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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

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Million Dollar Man | Chapter Four

18+

summary: Spencer's therapist recommended he branch out and meet new people who don't want to talk about his work... she didn't expect him to sign up for a Sugar Daddy website.

Content warnings: sugar daddy!spencer, age gaps (14 years), daddy kink, blow jobs, kissing, discussion of previous sexual relationships with older men (big age gaps), kink talks, cum play, praise, oral (female receiving), fingering, 69ing... its really dirty i hope i got it all

word count: 3.8k

a/n: updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays

Chapter Four | Masterlist

Waking up beside Spencer is an absolute blessing, he is the most tender and loving man in the whole world and she’s never going to get enough of him. He snuggles so tight, he holds her just right and he’s just big enough that she fits against him like she’s always supposed to have been there.

Her alarm goes off at 10:30 and he doesn’t even budge, she struggles to get out of his grasp to turn it off before he just pulls her right back in.

“I could get used to this,” she coo’s as she relaxes back into his embrace.

He kisses the back of her neck and one of his hands cups her breast. He runs his nose along her skin as he takes it all in, “I can come back every night.”

“Okay,” she smiles at the thought. “Are you coming with me to Brookfield today?”

He hums, “I have something to pick up first but I’ll be back to pick you up.”

“Do you want to meet Craig?” She asks nervously, knowing he knows.

“I’m not sure,” he’s honest. “It’s weird thinking he’s slept with you and he has a thing for my mother.”

“As weird as it was, I don’t regret it, he was really lonely after Patsy died and hadn’t slept with anyone in years,” she explains it again to him, it’s easier than the first time.

“I’m not judging you,” he whispers before kissing her again.

“I know,” she rolls over while still in his grip, pressing her chest against his and kissing him quickly before remembering her own rule, “pretend it’s still dark out.”

He laughs, “was he at least good to you?”

“Are you really asking me if the old man I fucked was good in bed?” She rolls her eyes with a laugh, “it was fine, I was used to just laying there and taking it back then.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes for her past experiences knowing he can change them and that she's content with them, “can I make it up to you?”

“It's not my birthday,” she teases him once more.

“Then why are you in your birthday suit?” He kisses her neck as her back arches, giving him the access to do whatever he pleased.

This was her favourite part of sleeping with him, he was handsy and he kissed everywhere. He was so tentative, he was gentile and sensual and she loved him. The way he kissed her body, his hands on her back as she arched, grinding against him as his leg slipped between hers.

“Daddy?” She’s already breathless as she anticipates whatever he’s going to do to her.

He hums, “what baby?”

“Can we try something?” She looks at him with puppy dog eyes, wanting more of him and knowing exactly how to get it.

“What?” He looks from her eyes to her lips and back.

She smirks, “lay back?”

He does as she asks and she makes a quick move to straddle him, reverse cowgirl, and it makes him gasp. He hooks his arms under her legs and pulls her hips towards his face as she grips his cock at the base.

She’s never done this before, excited to finally experience her two favourite things at once, with her favourite person. Taking him in one go down her throat as far as she can, he moans against her thigh as he works his way towards her dripping core.

He pulls her in closer, burying his tongue inside of her as she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock, stroking what doesn’t fit in her mouth. She moans around him as he sucks her clit into his mouth. When he slides a finger into her, she gasps as she runs her tongue along the shaft, “more please, daddy?”

He adds a second finger and curls it with each thrust, she strokes him in time with his fingers rubbing her tongue on the slit, pushing him closer and closer and closer until he’s moaning into her cunt as he finger fucks her relentlessly.

She cums on his face with a quake, her whole body shaking as she sucks one of his balls into her mouth and keeps jerking him. He cums over her hand then, finally releasing her clit from his mouth, they both sigh as they come down from their highs.

She rolls off him, feet on her pillow and hand cupping her own breast as she tries to catch her breath, “yeah, I can get used to waking up next to you.”

—

“Bullshit!”

Y/N reaches for the apparent 3 4’s that Craig dropped in the pile, filling them to see he was indeed truthful and handing them to Diana. “You’re slacking today.”

“I do so much better when I don’t know who he is,” Diana smirks as she takes the cards.

“Speaking of,” she smiles to herself as she looks through her own cards, “your son, Spencer, is coming to see you today.”

“How do you know that?”

“I might be dating Spencer,” she scrunches her face in anticipation of her reaction.

“Really?”

She nods, a smile building on her face as she starts to feel a bit flustered, “yeah, I met him last year and we’ve been friends for a while but it’s getting serious, so I thought I’d tell you.”

She’s quiet as she thinks about it and Y/N’s anxiety goes to full blast, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Diana asks.

“For not telling you and pretending I don’t know him,” she's quick with her response. “He knows we know each other from your notes but we didn’t talk about it until last night, I feel so bad keeping that from you but I've known him the whole time.”

“I was going to introduce you to each other in the hopes you would take care of him, you’re wonderful and he needs someone who he doesn’t have to look after. I’ve thought you would be good for him for quite a while actually,” Diana compliments her with a smile. “Try calling bullshit on that.”

It makes her laugh, leaning over into Diana’s space as she wrapped her arms around Y/N, “well as good as I am to him, he’s even better to me.”

Holding Diana was nice, she missed her moms so much that it was a good substitute until she saw her own again.

“How did you meet?”

Y/N pulls back with a stutter, “uh, well we met online actually and he took me to dinner and we got to talking and we’ve been really good friends for a while, he uh, he’s the reason I’m getting my book published.”

“Really?” She blinks a few times the way Spencer does when he tries to absorb information.

She wasn’t dumb, she knew her son had money and he was a lot older than her and that meeting on the internet isn’t as innocent as it sounds.

“He’s my best friend.”

She smiles again, “that’s the key to a successful relationship.”

Craig was quiet the whole time, staring at his cards and drinking his water while they talked. “For what it’s worth,” he adds, “I think he’s lucky to have you, you’re a good woman.”

Y/N’s so busy looking at Craig with a smile that she doesn’t notice Spencer walk-in or the way Diana gleams at him. He walks up behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder, “Hey, pretty woman.”

She jumps slightly before laughing, he wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek quickly, “hey mom,” he makes his way from Y/N to Diana.

Hugging her quickly before coming to sit beside Y/N again, he notices Craig too and waves, “nice to meet you as well, sir.”

She analyzes his face as he looks at Craig, worried that he’s going to go full alpha male and start a fight or something crazy like her old boyfriends would. But he smiles and he’s calm, he holds her hand and they play another few rounds of cards and it's like they’ve all been friends for years.

Visiting hours are about to come to an end when Spencer finally brings it up, “how would you feel if I moved to LA for a little while?”

She’s really confused, “are you getting a transfer at work?”

“No, Y/N has a job offer and I’d like to go with her,” he’s honest with his mom, it’s easier than with anyone else. “I’ll travel here whenever you need me, and once a week just to say hello.”

“Or I can finally go back to Vegas,” she says it like she’s been thinking about it for a while. “I miss my friends and my sister, Spencer.”

“And I’m thinking about moving there as well so my pneumonia isn’t as bad this winter,” Craig adds, sitting closer to Diana than before and taking her hand.

Spencer looks very uncomfortable and Y/N can feel it radiating off him, “my moms are also in Vegas, it would be nice for all of you to be close.”

“I think that would be nice,” Spencer agrees, “and then we can just take a short trip to Vegas once a week to visit with you.”

“That would be lovely,” Diana smiles, “even on my bad days I don’t forget who Craig is to me, I know he’s my best friend in here and I’m really glad you’re comfortable with this.”

Spencer smiles, it’s awkward for him to know everything that he knows, and by the way Craig looks at him, he knows Spencer knows.

“Please, just take care of her,” is all Spencer has to say to him. “I’ve already been to prison once.”

“Spencer,” Diana scolds him while trying not to laugh at the absurdity.

“I’m kidding,” he smiles, “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

“It’s only taken us 30 years,” she reaches out a hand for Spencers, “but we did it.”

It’s a beautiful moment that Y/N gets to witness, she holds a hand to her heart as Spencer wraps his arms around his mom. She was doing amazing, she was happy and even happier that Spencer was happy.

“We did it,” Spencer agrees, holding her close, always a mama’s boy at heart.

—

They stop at his apartment on the way home, he needed some things for the next 2 days and his suitcase for this weekend. His apartment was always so dark and cold, the green was beautiful but it was far too sad. It didn’t feel like Spencer, it didn’t have his energy or personality, it was just a few walls and a bunch of books.

She sits on his couch and touches her necklace, remembering when he gave it to her and how she thanked him. He was rummaging around in his room without her, leaving her with time to just think about sucking him off on this couch, being between his legs, the feeling of him in her mouth, knowing she already had him this morning but she still wants him again.

She gets up from her seat and walks into his bedroom, pushing him up against the wall, he’s a little startled but he smirks, “what?”

“Is there a word for ravenous for dick?” She teases.

“Horny,” he responds with a giggle, “ovulating? Frustrated, deprived, desperate... slut.”

“I like the last 2 together.”

“What else do you like?” He whispers as she leans in to brush their noses together, “we’ve never discussed your needs, you’ve always just asked about mine, but this isn’t all about me.”

“It was when you were paying me,” she rationalizes, “I’m pretty basic, I’ll try anything once.”

“But what do you like the most?”

“You,” she’s honest. “How big you are for one, the fact you can just throw me around like a rag doll if you wanted… I like your hands, and your mouth and I like how you talk, I like how sweet you are, I like how we could do the dirtiest fucking things in the whole world with each other. I like that we could do the roughest, kinkiest and most intense scenes and yet I’m completely safe with you.”

He swallows and his Adam's apple bobs right in her view, she can’t help herself from kissing his neck, licking along the pulse point before sucking a deep purple mark into his skin, “what do you like besides me?”

“Praise,” she whispers.

“Good girl.”

“Mild degradation,” she kisses his neck again and starts to unbutton his shirt. “Spanking, raw missionary and messy kisses,” every new thing comes with a kiss as her hands reach down to palm him through his slacks, “pleasing my partner, knowing you get off to me, watching, being watched, belonging to you.”

He takes her chin in his hands and makes her look up at him, “in what sense?”

“Mark me, claim me, breed me,” she whispers and his eyes darken, she swears there is a growl that leaves his throat.

“I want everyone to know I’m yours, show everyone who I belong to, let everyone know only you can please me and show them that no one is better for me than my daddy.”

“You’re evil saying all this knowing I'm not going to fuck you yet,” his voice has never been this low, his eyes are black and the grip he has on her is so tight it makes her gasp.

“You asked,” she smirks, “and if you expect me to be an obedient little submissive, you’re very wrong. "

He gulps and the mood changes very quickly.

"I’m a brat and I’m a switch, and I have more control here than you do.” She tightens her grip around his cock and he whimpers, “that’s what I thought.”

She undoes his button and takes him out, licking her palm while making eye contact with him, she then wraps her hand around him and pumps up and down his shaft. Gathering his precum that’s collected from simply listening to her, his hand on her chin had made its way into her hair and his other grips her hip tighter than ever before.

“I want to fuck all day long,” she whispers, leaning in more and brushing her bottom lip against his, “I want you to come and find me when you’re bored and just bend me over and take me, I want to just sit on your lap while to read and ride you, I want to fall asleep with you deep inside me and wake up full of your cum.”

He tosses his head back against the wall, groaning as she slows her movements. She drags her hand up, squeezing at the head as he thrusts back into her hand, all she can think about is how good it’s going to be when he’s pushing inside of her, not just in her fist.

“Does it feel good, daddy?” She teases him again, “are you thinking about my tight little pussy? Hmm?”

“Gonna cum,” he whispers.

“I don’t think that's how you ask.”

His hips sputter as he fucks her hand, “please, mommy?”

It’s so unexpectedly hot she clenches around nothing, aching for him with how horny she is, she drops to the floor, wrapping her mouth around the head, he cums within seconds. She pumps every last drop onto her tongue before standing and connecting their mouths once more, swapping his cum back into his own mouth, but he doesn’t swallow.

He simply picks her up and tosses her onto the bed, pulling her jeans and panties down and off one leg to expose her dripping pussy. He lifts her hips and spreads her open, running a finger over her clit before spitting his own cum into her.

It’s such a sight, she gasps at the feeling. It’s so hot and wet and then he’s pushing it in with two fingers and fucking them into her. Rubbing her clit at the same time, she cums by surprise, it’s so intense all she can do is grip her breasts and wrap her legs around him for support. She trembles, moaning and whining as he keeps going, curling his fingers just right to rub her g-spot and keep the sensation roaring as long as she lets him.

She lives in the feeling as long as possible before it starts to get to be too much, “okay,” she’s breathless and exhausted, lying there with her eyes closed when he pulls his fingers out of her, falling asleep from how relaxed her whole body is.

—

Spencer was in her bathroom brushing his teeth for the night while she slipped into her PJs.

She felt giddy, like a kid on Christmas Eve, thinking about how exciting tomorrow would be that the prospect of sleeping seemed almost impossible. She couldn’t wait to hold him and snuggle him and feel the way he kisses her shoulder when he rolls over. She loves him so much that sleeping beside him is almost more important to her than anything else they do together.

Because when he sleeps, his guard is down. When he sleeps beside someone, it’s because he’s truly and fully safe with them. He’s told her about all the people he’s slept with, how many of them didn’t stay the night and how many he’s walked out on. She knows he’s not a fan of sleepovers from his childhood and he’s never been in a long-term relationship to even consider sharing a bed with someone before her.

In the beginning, he didn’t want to sleep beside her because he knew he’d catch feelings, she understood and so they bought a pull-out couch for her apartment. He would sleep in her living room and she would lay awake in her bed thinking about how much better it would be if she could cuddle with him until she drifted off to sleep.

She crawls into her bed and watches the bathroom door as she rubs hand lotion into her skin, hoping he actually comes back to her like he promised and doesn’t retreat to the living room. She smiles at him when the door opens and his sight goes right to her wrists as she smoothes the lotion over her skin.

“I forgot to give you your present today,” he gasps and rushes to his suit jacket in the closet.

He comes back to bed with another box, “how much jewellery are you going to buy me?”

“Two more of the gifts are jewellery,” he smiles as he opens the box for her.

It’s a silver bracelet with diamonds and Rubys in a heart shape, like the necklace in pretty woman turned into a bracelet. It’s so pretty she doesn’t know how to react, “you’re crazy, you know that?”

He nods with a smile, “crazy for you.”

“Don’t,” she raises her brows with her pointer finger raised, shushing him. “You know what being all lovey-dovey does to me, and I'm tired.”

It makes him laugh, “I’m just going to leave this on the dresser.”

She takes it from him and stops him from getting up, “no, I’ll just leave it on here, just get into bed, please?” She moves it to her night table and pulls the sheets back so he can get into bed with her. She turns off the lamp on her night table and watches him lay back on his side of the bed.

She snuggles into his chest and places her face in the crook of his neck. Holding him as close as humanly possible, he smells like home and safety.

“I love you so much, Spencer,” she whispers it, feeling very needy and emotional and she has no idea why.

He simply kisses the top of her head while soothing his hand over her back, “I love you just as much, Y/N.”

It was rare for them to use each other's real names, so much of their time together was spent in silence but when it wasn’t, they referred to each other with a long list of different pet names. It made it less personal, it kept their real lives separate and created a world where they just existed with each other.

A world where he wasn’t Spencer Reid with 3 PH.D.s, a drug problem and a sick mother. When he was with her he was just a guy who liked to explore. He was her buddy who took her to museums and concerts, he was her daddy who held her hand when they walked to the park together to play chess, he was her sweetheart on nights when he cried and needed some love.

Tonight he’s just Spencer.

He’s everything he’s been before and nothing like his old self all at the same time. He’s constantly having a breakthrough, he’s broken through ceilings of grief and trauma, grown past the names he’s been called and adjusted to the fact this is how his life is and he's not as evil as he thinks he is.

He’s happy and content. He’s so much different now than how he was when she met him and while he likes to thank her for that, he always had the power to get here. It was a long road to recovery, he just happened upon her on the path and brought her along for the journey and now she’s never going to leave him.

“Are you crying?” He asks, bringing her back to reality to notice that yes, she is indeed crying.

She nods and sniffles, wiping her tears with his t-shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Hey,” he pets her hair and waits for her to look up at him. “What do you say when I apologize for crying?”

“Don’t apologize, your feelings are important to feel so you can move past them,” she whispers the mantra her parents raised her on, something that really helped him.

“I'm not crying because I’m hurting,” she whispers. “I’m crying because you’re not anymore.”

“What?”

She realizes it comes out weird, “I’m proud of you, and I’m happy that I get to love you now.”

“How long have you loved me?” There’s a small sadness in his voice like he wishes he could have moved faster for her.

“Since you told me you’d help me get my book published just for going to museums with you,” she whispers, “because you saw me as talented and worthy of greatness and you wanted to help me succeed instead of wanting to pay me to suck your dick in a more legal way.”

“I was in it for a friend,” he’s said it before, “it was easier to pay someone to hang out with me than stumble across someone who would understand me this well.”

“I can’t imagine you just going to a park and striking up conversations with someone,” she laughs, “I think it was just meant to happen like this.”

He sighs, “I’d do it again.”

“What?” She’s too tired and sad to follow his train of thought.

“I’d go through all the pain and trauma again, exactly the same way if it brings me right back here. Right to you.”

She pulls back from his neck and connects her lips to his faster than ever before, kissing him deeply as she cries again.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips between kisses, he whispers it right back.

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Sugar daddy fic

@mggs-sidehoe @bakugouswh0r3 @mggskneescrews @moonlight-2-6 @spencerreidscumwhore @my-thoughts-are-weird @violetclifford @youabitchhhh @bunny-script @baby-i-am-fireproof @moondustmemories @rexorangecouny @minervaonmars @onlyhereforthefanfics @anonymous-reading @go2sleepducky @beepbooptoop @emma-is-a-nerd

@ne--yo-pets @valerieweasley @coldlilheart @andiebeaword @bingereid

some just wont tag no matter what I do, idk why tho

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #mdm #sugar daddy spencer

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trentaafcsblog · 4 years ago

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Writing Challenge - Random

“Is that...my shirt?” - Harry Winks

Thank you to the lovely @penguintransporter for this one 🤍

There’s a drizzle in the air, misty and almost intangible, and the wind that carries it is gentle, but cold, feeling fresh against his freckled skin. His hair is slightly wet, the tips stick to his forehead, and he feels like he should probably find a cover under some roof on the side of the pavement, but he doesn’t do it, afraid that she won’t see him if he steps away.

It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon, almost too quiet, and the only sound he can hear is the loud laughter from the nearby pub where the regulars are getting rowdier and merrier with every pint they consume as the aroma from the nearby chippy shop along the street fills his nostrils and makes his stomach grumble.

Hopefully, she’ll be here soon.

Not long after his stomach voices yet another complaint, he notices her while she crosses the road, for a second blending in with the crowd of Londoners, and he smiles to himself as he takes his hands out of his fish-tail parka pockets – excitement filling up his stomach, and he suddenly feels no hunger any more.

“Bloody hell, Winksy,” she stops in front of him, shaking her head as she tries to shake off the excess raindrops out of her hair, “what is this weather? Didn’t we settle for today because it was supposed to be sunny? Can we go back to Spain or wherever they have sun every day?”

Harry grins.

“Hello to you to Sophie. I’ve been alright, thanks for asking. Yourself?” he teases subtly, making her look up at him with a grin, and something inside of him shifts.

“Won’t you look at the lack of my manners, huh? Hi, Harry! It’s been a while, no?” she responds – her words mumbled as he brings her into his arms for a quick hug, aware that the surface of his jacket is wet from the rain.

As he pulls away, he unzips his parka and takes out a beanie hat from the inside pocket before pulling the zip back, all the way to his chin. “Here,” he murmurs as they start walking along the Bermondsey Street and towards their favourite coffee spot, “it’s not exactly an umbrella, but it’ll do until we get inside. Keeps that bird’s nest of yours dry,” he adds to make it more light-hearted.

