#side note the vibrations of the bus are make my headphones vibrate which makes the music wobble. interesting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

builder051 · 2 years

Note

Family dinner, festival season, and mimosas if you please.

Ugh, so help me dog, I let this run from a fun Q&A to, like, an explanation of the inner workings of my household/relationship to an autobiographical fact/fiction narrative of my personal life explaining one aspect of my tense relationship with my parents. I know it took me a million years. I am so sorry. To my defense, I've been doing some social/emotional work/access/journaling, so feelings have been sort of spilling all over the place. Please heed the following warnings: alcohol talk/alcohol abuse/alcoholism, family tension, probable mixup of Deaf/deaf and D/deaf family/person in context.

Family dinner

We've suffered through both (I think), though I may be mixing up my young adulthood with my parents with time with my in-laws. Given current circumstances, where I'm drinking pink tea all day, eating, like, a bite out of DD's toast (yes, in the 'ha,ha, now you have a crooked sandwich' way of doing things. But yes, it's a joke. And yes, she forgives me.) Avoiding family dinner in the sense of disinviting our 7 household members and all our go-bags, wheelchairs, etc makes things so much easier. However, my in-laws are some of the kindes, most understanding people I've grown to know, and they're usually standing by to wait if anyone needs help standing up, or offer alternative drinks to be sure everyone's taken care of. We don't have get-togethers more than I'd say... 4 times a year? And usually around the kids' birthdays instead of actual holidays. That regularity and distance in bewteen is quite comfortable, in my opinion.

Festival season kickoff

Oooooh, Yeah!

(Let me back this up a sec and explain why we the exceptional introverts are quite so excited about tour bus chasing...). We're deaf; DD rather more (and for more years) than I am/have been. This might be obvious, but getting recorded music to be high enough quality (which, iTunes/googleplay/etc, usually can provide with either clean 'new' tracks or older 'remastered' ones) isn't always easy. Like, a scratched record can sound "vintage" and "so cool" to some, but I lose notes and lyrics, so I'm left confused. The Beach Boys provide a good example. I can't tell whether "She-e-ry, Sherry, baby, She-e-ry" has the "Sherry" stretched into 3 syllables of the same note, just with a sort of glottic stop between them , or if the middle one goes down slightly. I'm pretty stupid when it comes to L/R headphones, too, especially if it's a radio drama that's supposed to have it play as if you're sitting at the table with the detective on one side and the suspect on the other...My bluetooth-enabled hearing aids have made things sooo much easier within the last year. However, the Deaf community has rather taken ownership of the uncontrollable joy and wild (usually completely clean) drug-ish high that sticks around after taking part in such an arousing event.

Hearing loud, live music... it's just amazing. You all know the theories behind a drum skin vibrating after it is struck, and that sending out waves of vibrations through the air that further push on into sound waves that we perceive in the little satellite dishes (or the plastic and metal wiring inside the satellite dishes) attached to the sides of our heads. Whether or not the brain can take in or process this information, or whether or not the biological components are there to begin with, our skin can vibrate to a run of guitar notes. Loose cheek flaps make for tiny tooth taps that seem to hold the rhythm, even if you've never heard the song before in your life. Big bass drum beats remind the heart to keep beating, and the melody works off the harmony in a vein so natural that it evens out a tightly held chest into an exercise of self sustenance: in one lung. Out the other. Reverse. And repeat.

When I was a hearing person (sometime before starting college), I didn't understand the appeal of live music. I'd seen enough boy bands fail at Times Square tv recordings because of wind feedback and lack of autotune. I'm now proud to say that I understand the abject stupidity of signing a contract to sing an awful arrangement of something kitschy to begin with, atop a skyscraper in ~90% odds of miserable weather, during the live recording of which you'll almost certainly need to sneeze, and the cameraman will, in all grace, spot Ryan Seacrest slipping his digits into the crease of Mariah Carey's thigh-high boot.

All this to say, there's a HUGE difference between New Year's Rockin' Eve and, say, a death metal band echoing back over and over again from every corner of the hockey arena, and silence refusing to abound till long after the blue flashing lights dim to grey. Or the final note of everyone's favorite song still echoing on and off the concrete barricades that guide the under-flowing river behind the concert venue, surely taking the melodic voices and quavering guitar notes several miles onward, mixing only gently with the colossal mountain of collapsing, palm-splitting gratitude.

A couple years ago, we went to Bunbury (we were chasing Greta Van Fleet), and had an amazing time wandering the festival. We somehow got "randomly chosen" to meet Shaed backstage, which was super cool, and we picked up a lot of merch and junk visiting the retailers. We visited the Rockstar Energy Drink pavillion about 20 times to get free cans of soda, and nobody was checking for double dippers. For musicians, we saw Blue October, Dashboard Confessional, Shaed, AWOLNation, and ofc, Greta. It was among the most amazing experiences I've ever had in my life. We've seen Breaking Benjamin at Riverbend (triple cast with Three days Grace and Chevelle). For Christmas 2019, right before I got uber sick, I took DD to Bad Wolves, Three Days Grace, and FFDP. We TRIED to go see Disturbed (w/Bad Wolves opening), but they cancelled in the midst of COVID and we were refunded; they never rescheduled the tour. We've also, randomly, seen Bad Wolves perform as a main act in this tiny little local dive bar. For 2022, the only event we've attended is a triple-header of Bad Wolves, Hollywood Undead, and Papa Roach. This upcoming season, there aren't actually any festivals on the books that are running that have stringent enough safety checks in place to make us feel good about attending. But, the big music centers in the next town over (such as the one where we saw Papa Roach) did an amazing screening process and handled handicapped seating really well, so we're happy to head there for more future events. On the schedule between May and December, we're off to Breaking Benjamin, Greta Van Fleet, and FFDP. All repeat tours, but all have proven themselves to be AMAZING.

Mimosa

Well, to follow the question quite literally, I'm more off alcohol than on, at least at the moment. My doctor's forms ask me, oh, twice a week or so what my drinking habits are (relate to # of drinks per week: frequently, sometimes, rarely, never). Like, how does that even work out? I usually use the verbiage "Once in a blue moon" or "Once a week or less frequently" or "if we ever decide to sit on the patio and have a party (which actually describes our, erm, green stuff smoking habits, which actually only differentiates from our drinking habits by 'is it cold outside? Sandy, stick your hand outside? Puffy-breath is fun; climbing the stairs to get a coat is not."

