“So, how are you going to do it this time? Sneak attack, retaliate? Do me a favour and don’t douse him with a bucket of syrup like you did last time. He was sticky for weeks, and we had an ant infestation.” Seokjoong pants and follows you up the stairs, questioning you. You stalk up the stairs, gripping the handrail tightly.

“- Okay you’re starting to look scary now. Please don’t kill him.” He says, and you don’t bother giving him a response.

“Which one is he in?” You eventually say, looking around the closed doors in the hallway. Seokjoong turns to look at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You’ve been up here thousands of times, Y/N.” You flick his forehead and he lets out a cry of pain.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Which room is he hiding in?” You ask. He hesitates and you, exasperatedly, point to the top of your head. Guiltily, he points to the furthest door to the right, looking up at the ceiling and fiddling at the hem of his shirt. Muttering a rather curt ‘thanks’, you stomp over to the purple and orange decorated door that is labelled “SPOOKY SUPPLIES.” You pause to sigh at Jin’s stupidity, then you fling the door open with a bang.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH-” As expected, Seokjin is inside, wearing his worn out black hoodie and sitting on a pile of Halloween decorations. You put your hands on your hips and glare at him, but his screaming slowly turns to laughter, which just makes you even more mad.

“- Oh my god hAHHAHAHAH! You look hilarious!” He yells, slapping his thigh and laughing in his obnoxious, window wiper-like voice. “It turned out better than I thought it would!” He marvels through his laughter. Your glare turns meaner, and you stare straight into his eyes, shutting him up.

“Kim. Seokjin.”

“... Yes, my love?” He smiles innocently, batting his eyelashes. You resist the urge to slap him.

“Care to explain to me why the hell my hair is bright red?” Jin, not able to hold it in, bursts out laughing again, burying his face in his hoodie, attempting to muffle his laughter. It doesn’t work very well, and he comes back up for oxygen, taking a large breath.

“In my defence,” Good luck with that, you think. Nothing would be able to help his case and keep you from murdering him. “- I didn’t really think it would work this well!” He takes one more peek at your hair and chokes back another laugh. “Oh my god, you kinda look like a pumpkin!”

This time, instead of holding back your violent tendencies, you grab a foam pumpkin from the ground of the supply closet and hit him on the head. Unfazed, he just looks back up, still infuriatingly giggling.

“Don’t worry,” He says. “It’s not permanent.” You huff, secretly relieved. “... Well, it should be temporary. I think. Probably.” You lift the pumpkin foam decoration and hit him again. “Hey! Why are you hitting me? You look good in red! Now you can be Ronald Mcdonald for Halloween!” You raise the pumpkin (Who you have begun to affectionately call ‘Jin Hit Pumpkin’ in your head) to hit him again, but he squeaks and covers his face, so you put it down.

“I swear to god, Jin,” You scold. “If this doesn’t wash out of my hair, I will sue.” Jin looks sheepishly up at you before ducking his head down and walking out of the storage closet. He glares at Seokjoong the second he steps out, who is apologetically smiling at him.

“Traitor.” Jin mutters, stabbing a finger in his older brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry!” Seokjoon defends. “She’s real fucking scary with the red hair!” You turn over to glare at them, and the two brothers recoil, murmuring apologies. You point at Seokjin, locking your eyes with his while walking backwards down the stairs, at the exact same time.

“You. Watch your fucking back, Jin. I’ll get back at you for this.” You slowly disappear from the brothers’ eyeline, and they hear a door slamming shortly after. Seokjoong sighs and places a hand around Jin’s shoulder.

“You have weird taste in women, bro.” Jin pushes his hand off his shoulder, rolling his eyes and retreating to his room, grumbling something that Seokjoong didn’t manage to hear.

👾.

Kim Seokjin is a force to be reckoned with, even you have to admit. For someone who claims to be an unoriginal copycat, his pranks are pretty creative. You would never ever tell him this, of course, but you keep a list of the pranks he’s played on you.

It’s not much of a list, actually. More like a three notebooks’ worth of practical jokes. And after all these years, he’s somehow never repeated one of his pranks. Only the stupid, small ones, but that’s inevitable. You can’t count how many times you’ve sat on a whoopee cushion.