“And what about you?” Sophie inquires as she looks up at him, blinking away the raindrops that were trapped in between her eyelashes. “Plus, this feels freakishly expensive. Is it merino wool? I am afraid I will stretch it. Take it back, Harry, I know I will stretch it.”

“Sophie, you’re rambling,” Harry points out, sticking his hands back into his pockets, “just put it on, or I will be forced to do it myself. It’s just a hat.”

Sophie doesn’t say anything but smiles before putting the beanie on, gently pulling it over her ears until they were neatly tucked in.

Harry and Sophie have known each other for a bigger portion of their lives – way before they realised that one cannot get cooties by kissing someone, and way before they acknowledged the fact that being adult is not as cool as they thought it would be. Harry was five and Sophie four years old when they met for the first time, tagging along with their fathers to one of their regular pints-before-the-match meetings around Hertfordshire.

Sophie was an odd-ball, with fine, straight cut hair – a bit chubby and with pale cheeks that were constantly stained with a blush while Harry was a lanky, hyperactive boy who was able to recite all the strikers that ever played for the England’s National Team.

Growing up, week after week, they kept tagging along, sometimes actually eager to watch the match, but mostly just running around the dark pub, knocking over things and making other people and pub-owners annoyed with their antics, but, once the tiredness overpowered them, they always ended up doing one thing – sitting together in between their fathers, drinking juice and sharing a packet of crisps.

Twenty years later, despite growing up, changing interests and music tastes, schools and extracurricular activities, neither Sophie nor Harry forgot how strong their friendship was when they were kids. Even if they had different circles of friends, schedules and timetables, ambitions and aspirations, they always made sure to at least devote one day in a month for one-another.

“How’s school?” Harry asks as he walks back from the till where he had been picking up their drinks – a flat white for himself and some weird mocha-something for her, but before he has time to set the mugs down on the wooden table, he stops in his tracks, watching Sophie shrug her coat off. “Is that… my shirt?” he asks as the warmth fills up his body, and he feels his stomach do a flip.

Sophie blushes and sits down before pulling on the sleeves of Harry’s Champion’s crewneck. “Yeah,” she admits, smoothing the collar a little, “it somehow ended up in my suitcase when we got back from the holidays, and I forgot to return it.” Sophie smiles as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Forgot or didn’t want to?” Harry teases as his mind goes back to their last trip to Mallorca together, a year ago – a trip where Harry realised that Sophie wasn’t the same chubby, pink cheeks, and missing front tooth girl he used to play tag with in a dimly lit pubs.

“Both,” Sophie responds, looking away, trying to hide her blush from Harry’s curious eyes, but he notices it and tries to hide his smile.

Harry has always had a soft spot for Sophie, and if asked to why, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to give an answer. Maybe it was the fact that they met at such young age, or maybe it was the constant prodding and poking of their mothers, subtly hinting that they would be a perfect couple. He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, recently it only became stronger, and it made him feel a certain kind of excitement whenever he texted her, whenever they face-timed one another, and whenever he knew that she was watching him from the stands, wearing a shirt with his name on the back.

“It looks as if it has stopped raining,” Sophie murmurs as they both look through the window of the cafe where they had been sitting for the past three hours, chatting their afternoon away.

Harry nods, glancing at her and lets his eyes linger on her for a second, watching her observe the clearing sky on the outside, and his stomach makes that familiar flip yet again. “Do you want to go somewhere for a pint? I probably shouldn’t, but I fancy one.”

“Only if you buy me a packet of crisps,” Sophie smiles, and he pulls a face at her, but he knows that he would buy her the world, if she asked him to. They quickly get up, putting their coats back on, and he makes sure to hold the doors open for her before they step out in, now, with sun streaked London street. Sophie sighs happily as they start walking before reaching out the beanie towards him. “Thanks, but I don’t think I will be needing this from now on. But if you’re wondering what to get me for upcoming Christmas, I am letting you know that one of these, merino, alpaca or whatever hats might be a good idea, but it doesn’t have to be fan—,”

“—Careful!” Harry interrupts and Sophie yelps a little as he pulls her closer to his side.

“Jesus,” she whispers – side of her face still pressed against his side.

Harry is grinning now as he looks down at her. “Sorry, but you almost stepped into a huge puddle. See there, and I have no spare socks to borrow you if you get yours wet.”

“Oh,” Sophie breathes out, but quickly feels the temperature rise in her body as she glances at where Harry was holding her hand in his, and it makes him stop as well – his boyish smile disappearing for a second, but he never drops his hold on her hand. Instead, he intertwines their fingers together – his thumb stroking over her soft skin before he smiles again.

“I like this,” he mumbles, “I don’t know about you, Sophie, but it feels nice. Can we hold hands for a bit longer?”

Sophie is quiet, looking down at her shoes as she tries to gather her thoughts, but she doesn’t need to say anything in the first place because her blush is answering all the spoken and unspoken questions.

“I like it too, and I’d love to hold hands with you,” she answers, and Harry only grins as they start walking again – hand in hand, and with their stomachs filled with thousands of little butterflies, dancing on the beat of their hearts.

This imagine is in collaboration with Cancer Research UK 💗 please feel free to follow the link if you would like to donate, but as always, there is no obligation 🦋 if you’ve got the time, then please have a little look at their website and check out the amazing work that they do 🤍 they also have an online shop where you can buy products for yourself (mugs, notebooks, blankets) or something for those affected by Breast Cancer (anxiety help books, mastectomy bras, support cushions) - all of which have the option to be donated to out to those affected by the disease if they can’t afford these things themselves, or would prefer to receive something physical instead of a donation, with all of the proceeds going directly to the same causes as general donations x

#hnrfc writing challenge #harry winks #harry winks blurb #harry winks imagine #submission

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espoirduvide · 4 years ago

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How Peter met Hope

Peter is in a bleach cosplay as Byakuya at a large anime convention, he has his emo look and long black hair tied up to match his character, he walks through the crowd, no one seems to pay him any mind, he feels alone in the sea of people. He should be happy, everyone here is just like him, why does he still feel lonely?

He sits down behind a pillar.

He hears a faint “excuse me”

He looks up to see a dark skinned girl dressed in a homemade chibi usa cosplay.

She smiles warmly, fidgeting with a large map and her cell phone

She bows apologetically as she speaks

“Sorry to bother you but do you know where panel H-7 is?'' She has a sugary sweet tone and almost speaks in UWU language.

“Yeah it’s uh, upstairs” Peter answers monotonously pointing upwards, all the while he can't keep his eyes off this pink, smiling interloper. He’s instantly smitten, she was the first person to willingly talk to him all convention, even the sound of his own voice was unfamiliar.

“UPSTAIRS?!” she squeaks and does a little anime fault.

“Thank you so much sir,” she bows deeply and speeds off, but not before turning to him again. “Arigatooo, enjoy the con!” She waves erratically. Peter can only muster a small wave as she disappears into the crowd.

“God she was cute” he muttered out loud.

It was the last day of the convention, Peter shifted through the crowded dealers room full of hungry otaku with full wallets. He frequently bumped up against bodies which were more physical contact he was used to. He backed up to find a nice wall to catch his breath and was met with the pink pigtails of a shoddy wig. The cosplayer turned to him with large apologetic bespectacled eyes.

"Oh I'm sorry, this hair is so-"

"No it's fine" Peter recognized the chibi usa cosplayer.

"Oh you helped me find that panel, thank you so much for that, I would have totally missed it, you saved my bacon," she bounced.

He wanted to ask her so many things, what her name was, who she was cosplaying, what her favorite food was, would she marry him, but all that came out was a low and emotionless

"no problem".

The girl squeaked as she suddenly remembered something and bonked her wig cartoonishly.

"Jeez I almost forgot!" She rummaged through her Luna P ball purse and pulled out a small card, she gripped it with two hands and handed it to Peter, bowing deeply.

"My business/friend card, I had them made specifically to meet new people and I totally forgot to hand them out."

Peter takes the card, unable to not smile slightly.

"You're my first new friend," she smiled sincerely. "I'm Hope, what's your name? If you don't mind me asking."

"P...Peter." The sound of his own name made him cringe but he couldn't think clearly.

"That's such a cute name, I've never met a Peter before. Nice to meet you Peter! Hajimemashite!"

It was strange hearing someone say his name without a threat coming after, it was nice, her voice was so sweet, she was sweet.

"I gotta go Peter, it was super awesome meeting you, have a good night" he could tell she was a little awkward about the situation, as if the sugary sweet facade was draining to her. She was eager to get away. Did he seem creepy, was there someone waiting for her, or were the deals calling her wallet. Either way, he had her name, her number, and her website, that's all he needed.

It was three years before he saw her again. Peter's life had taken a turn. He shaved his head, became a product tester, and became a prominent force in the info gathering and anonymous online community. One night while cleaning through his closet he came across his old costume, in the pocket was a card, on that card, was a name and face he had forgotten.

He had her name, her number, and her website, that's all he needed.

#yourboyfriendgame #your boyfriend game #your boyfriend #peter your boyfriend

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ryik-the-writer · 4 years ago

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The Audacious Storybrooke Mirror Advice Columnist (Wednesday Paper Edition)

In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 2: Gold discovers he sent Lacey the email

This took way too long guys, sorry!

A03

*-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-*

When Mr. Augustine Gold opened his eyes he had a three-to-four second grace period before he remembered who he was and where he was before his body announced its condition.

And, as always after a night like last night, it started with a blinding, pounding headache, followed by a wave of nausea, and soon, the cold sweats.

Groaning pitifully, he pushed through the stars flashing before his eyes and slowly eased out of bed sideways, holding his head. The room was dark as a tomb, but he could see he was still wearing yesterday’s suit, abet a bit more rumpled. He’d even worn his shoes to bed.

He kicked them off, his body jolting in pain from the movement, and he felt for his cane, having to practically crawl across the floor to get it.

The little light that greeted him in the hallway felt like a snakebite to his senses, and he almost screamed when he cut on the bathroom light.

He turned on the cold water but could not bend over without his head killing him so he cupped his hands and splashed the cold water in his face.

His hands were shaking as he opened his medicine cabinet and crammed down two Alka-Seltzers, three aspirin and a Valium.

Now all he needed was an ice-cold beer and he might live.

He felt his way to the head of the stairs and wondered how the hell he was going to get down them in his state.

Then he heard Jefferson snoring from the living room and he immediately returned to the bathroom and drank water from the tap.

Now slightly stable, he removed his clothes, crawled into bed and jacked his electric blanket on high, quickly drifting off to sleep.

It was just after noon when he awoke again. Now his stomach was hot and burning, screaming for carbs. He quietly unlocked his door and made the careful trip into the living room.

Jefferson was gone, thank Gods, and Gold grabbed his phone and called in an order for two grilled cheese sandwiches, a large fries and, for the hell of it, a chocolate shake. He rolled his eyes when granny charged him double for delivery, obviously sensing his massive hangover and choosing to punish him from it.

He devoured the food in barely five minutes, feeling disgusted with himself for more than just his eating habits. He fell into such bad habits when he was falling off the deep end again, and boy had he fell.

It would be easy to blame it on Jefferson, his tacky business associate and friend on a good day.

Last night had not been a good day, but somehow still lead to Jefferson coming by for drinks as he tried to help him create an online portal for his tenants to pay their rent.

It would take out the need for him to run all over town on rent day, Jefferson had explained, and Gold half liked the idea of not having to soak his leg for a week straight, so he said fine.

The website was forgotten about as soon as the hat-making fiend found the good scotch, and frankly Gold couldn’t remember what he did after that.

His computer was still on in his study, Gold discovered when he wondered around his home, picking up the remnants of the night before. An unfolded blanket here, several crystal glasses there.

A blurry memory was tugging at his brain and demanding he sit at his desk.

He obeyed, only because his body still hadn’t recovered. The memory was becoming clearer. Jefferson’s chaotic laughter as Gold did … something. He was sending out an email to someone, and no doubt had received a response by now.

Gold rolled his eyes and waited for his email to load. No doubt he had sent a grueling message to the mayor, probably something immature that Jefferson had egged him to send.

He blinked and saw that he had no responses, so he went to his Sent emails. One look at the last one he sent and his stomach lurched harder than any amount of alcohol could warrant.

“No…no, no, no!” Gold panicked, her name alone heating him and draining him all at once.

Racy Lacey. Lacey French. His tenant and the target of his desires for well over three years now.

He dared read the contents of the email and started shouting. He was going to kill Jefferson and then himself!

He grabbed his cane and marched back to his room, throwing on his rumpled clothes back on. Damn a hangover.

He’d tear Jefferson’s head off first, he decided as he descended down the stairs.

Then he’d dip his entire body into a vat of acid and use his skeleton as a prop in his shop, he agreed as he opened the front door.

All thoughts left him when the piercing blue eyes he often dreamed about met his, and her curled up fist knocked him in the mouth.

“Whoa! Sorry!” Lacey apologized.

Gold rubbed his lip, staring at the girl that had his heart in a painful knot.

“Miss French,” he greeted, trying to lay on an air of sophistication despite his appearance. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Lacey gave him an incredulous look. She recognized a hangover anywhere, and this one, judging by the tint of green to his skin was pretty bad.

She managed to keep from laughing and remain serious. After all, she was here to figure out if he really meant in his email, among other things.

Cruella had suggested she “jump his bones” at a hastily set up breakfast between them the morning after she had gotten the email.

She hadn’t revealed the name of her current admirer, just the text of it.

It could have been Leroy Miner for all she cared.

“This one looks serious, darling,” her equally lewd co-work had pointed out as she snuck a dose of Kahlúa into her coffee. “If you don’t grab him, I will.”

Cruella would need a whole cabinet of the stuff if she knew her “admirer’s” true identity.

A look over at Mr. Gold didn’t quite turn her on. Mind you, the rumpled look was indeed alluring, and the shadow of facial hair and mused hair had its own appeal.

But she wasn’t her to gander at her landlord, she was here to set him straight and bury this whole thing, no matter how it ended.

She held up a printout of the email he had written and watched as his mightier-than-though look quickly faded.

“You’ve got quite the talent,” Lacey said. “Though it’s a bit Harlequinn for my taste.”

“Did you come all the way here to insult me,” Gold growled. The email may have been a drunken spur, but he had meant every word he said. He did find her attractive, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her say whatever she wanted to him.

“Not at all,” Lacey returned. “I just wanted to know … well … what are we going to do about this?”

If Gold had more courage—or at least if he were les sober than he was now—he would tell her exactly what he wanted to do about this blunder. However, he was hungover and still in his bathrobe of all things and far from confident.

“Nothing,” he said, grabbing the email from her. “Forget about it and have your rent on time this month.”

Before he could slam the door and push her out of her life, her heeled shoe divided his door and the glare in her striking blue eyes threatened to do the same to him.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” she hissed, a bit loud.

“Miss French, control yourself,” he warned, sure he heard one of his neighbors doors open.

“I am in complete control, you wanker,” she shouted. “You’re the one that caused all of this.”

Gold fought the flush creeping up his neck.

Lacey crumpled the email in her hand, sick of this nonsense already. “Whatever, like I’d want to be seen with the likes of you.”

Gold scoffed, solidifying his hurt. “Same to you, dearie, Gods only know what you have at this point.”

Lacey paused and stared at him, the blush on her cheeks from embarrassment.

Gold shut his mouth. Why the hell did he say that? He didn’t mean a word of it! Not to her, never to her.

Lacey turned on her heel before he could say anything, and he almost went after her, but there were spectators watching them from their porches, and he only had the courage to slink back into his living room.

Lacey clawed at her face as she stalked back to the office, Gold’s email still curled up in her hand. She wouldn’t cry over him. Lacey French did not cry over men, though she could occasionally get them to cry over her.

The Mirror was mostly empty due to the lunch hour and Lacey allowed herself to stew in anger without having to explain herself.

She was grateful for the hum of her old computer through the silence. It was a comfortable familiarity. Many people hated their day-to-day jobs or even just lasted long enough to get their paychecks and leave.

Lacey legit liked her job. She didn’t live to work by any means, but she loved her role in creating the little glorified newsletter they pushed out every other day, like that people read and liked what she wrote and came back for more each week.

She liked the admiration and the scrutiny in all forms it came as. It made her life an adventure.

And currently her adventure had reached a stalemate.

Mr. Gold was an obstacle she could cross easily, but Mayor Regina fucking Mills was not.

The woman controlled the town, and one word from her would get her cast out.

Lacey felt sick as she logged into her account and gazed over the subject lines of her email.

All of these were too delicious damn it! How the hell was she supposed to keep this clean!

She threw her head back with a groan. All of these were too delicious! She was finished if she didn’t have something in by Friday.

She turned her head onto her cheek, glaring at the crumpled up email she wished she had thrown at Mr. Gold’s head. She picked at the ball until it unfolded to reveal its contents.

She reread it again, ignoring the little twist in her belly at the words.

Gold had a way with them, she’d give him that. She was sure he had the ability to woo a few women once upon a time.

Lacey lifted her head and scanned over the note again, an idea coming to her.

Gold wrote her a mesmerizing, flattering letter. Sultry, yes, but a few tweaks could have fixed that.

She wondered, what other words did Mr. Gold have under his belt, and just how well could he use them?

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #golden lace #lacey french #rumplestiltskin #mr. gold #ryik's fics #once upon a time

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withabackpackandcamera · 4 years ago

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September 17th, 2020

Day 4: A Late Start To A Nice, Chill Day in Fairbanks

After staying out until the early morning hours viewing the northern lights, we slept in to recuperate and regain our lost energy from a very long and productive last 24 hours. Our first stop after we were up and ready to go was The Cookie Jar, a brunch place we had found online with great reviews. And it was super yummy! We ordered the Stuffed Nolan (which is made of two cinnamon roll halves stuffed with cream cheese, grilled, and then topped with strawberries and whipped cream with syrup to add on the side) and Biscuits and Gravy with Sausage Links, Hash Browns, and a Poached Egg. The servings were quite generous and the food was amazing, especially the Stuffed Nolan… it was so good! Luckily, because there was so much of it, we took half of it home to have for later. The biscuits and gravy were delicious too! Wow, what a start to the day!

Once we had our fill, we drove out of town about 20 minutes to the North Pole, a little town in Alaska that was happily named so in the past that now attracts visitors from across the world just because of its name and association with Santa Claus. We quickly drove through town and saw the candle-cane-like street lamp posts and sign posts, the forever-hanging Christmas decorations, and the Santa-related street names in town.

We then visited The Santa Claus House, a large gift shop stocked with everything Christmas-related. Outside the shop on the grounds was a very large Santa statue with a sled in front. On the walls outside of the house were Christmas murals. Inside were lots of gifts, Alaska souvenirs, punny shirts and sweaters, Christmas trees, and Santa Claus himself! He was a jolly old fellow and we enjoyed hearing his conversation with others and also enjoyed conversing with him about this crazy year, the typical tourist flow in the North Pole, his work history, etc. We even got to see him making short video messages for family members of customers stopping by the house! We walked through and looked at the different merchandise on display before we asked someone about the letters to Santa that were supposedly posted up somewhere in the shop. After a worker there showed us the location of the letters, Cynthia and I spent a good 15-20 minutes reading through all the different letters, from both kids and adults, sent in from around the world and routed here to Santa in North Pole, AK. It was so fun to read through some of the amusing and innocent messages written on those letters. So many heartwarming ones too! We definitely had fun reading them! And it reminded me of the good old days when Santa (i.e. my mom and dad) left me and my brother presents we didn’t ask for under the tree. Good times, good times.

Once we bid farewell to the Santa Claus House, we made a quick detour to pick up Cynthia’s bag that we had left at The Cookie Jar before driving onward to the Morris Thompson Cultural and Visitors Center in downtown Fairbanks. We were hoping to visit the center and learn more about Fairbanks and Alaska’s history through the exhibits but we came a tad late and only a small part of the center was still open for viewing. So we made a quick visit out of it with plans to return tomorrow morning before leaving town.