My parents were... "average/good" kids to young adults (remember, legal age at that point was 18, but there were some rules that still needed to be minded, such as my Mom's Christian college campus and my Dad's induction into and related house-moving onto the local Air Force unit.) With that general setup, they had, like, 4 years of playing around like outgrown college kids except that there was no legal recourse/graduation withholding/demotion/etc. for casual sex, combined financial planning, etc.

Anyhow, they joined the great brigade of married military couplets by 1990, and were assigned overseas. Beyond placement in an obscure location where, let's face it, Icelanders drink kind of a lot. Think 'Thor,' but with levels. You can buy Gull Beer, which is basically the equivalent of Bud Lite, at the corner store, where it's treated somewhat like caffeinated soda. Anyone who seems "responsible" enough to handle drinking it (such as, anyone who rode their own bicycle for their shopping trip) is allowed to buy it with no ID/age check necessary. My best guess is... young teenager-ish? Secondary school? Up to great bearded elderly adulthood, of course.

To find any other kind of alcoholic beverage on the island, you have to either go to a restaurant/bar, a grocery store with an attached liquor store, or a free-standing liquor store. You will be ID'd on the spot, before you so much as reach for the door handle. (Or maybe that's just a rule for me, since I'm not a very big person, nor a a very, uh, old? mature? looking person. Last time I was over there it was my birthday, and I was turning 21. Legal drinking/buying age in Iceland is 20. I think, since I've been about 14 years old, I've looked somewhat nebulously 14-30 years old, depending heavily upon what sunglasses/hats/tshirts/suits and ties/etc. I happen to be wearing at the time.) So, anyway, I'm telling you this because for my entire time in Iceland for my last visit, i was of age, and I tasted a bunch of different kinds of beer, which, to me, all taste kind of, meh. I do really like Gull Beer, though, because it kind of tastes like club soda with a side of hops.

Climb back into the way-back machine, to my parents' assignment at Keflavik, which they seemed to take as an ugly wasteland, instead of a gorgeous place full of opportunities to explore natural wonder. IDK if it was them, or the people they hung around, but the constand liquor backstock became a thing.

From as far back as I can remember, (and I lived a bizarre childhood, where, though my parents were married and supposedly cohabitating, my dad was "away" (meaning-deployed to a war zone, generally Kuwait) for work for more than 10 months out of the year for more than the first four years of my life. So, around the time I was 5 and entering kindergarten, I had learned that there was this strange moustached man hanging around who would say 'yes' if I asked him if I could eat Chex Mix. (My mom usually said 'no.').

For reasons unbeknownst to me, I was not terrified when he took me in the shower with him and washed me like a little Air Force staff sergeant, making an unknottable mess with my baby-fine hair as he tried washing it with Dial Gold from a bar. My autistic father probably thought he was doing the right thing. My autistic self was only sensitive to the visual of my lion's mane in the mirror, and screaming for my mom brought her and a glass of fragrant shiraz cabernet into the bathroom. "You know where we keep it," she'd grumble as she dug the Static Guard out of the cabinet and sprayed it on a hairbrush.

Nothing on this planet smells like Arm & Hammer Static Guard. Best close-to I can try to describe is... If you're really snotty and try gargling with salt water with 1/2 intent to kill the bacteria back there and 1/2 intent to gag yourself and make the ropy goopy egg-white looking/feeling slime detach from your uvula to populate the sink drain instead--- There will be backwash. It will be watery, salty, and have some interplay of stale bodily fluid--less sour than bile, yet stronger than watery nose drip. Something disgustingly... pretzel-y?The brown and tan bits sticking out like a sick compilation of chicken bones under the thick yellowy globules of infected snot, which, to play out the analogy, could easily represent the gobs of chicken fat that boil to the top of the soup pot, just waiting to be strained out.

I've never tried to eat Static Guard. Shiraz Cabernet, though, has been on offer since, oh... first grade? A dribble at the bottom of a juice glass poured out, then placed by my seat at dinner, reflected in the shadow of my Mom's full, shapely cup.

Then free sips offered, once a night at least, as long as I didn't ask. Didn't pry. Actually, I didn't know that for sure. I'd find the tune of honey-cherry sweetness, about as pleasant as a cough drop, then carefully lick my lips to shade them with burgundy, which, to my middle-childhood brain, seemed the only other use for such a deeply stained beverage. Perhaps that's how my Barbie dolls did it, dressing in outfits from the picnic collection; beaming at me with luscious grins as I pinned their hats into place. The mish-mosh of accessories slipped awkwardly into the undersized pink basket: stemmed punch cups, a cranberry tinted wine bottle, labeled with yellow grapes and nonsensical text. Then the plates, cloth napkins which refused to fold, beach towels (in absence of a proper picnic blanket), and the little plastic dog that had been misshapen in the mold and fell over each time I tried balancing it on the flat platform beneath its feet. I plopped the whole lot into the cracked tupperware representing the outrigger canoe, and swept the whole scene to the back end of the living room couch so my dolls could be giddy and kiss each other without anyone else seeing.

At some point, I turned 18. It was long past the day when my dolls entered permanent storage at the top of the closet. My mom's daily habits changed, too. She learned of places where a smiling photo and a new credit card (oh, and a pesky annual price-offsetting fee) could get her out of the house a little less, and leave her at home with a little more.

Black Box shiraz cabernet costs a couple fewer pennies per ounce than it's usual bottom-of-the-barrel comparison, Yellowtail. At least the latter has the somewhat-attractive Kangaroo to stare you down every time you pour another glass. Black Box keeps going and going until pffft-bubble-spit- that's all. You're supposed to be happy with your 1/3 cup. Or raise brows to the ceiling and lean in to skim the bubble crust off with your teeth to keep down the close call.

But if you're my mother, saving pennies is the name of the game. Saving pennies so you can always afford one to spare. Use trickery designed to fall in step with the drunk mind, leaving no mess, no mind, and no fault. How many glasses? Why only one. Perhaps filled six times over, but... A new box opened? Now I certainly don't recall doing that. There is more cardboard, though. Poking out the top of the neighbor's recycling. I saw it when I walked to the top of the street to check the community notice board. There have been so many dead birds in the street lately...