But also, who the fuck still uses whoopee cushions? You’re almost convinced Seokjin has a lifetime supply that he’s just trying to use up with the amount of cushions he has to go through every single year. You tap your pen against an empty page of a notebook, frustratingly chewing on your lip. This prank is a new one. Jin’s never done anything to your hair before, so should you do something to his precious hair?

Come to think of it, how on earth did he even manage to sneak into your house and replace your shampoo? Maybe you can charge him for breaking and entering. You tap at your computer and groan when Google says that a minor will mostly likely get a fine for breaking and entering. The most they can get to one year of detention punishment.

A year is hardly enough of time away from Seokjin and his stupid pranks. How much time have you wasted stressing over his jokes? You wonder. Last year, you didn’t sleep well for a good two months when he managed to stuff a walkie talkie underneath your bed.

He made creaky chicken noises while you were sleeping for two whole months before you managed to find out why the hell chicken sounds were coming from your bedroom every night. Begrudgingly, you have to admit that that one was pretty smart. But you aren’t too mad about that incident. He lost just as much sleep as you did by making those goddamn chicken noises. At the time, you asked him why he didn’t just loop a recording or something similar, but he just grinned and quipped that he didn’t think of that.

You got back at him a week later by posting a particularly ugly selfie from his middle school days on instagram. It had nearly 8,000 likes before he found you and forced you to take it down. You also got a week of detensions when he tattled on you for sharing photos without the owner’s consent, (Which is the most bullshit thing you’ve ever heard,) but it was pretty worth it.

Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, scoffing and whining when you realise again that your hair is now fucking red-! Faded red, but it still looks horrible. Maybe you should dye his hair red, just to match. Seokjoong would probably let you in if you bribed him enough- with cookies, obviously. But he’d probably look good in red hair, that insufferable, good-looking idiot. What could you do… What could you do? You drop your pen onto the notebook, and a huge grin slowly spreads on your face. You might just have an idea.

Halloween night. A time for budding teenagers to make bad decisions. Or alternatively, a time for Seokjin to go absolutely insane. You don’t know how he does it, but his parents go away every single year for the week of Halloween. He throws the craziest costume party every year, and always tries to come up with the craziest costume.

Last year he was a ‘waist of time’. Completely shirtless, he wore a belt with a watch looped around it. Not his best idea, since he had to go around the whole night explaining to people what he was dressed as. The year before he was a ‘hipster vampire’. Completely shirtless, he wore fangs with fake blood with circle sunglasses with a jet black cape wrapped around his neck, with the words ‘SAVE THE BEES’ embroidered on the back in yellow and white.

Yeah, there’s a little bit of a pattern.

“Soo, what are you doing for Halloween this year?” You sweetly ask Jin, who is walking through the hallway after slamming his locker shut. One of his hands holds the strap of his backpack, and the other hand knocks at your head. Pulling back, you stare at him weirdly.

“What are you doing.” You ask. He doesn’t respond. Seokjin leans in, curiously looking at your face. You blush, pushing him away, but he continues to look at you, tilting his head and humming to himself. “What are you doing?” You say, moving further away from him.

“You haven’t gotten rid of your red hair yet?” He says, reaching out and stroking the red hair. You slap his hand away and he retracts it, still smirking gleefully. You had spent the entire weekend before attempting to watch the red out of your hair. The result was a faded berry-black dye that’s been stained in your hair. You scowl, turning away and smacking him in the face with your hair just for good measure.

“How could I get rid of it? It won’t fucking wash off, dumbass! This is all your fault!” Jin hums thoughtfully to himself, scratching the underside of his chin. He looks like a premature grandfather recalling his days in wartime.

“Damn,” He swears under his breath. “I guess my prank backfired.”

“Backfired?” You stop in the middle of the hallway to face him, and he slowly turns around to do the same, quizzically raising an eyebrow at you. “Don’t you mean your prank was a success? I thought you’d be ecstatic to know that my hair now looks like a rotten strawberry.”