As we left the visitor center, the rain was starting to take a turn for the worse as the clouds were starting to build and drizzle was starting to come down. We made a quick stop to view the Moose Antler Arch right behind the center, as well as the Lend Lease Monument and Chena River nearby before heading back home to lay low and rest. The late night was quick to catch up to us throughout the day. Even though we had soft plans to check out different areas outside of Fairbanks today, with the weather looking the way it did and us feeling tired from the late night, we knew the smart thing to do was to rest for a few hours before dinner.

So I took a nap and Cynthia used that time to work on a presentation she had to give as part of her upcoming interview. After a couple hours of rest, we left the BnB and drove through the small area known as Downtown Fairbanks on our way to grab dinner from Fushimi Japanese Fusion. We ordered the Third Ave Roll, Chicken Teriyaki Bento Box, and Shrimp Shumai and brought it home to enjoy in the comforts of our AirBnB. Even though we had had sushi recently, it was nice to have some good, warm food and not fast food for dinner and to enjoy it after just running around eating unhealthily yesterday.

The night slowly crept in and before we knew it, we had reached the point in the evening where we had to commit to sleeping or chasing the auroras. Again the weather tonight was not particularly great with on and off rain throughout the area and heavy clouds. However, as I kept track of the data being posted on the websites I previously spoke of, conditions slowly started to improve, prompting me to get myself out of the warm bed I was sitting in and out to the car, all while dragging poor Cynthia out with me to see the Northern Lights one last time.

Tonight, instead of driving to the same spot we went to last night, I drove about 50 minutes out of Fairbanks to Murphy Dome, which was labeled a mountain peak on Google Maps and was one of the many spots that many websites advised for viewing the auroras in and around Fairbanks. The drive took longer than I expected because we had to drive on a very heavily pot-holed dirt road up a mountain in complete darkness. But when we finally arrived at Murphy Dome, wow! The skies were super clear with minimal light pollution and the view of the night sky and stars was spectacular!

The views of the sky were amazing. And there weren’t too many people in the area, not that it mattered because the area was huge. But the thing that was difficult to deal with was how windy it was. It was SO VERY WINDY. And what made matters worse was the fact that the ball head on my tripod was loose and there was no way to tighten it without the right tools. FML. So I had to make do while keeping as warm as possible in the unrelenting wind while watching what ended up being a spectacular show of northern lights.

Unlike last night’s light show, tonight’s was way stronger and way more visible. The lights were greener, the skies were clearer, and those two conditions combined to make the perfect viewing opportunity. At first, the auroras were found streaming across the sky like one big flowing river. However, as the night went on, the activity increased significantly and changes to that stream began to happen, to the point that they appeared to be dancing across the sky like nothing I’ve had a chance to see before! It was crazy! And beautiful! And mesmerizing! The only bad things about seeing the auroras where I saw them were that 1) they were actually quite difficult to photograph given the way they looked in the sky and 2) the surroundings I was shooting in was subpar. Straight lines in the sky are hard to frame. And when you do have those straight lines, it’s much better if you frame it relative to the surrounding scene. But at the top of the mountain at Murphy Dome, there wasn’t much of a scene to frame in the foreground to make the photos look good. So I just had to capture what I could and delete whatever didn’t work out later. Oh, and it was really cool to see the Milky Way galaxy and some shooting stars above in such a pure, dark sky. It was awesome!

After standing outside in the cold and wind for 2-3 hours and watching the northern lights peak and then start to slow down, it was finally time to go home. By this point in the night, Cynthia was long gone and fast asleep. So, similarly to last night, I called and caught up with my dad on the drive home before arriving at the AirBnB and going straight to bed around the same time as last night. Not sure if I’ll be able to get up as early as we intended on getting up tomorrow… We’ll see… because we have a very long day ahead and much ground to cover.

5 Things I Learned/Observed Today:

1. Fairbanks is known as the “Golden Heart City”.

2. The Dalton Highway is a Wild Wild West-type road that takes you from Fairbanks to the Arctic Circle and is supposedly a very desolate, primarily unpaved road that is used mostly by truckers for their jobs. Occasionally, tourist companies and tourists themselves venture out on this road to reach the outskirts of Alaska. If you’re ever thinking of taking a trip into the Arctic Circle via this route, you will need to be prepared for the worst case scenarios and pack and plan accordingly.

3. The North Pole has candy-cane-striped light poles and billboard/sign poles lining streets! Also, there are a lot of streets that are named after Christmas things. The town itself is pretty small though. The main attraction is the huge Santa at the Santa Claus House, the gift shop there, and meeting Santa in real life!

4. Supposedly, the current Santa is from FL and moved to CA to do his job as Santa before landing his dream gig at the North Pole. And after chatting with him, I got to see first hand how good a fellow Santa is. No matter how hard I tried to get him to troll someone about something, he was always so nice with his words. And he made the good list this year because he was wearing his mask! Good job Santa! Even though his mask made him look a little creepy…

5. “Thank you” in the native Athabascan language is “Enaa Baasee’”.

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booksandgalore · 5 years ago

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Mirrors of Pride [Yandere!BTS]

Foreword:

Taehyung's company is enjoyable when he isn't contemplating about the different shades of black-and-white filters. Sure, he cares too much about the number of likes he has on social media.

And, yes, maybe you have to reject taking pictures of him everytime he hands you his phone, but true friends stay with each other no matter what. You just need to overlook his growing vanity, and ignore all the warning signs when he starts talking about someone non-existent.

Author’s Note:

It’s my first time posting (cross-posting) a story on Tumblr! Bear with me as I navigate how to link, edit my layout, etc. Though if you do have an tips and/or pointers on how I can make my blog look more appealing, haha, then I’ll take them. Do leave a comment if you enjoyed it!

The blueberry gelato you purchased was going to melt soon, but you couldn’t even taste it until Taehyung had some pictures of himself with your gelato and his. Currently, you had snapped over fifty pictures, in different angles, too, and you got out of your seat to take more. The sweltering heat made your baby hairs stick on your forehead and all over your cheeks.

”Okay,” you said, handing his phone back. “What do you think?”

You stood behind his chair as you watched him scroll through the photos one-by-one. Taehyung kept zooming in on his face, only to pinch his fingers back out and focus on a minuscule detail like a wrinkle on the right sleeve of his clothing.

“Can you take more on your phone? Maybe it’ll be different,” he requested, peering up from his device to look at you, his neck craned back.

You ran your fingers through your hair and felt the sweat of your scalp through your fingertips. Although you took a shower this morning, you were going to have to shower again later.

Breathing deeply, you brought your phone out of your back pocket and snapped a picture of him in this position. Taehyung immediately took a scoop of his strawberry gelato and held the spoon to his lips. You took a picture, and another when he closed his eyes but still had the uneaten gelato close to his lips.

Then, a drop fell onto his chin. It dribbled down. You were about to grab a tissue off of the table to give it to him until he mumbled that you should continue. You did as he asked. The sound of the camera shuttering was all you guys heard for the next three minutes as Taehyung continued posing in different positions.

“You’re welcome,” you said, plopping down onto your chair. You reached for your dessert and found that it was half liquid. You looked over at Taehyung’s gelato; it was in the same state as yours, and you sighed.

Opening up Instagram on your phone, you started to slouch. Posts about vacations in California, Rome, and Beijing filled your timeline. Or was it feed? You were confused by the verbiage ever since Facebook bought Instagram and honestly where was the FAFSA police when you needed them? These "broke" college students shouldn't be out there living it up. And why were they on vacation when you still had two weeks of spring semester left? Did they take their finals early? When you were done, you handed your phone to Taehyung, who took it eagerly.

“Appreciate it,” he said. After browsing through the photos you took of him, he placed your phone down on his lap as he smiled at you. “I mean it. Thank you.”

You observed the silver rings on his fingers as he tapped on the table in a seemingly rhythmic beat. The rings were pretty. Maybe you should copy some of his style.

“You’re going to Korea soon, right?” You leaned back against your chair and splayed out your legs. A trickle of sweat ran past your neck.

It was really hot outside, but Taehyung wore a dark blue dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and had a black t-shirt inside that was revealed when the first two buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned. He also wore black ripped jeans. Wasn’t it hotter when you wore darker colors? Beauty was pain, you guessed.

“Only for one month in July.” Taehyung leaned back in his chair as well. “Why? Are you going to miss me?”

“No,” You shook your head, “you’re going to miss me.”

At this, Taehyung laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling. “Get KakaoTalk so I can text you without getting charged there.”

”Why? So you can spam my phone with pictures of yourself? You already have a mirror.” You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Also, how can I get KakaoTalk if you have my phone?”

”You mean this?” Taehyung showed your device in his hand, but he made no attempt to give it back to you. “I can just figure out your password.” He was typing in a random combination of numbers until he unlocked your phone successfully.

Startled, you rose up from your seat as he shielded the phone away from you.

“Relax, I’m transferring the photos you took of me to my phone!” he said, huddling himself into a ball. The people around you stared at him briefly before chatting to themselves.

With the slit of your screen showing through the opening in his posture, you glanced down, realizing he was going through your Snapchat messages and replying back with a selfie of himself. How typical.

“Taehyung...” You grasped his shoulder. “I’m not getting Kakao if you’re being like this.” It was a fake threat, but he didn’t need to know that. Honestly, you wanted him to stop because Hoseok was in your contacts and you knew Taehyung wasn’t fond of his step-brother. If Taehyung found out, when he already confessed these deep feelings of disdain about Hoseok to you, then you weren’t sure what he would do. He had a vanity problem already, and some slight possessive attachment in his friendship with you.

However, Taehyung continued mass replying to your friends.

”Taehyung,” you tried again, shaking his shoulder roughly. He didn’t budge. “Alright, I guess I’m gonna get your phone.”

He straightened up and stared at you. “I don’t have anything to hide, (Name). You know me. Do you have something you want to hide?”

“No.” You swore your heart skipped a beat when the lie rolled out your tongue.

“Then we’ll look at my phone together. It’s only fair, right?” There were moments where Taehyung sounded peculiar, and this was one of them. Was it something in his tone, or was it this… aura that he emitted? Either one led you–dare you spoke of it lest you became a bad friend who misinterpreted things and blew them out of proportion–to be cautious of him.

”Here.” Swiping his phone off the table, Taehyung placed it on your palm. ”The password is two, five, six, eight.” He wasn’t taking his hand away from yours, so you inputted with your free hand the code he gave you. The rings on his fingers provided a cool sensation on your skin despite the ongoing heat from the sun.

“You can check my texts," Taehyung suggested. "You can read through them."

You bit the inside of your cheek while you hesitantly tapped on his conversation with Taeyong, a mutual friend. There were Korean characters you couldn't decipher. The words were too advanced, and you only learned the language when Hoseok taught you sporadically. However, you did catch onto these English memes Taehyung and Taeyong shared with each other. You thought you were invading Taeyong's privacy somewhat as Taehyung encouraged you to keep scrolling.

"See, (Name)?" His eyes bore into your own. "I've got nothing to hide."

"Yeah, me too," you blurted back, letting him keep his phone and yours for now. You returned back to your seat.

Friends need to accept all the aspects that come with a person whether good or bad, you reminded yourself of this as Taehyung scrutinized the photos in your camera roll, eyes trained on his appearance and whatever it meant to him as he explored the saturations and color schemes he could use.

You observed your friend for a few more minutes before redirecting your thoughts to the final exams coming up. The stress to think about the exams rather than on the behavior of your friend had eased your mind considerably. Soon, you began to daydream off-topic about fast cars and towering mansions as Taehyung continued to edit his pictures.

Smiling unconsciously, you then remembered how you were a bit vain yourself. You had three thousand, one-hundred-seventy-five dollars and thirty cents to your name before. The rest of the money was in your latest Fila shoes, and in the latest iPad Pro that you cradled to sleep every night. When your three thousand, one-hundred-seventy-five dollars and thirty cents to your name dropped to a staggering fifty-dollars, you had promised for a new year, new you, and you made a resolution to curb your materialistic tendencies in the middle of sweet old July of last year.

“I’m going to change,” you declared to yourself, browsing through self-improvement articles online. You had another tab open, but you swore on your mother’s grave that you were just living vicariously through a YouTuber’s shopping haul and nothing more.

“I’m going to change,” you said to Taeyong and Jimin, your two closest friends, as you all painted random animals on a canvas. Hoping it will restrain the temptations of eating out and watching movies, you tried to love your newest hobby.

But people didn't change easily.

After all, we make money to enjoy money, you would say as you received your paycheck, the thickness of the envelope sending a familiar rush of adrenaline through the palms of your hands.

Soon summer break had ended and you were left daydreaming in your classes about the salary you'd get from becoming a doctor. You’ll have a stable job and a stable life, your mother would remind you in the living room every so often. You would doodle on the edges of your notes and wish that time could past by faster because you were stuck in a world where you were just you and the you then needed to step up from a measly five hundred bucks. Your fingers couldn't sprint against the piano keys as well as Jill, nor could you code websites in your free-time like Mr. Full-Ride classmate Jaehyun, but you did have money and it was what kept you going.

Money was entertainment. Money was activities. Money was the awe-struck gaze your parents looked at you with when you paid for the restaurant bill at a family outing. Money was whatever you wanted it to be, and it was breathtaking, inspiring, motivating, and, damn, your eyes were bleeding green, huh?

“How do you do it?” you had asked. “How are you so happy the majority of the time?”

“I’ll show you how,” Taehyung replied, one hand holding the strap of his backpack. He took out a hand-held mirror from the first zipper and gave it to you. “You have to love yourself.“

"And how do I do this...loving myself thing?”

“(Name), it’s simple.” He sighed, leaning closer to you to observe himself through his own mirror, a light red tint on his cheeks. “You think to yourself, you are everything you ever wanted.” Almost reluctantly, he peered up from the mirror to look at you, but you felt as if he never truly looked away, as if he was still tracing the contours of his nose and the outlines of his eyes, his lips, through the glare of the glasses perched on your nose.

“Beauty is on the inside.” He sighed again, placing a hand over his chest. “But it can also be made.”

You noticed the slight pout on his lips as he stashed the mirror away. He had never changed since high school. Always staring at himself as he walked past anything reflective, anything that resembled him, and you––

You had been snapped out of your memory when Taehyung voiced out a question.

"Should we go now? We have class tomorrow with Professor Smith at nine in the morning."

"Hm?" You blinked. "Ah, yeah, we should."

You threw your gelato in the trash and bidded a goodbye, heading off to your home. Developing a friendship with Taehyung was a journey, to say the least.

[next chapter]

#yandere bts #taehyung #v #yandere taehyung #yandere kpop #bts #bangtan #yandere #bts taehyung #am I doing this Tumblr posting right #pls like and reblog to show support

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sinunamor · 6 years ago

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An @aphsecretsanta gift for @52px !! Sorry about the late submission! Happy New Year!

Pairing: Ancient Rome x China (romechu)

Prompt: Long distance relationship, modern au

I do not celebrate Christmas, but I have an online friend who does.

Warmth seeped through his porcelain mug. Tired, lithe fingers curled around its smooth surface. A gentle press of lips, a small careful sip and the warmth spread through his chest. The morning fog rolled over the cluttered streets of San Francisco. His window presented him a view of Chinatown rising. Mr. Huang sweeping the front of his herbal shop, Ms. Zhou flicking on a neon light reading “welcome” and a “Merry Christmas” in English and pinyin for her bakery. Around them, the Christmas lights, candy canes and snowflakes signaled the end of another year.

He sighed heavily after the sensation passed, shuffling in his slippers towards the desk stationed in front of his window. Picture frames and assorted souvenir figurines decorated the corners of the mahogany desk. One frame pulled a little closer to his laptop than the rest. Wrinkled brown eyes flickered towards that wide spread of lips, those impossibly straight teeth, that youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. He sat back of the chair and took another sip. Jasmine green tea. The warm herbal scent carried many memories. He set the mug down carefully next to the frame and opened the laptop. He’ll enjoy the view better here. It must be nighttime in Italy.

***

He is the festive sort, that does not surprise me. He finds comfort in the company of others. He would send me photographs, selfies, of his travels and home in Italy. His apartment was so little, such home would be filled with many guests, neighbors, young and old. And he, the center of it all. I wonder if he would enjoy celebrating Lunar New Year with me. He’d enjoy the noise. It would be nice to see him happy.

***

He was half expecting it, Romulo wasn’t online. They did stay up particularly late last night chatting about Christmas plans in broken english and the occasional Italian. Yao briefly looked over last night’s exchange.

RV: nd you? you would be spending Christmas alone?

WY: Alone, yes, i’ll vidchat with Chen and his family...you? You would be throwing a ball

RV: Haha not this year. Decided to keep it small Just me nd my boys and my boys boys’ nd my little girl

WY: very small party so unlike you, i’m Concerned

RV: now you know how i feel!! Im always concerned when i hear you spend holidays alone

WY: i’m alright

RV: i know, i jus wish i can go over there nd spend it with you :(

I haven’t felt my heart pulse an ache in a long while. I do wish that could happen, but there is a half a world between us.

***

My name is Wang Yao, I have seen 48 springs pass me by. 48 years of hardships, blessings and everything in between. I have one son, of which I am very proud. Chen is his name, stayed in China and started his life there. He has his mother’s adventurous spirit, he attended San Francisco State. I admit, he was part of the reason why I came to California at all, but I suppose fathers are mostly protective of their children. While he studied, I was the roommate that cooked for him. But I understood fully that sons needed to make life without their fathers. When time and he graduated with a degree in Travel and Tourism, he and his then girlfriend moved back to the mainland.

So mostly, I was alone. I was too old to fully appreciate the costal nightlife and too young to play mahjong with the elders in the afternoons. An unfortunate generational circumstance of a part-time professor whose social life revolved around attending tai chi group in the mornings, afternoon chats with storefront owners and a dull lecture or two in Mandarin in the evenings.

My son worried for me. He does not see as old, he wanted me to find a friend, a “someone” as he put it, with whom to share interests and hobbies with. To attend events and explore San Francisco for no reason other than to have carefree fun.

***

“It sounds like you want me to find you another mother,” Yao joked over video chat one night.

His eldest son, Chen, laughed heartily. On his lap, an 8 month old daughter gurgling happily and wiggled closer towards the phone lens. Yao was very happy he managed a screenshot of her rosy cheeked face.

“Any partner will do,” Chen teased back. “Your children know you were never particular to any sort.”

Yao let out a frustrated sound, his hand twitched as if he could really swat his son a Pacific Ocean away. “You speak without saying anything!” he reprimanded, holding a glint in his eye.

“We just have your best interests in mind,” Chen smiled. “Ay baba, there are how many people in this world and you cannot befriend one?”

“Well, give me a phonebook of all the people in this world and I shall start inquiring,” Yao half-scoffed.

Chen pursed his lips, his baby babbling, “Yi yi yi!”. Yao cooed and sang at her, wanting so much to reach out and hold her.

“How about a forum instead?”

***

And that was how I met him. The world forum website. Chen had discovered its existence through one boring weekend spent on his school campus. It was a language learning forum but it was no secret that it also served as a dating site as it had the option to state that one was looking for a romantic relationship.

Of course what I had to offer was Mandarin, a fluent grasp on English, and some Cantonese. Yet, I did not feel like connecting with people from the mainland or the United States. The forum listed many, even unheard of languages, but none that held my interest for long. I wanted something simple yet unique, something uncommon but had a significant influence throughout human history.

I remember reading “Italian” and remembering how at one point in my life was enamored with the history of the small Mediterranean peninsula. Of all its accomplishments and failures, the dialects, the influence on art and politics. Of all the love and admiration for Italy as a whole.