When I was of age, I took her up on her offer a few times. A full glass. Afternoon niblets. Chatter. Professional sports on television. Even glazed with liquid warmth, she'd give me a disparaging glance when I changed the channel to figure skating. I took my drink to my lips and sipped through my teeth. I didn't know how to tell her that I didn't know how to score football. And if I couldn't say that, I couldn't possibly ask how she could do it red faced and with eyes bleary beyond the point of short-term memory.

My next sip tasted of vinegar. It's something that happens sometimes, when wine is made in large batches and incorrectly stored. Perhaps there was a bubble of air at the top of the barrel. Oh, for fuck's sake, Black Box isn't a barrel wine. Everyone knows that. There's probably an accumulation of rust on one leg of the aerating contraption. A dead caterpillar stuck to the inside lid of the canning vault. I brought my glass down to sniff it for eau de caterpillar, my stomach going immediately to knots.

There's a hollow crash from outside, and every nerve in my body jumps. A can of Heineken rolls across the concrete patio, my dad two or three stumbling steps behind. A handful of crunchy green leaves blow in the same general direction, so it's hard to tell who, if anyone, is at fault. My dad over-reaches, and his knee gets caught in the excess fabric of sleeve hanging below his armpit. He grounds himself, shaking his head, then snatches the can. He rises slowly, bowed a little to check out the chalk-like marks criss-crossing the papery, old-man skin that's starting to take over his legs. He rolls his eyes, then, as if to show who's really in charge, he crushes the can and feeds its newly narrowed body into a space among the decorative loops and swirls in the garden wall behind the disobedient tomato plants.

Satisfied that safety, at least, has been achieved out there, I look toward my Mom again. One arm cushions her head on the arm of her chair, and the other lazily grasps her wine glass, which has but a drop left. Not enough to taste. But probably enough to stain.

I carefully slip the stem from between her fingers. My mom wakes with a start. She looks at the television, which has stalled out as the local broadcast network moves through the shows on the lineup. NFL playoff coverage is over. It's time for the National News.

"Who won?" My mom looks at me, somewhat aggressively, as if I'm her secretary, and the report she requested is both late and deficient.

"Um. purple helmets," I say. "I think."

My mom purses her purplish lips. "Who are they?"

I have to cast around through the connect-4 of my mentally accessible trivia facts--The university of the place of the guy with the hair... Guardians of the Galaxy, except not really--they only team up for Thanos... My mother doesn't know who Thanos is; she fell off around Civil War...

"Uh..." My voice is there before my brain. "Vikings?"

"What conference?"

Fuck do I know. "Minnesota?"

"That doesn't help."

"You mean, like, east or west? That one's in the middle."

"Did you put away my cup?"

"Kind of. Everything's in the sink." I stand up and make to go. "Text you in the morning?"

"Wait!" my mom seems genuinely concerned. "You can't go. You can't drink and drive."

"Good idea." I heft the chip bag on the table. I don't remember when they came out of the cupboard, but it was certainly after my glass retreated to the sink. There are approximately 5 left. Perfect. I'll have them for dinner. While they show the figure skating highlights on the national news. "You stay right there." I dig out my keys and head down the hall. "Bye, Mom."

She still looks befuddled. I open the front door, then quickly squeeze out past the screen without letting in a pesky moth. I wave. My mom waves. "Don't let in a moth..."she trails off in a yawn.

"Sure." The cat's asleep about six feet down the hallway, twitching his toes as he plays out some kind of hunting and pouncing dream. He wouldn't know what to do with a moth. Run around and yell at it, probably. Same as my mom.

My dad would probably try to build some kind of moth-trapping contraption involving plywood, car was sponges, maybe a handsaw, a flyswatter (you know, for the stick side only), and a bucket balanced atop a stepladder. He'd get it through the doorway of the garage and start assembling it in the laundry room before my mom (or the cat) pulled out a magnifying glass and started an investigation. Then, unable to talk him down, either (or both) would turn to plan 2: call in the son.

"Hi, mom," I'd say. Then I'd patiently listen to her story. Probably getting clearer information from the mew's in the background. Then I'd take a deep breath and get started on spitting out some hard truths.

"I hate to break it to you guys," I'd say. "But, you're getting old. It's the big 6-0 this year. Most people book a cruise, not a hospital bed. And not one in the unit for folks who've broken their necks over homemade butterfly nets."

"We're not THAT old," I imagine them saying, trying to stay calm whilst doing furious mental mathematics (for they're still not great at switching apps while the mobile phone is on a call, nor can they recognize the calculator icon from the quick access menu. They were, most unfortunately, then generation of teachers who told us students we'd never be walking around with calculators in our pockets, so it's hit them with an even larger surprise.)

"Well, your choices are your choices, I guess." I'd take a deep breath and screw up my eyes, preparing to end the call stat if necessary. "Just... please don't be drunk when you try out your invention."

"Don't worry, honey--" my mom would say.

"We know what we're doing--" my dad would follow.

"That's the only way we know how to do anything." I can practically see my mom's saccharine grin. "We've been drunk for our entire adult lives."

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yeoldontknow · 5 years

Text

Balls Deep | M+

Author’s Note: this work is entirely an act of fiction. if features subjects which may be triggering or uncomfortable to read, including but not limited to non-traditional and indecent sexual acts. i do not advocate or condone the use of this location for this purpose. please take the warnings seriously before continuing. | chanyeol’s pseudonym comes from Darcy Argue, a jazz composer/conductor Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: smut; public sex; alternate universe; married partnership; romance Summary: While taking your class to lunch during a field trip, your husband suggests an indecent and amoral misuse of the McDonald’s playplace. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; public sex; indecent use of a playplace; graphic sexual acts within a playplace; explicit language; dominating themes; light gagging; spanking; fingering (female receiving); unprotected sex; mentions of cumplay; dirty talk; creampie **please take these warnings seriously and do not read if you are uncomfortable Word Count: 10K

Standing to the side of the eating area in Chicago’s largest McDonald’s, you cautiously eye the group of twenty first graders charged under your wing. They’ve scattered, as children are wont to do, spread throughout the restaurant floor, some eating, some chattering, and many playing. Looking at your watch, you see there’s still thirty minutes left to the scheduled lunch time, and let your gaze shift to the bus driver who eats alone, headphones tucked into her ears, enjoying her brief moment of peace.