Jin shakes his head with a slight smile. “No, it backfired.”

“You look really good with red hair. This prank probably affects me more than it does you.” He says nonchalantly, turning away and walking down the hallway. Your eyes follow him, watching as Taehyung, Jin’s friend and the school’s resident art hipster launches himself on him and koala hugs him, cackling when Jin screams and starts yelling at him.

“What… What? What did he just say?” You say to yourself, blinking blankly.

Maybe your plan backfired too. You approached Jin with the intent of sabotaging his Halloween night, but what you walk away with is neither an evil plan or a satisfied smirk on your face. You spin around in a daze, heading to your calculus class with a bright red blush lining your cheeks and the beginning of a daydream starting to form in your head.

You practically collapsed in your seat, not listening to the teacher, who is currently scolding you for being late. You nod, blurting out an apology, even though you didn’t hear 90% of her rant about the significance of education and time.

“Psst!” Namjoon, the only friend both you and Jin share hisses at you, jabbing the head of his pencil into your side. You hiss back, smacking his pencil back. “Why is your hair red?” You glare his way.

“Don’t ask.” You grumble.

“... Okay then. Why are you late?” He asks. “I was going to wait for you after homeroom, but you didn’t didn’t come to your locker so I left without you.”

Disregarding his question, you lean over, propping your head onto your hands. “Are you going to come to Jin’s Halloween bash on Saturday?” Namjoon snorts, turning back to the teacher to make some quick notes in his notebook.

“Of course. Do you know how much shit I’d get if I didn’t show up? He gets so pouty and pissed about his Halloween obsession. And now I have to come up with a relatively creative and funny costume to satisfy his requirements for the stupid costume party he hosts!” He complains and whines at you. You laugh, and can’t help but agree. You’ve been forced to attend every single Halloween bash too. “You know what I came as last year, right?” He asks. “I came as a bonsai tree, and he got so mad! Said that I put “no effort” into my artistic choices. I spent like two hours glueing those leaves onto my shirt!” Namjoon huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“What do you think I should go as?” Namjoon shrugs. “You can wear whatever you want, it’s not like he’ll care about what you’re wearing. As long as you show up, he’s happy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, frowning. Namjoon immediately shakes his head at you, smiling slightly strangely.

“Nothing!”

You stare at him suspiciously, but you don’t comment further. Namjoon’s just weird like that sometimes. “Hm. Can I bounce some Halloween ideas off of you then?” He nods, shrugging to say he doesn’t mind. You lean in and whisper something into his ear with a mischievous glint in your eye. Namjoon bursts out laughing in the middle of the empty classroom when he hears what you have to say.

👾.

Another thing to add to your neverending list of things Kim Seokjin can do; Throw a party. For Halloween night, the household gets even more festive, if that’s even possible. Every inch and every corner of the front yard, interior and outerior is plastered with some kind of Halloween themed merchandise.

There’s even a large hand drawn sign outside that says ‘NO TRICK OR TREATERS PLEASE.’ Not that any sane child would ever come within a mile of this place. You could hear the blasting music from three blocks away. You wonder how long it’ll take for somebody to call the cops this year. But then again, it’s probably more likely that the police would join the party instead of arresting the partiers. God knows the police have better things to tackle on Halloween night anyways. It’s the major season for crime and stupid desicions, of course.

In your humble opinion, Halloween is the most useless holiday out of them all, with Valentine's day coming in at a close second. What’s the point of celebrating a large westernised holiday? The main purpose of Halloween is literally so children can get free candy and for college kids to get wasted and pass out on the lawn with a slutty cat outfit on.

You don’t see the point, but if you even voiced your thoughts aloud within a five mile radius of Jin, you’d get murdered. That man lives, breathes, and eats Halloween all year long. He complains about it not being October yet constantly, puts ghost stickers everywhere when September begins (For his “pre-celebration”), He’ll even buy anything that has the words ‘pumpkin spice’ on it. You’re slightly worried sometimes that it’s an actual addiction.

Hallow-diction? You’ll work on the term.