It felt childish at first, but I was soon focused solely on the Italian threads, trying to start conversations with others within my age range. It was frustrating to find that it was never as easy as it sounded. Some seemed unreachable or plain dull and there was a great imbalance sent to my inbox from men than women. At first it was amusing, sending them off with an “Thank you for your kind compliments, as a man, I am very flattered” but as I was weeding out the active few with other intentions, there was not much left. I was soon logging in less and ignoring the few notifications I receive over the span of the week.

Until a “ciao bella ;)” reached me.

I do not know what intrigued me, it was not much different from the others that were sent and ignored. Perhaps I was in a good mood, perhaps I was in fact in a very bad one. Perhaps his profile did lure me in, as he claims to this day, but I responded:

“Wrong gender, it would be ‘bello’ not ‘bella’”.

Not even a minute passed before my computer alerted me of a new message.

“ciao bello ;)”

***

His name is Romolo Vargas and he is 4 years my junior. He wants to see the world, and he has been in half of it. He has 3 children, two sons and one daughter of which he is very proud. Unlike me, he is divorced and was spending his free time going to places he had longed to go as a child. He has been to Greece and Thailand, France and Estonia, countries whose name I cannot begin to pronounce. At first, I had thought I was an outlet for him to brag about his travels, about the women he wooed, but then he was always asking about what I done, how my day went, and how I felt. As if I was the most interesting man in the world.

Then the first Christmas came and he was insistent on sending me a gift.

***

“Baba, we are glad you found that friend,” Chen said over the phone. “But you never know this man’s true intentions. How do we even know a Romolo Vargas exists?”

“I’m well aware,” Yao muttered, feeling a tinge of annoyance course through him. ��I’ll admit he’s a little flirty, but he never gave me reason to doubt his sincerity.”

“It hurts me to say this, truly it does,” Chen muttered. “But what if Romolo is just leading you on? What if this is a game that he plays?”

“On older men and women? Yes, I know,” Yao frowned, his tone a little harsher than intended. “Thought you had said I wasn’t that old to begin with.”

***

They would never understand the late-night conversations I had, of philosophy and bao recipes. While he was rising, I was preparing for sleep. We managed a balance of work and chat. We began to send each other pictures, photographs of our homes, what we see throughout our day and ourselves. There was never pressure or qualm to keep our discussions going, we just carried on naturally.

Then Chen suggested I should get a P.O. box instead. Bright boy.

His first Christmas gift was a small painted black rooster from Portugal, a few collected postcards from previous travels and a 3 page handwritten letter explaining the story of the little rooster, of his New Year plans and his gratitude of meeting me. I never felt so close and intimate to him before. I felt young again.

We carried on, occasionally sending each other trinkets and tokens of a blossoming friendship. I sent him tea leaves, recipes, inkstones and brushes, a book on tai chi and bonsai training. Soon my bamboo plant and bonsai pot was inhabited with little figurines from the entirety of Europe and western Asia.

The next Christmas we gifted each other the trust of each other’s phone numbers. The first video chat on our phones. When we saw each other on our screens, we laughed.

***

“I’m telling you, you look younger than you say you are! Are you sure you 46?” Romolo grinned. His backdrop was his gardens overlooking the coast. His curls, touched with glints of silver and gold lightly kissed his flushed cheeks from a chilled breeze.

“The sunlight suits you,” Yao admitted without another thought.

A soft, silent smile. Yao felt his heart caught in his throat.

“And I bet you capture it beautifully with your eyes,” Romolo muttered.

Yao wanted to hide behind his sleeve like a flustered schoolgirl. It was a sincere compliment, nothing that implied a growing love for him, no matter how he wished for it to be true.

***

This Christmas would be no different. We had agreed on only sending each other a letter as we haven’t been writing to each other lately. Yet, I had sent his favorite box of tea along with a translated poem I wrote in simplified pinyin. A silly little poem about the love of two birds on seperate nests with a grand river in between, using the strengths of their songs to communicate in new echoing melodies. He always expressed his admiration for Chinese calligraphy. I wonder what he will think of the poem. I wonder if he’ll attempt to read the characters himself before reading the translated bits.

I wasn’t so sure Romolo was going to send me something as well but I did not want to anticipate a gift. I’d prefer to be pleasantly surprised.

***

Yao opened another tab on his computer to check on his email, the local news and weather. Another chilly day as expected in San Francisco Bay. He silently debated going out to pick up groceries at the local market. He already gave himself a bread by sleeping in and missing his Tai Chi session. He stretched his lower back until he felt relieving pops. He sighed heavily, eyeing the little black Portuguese rooster. He reached out to grab it from its place between a figurine of the Roman Colosseum and a windmill figurine from the Netherlands. Yao smiled, running his thumb over the painted wing. The shine was mostly gone, but the sentimental par of him will forever remember the first intimate contact they had with one another. Gingerly, he placed “Little Romolo” back in its place, and stood up to make a light breakfast.

The lone click of chopsticks and the drone of a Chinese reporter from a streamed video on his phone were the only sounds disturbing the calm silence of his studio apartment. The cloud filtered sunlight bled through the curtains, casting greyer shadows in the dimly lit corner of his dining area. Yao rested his head on the heel of his palm, his leg crossed over the other, softly flapping his slipper against his heel. It would be nice to share the silence with Romolo. The reporter’s voice would be replaced with that of his low rumbling chuckles and gentle teases.

Yao’s lips curled up in a soft smile. Christmas would be lonelier this year.

He perked up to the sound of his phone buzzing to life. He turned his attention back to his phone and felt his heart leap. It was a message from Romolo.

RV: check yor PO box >:)

His lips spread into a wider grin. Of course the fool sent him something anyway.

Yao lightly brushed his hair and slipped into a light jacket, scarf and boots. He locked the door behind him with a an eager well-meaning click.

He strode down the hills with purpose. Simple, passing thoughts went through him. What if he gotten him a much larger present? A more expensive one? A painting? Yao chuckled at the thought. Romolo was more than capable for pulling such a stunt.

As expected, the post office was moderately busy. People in hoodies, beanies, scarves and the like made lines to send last minute gifts. Yao made his way towards his box, a small sized thing yet perfect for letters and small paintings.

Something caught his eye. His P.O. box had a note on it. Yao furrowed his brow and neared it. The note was in flowy cursive so he took some time to decipher what it said.

Look behind you <3

Yao’s eyes widened, turning around slowly before his gaze focused on a man that no longer blended with the crowd. That spread of lips revealing impossibly straight teeth and a youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. His brown curls stuffed under a beanie, still showing glints of gold and silver. A spread of lips so handsome, it made joyous wrinkles appear around his eyes.

“Romolo?” Yao whispered.

Romolo nodded.

Yao rushed into the man’s open arms, earning the stares of a few curious strangers.

It was him, physically, it was his scent, his arms, his hair, his breath. His voice. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around him in turn.

He must be dreaming.

***

“So I have my hotel room and everything, don’t worry!” Romolo explained quickly, his arms moving about the more he got excited. Yao found it endearing. They had stopped by a bakery to grab a sweet bread to commemorate the moment.

“I realize how it might have been an inconvenience for you, or perhaps,” Romolo chuckled nervously. Yao noted he looked a little older than he last saw him on video chat. He must be jet lagged. “A little strange since I did not tell you beforehand, er, outright.”

“It is a surprise,” Yao said. “But a welcomed one.”

Romolo nodded, his shoulders laxing in relief.

“How long will you be staying for?” Yao asked.

“A week,” Romolo sighed, placing his hands on the table. “I cannot stay out for too long during the holidays.”

Yao felt a hint of disappointment. There was no possible way Romolo will be back in time for Lunar New Year.

Yao eyed his hands and made the first hesitant slow reach for Romolo. Perhaps if he did not stretch it too far, he could pretend he was stretching his arm.

But he felt his fingers get caught. Pale, longer fingers were soon in between darker, thicker ones. They did not say a word, their touch molded around each other, feeling every callous and muscle. The strength of their knuckles and the softness of their pads. Romolo smiled softly at Yao, it wasn’t flirty nor teasing. Sincere. Like they have done this before.

“I’m glad,” Yao muttered.

He’ll save up to surprise him for next Christmas.

#aphsecretsanta #romechu #aph ancient rome #aph china #hetalia fanfiction

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themildestofwriters · 6 years ago

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OC Interview Tag

Tagged by @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz! Now, because my last post was a Babette special, here’s something for Josephine, answered as Josephine just as @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz probably intended. The date that these answers are set would be today, February 10th, 2019.

1. Are you named after anyone?

The best I say is “I was named Josephine because it sounded pretty.” My dad named me and he won’t give me a straight answer because he’s a dad and thinks he’s the most hilarious person in the world when he tells me that every Josephine we come across is my namesake, no matter how unrealistic. I’d like to be named after someone, though. A famous woman of colour in history or someone on my dad’s side he wanted to honour. I’d like that.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Well, I watch Red Dog last night with Babette. That was a... ride.

3. Do you have/want kids?

Three things. Firstly: Gay. Secondly: Nineteen-years-old. Thirdly: Full-time University Student.

In the future? Hmm... Maybe. I’m not sure. Like, I like the idea of raising kids, but I wouldn’t know what to do. If things go great, and they have, and me and Babette last, I think there’d be kids in the future. Babette’s a—was a mother and so she’d probably be a massive help. Undoubtedly we’d adopt. We don’t know if Babette can even get pregnant and even if she could... can she interbreed with humans? I’d have to ask... hmm...

[Josephine crosses her legs, quiet and pensive for a few moment]

Either way, I am not getting pregnant. That just sounds plain horrifying.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

[She shrugs, not really knowing how to answer]

Sometimes, I guess? I wouldn’t be able to say.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Hair? Clothes? I don’t know. If they’re wearing anything or have anything visually loud, I tend myself to notice that stuff first. Dyed hair, tattoos, strange outfits?

6. What’s your eye colour?

They’re green! I like them a lot, to be honest. Thank you, mum!

7. Scary story or happy ending?

Ooh… that’s a difficult one. Hmm… hmm… I think I might have to say “pass” on this question, if only because I can’t really pick. I like both? I like both.

8. Any special talents?

Define “Special Talents”.

I can juggle? I can juggle a soccer ball on my foot? What about darts? I guess if I had to mention one specific skill… I guess I’m good with art. Visual art specifically. I’d like to think as my special talent. Babette has music — and magic — and I have art; sculpting, painting, draining. My mum calls me the next Van Gogh or Picasso or someone else, but I’d rather... not. I’m fine with what I’ve got. I’ve got three in progress commissions, at the moment. Pillowfort’s new, but it’s going well and my Tumblr’s still active, even if that stupid fucking ban threatened to cut my online portfolio in half. Oh, I can’t draw “Female-Presenting Nipples” (whatever the fuck that means), but fucking Nazis are allowed free reign on this website? Yeah, it’s been a few months but I’m still fucking salty!

9. Where were you born?

South Australia?

[She shrugs, not really knowing what else to say.]

10. What are your hobbies?

Ooh, hobbies… hmm… well, I’ve already mentioned art but the line between hobby and job right there’s kind of blurry. For other hobbies… well, I like reading, blogging, exploring, binging my favourite show. Sometimes I like to go out and play some tennis with friends, sometimes just kick a ball around and play soccer or... something. As of late, I’ve just been a bit bogged down by Uni, so I’ve had to focus a bit more on art than anything else.

11. Do you have any pets?

Kerberos is the closest thing I have to a pet. He’s was a crow Babette did… something to. I don’t really know but he’s a lovely little thing — very intelligent and cute. He was supposed to serve as a carrier pigeon for me and Babette when our relationship got started but since then, we’ve upgraded to phones and Babette let me keep him.

12. Are you/do you hope to get married one day?

I didn’t vote “yes” on the Gay Marriage Referendum to not get married. I’d have voted “yes” either way because... of fucking course. But yes, I do hope to get married some day. Not yet because... university, but I’d like to think that I’d be exchanging vows with a special someone later on down the track...

[She sighs wistfully, seemingly lost in fantasy]

Also, like... Babette in a wedding dress? A garter belt? There is no force in Heaven or on Earth that’ll make me miss out on seeing that.

13. What sports do you play/have you played?

I’ve played quite a few. Basketball, soccer, football, rugby, tennis. I’ve even done some light javelining, marathons, shot put; track and field stuff from Sport’s Day.

14. How tall are you?

Roughly five-foot-seven. Why?

15. Favourite subject in school?

Drama. Drama, hands down. The class was amazing. The work was amazing. And most of all, the teacher was an absolute dream. She was supportive, helpful and engaging. If I was under any other inclination, I would’ve taken acting further then just High School, but art? I feel like it’s a bit more important.

16. Dream job?

A personal dream job of mine is never having to work a day in my life yet still being able to do what I want without having to worry about money! Honestly, I hate questions like these. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I’m nineteen, for God’s sake! If I had to choose, maybe... graphic design? Professional illustrator? A concept artist sounds cool, but… I just don’t know yet. Come back in a few years and then ask.

Sorry if it wasn’t as strong a voice as I’m still an “aspiring” writer and still learning. I think I did Josephine well enough but it’s decent enough.

I tag: @kijilinn , @focusdumbass , @ariellaskylark , @randomestfandoms , @i-tried-and-i-loose , @sunlight-melodies , @cometworks , @pens-swords-stuff and everyone else who wants to do so!

#oc: josephine williams #original character #interview tags #work: divine intervention #oc #writeblr #writing #writers #writers on tumblr #wlw characters

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royalromancefanfic · 6 years ago

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Chapter 7

Harry’s POV

“Over here!” “Prince Harry!” “Prince Harry!” “I love you!!” I heard shrieks and cries in many different directions (some in English, others in unfamiliar tongues -- South Asian languages I presumed), as I made my way through the crowd that had gathered once myself, my private secretary, Edward and POs exited our car.

People had come from far and wide to see me open a new primary school at Banganga -- a village just on the outskirts of Mumbai. It was a place where red sandy dirt roads rolled on for miles and entrepreneurial women sold freshly caught fish, spices, local fruit and vegetables from baskets along the roadsides, and barefoot children played with tires, footballs, bottles and whatever else they could make a game out of. The best part of it all was how they played without a care in the world and better yet, with the biggest smiles on their faces. From my experience, the people were kind and humble. It was a place that was colourful, bold, bustling and seemed like a real community. I had tried my hardest to stop when I could to shake hands and wave at the women, men and children who’d come out in the blistering 30 degree heat. I was thankful that they’d invited me to their village and welcomed me (and unfortunately the annoying media) with open arms.

Four days into the tour, Gran and Grandpa were having a ‘rest day’ whilst I ventured out on an engagement to unveil the opening of the school. The school was run by a small local charity that aims to lift children out of poverty through education. Gran’s office were keen on me coming on as a patron, but I wanted to come out and see the charity first. Sentable, my commitments in the UK as well as my other global projects did take up most of my time. I was happy to show some support and come out to unveil the new primary school though.

Arjun Kapoor, the founder and Head of Outreach for the charity was giving us a tour of the grounds before the ribbon cutting ceremony. He introduced himself before continuing on. “Pleased to meet you royal highness,” He bowed on first sighting and reached out to greet me.

“You too,” I shook his hand. “You can just call me Harry. It’s a pleasure to be here. Thank you for inviting us down.” I took off my sunglasses and allowed them to balance on the top of my head, squinting at the sun, before introducing Arjun to Edward and the rest of the group.

Arjun introduced me to various members of staff, as we walked around the site. The school had several large classrooms (enough to house years 3, 4 and 5), a canteen, medical room and large outdoor gardens. They had planted trees in the back and had beds of soil ready for the first round of students to start planting smaller plants as part of school projects. After a quick 30-minute tour we had made it full-circle and I was ushered forward to say a few words before the ribbon cutting. Local press had surrounded us and there were a few international news wires that were hoping to get some photos. I recognised a few faces, as it always tended to be the same people covering the Royal beat. I made a quick speech and then we’d been invited by Arjun to play a round of footy with a group of kids who would start attending the school the following week.

It was meant to be 5-a-side, but due to the large amounts of people there it just became a random kick-about. And at one point I had four kids tackling me at one time. I found it amusing when someone’s five-year-old girl came onto our makeshift pitch only to just grab the ball and curl into it. She’d decided the ball was a giant lollypop and decided on licking it until some of the kids and I playfully tickled her off. We found out her name was Nisha. We played peak-a-boo until Nisha got tired and lay on the floor giggled out. The kids had absolutely made my day. I had a fantastic time and was happy that I’d made the effort to come out. By the time we’d finished and got back into the car I was covered in red dust. Although I knew I wasn’t going to become a patron, I knew I’d have a special place in my heart for the school.

We had a long ride back to our hotel, so I took it as time to tend to my phone. “Did you see that adorable little kid grab the ball?” I laughed as I sorted through some photos on my phone. Josh had taken a few snaps, as I’d asked him to. I wanted to keep some photos for my own memories.

“I did. You did very well to pry her off,” Ed laughed. “She certainly stole the show with onlookers.” Ed tilted his phone to me and showed me a video that had been uploaded onto Twitter by someone. It was already starting to go viral. “They love Nisha online.”

“Ha! Good!” I laughed and then turned back to my phone. “Those kids were precious.” I was happy that the focus was on Nisha and the rest of the children, rather than on me.

In the last two days there had been rumours about me dating a mystery woman swirling about in the tabloids. It was worrying to me how close the descriptions matched that of Leonie’s profile. Somehow they’d been told my mystery woman was tall, tanned and brown-haired. For some reason the press had wrongly picked this up as her being a tanned American brunette.

The press were now very much playing a game of ‘Guess Who’. Trying to pair me with any brunette I’d ever spoken to in my life. It was almost like whoever talked to the press knew Leonie and I or had seen us together. My POs Josh and Scott were the only ones that had seen Leonie and I together, but they knew better than to go to the press. I’d also made them swear to not tell anyone, not even Ed. I hadn’t told anyone that we’d been dating and even denied the rumours when asked outright by those close to me. “Anymore rumours going round?” I asked Ed as I tried to play casual.

“No real updates,” He looked up from his phone then across at me. “I mean they’re just rumours after all right?” I could see him watching me from the corner of my eye. I continued looking down at my phone scrolling through photos -- avoiding his gaze. “It doesn’t matter unless you actually are seeing someone... because then those rumours may actually affect them.”

Scott coughed, making me draw my eyes up to him in the front seat. It was his way of trying to get me to be honest with Ed. “Might want to get something for that nasty cough, Scott.” I said as I looked at him wide-eyed.

“Sorry, Harry. Just had something in my throat.” His eyes fell and he went back to looking straight ahead. “Apologies.”

“I don’t know what you’re up to Harry.” Ed started sternly. “But I have a feeling you are seeing someone.” He began pointing his phone at me.

“What? Women’s intuition?” I scoffed teasing him. “You sound like a scorned lover. I’m not seeing anyone Ed.” I wanted to protect the beginnings of what I had with Leonie and I felt like I had to keep people out of it if there was ever any chance of it lasting. In the past I’d been so naive and complacent when dating. Chelsy was splashed all over the papers within a week of knowing her and Cressida was the same too -- only because I tried to use her to make Chelsy jealous. I was hoping to keep Leonie to myself for a while. I had to deny everything to Ed.

“Okay. Then maybe you’re messing around with someone on a frequent basis.” He tried to rephrase himself. “Chilling? Is that what you young people call it nowadays?” He rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is, if there is someone... you have to let me know. Not only does she affect your reputation, but you affect hers too.”

I thought about that for a while and agreed with Ed. But I still wasn’t ready. “What time’s dinner?” I quickly changed the subject.

Ed just shook his head, before reeling off our plans for the rest of the day. Deep down he knew I was dating someone, but he couldn’t quite prove it. Yet.

Leonie’s POV

“Ooo I’ve got a good one,” Jessica (our Fashion Editor’s EA) started, as she cupped her mug of tea. She frequently came over for a natter with my EA Aster. “Who’d you rather? Tom Hardy or David Beckham?”