This is not the first field trip you’ve chaperoned, however it is the first you’ve managed on your own, an undercurrent of pride making your chest swell. And it is this, perhaps, that exacerbates your anxiety considering there is something terribly, terribly wrong with this journey.

A hand slips beneath the waistband of your trousers, cupping your ass with strong, confident fingers, arm discreetly hidden under your coat and ensuring no one can see. The hand in question belongs to the only person allowed to challenge you like this, in public, at work; your husband, the man who understands you are always wanting him - especially when confronted with risk, and especially when you absolutely should not be wanting him at all.

The hand, to be frank, doesn’t even belong on the field trip. And so, this hand is a problem.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you mutter through pursed lips. ‘I could get in so much trouble for this.’ Keeping a smile plastered to your face for the sake of the children, your eyes glaze slightly as you peer across the room, looking without seeing, putting in effort to avoid looking at the exquisite body attached to the hand., even though your vision craves to be flooded with nothing but him.

‘You know deep down you’re ecstatic I’m here,’ Chanyeol singsongs sweetly, casting a coy glance at your profile.

In your peripheral, you watch him smile, wide and long and so breathtakingly charming, and feel yourself blush, cheeks flooding with warmth. You hate that he controls the blood beneath your skin, even after all this time, and even from the moment you first saw him.

‘Yes, of course I’m happy,’ you sigh, turning to meet Chanyeol’s heated stare. ‘It’s just that you actually don’t have permission to be here and, oh hey, your hand is down my pants. And while I do want this, -’ Chanyeol squeezes the plump flesh of your ass cheek, smirking as you fall slightly forward, eyes fluttering with a quiet inhale.

Regaining your composure, you blink. ‘I’m not sure my students want to see the more private side of their teacher’s life.’

Momentarily believing you won the argument, you let yourself drown in Chanyeol’s eyes, luxuriating in the affection and adoration you find. Even behind his play, there’s an air of gentleness, one that wins over his irises, and lets your heart rate settle, readying for his hand to leave your skin.

But then, his lips into a wolfish grin, wide and impish and utterly feral, and all at once his sweetness dissipates.

‘Should I call you Miss Y/N, then?’ he beams, gifting your ass with another strong squeeze.

Stone faced, all your blood rushes to your toes, heart bottoming out in your cunt as adrenaline courses through your veins instead, betraying you. He knows you only like to be called Kitten in bed, and Miss when he's been particularly naughty.

‘You’re turning a field trip into a game of role play,' you mutter, words quick and voice low as you shake your head. 'This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.’

‘That’s besides the point, bright star.’ Chanyeol moves closer, his shoulder nudging softly against yours and allowing the wind to carry his cologne through your open mouth, right onto your tongue. It drips, like honey, down your throat, warming everything it touches as you try to drink it down, realizing you are parched for him. ‘I’m right here, with you. Don’t I add a ray of sunshine to your otherwise bland day?’

Rolling your eyes, you try not to laugh. ‘I’m a little preoccupied, Chan. I’m working and - ohh, fuck what are you doing?’

You choke on a gasp as Chanyeol pushes his hand lower, deeper, sliding down through your underwear until his fingers toy gently with your folds, stroking idly with the barest of touches. You shiver, biting your lip to keep from making sound as your walls clench around nothing in anticipation. Mindlessly, your arm reaches for the tiled wall beside you, feeling the blood rush beneath your fingertips as your press against its coolness.

‘Just keep talking, baby,’ he whispers, voice low and full of gravel. He presses firmly against your slit with the flat of his hand, ensuring that his fingers do not slide in, teasing. ‘Stay calm. Don’t let anyone notice you, Miss Y/N.

There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, amusement and encouragement laced through the words, but your focus lands upon the weight and intention of his expression, the way he seems to burn before the long expanse of white snow just beyond the window, and all at once it hurts to breathe. Playfulness lives within the deep richness of his voice, but not in his eyes - heavy lidded and thick with desire. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, gaze cast downward at smooth expanse of your chest beneath your button up shirt. Chanyeol swallows thickly, brow furrowed with wanting, and he runs his index finger over your slit, lips twitching in a smile as he feels your wetness.

‘Chan,’ you whine, breathless as you struggle to find the right things to say. ‘I can’t think when you’re doing that, fuck me.’

Further excuses die on your lips, dissolving on contact with the heat of your tongue, your mouth, your skin, your lungs. It’s winter, winter in Chicago, and yet you are alight beside him, the thick wool of your coat suddenly too heavy for the temperature of his touch. Casting his eyes away from you and the dry, red part of your lips, his expression morphs into a smile of placid nonchalance as he slowly guides the tip of his middle finger into your core.

‘You don’t need to ask for it, baby,’ he teases, voice running over your skin, hot and heavy like melted chocolate.

Closing your eyes, you try to think of something, anything that is not his touch, his mouth, his hands, but come up empty. Attempting to maintain the slow, even pattern of your breath, you push your anticipation and craving for more aside, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your expression in check.

‘Chan,’ you begin, gathering your strength. Opening your eyes, your vision is blurred, unfocused. ‘Not here. Are you really insinuating that you would fuck me? In a McDonald’s?’

He hums, a deep rumble of thunder that makes your bones quake as he bends to kiss against your ear. ‘I thought it was established a long time ago that I’d fuck you anywhere.’

'Jesus Christ,' you breathe, blood starting to feel like a live wire. ‘You really can’t say those things to me when I’m working.’

Chanyeol laughs quietly, a musical, erotic sound that cascades down your spine and spreads fire along your joints, forcing a rush of wetness to your core that builds exponentially, only to be swept and swirled by his finger. It’s a delicate touch, not nearly satisfying or deep enough to bring comfort or relief, purposely keeping you on edge and on the precipice of demanding more.