You already regret your choice of wearing heel when you trudge through the grass of Jin’s front yard, covering your eyes from the couple who is basically having clothed sex against the wall outside Jin’s home. Who knows how many blisters you’ll wake up with tomorrow morning? At least your legs look amazing.

The sky is dark and dreary, a rather fitting night for Halloween to be on, but inside the house, it’s loud and you can already hear people getting drunk and dancing. Taking in a deep breath, you push open the door.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but if anything, the inside is worse than the outside. You’d rather go back to the couple having clothed sex. People dressed in outrageous costumes are dancing on the floor to some rapper you can’t recognise. You can already spot five sexy cats, at least 5 witches, and too many angels for you to count. Maybe this is a bad idea, you think. It’s not too late to go back home, you reason with yourself in your head. The sweaty bunch of people drunk dancing and screaming is already sounding off all the SOCIAL ANXIETY QUICK RUN sirens in your brain.

But before you can turn around and give into your instincts, a hand clamps onto your shoulder and pulls you into the house, leaving you longingly staring at the front door, the only chance of your freedom taken away. Namjoon spins you around to face you and nods appreciatively. He’s dressed as a ‘french toast’, a striped shirt, mustache and barrett accompanied with a slice of bread costume slung over his shoulders.

“Hey, you look good!” You giggle at the praise. The only good thing about tonight is how great your outfit looks. “Aw, man!” Namjoon whines. “Maybe I should have gone as an angel! Then we would have matched!” You laugh, the sound drowned out from the blasting music.

“Angel and devil? That’s hilarious!” But you spin around anyway, showing off your bright red bodycon dress with lace cutouts. A pair of embellished devil horns sit on your head and you personally attached a spiked tail to your dress just this morning. All topped off with a cropped leather jacket that you already have the urge to take off.

“Yeah, you look super fucking sexy, wait until Jin sees this!”

“Hm? I can’t hear, it’s the music-!”

“Nothing!”

You spin around, looking left and right throughout the house. You can’t seem to find Jin anywhere, but that’s alright. He’ll find you soon enough. You still wonder what sort of shirtless, punny, dad joke style costume variation he’s managed to come up with this year though.

“What happened to your sabotage plan? I was surprised when the whole house didn’t explode in stick bombs… or something worse.” Namjoon shudders in his toast outfit.

“Eh.” You shrug, shifting uncomfortably. “I just thought I should enjoy Halloween, you know? Try not to make Jin miserable for once.”

“Well, looks like you ended up pranking him anyways,“ Namjoon gestures down your figure. “Whether you meant to or not.“

You have no clue what Namjoon is talking about, but you were originally planning to come armed with all the sabotage tools: toilet paper, stink bombs, elephant toothpaste… the works. But you ditched the idea after a bit of thought. What’s the use of getting back at Jin on Halloween anyway? He’ll just get back at you, twice as hard. Your hair is already red- you couldn’t risk anything else.

An off-putting, familiar voice speaks from behind you. Looking up, Namjoon is already gone, which means-

“Speak of the devil.” You mutter. “Oh, hey!” You chuckle at the accidental joke. “Speak of the devil, because tonight I’m the literal devil, haHahhahHAH I’m so funny-!”

“y/N, you’re here!” Sure enough, Jin stands behind you, completely- shockingly, in a turn of completely unpredicted events- shirtless. His abs should be outlawed, you think. They shouldn’t be allowed to be just hanging out. He should at least come with a warning sign. ‘WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHEST AND STOMACH MAY CAUSE SHORTNESS OF BREATH AND DEATH DUE TO THIRST.’

At first sight, he just looks like an average frat boy, with loose sweatpants dangerously hanging down at his hips. But after squinting, you notice he’s holding… a spoon? And a packet of reese’s cups?

You slowly turn around, and Jin’s eyes widen comically, his jaw physically dropping. He drops his metal spoon on the ground, but doesn’t seem to notice.

“I- Y/N! I-? Wha- ? I- wah- wow. Wha?” If there was a human expression equivalent to ‘??!!!?’, Jin’s face would provide the perfect definition for it. He chokes, and coughs back, leaning over the counter and clutching at his chest.