Aster was so into their conversation that she hadn’t noticed me walking towards my office. Her desk was stationed just outside of my office. “Easy. Tom Hardy any day.” She inhaled drawing in air. “That guy is so beautifully rough and ragged.” She fanned herself. “His wife is one lucky woman.”

I cleared my throat slightly to draw their attention. Aster jumped up and Jessica stood wide-eyed. She jumped away from Aster’s laptop screen and stood up straight, as she smoothed down her black dress. “Oh I’m so sorry, Leonie. Jess and I were just yammering on about our celeb crushes. Did you need something? Anything I can help with?”

Aster had on the cutest houndstooth skirt and white shirt on today. She’d left her medium length auburn hair to sit perfectly just above her shoulders. Not only was she sharp with her fashion game, but also she happened to be the loveliest, most organised EA. She made sure my diary was never too packed and also had worked at British Vogue as soon as she’d left school, so could tell me all the ins and outs of the business. She was my Executive Assistant and also when it came to work -- my secret weapon.

“That’s fine,” I chuckled lightly at her. “Just wanted to check to see if my meeting with Verity is in her office? I know we had to rearrange a couple of times.”

Aster quickly minimised the gossip website on her screen that Jessica and her were drooling over and clicked onto my calendar. She gave it a moment and then nodded. “Yes,” She smiled at me. “It’s in her office in 13 minutes exactly.” She pointed to a small box on her desk. “Also, that box came for you. It was delivered by a courier to the post room.”

“Hmm...” I hadn’t ordered anything and I wasn’t expect anything either.

“Want me to put it in ‘the pile’?” Aster asked. Everyone at British Vogue had a pile of random things that were sent to them. Our legal team had a never-ending, difficult job of trying to figure out if most of the gifts breached our anti-bribery rule.

“Nah, I’ll take it.” It had been scanned by security in the post room, so it couldn’t have been anything too crazy. “Thank you.” I went back into my office, but kept the door open. I normally kept the door open, unless I was having a private conversation/on a private call.

I continued to hear Jessica and Aster chatting about the latest news on gossip sites.

I opened the gift box slowly and inside was a white card and what looked to be luxury Indian sweets. The card read: Wish you were here

I smiled at the thought of how he was still thinking of me. I managed to catch the news that morning, which showed footage of the Queen, Duke of Edinburgh and Harry at a Hindu temple.

“Corrrr look at Prince Harry in that tight shirt. Someone’s been working out.” Jessica said. My ears immediately picked up when I heard his name and my eyes darted over to her and Aster. They were still on a tabloid website. I quickly tossed the note back in the box and closed it.

“What’s he in India now?” Aster then proceeded to read the headline of the article about him out loud. Aster smiled. “Now he’s a good one. Who’d you rather? Prince Harry or Prince William?”

“Harry... definitely Harry,” Jessica said dreamily. “He’s the hottest royal and still has his hair. Plus I tend to fancy a bit of a bad boy.”

“Is he still with Chelsy or is it Cressida?” Aster asked. “Ooo they were spotted at that party weren’t they? But then there’s these new rumours about a brunette!” She went on excitedly. One thing Aster did love was a gossip. I listened more intently.

“Ohhh yeah,” Jessica nodded.

“Means I might have a chance.” Aster flipped her naturally red hair. “Soon he’ll be coming home to us redheads.”

“I heard he’s really dating someone new. They’re not just rumours.” Jessica started off loud and then settled into a lower range. It was almost like she had just remembered she was at work. I leaned forward in my seat and then stopped myself and decided to use my laptop as my prop. I clicked on random things aimlessly as I listened in. “My best friend’s cousin, Katya, is dating of those van Straubenzee brothers. She’s said Cressida is real old news. No one in their group likes her, only Princess Eugenie.”

Aster gasped. “Hmmm she seems the type no one would like.”

Jessica continued. “Chelsy is the only one Harry actually really loved, but she’s sleeping with some tennis instructor. And Harry’s apparently dating someone knew. She’s foreign... American or something. Real tall, tanned and brunette.”

Jessica and Aster were so into their conversation. The aristo’ circle in London was so small and well connected that there was no wonder Jessica’s contact knew Van/Charlie. I just hoped the news about Harry dating someone would stop spreading. The press had picked up on it in the last few days. Their profile/description was wrong, but it wasn’t too far from me. Unknowingly of my background, I could have been classed as ‘tanned’ and my hair was dark brown (although I was not a brunette) and I was seemingly ‘foreign’ (although not an American). The thought of the media finding out who I was made me nervous. I stopped listening in on Jessica and Aster.

I picked up my phone and casually went through my Instagram feed to distract myself. I began scrolling and ‘liked’ most photos. I then saw Jas had posted. She was in New York for a few days, before she had to fly to Toronto. I commented on the picture ‘Miss you lady!’. I continued scrolling and saw Papa’s Instagram feed. I tried to get him off Instagram a while ago, but for some reason the French Embassy thought it was great that he had a ‘human face’ with a personal account. There was a photo of Pa and Prince Charles mid-conversation sharing a glass of whisky in my parents front room. Their front room!

My heart dropped.

What. The. F*ck. What the actual f*ck?!

I glanced at the photo again to see if there was a caption. There was no caption, but everyone knew it was Prince Charles in the photo. It was freaking Prince Charles!

“Leonie --” Aster’s voice snapped me out of my haze. “You’re going to be late.”

“Sorry,” I looked up at her annoyed at having been interrupted.

“Your meeting with Verity.” She reminded me.

I snapped out of it instantly. “Yes, Verity,” I quickly got up from my seat. I grabbed my notepad and pen from my desk. “Thanks, Aster.” I then made my way to the meeting.

What Pa was doing having Prince Charles at the house. I did not know. But I had to find out what was going on and why they’d become friends all of a sudden. Did he know something I hadn’t? Did Harry let him know we were dating? Did Harry know they were having regular rendezvous?

#chapter 7 #chapter seven #fanfic #fanfiction #prince harry #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry ff #prince harry fanfic #royal fandom

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dismuch47 · 7 years ago

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Roswell Sequel Series Outline

@anheiressofasoldier Hooooo boy, are you gonna regret saying that you would be willing to read my pitch. Mwhahahahaaaa! (but seriously, thanks. I’ve been meaning to write this out since it has been so vivid in my head, down to the song that they play at the end, leading to the credits of tasteful, retro animated graphics of tabasco sauce bottles, waitress uniforms, and flying saucers...)

So let’s see if I can keep this down, somewhat...

EDIT: HAH. So long. Forgive the typos. So late and I don’t want to read through all of this when I spent so much time writing it! Not done yet...

So we open in Roswell, shots of some of the old spots that bring nostalgic feels, but years have passed: the old highway/gas station, a football practice at Roswell high, the diner (and they’re still wearing the old uniform style), UFO center, through some neighborhoods until we get to a house. We vaguely recognize it, but it focuses on an older man at a few computers, and some gentle panning reveals law enforcement memorabilia until we close in on the man’s glasses and those pale blue, worn eyes. Why it’s our beloved Jim Valenti! And he’s typing away on some conspiracy message board with wacky avatars that convey that he’s probably conversing with younger persons. There is a message for him and someone wants to meet him, to get the answers he promised. He contemplates, is reluctant, but then responds to meet him in the place that they originally agreed upon, in two weeks. He sends the message, exhaling, maybe this is a mistake... but then he looks at a picture of Kyle, grinning that Valenti smile, winning ball in his hands. Jim nods to himself, it’s decided, and he gets up to get coffee...

That’s when men in black suits bust in through the door, armed. Jim drops his cup, hands up. He’s too far from his guns, says something smart-ass to distract them... while his hands charge and a blinding flash of light comes from them.

That’s right. Jim Valenti has mother effing powers!

The men stumble about, whilst Jim dashes to the computer screens, holding a hand over them to blast out the hard-drive with energy pulses. He picks up a handgun that was strapped beneath the desk and takes out two men before he is thrown against the wall. One of the MIB has his hand raised, a supernatural opponent. None of the other MIB look phased. Jim looks up, wincing in confusion. One of the MIB asks the attacker if they should relocate Jim to “the compound” with the “others.” But the leader decides that Jim is too old to withstand any of the rigorous testing... he’d only be dead weight. He raises his hand to finish Jim Valenti off...

And we see Jim’s gaze wander back to the picture of his son, as his assailant’s hand glows...

And cut to black with a flair of cliff-hanger: Cue Roswell theme song and Roswell graphics...as it morphs from Roswell to more recognizable location of midwest city, the coast, New York, China, India, London...all tainted with something extraterrestrial/galactic... promising more of the unknown at a broader scale.

And then we start up in Cleveland, Ohio, of all effing places.

(And now I’m going to get less detailed; just thought it was important to establish the mood and intrigue first ;) Oh, and I also have like NO final name decisions for a lot of these characters, so forgive the half-assedness with these names.)

The character that we will ride on the back of to get to the characters we know and love is a hispanic youth (mid teens), who is clearly living in poverty and trying to keep his nose clean. Let’s call him...Alex. (: I had too; to honor the original). Alex is special, because he has powers, And he is a co-mod on a message board that reaches out to others with abilities. The main mod, who has been very encouraging and helpful in avoiding attention while still developing the abilities, has finally okayed meeting up for the first time with Alex (It is... was... Jim ): The halfway point that they agree upon is Nashville in two weeks. Alex has no money, but he has to find out why he has these abilities. He was dying from a shoot-out when he was young, caught in the crossfire, he was healed... it’s too hazy a memory, and ever since then, powers. and he’s not the only one.

In real life, Alex has 1 friend who moved from New York, (let’s call him Nicky) who also has abilities and shares a similar origin story... only it was a terminal illness while living on the streets. In his dreams, however, he knows Yen...a Vietnamese-American girl who can dream walk into anyone’s dreams. They’ve never met face to face, but they have bonded. Online, however, Alex is aware of 37 users who claim to have similar experiences with “the healer”, whether they remember it or not. Descriptions vary, so they can’t nail who he/she is. Alex, Nicky, and Yen (in dreams), decide to go on an epic road trip to meet the board mod, who Alex is CONVINCED is the healer.

So we have couple episodes of teen-powered shennanigans, meeting Yen in person, meeting up with some of the other “healed” (they have their own hand signal and everything); some awesome... some fake. So they reach Nashville, in the spot... and mod never comes. Alex knows something is up; the mod never would have pulled this (father complex issues). They do some investigating, looking for clues and they find something left behind. A floppy disk... which none of them know what the eff to do with. And then, someone seeks them out. Let’s call him...Greg. Late teens, maybe early 20′s...knows everything about Alex and is able to convince Nicky and Yen that he’s legit. (but he’s totally not legit). And Alex is wary, because he always got the vibe that mod was... older? With a full grown kid. Some simple questioning, and he’s able to trip up Greg, who also doesn’t have powers.

Outted, Greg shows his true colors and summons the MIB and takes the three youths after a brief skirmish (they put up a good fight, but the MIB are so experienced with their powers), they are taken to “the Compound.” (dun dun dun). The Compound is basically a hold and experimentation facility for HUMANS with extraordinary abilities; the “healed.” Alex and crew think it’s the dark government... but it’s actually aliens; Antarians, cleaning up human anomalies left over from their failed hybrid units. And, get this: they call “Greg”...ZAN. Oh yes. Very “human” Greg is Max’s estranged son, who bounced around in the foster system, has nice shiny baby memories of being the son of a king and queen and loved... only to face a very cruel world that recognized him as nothing. He’s mostly an icon, being the son of two hybrids, but he’s though of being less by the Antarians because of his powerless genetics. He’s out to prove himself to the elitist species.

Alex, Nicky, and Yen are able to escape from the compound with some clever thinking, and rallying beaten down inmates...on of the eldest being a man who was experimented on for 3 years. Despite his once peaceful ways and dry humor, he’s now a mind-warper with mad-skillz: Kyle Valenti (oh yeah. He HATES that that is his ability; self-loathing galore). The gang picks up another female, let’s call her Roxie (cause she got no-where to go!) and Kyle decides, after seeing what’s on the floppy disk (his dad, explaining why he started the website; because it was for the terminal kids who would grow up to have abilities, just like everyone else Max healed... but more people from the outside, all over, were getting abilities as Max and pod squad were on the run. Kyle is moved, and he decides that if the 4 want to meet the one who changed them to gain closure, he would be their guide. He explains the events of Roswell and the pod squad: the teens are floored that they are wrapped up in Alien stuff.

The plan is to go connect with Isabelle Evans, but on the way, Kyle diverts the trip when he sees an advertisement...for the singer Maria Deluca touring nearby (yeah, bear with me, I promise it will pay off). Nicky and Roxie are just rabid fans for Deluca so they are totes okay with this distraction. Touching reunion between Maria and Kyle. And Maria fills him in on the three years he’s been gone:

War is coming to Earth. Kivar diverted political tensions to Earth with a very brutal and militant species. Like this specious tears through planets like a plague. Upset with Kivar, Antar sent emissaries to find one of the royal 4, from either set of hybrids, but only found Zan... who was eager to be found. With the promise of giving him powers, Zan was enlisted to track a hybrid down. He had a lead on Micheal Guerin, who seemed to be around the corner, during certain times in his life... but he was able to use Micheal to get to Max. Max thought that a reunion was to occur arranged by Brody...but he was thrown into a portal and beamed to an Antarian vessel. That was a year ago.

Deluca declines going with the group to their next stop, unable to see LIz in the state she is in, getting pulled back into it all, and on top of it all...Maria is now a single mom of an adopted toddler: a boy. He’s her whole world and there was no room for anything else. Kyle and gang bids her farewell and continue on.

I don’t know where Isabel is, but they arrive and she has a pretty nice house, job: picture of normalcy. But she’s a wreck... and she nearly falls to pieces when she sees Kyle after three years. Yes. They were a thing at one point; she she spent every night trying to connect to his mind and dream walk with him. She has a daughter, Cassie, who looks just like her mother and fully embraces her her alien heritage as a princess; she the worst. She gets to know Alex, Nikki, Yen and Roxie, and they are floored by her abilities... that she flaunts. (no, Kyle is not the father... and neither is Jesse: DUN DUN DUUUUUN)

After Kyle and Isabel have their well deserved moment, they decide that the kiddies can’t come along, because it’s WAR, so they are to stay at Isabel’s house. And not only that... but the Parker-Evans chldren (all 3 of them) are dropped off by SERENA, Liz’s work budy from the University Lab Research Team (WHO THE EFF IS SERENA???) Turns out Serena be cool, but she’s a human who doesn’t know about any of the alien stuff (but she’s like mad smart with theoretical science). So the adults leave to go on patrol, and the teens think this sucks, though the little Parker-Evans kids are happy to have new playmates. Cassie pipes up that she’s not going to stick around, since the eldest kiddo is 13 and can handle her younger siblings so she gonna go abuse her powers to go clubing. She coaxes Alex to go with her, Roxie is down... but Yen and Nicky decide to stay at the house to protect the kids. Yen isn’t so happy that Cassie appears to be sinking her claws into Alex.

Club shenanigans, but then Alex Guilts Cassie to give a crap about what is going on outside of her comfy life and she tags along with him and Roxie as they go to shadow after the adults. And what they find is is a Michael Guerin, Isabel Evans, and Liz Parker-Evans kicking some serious alien ass. They are trying to steal aboard a vessel to get access to the Antarian ship hovering over earth. Then this armored opponent appears and nearly smears Liz across the gravel, but Micheal and Isabel are able to hold him briefly, giving Liz and chance to get a clean shot... but she hesitates. She can’t do it... and the armored figure is about to break free. Things look dire for the three, so Alex and Roxie spring to action, getting in a good shot or two, but the figure retreats back to the ship in a beam of light. Liz, instead of thanking the teens, yells at them.

It had been Max. Stripped of his consciousness and replaced with the collective consciousness (see how I’m including some book stuffs???) of Antar: their memories of King Zan poured into the hybrid vessel, Max Evans. The idea was to have their reclaimed King challenge Kivar for the throne. But King Zan, a distorted version, as memories aren’t a replacement for a SOUL... and with the temperament of a human...straight up just kills Kivar. And leads Antar into a dark age. Wah-waaaaaah.

But there’s a problem: remember how Dupe Isabel made the comment that Max’s pod set are the defectives? Too human? Well, it’s true... and Max’s body, being too human, can’t handle the energies and massive power from the crystals that he’s wielding. (it’s all about the crystals, for Antarians: they bring people back from the the dead, serve as text messages, it’s great... oh, and some probably become huge ass weapons) So basically, Max’s body is dying from being too over-extended. It’s like a rubber band that can’t snap back into shape, but just get’s looser, and looser until it just TEARS.

Then of course we have to have an episode about how the main gang got to their current states: Liz and Max of course married right away, had their first kid a few years after Isabel had Cassie. Liz got an online education and worked her way up to a position at a research Lab, where she met Serena (WHO DAH EFF IS SERENA???) Meanwhile Max works a late third shift at a hospital, or rotates around, and heals the really desperate cases. Micheal is ever vigilant to protecting Isabel and Max/Liz’s families, being a hard as nails yet doting uncle.. but he’s kind of a bar fly, even though he can’t drink (he likes the ambience), but gets squirrelly whenever a Deluca Classic comes on the jukebox. He has regrets... many regrets. He wears down Max to give the kids a normal life, get a mortgage, enroll them in public school... cause they deserve the best life experience. Isabel had Cassie pretty early on...after Jessie...Isabel hit a low, especially when she facebook stalked him to find out he had moved on. So she goes out, grabs the nearest stranger, and... well...(but it’s kinda important WHO that person was... It was human-meat-puppet Kivar. Who’s never too far from his Valondra; he’s THE WORST) Meanwhile, Kyle bonds with Isabel during her pregnancy, provides for her, has a fling with her, but it is never fully realized because Isabel freaks and needs to have control over her life and her daughters, so he becomes a cool uncle to Cassie. He opens his own garage. Maintains highly secretive correspondence with his father, when he’s lured to meet up with his dad... which was never arranged by Jim. He was taken to “The Compound”. Max does get a house with a fence for his family, and just when they settled in, they get a visit from a mysterious boy: Ethan. And Ethan says “You’re my dad.”

But the thing is, Ethan doesn’t look anything like Max: it’s all Tess. The young man has a clear memory of his mother, that fits Tess’ description, and that she loved Zan. He’s a nice guy, sweet, but has had a slew of misfortune with abusive families. He grows on Micheal... in an annoying way. After a DNA test, at the insistence of Liz, they find that Ethan shares no DNA, and is certainly not human. And a simple alien connection reveals that this isn’t Tess’ son... but Ava’s...and Rath (WHA? EW! NO! But yusss. I’m not saying it’s a good match, but it happened) And Ava did love Zan, and wanted Ethan to find Max...because she wasn’t in a good situation and had to give up her son for his best chance (OUAT ALL OVER AGAIN) since Rath would probs chuck that full-blooded alien babe at Antar for brownie points. So Ethan is disappointed but willing to depart but Micheal is all “Stay with me, twerp. But get a job and help pay rent.” Ethan makes breakfast for his grumpy new big brother/dad everyday.

Feeling awful for her unwillingness to let Ethan in right away, Liz supports Max in tracking down his biological son. He’s afraid that the same fate fell on Zan Jr. Which, fyi, Zan lived a very average life... but he could REMEMBER the alien stuff, and his mother, and another world... so basically, he loathed his family and situation. So Micheal agrees to help track down Zan, because he’s become pretty good at that kind of thing, and reunites the two, with the help of Brody... and then... well... you know how that goes.

Okay. I have to stop for the night. UGH I’m almost thru. No, but this is GREAT, writing it down. Maybe finally this idea will be exercised from my brain permanently!

#roswell prequel idea #read at your own risk

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bfreelancing · 4 years ago

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Something new, something borrowed, something...failed?

Hello World,

I can't take it anymore.

I just can't.

I have to tell someone all these stories, or I'm positively going to BURST.

So, this is me, starting a blog that no one will read. A blog basically for myself to chronicle my adventures as a freelance marketer; a blog that I can pretend people are reading so they can share in the hilarity of my adventures.