‘It’s just as…hard for me,’ he murmurs, lowering his lips to your earlobe. Tilting away momentarily, he pushes your hair over your shoulder with his free hand before placing a chaste kiss to the soft flesh. ‘I want you all the time; feels like I can’t breathe if I’m not buried inside you.’ He swallows, the slow exhale through his nose raising gooseflesh on your arms as it travels down your neck. ‘One look at you, and I get hard on sight. I want my mouth full of you, your cunt full of me,' he finishes with a kiss, biting at the lobe before pulling away.

Skin wet and meeting his breathe in an alluring breeze, a chill rushes over you, eyelids fluttering as a whimper escapes your chest. He's got you exactly where he wants you, teetering on the edge of desire as you lean closer and closer to his side.

Pressing a final kiss just below your ear, Chanyeol turns away. ‘What’s that big plastic thing over there?’ he asks, pointing to the large play area in the adjoining room.

‘The play place?’ Your answer is nothing but air, a small exhale and a clipped enunciation which give away you are beginning to cave.

Sensing he's nearly won you over, he pushes his finger through your folds, up to the knuckle, and curls it, smirking as you cover your mouth to quietly release a moan. A chuckle reverberates within his chest, the baritone echo vibrating into your bones, as he offers a lingering kiss against your temple.

‘Let me fuck you in that.’

Raising your head to meet his gaze, you find the wild determination that has nestled at the corners of his lips. His cheeks are flushed, likely just as flushed as yours, breath coming heavily as his eyes cannot help but wander rather deliberately over your lips, having their fill of you. And still, his finger maintains its empty rhythm, promising more - something harder, something thicker, something deeper - and delivering none.

'Absolutely not,' you stammer, mind racing to formulate a coherent answer. 'That thing is crawling with germs.'

Chanyeol simply smiles, pushing his finger inside you to the hilt, slowly thrusting as he luxuriates in your wetness.

'Baby, you have a master's degree in education,' he counters, smirking as your head tips back to expose more of your neck. The heat of his breath washes over you, the fullness of his lips sucking at your exposed tendon. 'You can figure it out - lay down your coat, lay down my coat. Don't you have cleansing wipes with you?'

As long as you've known him, his voice has been your addiction, a sound that burrows into your blood and rearranges the chambers of your heart. You're alive with him, alive with the sound of him, and your thighs begin to ache - wanting and wanting to be wrapped around his, heels pressing into his back, feeling him, full of him. Breathless, your mind struggles to hold onto the words he says, caught up in the way he sounds, in the way he rolls through you, in the way he's yours, and only manage to truly comprehend the last things he says.

'Cleansing wipes?' Your voice stumbles over speech, awkward and saddened to follow the music he kissed into you. 'In my laptop bag, yeah. Why?'

You don't get it - rather, you cannot get it, all of your focus paid to the way his finger rocks into you, the knuckles of his other fingers meeting your folds with his teasing thrusts, and the frustrating of yearning for more fogs your mind. Images flash behind your eyes: you, riding him with your shirt open and his mouth at your breasts; you, on your back as the plastic melts into your spine, the thrust of his cock hitting deep enough for you think it could hurt if you were any less trusting; you, come running down your thighs and nipples reddened from his teeth.

And then, after seeing the ways he wants you and could have you, you finally understand.

'No!' you exclaim, eyes suddenly wide as you rear back to face him. 'Do you know how badly that will burn?”

Chanyeol simply blinks, expression unmoved. Dropping his voice an octave, his eyebrow twitches in an effort to remain utterly, unabashedly serious. 'Do you know how badly I want to fuck you?'

The words shoot straight to the hot center of your core, wetting your folds and letting his finger slide in deeper with ease. Body beginning to tremble with need, you watch as Chanyeol's focus bores into your soul, demanding and unwavering and craving, as redness spreads over his own neck. You've seen that flush countless times in your life, the beginnings of a fire that will blaze into you until you are spent and sweating; a fire that cannot be satiated, and you know he means it. When he flushes like this, he is only idly holding the remnants of his control, boxed in by a thirst that burns you both to ash.

That flush means he's been needing you since you left, since you woke up and made love sweetly - just once - and you left him, wanting you again and again, distraught and lonely and going hungry.

'Get me to the fucking play place,' you insist. 'Right now.'

A keening whine erupts from his throat, expression crumbling from one of pained concentration to one of adoration, passion, and longing. 'Happily.'

Chanyeol pulls his hand from your core slowly, taking his time so he does not hurt you, and ensuring you feel every movement of his hand. Hissing, your fingers ball into a fist against the tile and you keep your eyes on him, watching as he lifts his finger to his lips. Time seems to stand still as he runs the pad of his finger over his bottom lip, letting your juices create a glossy sheen over the plump flesh before he takes it into his mouth, eyes rolling slightly back as he drinks you off his skin.

'That's my goddess,' he says, tongue gliding over his lip to take the last of you down. 'Always so sweet for me.'

Transfixed by the movement of his mouth and tongue, you simply reach for his hand and guide him towards the play place, letting the wetness of his finger ground you in the moment. Coming to the entrance, you pause, Chanyeol bumping into you softly from the force of his eager steps, and watch as numerous children - some your students, some the children of other patrons - slide down into the ball-pit and eagerly crawl through the tubes at every level.

'I knew this was a terrible idea,' you mutter under your breath, gripping Chanyeol's hand tighter. Casing a narrowed gaze at your husband, you cock and eyebrow, expectant. 'How do you presume we get everyone out of there?'

Smirking, he rolls his eyes as he releases your hand. 'Are you or are you not an authority figure?'

Moving to the center of the room, Chanyeol claps his hands loudly several times, getting everyone's attention. 'Children!' he yells, not noticing the way some of the kids wince at his volume. 'Your teacher and I need to do a brief safety check of the play...thing. Go sit by the tables for 10 minutes while we check for....broken things and harmful objects.'

'Who are you, sir? A small seven year old from your class, Seo-Jun, comes to stand next to Chanyeol, tugging gently on the hem of his coat. He cranes his head upwards to see Chanyeol, seemingly unfazed by his height.

Painting a serene smile on his face, Chanyeol knees to meet the boy's eyes. 'I’m the music teacher, Mr. Argue,' Chanyeol explains, and you find yourself covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

'But I’ve never seen you before,' Seo-Jun says, cocking his head to the side as he inspects Chanyeol's features, curious.