“Woah- Are you okay?” Jin, holding a finger up, swallows down some phlegm and continues to ogle at your costume.

“Okay.” He says, after he finished coughing. “When I told you that your costume had to be creative, I didn’t mean- this.”

“What do you mean, do I look bad?”

“No, trust me, you don’t. But there are so many pervert guys out here tonight who would take advantage of you, so be careful. Stick to me.” You look up and down at him, from his abs which are completely on display, to the sweatpants that would definitely get him arrested for public indecency.

“Are you talking about yourself?” Jin leans down to pick up his spoon while you speak. “What are you supposed to be anyway? A frat boy from the 90s? An ex-con who just got out of jail? A college dropout?” Jin frowns.

“Why is nobody getting my costume tonight?” Holding up his Reese's pieces to his face, he smiles brightly and explains. “I’m Reese,” He lifts up the spoon. “- With her spoon!” You stare at him. He sighs and stomps his foot against the floor. “I’m Reese Witherspoon.” Your mouth opens in an ‘o’ in realisation, nodding. “Not my best idea, but still smart. I never fail to amaze myself year after year.” Clearing his throat, he spares another glance to your dress and tears his eyes away straight after, averting his eyes and bringing his hand up to the back of his neck.

“Uhh,” He says, awkwardly. “Devil. It fits you! You know, with the red hair.” You nod, thankful that he’s actually acknowledging the effort you put in your costume this year. Last year, you showed up as a powerpuff girl- Blossom. He got angry and ranted for hours without end about how Bubbles was clearly the superior powerpuff girl.

“I know, right!” You say cheerfully. “Your stupid prank actually gave me an idea, so I guess I should thank you.” Jin looks at you expectantly, and you shove him back. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to actually thank you, jerk. You still dyed my fucking hair red.”

“Fuck,” Jin curses. “I did this, didn’t I? Goddamnit, I told you this prank would end up affecting me more than you!”

“Huh?”

Jin continues to curse at himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and deeply regretting his life decisions. From behind him, Min Yoongi is calling him to join for a game of spook-pong (A game Jin invented; It’s like beer pong but with mystery drinks), but he ignores his name being called. He so quickly averts his eyes down at your chest again, blinking and drawing back like he saw a ghost.

“Anyways,” He says, pulling you around to place his hand over your shoulder, forcing you to press into his slightly sweaty chest. He walks you over to the spook-pong table. “Don’t wear this again, okay? You’re going to give me a heart attack.” He looks over at you when you begin to laugh. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious! I can’t look at you right now without- ugh. This was a bad night for me to choose to wear sweatpants.” He steps away from you and buries his hands inside his pants pockets, clearing his throat in a moment of strange seriousness. For a split second, you think he might have something important to say, but he just breaks out into a signature Jin grin, smiling toothily at you. His face is too cute to match his bare chest, you think to yourself.

“Have a nice Halloween, Y/N. Call if you need anything, okay? I’ll come find you after I smash this game of spook pong.” You nod and he goes off running towards Yoongi, who is already complaining about what took him so long. Jin laughs and snatches a ping pong ball from him, already screaming about how there’s no chance the inventor of the game could lose.

On the opposite end of the table, Jimin and Jungkook are making faces at him. You smile and break out into a laugh. Halloween night is rather fun, you suppose. You sigh. Maybe if you stop spending Halloween as a way to get back at Jin’s stupid pranks, it would bump Valentine’s day up as your most hated holiday. Namjoon appears by your side, shaking his head at you for no reason.

“You still don’t get it?” He asks, gesturing to Jin. You stare blankly at him, moving away when his toast costume accidentally smacks against your devil tail.

“Get what?” Namjoon continues to shake his head, smiling in a one-day-i’m-going-to-kill-you kind of way. Men are so confusing.

(At the end of the night, you draw dicks and other incriminating things onto Jin’s back with the help of a distracting Namjoon. It was his fault for being shirtless- and besides, you can’t let Halloween night go completely to waste.)

👾talk to prankster!jin! add yourself to the taglist!

TAGS; @extremeobsessions101 @bishuthot @stonyiscanon @jksbbyfacebunny

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