And I'm doing this anonymously - or as anonymously as one can be on the internet. I'm not going to share client names or locations or anything like that. If I use people's names, they will be changed. BUT, these stories can be crazy and specific so if it sounds like you, then it most likely is. Sorry. (Not really).

My life got a little off track at the beginning of 2021. No, not because of COVID (though that did add to the whole ordeal). I had a personal matter take over my life. I couldn't search for new clients. In fact, I barely managed to hang on to my old clients.

But that ordeal is now over. And I find myself with more time on my hands. And not nearly enough money to pay off all my debt (we're talking student loans AND credit card debt incurred during COVID trying to keep my family afloat - oh, and not to mention the taxes I owe the government for 2020).

I have once again started the *interesting* journey of reaching out to companies in the hopes of gaining new freelance clients.

What do I do, exactly? Marketing. But really anything a company needs. I once helped a company get a new phone system. I work completely remotely (I've done so for several years before COVID made it the cool thing to do) and never visited their building which was several states away. Did I know anything about phone systems before that? Nope. But I do now.

I try to stick to marketing, though: website design and development, social media management, graphic design, photography, videography, blogging, etc...if companies give me a chance, that is.

I've done this for seven years now. SEVEN. I can't believe it's been that long. Where does the time go? Have y'all seen the movie The Last Holiday with Queen Latifah? There's a line in that which has stuck with me over the years. I can't find the exact quote online (come on, Google, you're letting me down), but it's something like this: You put your head down, and you work, and you work, and you work, until one day you look up and think, how did I get here?

God, if that's not the truth. They told me growing up in school that I could be anything I wanted to be - that I would have the world at my feet, so long as I worked hard.

That was a lie.

I've worked hard. Harder than I ever thought I would have to. And I only have experience to show for it. Experience that still isn't enough. I'll never understand that.

How did I get where I am? In college, I had a family emergency. After I graduated, I moved back home to help my family. I was stunned to discover that my Bachelor of Science in ecological sciences provided me ZERO job opportunities at home. And I mean ZERO. I live in the country, but the city is only an hour away.

I'm in the Midwest. So, it's not like the city is HUGE like New York, but if I told you the city, you would 100% know it. Still, there were no opportunities.

I decided to go a different direction. Yep, you guessed it, MARKETING. Why? Because life threw me two more curve balls when I was in college, and instead of having multiple ecological internships, I had a few of those, but also a few marketing internships. Maybe one day I'll tell you about those.

But for now, you get the gist: I had two years of actual, real world marketing experience. I started applying to local marketing jobs. No one would hire me. When I was able to get feedback - which was few and far between - I was told that while my portfolio from my internships was impressive, the companies didn't like me because I didn't have a degree in marketing. Sure, I had a 4.0 GPA in all my science classes, and I graduated an entire year early. I was an officer in five clubs, a regular member in two others, worked five jobs, and took 21 hours of classes each semester. That wasn't enough. College told me I was well-rounded, but the real world could have cared less.

Thankfully, that didn't matter to the people from my internships. Several businesses I met from there begged me to help with their marketing. I started freelancing while searching for a full time gig elsewhere. Freelancing provided me a little money, but not enough.

I listened to all those people that told me they weren't happy with my degree, and I returned to college to get a master's degree in marketing. I completed it in a year.

With that under my belt, I started applying to places for a full time job - still freelancing on the side. I was barely making any money. But I was getting lots of experience. I can never thank my first clients enough. They would come to me and say things like, "Do you know how to use WordPress?" I would truthfully tell them no, but for a discounted rate I would figure it out for them. They took me up on the offer, and I learned invaluable lessons that way.

But it still wasn't enough. No one would hire me. Why? No idea. No one likes to give feedback these days. I guess too many applicants and not enough real people to respond to them.

So, I turned back to my freelancing and focused heavily on it. But then someone close to me suggested we start a business together. I thought maybe that was my chance, and jumped at it. I did that for three years before throwing in the towel. It took up too much time and the return just wasn't enough. But that same person offered me a job with their other company, and I took it.

Here's the deal about that, though: I went into the office every day. But I didn't work all day. I worked when projects came in and kept track of my time. When there weren't projects, I was allowed to freelance from my desk.

Those projects weren't enough to get me where I wanted to go. This was pre-COVID. This was a world where people didn't want to work remotely with other people. I received a few clients from referrals (thank you, sweet people!), but again, not enough.

When I say enough, I mean enough to pay off all my debt and get a house. That's all I've ever wanted in life: my very own house. That's my goal.

I'm not even close to attaining it at this point.

So, I start reaching out for full time jobs again. This time, I try to see if there are remote jobs available. I find one on the west coast. It seems like a dream, and the salary is great.

It was a complete nightmare. I'll tell you about that sometime too, but not today.

COVID hits, and they tell me my job is secure. They tell me they are going to give me a raise, after a job review. I go in for my job review and come out WITHOUT a job. Don't worry, I promise I'll tell you about that in another post.

What do I do? Go back to my tried and true freelancing. In a post-COVID world, EVERYONE wants to work with you remotely. It's amazing. I get new clients. I think I'm making progress.

Then my life is shattered due to a personal matter. Then tax season hits, and I realize that while I thought I was suffering during COVID with my freelancing, I actually made more money than ever. But didn't make my quarterly tax payments. The government wants an arm and a leg in exchange - literally.

I work out a payment plan with them, and I find that I'm completely broke. Barely able to make those payments, barely able to keep my credit cards UNDER the limit.

My personal matter slowly calms down. And I have a horrible realization: I've been doing this for SEVEN years, and I've gone absolutely nowhere. NOWHERE.

I don't judge my progress based on others. But, I thought by now I would have a house. I don't. I haven't paid off any student debt. My credit cards are now all pretty much maxed out thanks to COVID.

It's time to get my butt in gear, put my nose to the grindstone, and start reaching out to companies again to see if they need a freelancer's help.

Which brings me to my first official freelancer story, which I am sure you all will get a kick out of, if you read this far. Which I doubt you have. If you have, I'll love you forever. Feel free to message me, and I will legitimately tell you I love you. No joke.

So, to set the scene, it's a hot, humid Sunday. I'm inside. My air conditioner is broken, so I'm huddled next to a portable unit I purchased because I'm told that it will be a MONTH before my central air is fixed. I'm not moving a lot, trying to keep cool. The TV is on with old movies I've seen a thousand times playing in the background: old, familiar friends that make me happy, cheering me on while I search job boards for freelancing positions.

I find one for a web designer. It sounds dreamy. A company is looking for someone with a little bit of HTML experience, that they can train to use their brand new web design platform. I would be making templates for them, and their price per hour is exactly what I charge. I'm excited at the thought of learning something new, and I'm excited to find a company that's willing to teach me!

I immediately apply. I receive an automated response back that they want me to take a personality test, which I promptly do.

The questions are simple ones, that I know will reflect my hard-working nature. One question asks: You've had an event planned in your personal life for several weeks. When it comes time to leave work early for the event, your boss says that there's an emergency project they need your help on. What do you do? Do you...A) Stay on after you expected to leave then go to the event later....B) Go to the event....C) Ask a team member to do the project for you...and some other option I can't remember.

I choose A. That's the person I am (except for that nightmare job I mentioned awhile back, but that's REALLY for another post, so I need to stop mentioning it).

Another question asks: Your plate is full, and your time is completely booked, but a team member comes up to you, asking for help on their project. Do you...A) Put aside your work to help your team member...B) Tell your team member you're busy and to go ask someone else...and two other options I don't remember that are basically B, just repeated in different wording.

I choose A. Again, that's who I am. If I'm crazy busy and you come to me for help, I might be a bit cranky and stressed, but I'm going to set aside what I'm doing to help you. I'm not going to kick you to the curb.

But that's not what this company wants, apparently.

Why?

I submit the personality test, and it says that I FAILED it. Yes, it tells me that I FAILED the personality test. I'm still laughing about it. I guess companies want people that don't care about their coworkers and don't want to work? If so, that's definitely not me.

But how do you even fail a personality test? Who even knew that you COULD fail a personality test? Not me. Though I do know now.

What made it funnier? About an hour after being told I failed the test (which, by the way, was the WORST I have ever done on a test, so there ya go), I received a notification that said I was moving onto the next step in the application process. I just had to answer *one* more question: why am I a good fit for this job?

The answer I wanted to give? Because I want it. The answer I actually gave? A real one, full of bull to make everyone feel better about themselves.

Will I get this position? Probably not once a human gets involved and sees I failed. I think right now I'm just in their automated process.

Still funny though. I'm the girl that failed the personality test. I feel like I need to go make a t-shirt about that now.

That's all for now folks, thanks for sticking with me through this long read. Can't wait to see you back for more!

-B

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allenmendezsr · 4 years ago

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Best Used Jeeps Guide!

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sekerenews · 6 years ago

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Young Entrepreneurs in Nigeria: An interview with Young entrepreneur Theophilus King

Theophilus T. King Akuwudike is a published budding filmmaker, director, investor and artist who has built a brand with a passion for storytelling using visuals, the art of film & music. Theophilus also recently just dabbled into the world of investing. In this dialogue, Theophilus will be sharing experiences, his work process and the challenges he faces in his filmography, building his dream empire and a network of businesses.

What do you do?

The perfect answer to that question would be “I do whatever it takes.” I am now currently a businessman, an investor, a filmmaker, director and artist

How long have you been into film making?

I would say, about 3 years.

How did you get interested in film making and when did you decide to peruse a career in film making

If you subtract the expectations people may have had for me I would say since I was 7 years old. I had an idea of everything I would ever be. I remember asking my uncle to buy me a very tiny camera on his trip abroad. I got this tiny red camera which I took everywhere to just look cool mostly. There was also an era where it was fun to make yourself disappear in phone videos by pausing while recording. If you know you know... I should have picked up my director hat and wits right there. But it mostly all started when I wanted more from graphic designing and took a further step into motion graphics. I started to develop an eye for motion, and beauty. Not too long after that, I had learnt the basics of video editing and I started cutting different movie scenes into one another and making it into a whole new film. I made unofficial music videos to my favourite songs, shared with my friends and roommates and everyone was feeling this new thing. Soon enough I got tired of editing already shot footage and I started saving for a professional camera. I think the most important stage of my development was learning to learn on my own (Self-education) There were a lot of books and online material in there to keep me interested while I saved up for a camera. To raise the money I had to develop websites and got paid commissions off both graphic and web designing. Eventually, I did get my camera, but I didn’t decide to pursue it as a career just yet. I started making my own videos but something was still missing, I was really into building up some more knowledge, I needed a mentor. I really love all the works of Miss Kemi Adetiba, she’s been a big mentor, a renowned filmmaker and director, (who has directed two box office feature films and might be working on her third as we speak) she studied at New York Film Academy and has a lot of awards to her name. I followed her on social media and soon quickly fell in love with her point of view, her style of storytelling and her execution. I was able to email her and tell her of my interest in working with her, shared some of my work. This was really one of the miracles and best parts of my life. She gave me an opportunity to attend a film academy she was tutoring at, she paid the cost. We met and she gave me a gift actually, A book; the Filmmaker’s handbook by. She came and just had that much belief in me and that was so special. Our first day in class, we talked about our dreams, I told her I wanted to make films and own a big record label like Jay Z, she is like a hip hop fanatic and she had been on a set with J.Cole and that was just so sick for me. I was really learning and getting the hang of it, “I called my mom that night and said this is what I wanna do with my life, I’m really serious..” I finished up the course, got a lil shiny certificate. I couldn’t thank her enough, we got close, we would talk on the phone and she would just always put me in perspective, she would say cool stuff like “you have an eye” “Theo and when you get to the Oscars don’t forget to say my name”.

What are your top 3 favourite movies and why do you like them?

I bet 90% of people wouldn’t know this movie but “Barefoot (2014)” is a big favourite of mine. It’s indie, it’s beautiful. I love independent feature films and romantic comedies. Movies with a great story. I love “The Great Gatsby” and any rom-com from the ’90s. “The Notebook”. https://youtu.be/cRkgJsSA7nw

Who are your favourite filmmakers and what do you like most about their film making style?

I would say my real heroes are a lot of indie directors who aren’t too mainstream, many I don’t know their names. I love Ava Duvernay, Spike Lee, I love what 50cent is doing with Power, Tyler Perry. I grew up on Micheal Jackson’s Thriller. My favourite thing about them is their style of storytelling. I love Indies I can say that a couple of times over. I also love music video shooting style techniques, for example, Steven Spielberg, Quentin Tarantino, Hype Williams - Belly 1998 and these new guys out, Kid Studio

What kind of movies do you make or want to make?

I’ve directed over 25 music videos, short films, and ads. I’m currently at a stage where I want to direct a couple more short films first before reaching for a feature. My genre would be love and drama. I’m currently working on a short film, called “Wrapped around Love”

What do you think makes or breaks a film?

I think the story makes or breaks the film.

How would you describe your film making style?

I think being a big fan of music has influenced my film making style. The usage of colour, fashion, camera movements. Maybe timeless? Futuristic

What attracted you to film making?

I am such a movie person. I watch a lot of em. I think the best part is being able to tell a story and make someone somewhere feel something. There are these moments when I see a movie I really like, I say to myself, that could easily be me, that could easily be my movie. It’s exactly the kind of story I would tell. https://youtu.be/AUMWyL9EGr4

Can you describe your first experience making a movie?

I think one of my first experiences on an active set was on a trip to Kano with Miss Kemi Adetiba. She flew us out, that was also my first time on a plane. So the whole experience was ecstatic

What skills did you have to acquire to prepare you for a career in film making and how did you acquire these skills?

Skills are definitely necessary because I wanted to be an independent filmmaker and be capable of doing a lot on my own, I started out with graphics then motion graphics, video editing, scripting, cinematography & many more.

What was your biggest fear when perusing a career in film making and how did you overcome it?

First off, my biggest fear was taking on higher budget videos and having to deal with bigger equipment and a bigger crew. I learnt a lot from risking and learning as much as I could.

What was the biggest rookie mistake you made when you were just starting out?

I don’t really consider anything that happens a mistake.

Do you have any mentors and what’s the best advice you’ve gotten from them?

Jay Z is definitely a mentor because he’s been of great service to a lot of people. I remember visiting Roc Nation’s website for the first time and just seeing the diverse catalogue of artists, it just inspired me to want to be of service to a lot of people in the world. Puff Daddy is another great mentor of mine, I admire his positive work ethic, and his ability to be in a room and just light it up. There’s a video where he says you have to focus on yourself not what anybody else is doing, positive attracts positive negative attracts negative. Miss Kemi Adetiba and this one is just perfect, she said keep your eye on the ball, focus on your focus. https://youtu.be/_TvetYb3xbM

What are the challenges you face running your type of business in Nigeria?

Mobility, we have to deal with a lot of traffic, also the industries are very competitive. Also, As a Gorilla style filmmaker, security.

With all these challenges you face, how do you stay motivated?

I stay motivated by constantly stimulating my mind with positive material, I read a lot of books, movies, I try to study the greats and learn from their mistakes. I try to focus more on doing what I love and what makes me happy because Warren Buffet says you gotta love it enough to endure it.

Apart from film making what other interest do you have? And do you plan to turn them into a career or business?

I have interests in Music, I own a creative agency and entertainment company sorta like a label, I have a major thing for investing and Automobiles now, foreign exchange, stocks, starting a franchise, of course, asides producing films. I am also currently working on starting an academy. Yes, they are all businesses.

What has been your biggest accomplishment since you started your business?

The first is the highest paycheck I ever got, and then my 2 awards, CHA Student Video Director of the year, NMVA Winner Dancehall Video of the Year. Meeting Director X. https://youtu.be/b79SW-7veSY

What are your short and long term goals as a filmmaker?

To maximize my profit margin from that particular source of income of mine which is film. Long term, to direct and produce full feature films and tv shows.

Do you have any advice for a young Nigerian like you, who wants to start a business in Nigeria especially people who want to peruse a career in film making?

Get a mentor. Do a lot of studying and research. Carve out a Niche for yourself. Create a solid portfolio. Surround yourself with experts. Collaborate with greater artists. Reinvest your profits or channel into a new business.

Any last words?

I have a couple of surprises coming out soon, I would really love to build a following, great visuals, great stories, short films, music, shows and a tour. I’m honoured to be a guest on this interview. Thank you for your time. https://youtu.be/_OHJ-PzePDs

How can we reach you?

Contact me? I am on Social Media mostly. Instagram: theophilusking Email: [email protected] Here is a link to my YouTube channel, filmography and works: https://youtube.com/channel/UCUSc9Wr1VrJ2opMqmw7QcqQ Read the full article

#Entrepreneurship #FilmmakersinNigeria #Filmmakers #TheophiliusKing #YoungEntrepreneursinNigeria

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awedbyhersplendor-blog · 8 years ago

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I finished it!!! Alex, I finished it!!!! Your bottom Flint fic!! Well, the first chapter anyway...

So, people, under the cut, there’s the first chapter of a little something I wrote for @glowinthedarkfindel because last month was the one year anniversary of when we met. Like, really, I’ m a little ashamed of it, it’s not really good, but well, it’s a gift and I tried. It’s definitively not good enough for AO3 so it will stay here. I’m just telling you this in case you’re tempted to click on the ‘read more’: don’t. It’s just... unnecessary context and filth at the end of it. That’s like all there is. So just move on.

(I still hope you’ll like it a little Alex! Happy one year anniversary =))

The World In My Eyes:

The first mention of it is brought by Miranda. She tells James about this nice girl she met online and how they’re going to try some ‘new stuff’ which involves handcuffs, a strap-on, several other toys, and new lingerie. James is very… suspicious to say the least, especially when Miranda shows him the pictures of the girl who just looks like a schoolgirl in a sweater. Miranda assures him that this is fine and goes to her rendezvous one Friday night. She calls him one hour after she left to tell him everything is fine. The next day, she comes back glowing and tells him he should do the same. James rolls his eyes and goes for his morning run.

The next mention is just as strange as the first: he is ‘celebrating’ the closure of a deal with the Hornigold Industries. Benjamin Hornigold insisted they celebrate in a strip club which is something quite beyond James but Gates convinces him to comply. He even has the balls to tell him to enjoy it.

So James goes to the club, suffers Hornigold, Dufresne, loud music, crowds, and people thinking he is straight. In the end, he even tips a girl so she comes sit in his lap which is the only way to keep anyone from speaking with him. After he tells the girl he isn’t really interested and just needs a diversion, they have a most wonderful conversation about Hirsh, Gadamer, and hermeneutics. When Gates asks him if he’s ready to go, he nods and tips the girl again. The girl smiles and tells him he’ll never guess the relaxing virtues of getting whipped. This is such a cryptic message, but then again, she is on the Hirsh side of hermeneutics, so he doesn’t ask.

The memory lingers for several days. He finds himself thinking about it when he’s driving, when he’s waiting for his coffee, when he’s taking a guilty smoke break. He wonders how that would feel like, to let someone else take the reins for once. He doesn’t even let other people cook his food (except for Miranda of course) how could he let someone else being in control of him, of his body, of his pleasure?

He had, of course, played a little with Thomas because, what haven’t they tried anyway?? He had tied Thomas’ wrists together and put a blindfold on him while he had straddled his hips once. Thomas had enjoyed it so much he had tried to do the same to James, but they had gotten lost in the middle of it, and James had wanted to hold Thomas, to see him, and he had been unbound. James, however, had not wanted to find a new partner for a very, very long time after his death. He still wasn’t sure about wanting one now. And diving directly into whips and being bound? It felt downright absurd.

Then comes a bad day. Most days are bad days since Thomas is gone, but some days are extra shitty. This morning, he had caught a glimpse of a tall blonde man and, for half a second, he had thought this was Thomas. It had felt like missing a step in the dark. His heart had missed a beat before he could realize that this was, in fact, not Thomas. It had felt like losing him all over. He had been snappy all day and Gates had to make an intervention and send him home at 5. James was never home at 5.