Without hesitation, Chanyeol places his hand on the boy's shoulder and turns him, rising to a stand. Then you obviously don’t come to class enough. Go sit. Safety first'

Seo-Jun hums as he walks away, considering Chanyeol and turning back to glance at him as he is joined by a friend, a smaller girl you recognize as Eun-Ha. She too casts brief looks at Chanyeol, lips pulled into a smile as she whispers to Seo-Jun skeptical of his presence. The rest of the children move without question, parents and other patrons herding their children away, eyes narrowed and wary of your presence.

Proud, Chanyeol returns to your side and takes your hand, leading you towards the entrance to the play place.

‘Excellent job, baby,' you praise with a giggle, 'But Seo-Jun is seven. He has no choice but to go to class with everyone else. They go together as a class at the same time every day.'

'I don’t know how this works,' Chanyeol huffs, though is fueled enough by his wanting that he does not pout. 'He’s sitting, isn’t he?'

Chuckling at his cheeky grin, you pause at a tubular entrance, studying the construct with a keen eye. There are three tubes that function as both an entrance and exit, a slide into a ball pit, a rope to climb, and a wall with foot straps that leads directly to a red square just below the center; within the construct, there is a ladder that leads into a further ball pit, and a tunnel that leads to a trampoline off to the side. The play place itself stretches upwards to the ceiling, and, while you are sure such physical tests of motor skills are easy to manage, as you scan the sizes of all the tubes you struggle to imagine how Chanyeol will fit inside with you.

'My love,' you begin, hearing Chanyeol release a noise of acknowledgement at your side. He steps closer, wanting to be as near as possible, mind racing as he formulates a strategy. 'How do you suppose you will fit inside this? That we will fit inside this?'

He shrugs, nonchalant. 'I’ve been practicing yoga lately. I’ve become quite the flexible man.'

'Brilliant,' you counter. 'So why don’t you just fuck yourself?' Turning to face him with a wide smile, you snort at his minutely scandalized expression, waiting for him to whine in distress.

Instead, he lets himself get close, as close as he was before, lips moving against your ear. 'Because,' he purrs, nose gently guiding your head to the side to make room for him, 'your cunt is the sweetest thing I’ve ever been inside. And nothing, and no one,' he continues, biting your earlobe gently enough to feel small pressure, 'will ever keep me from hearing you cry my name as you come.'

Your hand reaches for his arm, steadying yourself as your core clenches around nothing once more, nerves driven to the brink of desire. His arm wraps possessively around your waist, pulling you to his side, heart and mind aware of your faltering strength.

'Now,' he carries on, voice a little louder than he intends, propelled by his eagerness. 'I’ve thought about this. If I go in first and you follow after, there’s that big purple box up there.' Chanyeol points to a long rectangular box with a small window, high above the floor, in the center of the plastic fort. 'It’s big enough to fit two people. And besides, how else are parents supposed to get their kids, right? Adults are meant to fit in this for that reason alone.'

Considering his words for a few seconds, you find yourself agreeing with him. The rectangle is large enough to fit you both, and neither of you have ever been the type to back down from a challenge. Briefly, you recall the sweltering green plastic of a porta-loo at Lollapalooza, a 11AM fucking that could only happen when the porta-loo was clean and untouched. It put the sweat on your brow and neck, the smell of it lingering in your nostrils for hours, but the smile, and the satisfaction, lasted for days.

Running your hand through your hair, you sigh, regarding the play place with a sheepish smile. 'I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.'

Satisfied, with you and with himself, Chanyeol grabs your hand and squeezes it, a low exclamation of delight rolling through him as he gifts your cheek with a kiss. 'I shall never say you don’t love me.'

Your body tilts into his, pressing your cheek against his lips, luxuriating in the softness as your as flutter closed. He showers you in moments of affection like this always, hand reaching for yours and lips just as eager for a smooth expanse of your skin. Being parted, regardless of the length of time, hurts, blood and body addicted to one another, relieved only when you are close and savoring the contact.

He kisses your cheek three times like this, nose running along your cheekbone in ardor, breath catching in his lungs as he takes in the smell of your perfume.

'Thank you,' he murmurs, lips moving against your skin. 'For wanting me.'

Pulling away from him, you swallow thickly, looking down at your feet and letting a wave of longing glide along your nerves. Wetness pools at your core once more, and you can feel a patch of slick growing on your underwear.

Lifting your arm, you gesture vaguely at the play place. 'Get on with it, then.'

Nodding enthusiastically, Chanyeol discards his jacket, folding it neatly before placing it at your feet with a grin. Adoration pools in his irises, and you feel yourself begin to drown before he moves, getting on all fours with an eagerness you find to be adorably childlike. With a shake of his bum, Chanyeol makes for the green tube, quickly negotiating his entrance as though he had come prepared for an excursion like this. Once inside the tube, the echoes of his clambering reach your ears, and you rest the back of your hand against your lips, chuckling to yourself as you hear the banging of his large feet carrying him, messily, through the tube.

'Yoga paying off then?' you call with a giggle, listening for sounds that give away his location.

'Fuck off.' Chanyeol's voice carries slowly, muffled by the thick plastic that separates you from him.

'What am I supposed to say if you get stuck in there?'

You smile widens when your only response is a muffled hum of exasperation, the sounds of his struggle falling quiet. Even without him beside you, the tension in the atmosphere continues to linger, heightened by the silence and the shift in humor. His focus on achieving his goal is palpable, seeping through the play place and quickening the speed of your blood through your heart. Always, he is like this, committed to winning only slightly less than he is committed to you, and when the two collide, there are few things that could ease him out of such an intense state of wanting.

Bending to pick up his coat, you press your face to the wool, letting your eyes fall closed as his cologne makes your lungs burn. Just the scent of him makes you salivate, the softness of the fabric ticking your cheeks and raising a phantom touch of his fingers, memories of all the times he's cupped your face as he kissed you, held your face in his hands as he rocked into you, thumbs wiping tears from your eyes the night he proposed, after your first fight, after he told you he loved you.

His hands have been all over you, and still you feel him, always, wanting him just as much as the first time he looked you in the eyes, ears red and mouth dry, telling you he wouldn't be able to sleep if you went another night knowing how badly he needed you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of light tapping, a rhythmic pulsing from somewhere in the fort, and you raise your head, smirking, expecting to hear his needy plea for help within a tube. Instead, you find your husband within the purple rectangle, peeking out the small window, beaming and waving, pressing his hand and forehead to the plastic, silently begging you to join him.