Miranda had made him a cup of tea before going back to working on her computer, on the couch. James had sat next to her, soothed by the noise of her fingers on the keyboard. He witnessed her check her emails and a tchat room several times after 6, and he knew she was probably waiting for a message from the sweater schoolgirl. He felt… jealous… no, not jealous, but… envious… He wondered if he could feel the doubt and the excitement of messaging someone on a regular basis (for non-work related matters of course)

“How is it going with the girl?” James asked. Miranda had never told him her name. Anonymity seemed crucial.

Miranda smiled: “She’s good, James. What do you really want to ask?” That woman had always been too perceptive. James shrugged and remained silent for a minute or two, nursing his tea cup.

“How does it work, this… website?” He eventually asked. Miranda smiled at her computer screen but he knew the smile was meant for him.

“I really need to send this article tonight, so why don’t you go make dinner and I’ll explain while we eat, alright?”

James nodded and pulled himself out of the couch’s embrace to make some coconut cream rice with sauté taro. They needed to go back to that market: they were running out.

An hour later, Miranda was showing him how to select profiles, how to start messaging other people, and why anonymity was so crucial. James knew he was sold as soon as he saw that, despite the website’s… garish… design, everyone here seemed pretty serious (and made very little and minor spelling mistakes) and not everyone seemed young which made James feel less like a creep.

He still decided to sleep on it and went to his bedroom to read when he heard Miranda pick up her phone and greet the caller with a glowing smile and a ‘hey, my little rose’.

***

The next day, he found himself wondering about what he could write in his profile at the strangest times. He almost started an email with “44 year-old man, in search for..” before he realized Eleanor Guthrie might not appreciate it.

He started writing some drafts of it in his phone before realizing how tense he was every time he reached for it afterwards for work purposes. It seemed that everyone could now see how depraved he felt as if it were written on his forehead. Which of course it wasn’t. He checked.

So all in all, the day was spent like any other day: coffee, commute, work, work, coffee, meeting, coffee, work, work, work, eating a salad at his desk while working, work, work, black tea, the afternoon meetings, more black tea, and more work.

Gates left at 8, and Miranda called him at 9 to tell him that he better start heading home.

James listened to Depeche Mode while he was driving, trying not to think about how ridiculous his latest draft sounded.

***

“I can’t believe I just did that.” James confessed, looking blankly at his computer screen.

“Congratulations! We just finished writing your profile! I can’t believe it took us this long.” Miranda answered next to him, rubbing her hands over her tired face.

“Well, someone kept changing what I wanted to write…”

“You sounded like a psychopath, James. No one on their right mind writes: ’44 year-old man. Likes Leonard Cohen and Depeche Mode. Dislikes chain coffee shops. I’m fine with meeting you in anywhere, and I can make sure you get home safe.’ I mean, really, they probably felt safer before you wrote that?”

“Well, it’s true, I do want to make sure they get home safe, especially if we meet in the evening!” James tried to defend himself. Miranda looked at him silently. “Alright, it did sound creepy. Thanks for getting my back for this one.” He conceded.

“I’m glad you feel that way. Now can we please talk about your ‘Looking for’ section? Because this is the vaguest thing ever. I mean, anyone between the age 30 and 40, non-smoker… You didn’t even specify what gender you were more attracted to. I’m afraid people are not going to be encouraged by this.” Miranda added.

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for, to be honest, Miranda. This entire thing is very… blurry. Impulsive. Not a good idea at all. Let’s just…” James began to read for the computer but Miranda quickly pushed it out of his reach, towards her, protecting it closely.

“There’s no way you’re erasing all this work!” She nearly shouted at him, almost comically offended. “Dear, we haven’t even uploaded your profile picture yet.”

“Oh god, the profile picture.” James exhaled, closing his eyes. “Can’t the pictures from the last camping trip do?”

“Oh, you mean, the pictures where you turned your back on me every time I tried to take a nice picture of you?”

“I’m not the most photogenic of people.” James tried.

“Well it’s not a question of being photogenic or not, but of having a great person behind the camera, which you have.”

“I can’t take picture tonight, it’s late and I look like a mess.”

“Tomorrow morning, before you get to work, I’m going to assault you with pictures so we’ll have at least one good one for your profile. Now get yourself to bed, loverboy.”

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to say ‘loverboy’ to a man in his forties, dear.” James replied, rolling his eyes.

“Of course I can. I hang out with the kids, I’m hype now. I even know some memes.” Miranda answered with a laugh.

“Good night, Miranda. Don’t stay up too late.”

***

The next day, James woke up and headed directly to the shower. He looked at his face in the mirror and sighed. He was too old for this. Too old to even be thinking about this. Who on earth might be interested in any pictures that could be taken of him, or any awkwardly-worded profile, or…

Well, he had to admit he had envied Miranda quite a bit when he had seen her talk to that schoolgirl, but maybe this whole dating site was not meant for him. He shook his head at his own foolish expectations and stepped in the shower.

He had forgotten how serious Miranda was about her promises until he stepped out of the bathroom while buttoning his shirt up. He was assaulted by the repetitive noise of the shutter as Miranda kept taking pictures, even when he protested: “Christ, Miranda! You can’t..! I wasn’t ready!”

“That’s the point, dear,” she replied, “we can’t have you all tense and awkward as you’re posing. Better capture you in your natural habitat.” She explained.

“Why do we even live together?” He mumbled grumpily, without any edge to it.

He even made her coffee the way she liked, even though she didn’t deserve it. He did his best not to listen to the ‘click click click’ of the camera as he set the breakfast table.

When he left for work, Miranda was staring at the pictures she took while distractedly putting her shoes on: “I’ll send you the best pictures so you can decide which one you’ll upload.” She promised as James got to the front door.

“Thanks,” James said, “for everything.” He then closed the door and braced himself for his commute.

***

He had been in his midday council with Gates (it was more of a ‘bitching about the incompetents you work with over a salad while Gates is preventing him from firing everyone’ meeting than a council but still) when he had received the pictures Miranda had selected for him. Two of them were ruled out immediately since they featured him buttoning his shirt up and that looked way too cliché, never mind how he would answer how those pictures were taken in a platonic way, should anyone ask. One of them showed him on his computer, and gosh, did he always look that angry when he was checking his emails? The one where he was pouring milk in his cereals was almost immediately ruled off, because seriously? Talk about inappropriate domesticity and innuendos.

In the end, only one remained: it was a three quarters picture of him making coffee. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up and looked at his mug intently as he poured dark as midnight on a moonless night coffee in it. He looked less angry than in the other pictures. More relaxed. People could still see his features, and they had a nice view on his shoulders, which, he thought, might please them.

He waited until Gates had finished talking to shrug and promise he was not going to fire the IT guy even though he hummed along annoying dubstep songs loudly during work hours (who even hums along dubstep?) to tell Miranda he was going to upload the ‘coffee picture’ as his new profile pic.

She answered with a smiley. The =) smiley. He hated that one.

***

James uploaded the picture during lunch and forced himself not to check any messages afterwards. He’ll look at them at home, once he was finished with his work, if such thing was actually possible.

He tried really hard, but that report was sucking the life out of him and he just had to check. It was almost six and that was seriously a lot of messages. James did his best to angle his phone in a way where there could be no reflection in the window behind him. He didn’t need anyone to know he was on a BDSM… dating… website… thing…

He was used to receiving tons of emails and messages so he quickly skimmed through them. A lot of them were from young men (some of them very young, and he was not attracted by the school uniform, unlike some) asking him to do very filthy things to them. James knew he was in for it as he signed up, but he found himself indifferent to all those suggestions. He sighed to himself: what worked for Miranda might not work for him after all.

He thought about the girl in the strip-club and how she said ‘getting whipped’ not ‘whipping someone’.

One message gets his attention. It’s from another young man, slightly older than the others, thankfully, telling him: “Interesting how you ticked the ‘dom’ box instead of the ‘sub’ one. Might want to change that one before anyone gets any ideas ;)“

James hates that smiley too. And that username. ‘stompstomp’ really? How ridiculous is that?

Slightly less ridiculous than ‘l00kin-4-d4ddy’, granted, but still…

Now, James knows he should leave it for tonight, answer it (or not) with a cool head, in the comfort of his home, with Miranda’s counsel, not at work, in front of an unfinished task. So there’s really no explanation for how he found himself looking at the guy’s profile.

He’s quite good-looking. Long dark hair. Impressive blue eyes. He even has a guitar in one of the pictures. The kind of guy who makes girls blush and feel faint. James refuses to admit he might blush and feel faint should he ever encounter those arms and those abs in real life.

The guy had ticked the ‘dom’ box too. Why is he even talking to him? What’s his business telling people if they should be doms or subs? Why would he be even interested in him? He looks like he receives a lot of messages.

He writes: “Does telling people they’re wrong about their own profile usually work for you?” sends it before he can over-think about it, and shoves his phone in one of his drawers.

***

At 8, Gates walked past his office, looking very tired, his shoulders rounded and steps quite slow. James felt like Gates looked. He called out for him, asked him to wait for him so they can walk to their cars together. He checked any last minute email he may have received, but none of them was truly urgent, so he switched off his computer for the night, closed the curtains and walked out, almost forgetting his phone.

Almost.

James tried his best to cheer Gates up, but it felt so foreign he was sure Gates noticed. But Gates was a good person, maybe the only good person in this office, so he made an effort to look more cheerful.

When they reached his car, James blurted out a “Thank you.” which surprised Gates so much his eyebrows shot up to where his hairline might have been a long time ago. Gates looked at the phone clutched in James’ hand, seemed to find something hilarious in that, and pat James on the shoulder before getting in his car.

James tried not to be puzzled. He sat in his car in the mostly-empty parking lot and gave in the temptation of checking his phone again.

He didn’t bother checking any other messages than those sent by the infuriating ‘stompstomp’ (which is, even more infuriatingly, the only message he has answered so far) It said: “I actually don’t know: you’re the first one who looked good enough to correct. Let me know how I’m doing ;)”

That smiley again.

James tried not to be flattered by the compliment. He didn’t answer either and tucked his phone in his pocket before starting his car.

Today’s playlist was mostly Stravinski because why not?

***

Miranda was checking her own phone more than she usually does as she cooked but James didn’t remark on it. She’ll talk to him when she felt like it. He spilled the beans about the mysterious ‘stompstomp’ instead, showing her the messages, in an attempt to lift her spirits up. She laughed but will not offer any advice about how to answer.

She told him: “He obviously enjoys your grump, so be yourself.” If that had been a text, she would have used the same ;) smiley.

He wondered if that was why he was so curious about ‘stompstomp’.

Later, in his bed, he found himself wondering about it still. He was only wearing boxers, eyelids heavy and mind fuzzy with sleep, but he found his bed cold. Every time he reached out to the other end of his bed and found no one, he felt like he has missed another step in the dark and felt that short burst of panic-realisation because oh, right… Thomas is gone…

So he texted ‘stompstomp’: “What makes you say that I’m not a dom?”

He sent immediately after: “Also please, give me another name I can use when referring to you, this is becoming a torture.”

James barely had the time to set his phone on the nightstand when he got an answer: “You come out very forceful about the dom thing, but you have no idea about what kind of sub you want. I think you know exactly what kind of dom you’re looking for and that’s what you’re trying to embody instead. You’ve never been a sub, have you?”

“Also, you can call me John. The username is just a nickname I give myself because of the noise my prosthetic leg makes.”

***

James didn’t know why he didn’t ask Miranda what she thought about the whole dom/sub thing. He was just having his own existential crisis in front of his coffee mug while she talked about the editing she had to do before going to that wonderful tea salon with the schoolgirl.

It felt like John (whom he calls by his first name now, like they’re some kind of friends, which they’re really not) had successfully gotten under his skin and had decided that he wouldn’t leave. He was here when he asked his secretary to get him the Teach files a little too abruptly, asking him: “So is that what you’re truly looking for and feel like you have to embody yourself?” He was here when he was eating his sushi in peace with Gates, making him wonder where John was right now, what kind of job he had, what he usually ate for lunch, if he was seeing anyone else…

It had to stop, James told himself as he corrected another typo later in the afternoon.

Just one look so he can get it out of his head.

He didn’t know what he was expecting since he still hadn’t answered John’s texts, but he still felt disappointed when he saw that John had been online seventeen minutes ago and hadn’t messaged him.

It actually bothered him that John might think he was not answering because he was bothered by the prosthetic leg.

“No, I’ve never been a sub. Nor have I been a dom either, for that matter. Have you?”

“I have. Both. I do prefer being a dom. If you’re looking for a polite way of telling me you don’t want to speak to me because of the prosthetic leg, don’t bother. Just tell me.”

James hated that he had noticed the absence of the infuriating ;) smiley. “I’m not, actually. I’ve been thinking about what you said. You’re not the first person hinting at it.”

“Oh, interesting. Have people tried to get you to bend the knee for them? :)”

“They told me it could be relaxing. I have no idea what could be relaxing about being a sub, but then again, I haven’t truly done my research.”

“You definitively should if you want to go further with anyone. Have you taken a sub yet? I bet you received a lot of offers…”

James ignored the remark about the offers. He might have received new messages since last night alone, but he didn’t really care about what they said. He didn’t want to confess that.

“Do you have any reading recs about that?” He asked instead.

John almost took twenty minutes to answer him. James did a lot of productive things during those twenty minutes. He certainly did not re-order his pen drawer and put his paper clips in a straight line in growing order, his eyes constantly drifting to his phone’s screen.

John’s answer had several links. Some of them were articles. Some of them are posts from specialized forums. Some of them are books.

“Thanks for all that. I’ll read them tonight.” He messaged back.

“No worries. Enjoy your bedtime reading ;)” John answered almost right away. “Also: your profile pic is like, the most beautiful thing ever, like drooling material, but it doesn’t give justice to how sweet you actually are.”

James did not blush. He. absolutely. did. not. blush.

***

“Hey, you haven’t asked any questions in a while, are you still reading stuff?” John sent one evening, when James was in bed, reading about bondage.

He hadn’t asked John any questions in the last two days, that was true. For them, two days without questions was a big deal now. Indeed, for the last two weeks, James had spent his free time reading everything John had sent him. He knew he was somewhat lacking in that particular field of knowledge, but he never thought he was this lacking. The things he learnt.

He had actually asked Miranda why she had signed him up on that website without any kind of knowledge, but she had just smiled at him, that bad-news-you-are-going-to-come-while-sobbing smile and said: “My, my, I never thought you would actually get into this.”

He still hadn’t said anything about him considering the submissive part of the equation.

He knew there is no shame in it, but he just… it felt… very personal. He wouldn’t tell her that he wanted to submit to someone’s expert touch like he wouldn’t tell her that he touched himself every night now.

Sometimes he wondered if she knew it anyway.

The more he read about what to expect, the more he had that thrill to try it. Because it would feel so foreign. Because it would feel so welcome. Sometimes he would read something about how good it felt to just kneel for hours, or how cleansed you might feel afterwards and James would experience this revelation like a surprising truth you might stumble across at the turn of a corridor and then realize that you expected it.

James didn’t know how he felt about it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to try it.

John had asked him how he felt about trying it one day, when James had brought up spanking, how humiliating it would feel for him and how he couldn’t get it out of his head. How curious it was to want such things. James had replied he didn’t know if he actually wanted to do more than just read about it.

John had been surprisingly understanding about it. Gentle and understanding. He always answered his questions right to the point and sometimes shared some of his experience with it, but never in a way that would suggest he was trying to convince him to do it with him. He was just answering his questions as best he could. That was nice of him.

Not that he didn’t tease now and then. Especially about gags.

They did talk about other subjects, sometimes. John liked to comment on customers coming to the restaurant on a disastrous first date, or on customers complaining about getting exactly what they ordered. He had a quick wit. He also gave James some cooking tips sometimes, which was nice. John always listened to James complain about his job, about how much he wanted to strangle that one person who mixed up the files and about how no one understood how black coffee actually meant black coffee, not ‘put a little sugar pack next to the cup’.

James didn’t mind when John joked about it and called him a grump. He knew he should mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

So back to the day Silver asked him why he hadn’t asked any question in a while, James found himself oddly… embarrassed by it.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy reading. What about you?” He answers.

“No worries about that. I was just wondering if I had finally bored you.”

“I should ask the same. I’m pretty sure you’re not here to teach submission classes.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t here to teach people, but boy, do I enjoy it ;)”

“Do you always finish your sentences with ;)?”

“Only the ones I send you ;)”

James rolled his eyes and settled more comfortably in the bed. He was hit by the realization that he was feeling more relaxed now than he had been for the last two days he hadn’t talked to John.

“Isn’t it a little late? Don’t you have the late shift tomorrow?”James asked.

“Define late shift when working in a restaurant. But you’re right, it is quite late. I just wanted to know.”

“Know what?”

“I don’t know… If you were bored of me. If you had found someone else.”

“I would have told you if I had.”

“I can’t believe you exist. Like how can someone be so grumpy and so sweet simultaneously? I bet you don’t even know you’re being incredibly sweet right now.”

“Do you want to go investigate this mystery, Mulder?” James replied right off the bat, because he thought it was funny.

James realized, right after the message has been sent that he essentially asked if John wanted to meet him.

John took a very, very long time to answer. James tried not to slap himself mentally for that. He had wanted to meet John, sure, but he felt like he should prepare for it first, ask where John liked to hang out, if he had met other people from the website… Not ask him late at night after a two-days silence.

What a mess, James thought, the thought reverberating in his head, refusing to leave him alone, even as he tried to focus on what he was reading before, waiting, dreading, John’s answer.

He wouldn’t begrudge John if he chose not to answer and maybe, never contacted him again.

He should probably tell him it was a joke and he fully understood if John didn’t want to meet… But John was clearly typing… Had been typing for the last five minutes, at least.

It wasn’t making James nervous at all. He didn’t want it to make him nervous.

James had given up, getting ready to go have an uneasy night, when John finally answered:

“Right off the bat, I want to say yes, but I know I’m tired and a little lonely, so I think I should take some time to answer.” And almost right after: “If that was even a serious offer and if I didn’t misread your message entirely, which would be quite embarrassing, aha”

James smiled at his phone, feeling the absurdity of the situation: “You haven’t. Take the time you need. And go to sleep, it’s late.”

“Cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure ;)” John answered and James knew it was one of those ‘memes’ everyone kept talking about. James shook his head and put his phone on the night stand. He didn’t sleep as badly as he thought he would.

***

After the first day of silence since that X-Files joke that got out of control, James started loosing hope. He still felt it linger when he checked for new messages, when he heard his secretary talk about how cinnamon rolls were not that pure with Billy who probably had no idea about what it was all about either, when he followed one of John’s cooking tip, but he knew it was gone. He knew John was going to send him a message saying that, while he liked talking to him, he didn’t want to meet. He didn’t want to try anything with someone who had so little experience. With him in general.

John probably got thousands and thousands of messages every day. Who wouldn’t want to let him do whatever he liked to them?

James wondered if he should answer another message. He had received quite a lot of them (or at least it feels quite a lot on the little red notification bubble) but he didn’t really want to read them, or get invested with someone else just yet.

So he tried to give up waiting after two other days. He tried not to think about how John was probably working on his shift right now. How today was that day in the week when he indulged in a cappuccino in that special coffee shop he found. He couldn’t believe he knew so much about John and yet, nothing at all. He wished he could stop imagining how John closed his eyes because that coffee was so damn good, how he waited for his train home to arrive, how he might put his hair in a messy bun because it kept falling in his eyes…

Miranda asked him how the search is going. James shrugged and said he has other things to do anyway. Miranda baked him that chili dark chocolate tart he liked so much the next day.

A week after, Flint was trying really really hard not to check his phone on a hourly basis. He was starting to look up that yoga class Miranda told him he should attend. He had watched his comfort movie last night, curled in the sofa with a blanket, while Miranda was out with the schoolgirl, trying not to hate himself for allowing someone online to have such impact by merely being silent.

He hates that he had thought things would get bet…

Was that a new message?

It was.

It was from John.

James wondered if he should wait before he opened it. But what would that accomplish exactly?

He opened it.

“Hey, sorry for the long wait. I really want to meet you. Can we go out for drinks if you’re free this week-end?”

***

James checked his phone for the nth time. Yes, this was the place, it had the name John gave him on it, and google maps was adamant that this was the place.

He was five minutes early and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He didn’t know how to feel about anything to be honest.

He just walked in. It was a very quiet place. Someone was playing guitar on a small stage. Some people were chatting a little further back. No one looked like John.

James went to the bar and asked for a beer to start slow while waiting for John. The woman who served him took a long look at him and scoffed to herself. James has no idea what he had done.

John texted him right on time (suspiciously right on time) to tell him he was here. James barely had time to look up his phone when someone sat on the stool right next to him.

“Hey.”

James didn’t even need to turn to him to know it’s John. He could practically hear the ;) smiley in his voice.

His voice was deeper than he expected, however. He smelt good, like cream and coconut, if that made any sense.

John was casually perched on his seat, letting James stare at him while he was staring at James in return.

James understood now. Why people would just follow orders, even humiliating ones, just because they were uttered by someone they trusted. By someone they wanted to please.

James wanted very much to please John. He couldn’t really pinpoint it. Was it the most astounding blue eyes? Was it the carefully groomed beard? Was it in how strong his shoulders looked? Or maybe the way he just… was next to him. Like he was taking him in, watching him, taking notes, a quiet possession that James felt no remorse in letting happen.

There was something quite incredible, a bright, burning feeling inside somewhere between his chest and his stomach, awakened by Silver’s sharp blue eyes. It made him crave his hands.

“Christ, who takes your pictures?” John said next to him with a very appreciative smile which made James glad he had listened to Miranda about wearing that henley shirt.

Before James could reply anything (which, no doubt, would have been incredibly incriminating) the woman who had served him his beer interrupted with a: “Get a room you two already!”

“Can’t,” John replied. He knew her. “Have to buy him a drink first. Can I get a beer? The same he’s having?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, “Can you?”

John stuck his tongue at her and she shook her head. She did bring him his beer though.

“So you know this place.” James said when they were all set.

“I do. Used to work here when I arrived in town, before I got a job at the restaurant.”

James loved how he elided his first person pronouns. It made everything sound so casual he couldn’t help but relax.

John couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. That too felt nice.

***

After their first drink, they moved to a booth. More people were coming in and it was difficult to hear each other talk. John got the second round and they settled a little away from the crowd.

Some parts of the conversation were a little awkward, of course. They both avoided the subjects how they met. John did tell him, in passing, that he has read up on first-time subs experiences, but it was more in a “I read this last night, what did you do?” way.

Everything about John sounded and looked casual, except for the way he looked at James. It was consuming, really. John was taking all of him in. The way he moved, the way he said his ‘m’ and his ‘h’, the way he drank. James watched him back and sometimes they lost track of their conversation because James had been distracted by John’s throat while he drank and John had been staring at James being distracted.

When they realized they had both tracked off, James would lift an eyebrow at them and John would just laugh a little, looking down on his drink with a smirk.

“Look, uhm…” John started after they had drifted off for the third time. “I didn’t expect you to have so much effect on me. I swear I’m usually much more articulate. I’m sure you’ve had better conversations…”

“I know you can be more articulate: we’ve talked nearly everyday for over a month. And I drift off too.” James answered.

“So, you feel it too, right? I mean, I’m not the only one in this?” John stared at him and James almost feels like he can’t lie to him. He finds himself not even wanting too.

“It depends what you refer too by “this”.” He teases.

John smiled and shook his head a little before reclining on the back of the booth. He followed James’ eyes to his throat. Damn but that shirt was tight and opened far down. He smiled when he caught him.

“It feels like I need to keep my hands off you if I don’t want things to escalate far too quickly. That’s the only reason why I’m still on that side of the booth.”

“What makes you think I’d let you?” James asked with a toothy grin.

“I don’t know, the fact you’re leaning into me at every movement I make. Or maybe the fact you’re watching my hands like you want me to put them somewhere. You know, I didn’t expect my predictions about you to be quite so accurate.”

“What predictions?”

“About you being a sub. But you were standing so… tall and straight and impassible. Like you’re just expecting everyone to bend to your every whim… And yet when I came up and sat next to you, you just… relaxed. Like you found someone you can hand the reigns to and you were happy to do just that. It’s gradual, though. You just… let go by degrees. It was so subtle I was doubting myself, which doesn’t happen often for your information, until we moved to the booth. Do you realize how you just… darted to action when I suggested it?” John chuckled, almost to himself, his eyes fixed on James’ mouth.

He sipped his beer before pressing the cold glass against his throat. He looked so relaxed James could barely believe they were in public. It felt like they were the last people sitting around the campfire, or on a roof, too distracted by each other to remember that the night can end.

“It feels like we move so well together,” John continued. “Like you’ve been expecting someone to play the role you’ve been playing and… here I am.” John smirked.

It should be infuriating, really. Like the smileys he used. James found himself intrigued instead.

“Let’s imagine you’re truly the one I’ve been expecting all along, what made you interested in me?” James asked and he knew he should slow down on that drink, but he didn’t. He was at that nice, tipsy, everything is floating moment that made everything else far away, like stars. Everything but John looking at him.

“Gods, you don’t know… No, I think you know… You’re so goddamn beautiful. All of you. I liked you when we talked. I imagined that, even if that picture wasn’t faithful, at least, you would be fascinating enough to have a drink with. But you’re goddamn beautiful. Your freckles, your eyes… You know they’ve changed colour at least three times since we’ve been here? Your thighs as well. They’re the reason I’m still sitting over there. They look too touchable.”

James couldn’t do anything but laugh a little at that. He was trying not to blush. Maybe the alcohol and the general temperature of the room would explain it. He was drawn by John’s voice. He wanted to hear it against his ear. He wanted to feel John’s lips against his skin. He wanted John’s hands on his thighs. Everything John suggested, he wanted. He wondered how John’s skin tasted, how his hair felt. He wanted to touch him too. He felt want low in his stomach, like a comfortable heat blooming, moving outward, tightening his skin, making his breath deeper. He wanted to let it pull him down, drown him, but he didn’t want to surrender to it just yet, not when Silver was still over there, arching an eyebrow at him in question.

“I’m sorry, have I said something funny?” He asked.

“We’re dirty talking to each other in public.” James answered.

“Do you object to the action or to the setting?”

“You know which.”

“So would you agree to… meet me somewhere else?”

James knew he shouldn’t make decisions when he could barely remember which door was the exit, but he had to confess that he had made this decision as soon as John had smiled at him.

“I would.” He nodded.

John looked at his beer like the cat who got the cream. There was an hint of something else there too. Something warmer than just play. When he looked up, John looked like he was trying to contain a victorious smile and couldn’t quite succeed.

***

They ended up leaving soon after. They didn’t say anything, but they knew that, if they lingered, they were going to make a drunken mistake and go too far too quickly.

As they stood up, John had looked a little uncertain on his feet. James was too, to be honest, but he still reached out in case John had more trouble than him. But John regained his balance quickly and James dropped his hand before he could even touch him.

The woman at the bar looked at James like she could pierce a hole in his skull and peer into his most intimate thoughts. She exchanged a mysterious nod with John and it felt like he had been officially approved by a monarch.

James walked John to his bus station. He was going to take another bus, a little further down the road, but he wanted to make sure John was on his way home safe.

He laughed a little, because it was what Miranda told him not to mention in his profile. John looked at him with a curious smile: “What?” He asked.

“Nothing, I… I was just thinking about dating sites. More like, I can’t believe, of all the things that a dating site could have brought me, it brought you.”

“I don’t think you’re aware you’re being very sweet right now.” John answered, shaking his head.

They were standing at the bus stop. The next bus should come in a little over five minutes. They were facing each other now, wrapped in their respective jackets, assaulted by the cold, contrasting so very deeply with the warmth of the bar they had just left.

James was so unsure he felt like he was back when he first met… No. Not that. He couldn’t think about that. He needed to focus on John instead. He let the thrumming desire right under his skin guide him, one step closer to John. John had to lift his eyes a little to look at him.

“So…” James started. “Here we are.”

“Here we are.” John answered. James felt his breath on his chin. This street was almost empty, a little away from the crowded bars, and it felt like they were all alone in the world.

James thought about how, in five minutes, he was going to be alone. John will take that bus home and leave and he was going to be so cold. James took another step before his courage failed him. His hands found John’s hair almost by instinct (but mostly probably because he’s been staring at it long enough to know how to weave his hands into it) and he lowered his head…

“No.” John cut him.

James stopped before he could even think about it. It’s like a reflex. John said no so, whatever it is, it stops. James had always respected his partner’s wishes, like any decent human being, but it never felt that… cutting… definitive… It almost felt like he had told himself ‘no’.

It was quite unbelievable and James marveled at it. It felt… exhilarating.

“Our first kiss will not be us standing in the cold at the end of our first date while we wait for the bus.” John added. He had a hand on James’ chest and didn’t move it. “I want better than that for us.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” James nodded.

“Don’t be. If you hadn’t tried it, I wouldn’t have known for sure that I didn’t want to kiss you anyway, circumstances be damned.” John laughed and it sounded like a deep rumble that drew James in. “God, but you’re beautiful. I can’t wait to have you all to myself… Would you want that?”

James looked at him in disbelief. If he wanted that? Could he want anything else? “I would.”

Was that relief on John’s face? Truly?

“Good… Good… So, I’ll message you for the details, alright?”

John’s bus was coming and James signaled the driver. John smiled at the 21st century equivalent of opening doors. He had to pry his hand from James’ chest, finger by finger. But it was so warm and inviting. He stepped into the bus and watched James watch him as the bus took off.

He looked gorgeous when he was running his hand down his beard, looking serious and pensive.

***

James closed the front door behind him with a sigh.

Well, that had been nice, but he felt loneliness creeping up to him, climbing up his back to its favourite spot, on his shoulders, tendrils tight around his throat.

He dropped the keys next to a curious vase of camelias he was sure hadn’t been here when he had left… Moans from Miranda’s room downstairs clued him in. He chuckled and went upstairs.

Everything felt sublimated after John’s touch. Goosebumps spread out all over his skin as he dragged his henley shirt up and tossed it in the hamper. He sighed again, just so he could hear it and imagine how John would sigh in concert. He passed a hand in his hair and rolled his shoulders, wondering how John would love them, how John’s lips might feel on his skin. He then removed his trousers and walked to his bed. A text surprised him, as he slid beneath the sheets.

“Made it home safely. How about you?”

“I’m about to turn in for the night, actually.”

“Mm, me too. Now that I’m home, I regret not taking that kiss, tho. You looked very kissable.”

“You know you made the right decision. It’s better we wait.”

“About that: would next week-end be okay?”

“Of course.” James hesitated. Should he ask where? He hadn’t talked about it with Miranda, and he knew that John had a roommate (even if that roommate actually had a boyfriend, James didn’t feel like they would like to be the ear-witnesses of an initiation to a dom/sub relationship)

“I’ll talk to Billy to ask him where he’ll be this week-end. We can always go down and dirty and take a motel room ;)”

“I’d rather ask Miranda to leave us the house than go to a motel room like a cheating husband.”

“C’mon James, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“You’ll discover it when I’m bent over your knee.” James replied automatically, because that was how he talked with John. This back and forth. John’s funny taunts and James’ deadpan answers.

It took John almost a minute to answer and James rubbed his hand over his face. He was tired, true, but that didn’t excuse how stupid that had been.

“Okay, I’m going to sleep now, before I get too turned on to actually sleep. Good night ;)”

James smiled at his phone and typed, shaking his head: “Sleep tight” He hesitated again, letting his hands hover a little, before typing the last two signs and pushing his phone on the nightstand.

James sighed again and closed his eyes, knowing very well how he didn’t feel tired a bit.

He let his mind wander back to John again. He wondered what would have happened, had John slid over to his side of the booth at the bar. How he would have touched his thigh under the table and whispered things in his ear. He would have started with fingertips, drawing little figures on the outside of his thigh, teasing him, making his way, slowly, slowly, to the seams at his inner thigh.

He would have told him: “You’re so good, James. Letting me touch you like that. You’re so good to me.”

James dropped one hand under the covers to trace the random patterns on his own thigh, closing his eyes. He could imagine John’s voice, deep and perfect, washing over him as his breath tickled his neck.

“Do you like that, James? The way I touch you in public? Where anyone could see…”

James’ hand drifted up slowly, his heart beating faster with anticipation, but not surrendering to the need to touch himself just yet. John would take his time too. He would be a tease. Biting his own lower lip with a mischievous smile when James turned his head slightly with an impatient frown.

John’s hand would slide towards his knee again, to punish him for his impatience: “Now, James, this is not how I want to train you. What kind of dom would let their sub be impatient and bossy?”

James would try hard not to protest. He would know John is right. More than that, he craved for John’s teaching. He wanted John to show him what he wanted from him, what he expected. He wanted to please him so eagerly he felt like he should be ashamed of himself.

“Sorry,” he would mumble, doing his best to sit still now.

In his bed, James felt his shoulders relax at the very thought of just… letting John show him the way. He remembered how John’s hand felt on his chest when he had stopped him. He bit his lower lip.

Now his hand slid up his thigh and he got lost in his scenario again.

John would reward his efforts with an approving hum and his hand would drift up towards the tent in his trousers. James could feel his breathing deepen and excitement rise in him. John would then grab him, making him bite his lower lip. John would let out of small groan right next to his ear as he squeezed him a little before relaxing his grip. Flint felt arousal as a mess of nerves crackling in his chest, sending heat pooling in his belly.

James cupped himself, alone in his bed. Not as satisfying as John’s hand would be, but still… He imagined John touching him like he owned him. Because James had granted him permission to touch him like he was his. The jolt of arousal made him bite his lip harder, trying not to moan aloud. He was already hard but James didn’t reach for his cock inside his boxers yet. He imagined John would tease him longer.

John would use one hand to cup his cock through his trousers and the other hand would come at the back of his head to play with the hair he kept in a little ponytail so he wouldn’t be bothered with it. He often wanted to just cut it all and be done with it, but Miranda would usually hide all the scissors and his razor so he wouldn’t dare touch his hair. Now, he guessed he was grateful. John’s fingers started as a caress at the nape of his neck, making James sigh a little at the sensation.

“That’s it, James, relax for me. Let me handle this. Let me handle you.”

John started opening James’ trousers and immediately, James looked up to see if anyone had seen, if they knew…

But there was no one. There was just them in this booth and nothing beyond. There was the faint noise of other people far, far away, but they sounded more like background music than actual people. Feeling him tense, John had stopped what he had been doing, looking at him, patiently waiting until James relaxed back in the booth. He then slipped his hand in James’ boxers and took him in hand.

James moaned at that, trying hard not to buck into John’s light grip. He felt so hot and he needed John to pull him out and to tighten his grip on him… But he did his best to stay still, feeling his heartbeat go up with the effort. As a reward, he could feel John’s warm breath against his ear again, whispering: “You’re doing good, you’re doing very good. Now, remember, you sit still and let me do the work or I stop, alright?”

James nodded, feeling John’s hand pulling his hair a little as he did. The little sparks of pain it gave made him shiver a little.

“No, I need to hear you say it. Say it’s alright.” John insisted.

“It’s alright. Please, John.” James answered, not daring speak louder than a whisper either.

“Good. That’s good.” John answered and James could feel his smile against his skin. Then John started mouthing at his jaw, biting a little at the skin, letting his beard catch on his. The added sensation had him groan a little. He could already feel his mind cloud over with arousal, rational thought replaced with the need to feel more of John. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t touch his gorgeous hair or trace his lower lip with his thumb, or guide his hand on him.

John pulled him out of his trousers gently and breathed a little laugh against the spot right under his ear. James tensed again but John shook his head a little: “No, don’t. God, James, you look so pretty.” There was something like… awe in his voice, which immediately reassured James. John started stroking him slowly, looking down to watch him. James was completely hard and he balled his hands into fists at his sides in order not to reach for John’s wrist. He longed to hold his forearm, not to guide him, but to feel the movements, to hold on to something.

In his bed, James felt himself leaking already. He groaned and finally allowed himself to lower his boxers, arching back to slide them down to his knees. He was burning hot in his own hand and he wanted to finish himself off, he craved the release, but he knew John wouldn’t let him finish so easily, so he kept his strokes light and slow.

John started biting lightly on his neck, not enough to let any marks, but it definitively sent pleasure flooding through him, right to his cock, urging him to seek more friction, more, more, more, and yet he forced himself to be still. Like John had ordered.

“You’re being very good for me, James. As a reward, you can hold on to my thigh. You won’t touch anything else, just my thigh, alright?”

James nodded and had to take several deep breaths before he could relax his hand and lay it on John’s thigh. John’s skin was burning hot under his jeans. James moaned. He already wanted to touch more. He wanted to caress John’s thigh, and move upward until he found his cock. He bit his lip again and closed his eyes to ward off the craving.

John’s hand on him moved faster, stopping at the tip to gather the precome here and slick the way. James moaned again through his clenched teeth. He was surprised at how good it felt. How the effort of keeping himself still didn’t took his mind off the pleasure but was part of it, sublimated it.

James knew he wouldn’t be long now. The slick sound of his hand on himself was so obscene it made his blood thrum and his mind soar. He tried to keep silent, but he could hear needy sounds escaping him.

He imagined the same sounds back on the booth, along with John’s own heavy breathing and low groans. James could feel himself leaking all over John’s hand and tried to swallow his moans.

“You’re so pretty, James.” John continued speaking, “I love the way you blush, I love how your cock looks in my hand. I can’t wait to see your ass. I’m sure it would look so nice with my handprints on it, don’t you think? Answer me, James. Do you want my handprints on your ass?”

John didn’t stop stroking him, faster, and faster, and James couldn’t find his voice. He nodded and forced out a “Please”, his hand tightening on John’s thigh.

“Of course you’d love that. You love to be good for me. I love how good you are for me James. Just a little more and I’ll let you come.”

Then John suddenly stopped, his hand completely still at the base of James’ cock. James didn’t have time to choke back a sob. He felt bereft and a little lost. He knew he couldn’t move but he wanted, he wanted. He took several deep breaths to settle himself and anchor his hips in place instead of seeking the friction he wanted.

In his bed, James stopped, just like John would have done and waited, just to see how long he could hold. It felt good, in a cruel way. He tried to relax and enjoy the sensation of being ready, impatient, right at the edge, and yet not racing towards it. He could feel beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. Barely a minute after, he was moving again and he could feel it, mounting in him. He was so close now.

John’s hand in his hair tugged and James forgot everything about being silent. Arousal flashed though him and he groaned. He was whispering: “Please, please, John, please, I’m almost there” and John was licking his neck and it felt too much and he needed so very badly to come.

“Alright. You’ve been so good, I can’t dey you this any longer.” John conceded and his hand started moving again.

Now John was tightening his grip on his cock, moving faster and faster, driving James right to his climax and James could do nothing else but to hang on and follow him there, whispering his thanks over and over again.

James came in his own hand, toes curling, back almost arching off the bed with a groan louder than he had intended. It felt so intense and so good and oh, how he wished he had had the time to touch John’s cock in his fantasy. How he wished he had had the time to bend over for him and let John mark him. James let the images wash over him as he came and promised to speak to John about them, about what he wanted.

James had to lay for several minutes in his bed for his heart rate and his breathing to come back to normal. He had touched himself several times since he had started talking to John, but it had never felt so intense. He chuckled to himself, wondering how it would feel when John actually touched him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that oncoming storm.

#it's a bit long sorry #sometimes i write fanfiction #it's like an AU of the fic that made us meet #gifts for friends

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