'Would you look at that,' you mutter. 'Looks like we'll be using my coat, then.'

Dropping his coat back to the floor, you regard the tube skeptically before sighing, getting on your hands and knees to mimic Chanyeol's approach. After a few moments of awkward, uncoordinated crawling, you emerge from the end of the tube, finding yourself at a fork. The route to your right appears much smaller, enough that you would have to crawl on your stomach to make through entirely, and cannot fathom how Chanyeol would have fit his legs through the corners. Heading left, you crawl until you find yourself at a thin, narrow ladder leading up to the red cube below the purple one.

With an exasperated sigh, you pull yourself out of the small space, navigating carefully, so you can get on the ladder without slipping.

'Chan, how the fuck do I get up this without breaking things?' you ask, looking around and feeling certain this ladder will not hold your weight.

'I dunno,' Chanyeol's voice comes, distant yet remarkably close, echoing around you through the tunnels. ‘Climb.’

'Fucking...climb where,' you mutter, hoping for a different ladder to be mentioned.

'I went up the wall grip,' Chanyeol says matter-of-factly, assuming you and everyone else you have met in your life knows exactly what he is referencing.

'Helpful.'

You begin climbing the ladder, slowly placing your shoes on each rung and pausing so that you don't slip, hoping that the ladder doesn't tip back. The yellow metal is slippery, and with each grasp you sneer, hoping it's just because your hands are clammy, that the heat from desire has mixed with the heating of the building and the heat that has gathered in the play place, making everything feel damp.

'How’s it going, precious? Where are you?' Chanyeol’s voice calls, encouraging and excited.

'I’m climbing the ladder of death,' you manage, reaching the top and seeing a tilted entrance to the red square.

Narrowing your eyes, you look down to your feet, keeping aware of the heel of your shoes as you coordinate flattening yourself enough to push yourself both off the ladder and up into the square.

Chanyeol's laugh ripples through the tubes, a symphony that makes you grip the plastic landing with fervor. 'I’m fairly certain you’re making that sound far more exciting than it actually is.'

'Children are meant to climb this, Chanyeol.' Pushing yourself up into the red square, you let yourself be led by the sound of his voice. 'Not grown adults.'

'How did you even get there?' he asks, though he does not pause for your answer. 'You must have gone the wrong way.'

Emerging into the purple rectangle, you cock and eyebrow at him as he beams, scrambling to take your hands and helping you inside. 'I didn't know there was a map for fucking.'

Pulling you into the center of the rectangle, Chanyeol's smile morphs from one of an amused grin to one of profound affection, irises swimming with a heady combination of want and need and unprecedented devotion. He lets himself have his fill of you as you settle, his penetrating stare raising the temperature several degrees just by its intensity. Moving your hair from your face, he lets his fingers card through the strands, his expression softening.

'You made it,' he praises, forehead dropping to yours before pressing a kiss to your nose.

Inching closer, you relish the way he never fails to create a cocktail of almost painful arousal and blood deep longing that burns, not unlike a star, between you as you fall heart first into one another. Letting your foreheads touch and breaths become shared for several moments, luxuriating in the act of breathing and existing together, you feel a wave of desire course through your veins as he hums, lost in pleasure and becoming carried away with the totality of you. Shaking your head, you pull back, settling on the floor as your cross your legs, looking from side to side with a grin.

'This is...cozy,' you tease, cocking your head to the side playfully.

Chuckling, Chanyeol pushes back to settle on his legs, rotating so his back rests against the wall, creating enough space for his long limbs to extend in front of him. He enthusiastically spreads his arms, inviting and welcoming you to him, and you eagerly comply, moving to his side to sling one leg over his lap, settling on, and against, him with a contented sigh.

Delicately cupping his face in your hands, you let your fingers stroke over the shell of his ears and lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss, corner of your mouth curling into a satisfied smile as he releases a small, relieved moan. His hands grip your hips beneath your coat, pressing you roughly down against his groin as he rolls up into you slowly, gently, enacting a promise of what's to come. Licking at his lips, he opens for you, tongues touching and gliding, your hands shifting to the base of his neck, fisting in his hair and massaging his scalp in encouragement.

Breaking the kiss, his head falls back, mouth open and panting as he struggles to catch his breath, lips red and wet, eyes dark from the dilation of his pupils.

'Better?' he asks with an impish smirk, a gruff sound that barrels through you, pooling in your belly.

'Tons.'

Claiming his lips once more, you try to keep the kiss chaste, hoping to tease the edges of his control as you move down to his jaw, his thumbs rubbing hard circles into your hips through your pants. But his hands move swiftly, sensing you're ready to pull away, and he places one hand firmly on the back of your neck, keeping you in place, deepening the kiss as he rolls up into your center once more. Through his pants, you feel the hardness of his cock beginning to form, the pressure against your core, even through layers of clothes enough to send a choked breath tumbling into his waiting mouth.

Running his tongue along your bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth, he lets his hands slip away from your neck, reassured he has you where he wants you, and lets his fingers nestle beneath the collar of your shirt. It’s a featherlight touch, the tickle of him against a soft, rarely touched and barely seen part of you sending a pool of anticipation and wetness to your folds, and you feel how slick you have become as you move against him.

Hands still gripping his hair, you tug him back, breaking the kiss as you grind down into his lap, transfixed by the way his brow furrows, eyes locked on yours and tongue coming to lick his lips before he bits the flesh in wanting. Repeating the action, you grind into him and his head falls forward onto your shoulder, body wired and hands needy, his level of arousal given away by the slow dry thrust he offers to your core.

'Tell me this wasn’t a good idea,' Chanyeol moans into your neck, lips moving against your skin as he speaks.

With a growl of possessiveness, he places a wet kiss at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His hands push the collar of your shirt aside, forcibly enough the button at your breasts slips open, and attaches his lips to the skin before he nips at you, teeth ghosting over the places his tongue so deftly heats. Clutching at him, your hands leave his hair to press your fingers into the muscle of his broad shoulders, shuddering through a current of arousal as your head tips back, opening to him, offering and giving yourself over to his heart, his mouth, his soul.

Enticed, Chanyeol takes a hand away from your hip, smiling as you whine at the loss of contact, and cradles the back of your head against his palm. Nuzzling against the center of your throat, he mumbles a low curse before biting at the tendon, sending fire into your veins and making you grind deeply against his lap, aching to hold him inside you.

‘It was an awful idea,’ you whimper, tugging at his hair once more to move his face away. Gliding your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you grip his hands and guide them to the buttons of your shirt. ‘But I need you, and I don’t really care where or how it happens. I just need you to hurry up.’

He releases a breathy laugh, large fingers struggling to undo the small buttons of your shirt without requiring further encouragement. ‘We’ll have to keep quiet, baby,’ he reminds you with an unsteady tone, ears turning an adorable shade of crimson as your shirt falls off your shoulders and down your arms. With your breasts exposed, you watch as he swallows, rolling up into your core as he kisses at your chest. ‘Think you can manage that?’

Bringing your hands to his neck, you slide them down to his tie, tugging at the Windsor knot with vigor as you smile.

‘Can you?’ you counter. ‘Or will we have to use this?’

Using two fingers you push his face gently away from your chest, showing him the end of his tie. Years together and still be blushes at the sight of you, spine and body and mind wound to a coil at the knowledge you are his, no one else’s, and the very thought always sends his voice to an octave of possession that makes your bones rattle. Truthfully, you are both vocal, but his voice hits like thunder, juts against your skin and burrows into your pores with the same earnestness as he buries himself into you, keeping you full and keeping the world on edge, knowing you are his, you are his, you are his, and he absolutely will never let you go.

Nostrils flaring at the thought of either you or he, or both of you, so caught up in lust and loving that you crave one another’s names into your skin from the volume of having and taking that a gag is required, he pulls his hands from your body. Brow turning severe and demanding, he juts his chin forward and lowers his voice, stepping into a place of authority.

‘Bra off. Undress yourself for me,’ he commands, undoing the rest of the knot.

With wide eyed obedience, you bring your arms back to the clasp of your bra, unlatching it and wishing the silk of your fingers was the rough callous of fingertips, aching for the heaviness of his touch. It falls away from you the same moment his tie slithers from his neck and into the space between your bodies. Sweat builds at your hairline and the base of your neck, settling into grooves you did not know you contained until he roused the full length of your being, skin slick with a craving for his body on yours that borders precariously on greed.

Enthralled by the harsh rise and fall of his chest, you kiss sweetly at his lips, nipples hardened by a yearning for his palms against the sensitive nerves. And it hits you, amidst the voraciousness of your appetite and the endless stretch of utter reverence your heart carries for him, that this kind of wanting has thrown you both off your axis, delivered you to the brink of a risk that carries a dangerous consequence.

Stomach dropping, you let the anxiety coat your throat as you speak. ‘Chan.’ Your hands come to hold his, halting his motions of unbuttoning his shirt, steadying his movements.

Immediately, he stops, gaze full of concern and scans your body for hurt or marks or a reason he should stop. Always, this is his gut reaction to a hint of sadness or worry in your voice - a soul bound promise to ensure your wellbeing, and ensure he loves you back into the sun.

Gliding his hand over your cheek, fingers moving into your hair as he strokes the strands, his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to his chest as he can. ‘What is it, baby?’

Softening at his concern, your own hand rests against his cheek, breath catching in your chest with a mild ache as he leans into your touch. ‘We do shit like this all the time, but...now, I could lose my job.’

Nodding, he catches your lips and searing kiss, pouring his encouragement and understanding into your blood. You drink it down, hoping that this kind of affection will give you wings, will provide you the confidence to be young and free and wholly alive, and in love, in the arms of the man who taught you to be brave. But still, he gives you an out, refusing to push you to a limit you aren’t ready to take.

‘We don’t have to, baby,’ he affirms, breaking the kiss and regarding you with a conviction that makes your mouth run dry. ‘Not if you don’t want it.’

Shaking your head, you pull his hand from your hair, twining your fingers together in reassurance. ‘I do. You know I do.’ He lifts your clasped hands to his mouth, dropping a kiss against your knuckles. Overwhelmed by the kindness he radiates, you offer him a tender smile, even when half-hard and longing to be buried between your thighs. ‘But there’s a window right there. What if someone sees?’

Chanyeol's gaze shifts away from your face, settling behind you to regard the small clear circle. He pauses briefly, mind racing and thoughts loud enough you can almost hear them, before he breaks into a wide grin, releasing his hand to guide your hips up and away from his lap. Abruptly, he flips you, swiftly moving his hand to your mouth to muffle your exclamation of shock and squeezes your hip in warning. Now, with you resting on all fours he curls over your back, planting a wet kiss to the center of your spine, easing your bodies forward until your face rests directly in the center of the window.

‘Then you’ll have you keep watch.'

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the blissed out honey cadence he adopts when he gets to be the one in control, leading your fucking with a confidence that makes your thighs clench, inner walls gripping at a hollow sense of nothingness.

From this angle you can just make out the edges of the tables, will see the moment anyone approaches the play place and can alert Chanyeol to stop. But still, you are reminded of the risk of someone approaching, the heat of anxiety urging you along to finish, and to finish silently, with Chanyeol’s hands and skin all over you.

And you'd protest this angle, would remind him that this is wrong and unprofessional and illegal, if you did not want him just as violently, too, since you left him in the morning. You came, loudly and into the smooth angle of his shoulder, clutching at his arms with enough pressure to tear straight through to the bone, but still you wanted him. You got out of bed, naked and sweating and trembling, and still you wanted him. You got dressed, covered your sensitive groin with underwear that moistened on contact, and still you wanted him.

This, of course, was his tactic. To remind you there are many other ways to be seen, and to be had, and he would always find his way to drink his fill of you, choosing the most isolated approach to assure your body in pleasure was for his eyes only. Taming you, his universe, for all the world to see if only they would look up.

Rutting against your ass with a shallow grunt, the pad of his index finger runs over your bottom lip, tracing the flesh with a roughness that makes blood rush beneath the skin.

'Why didn't you wear a skirt today?' he laments, dipping his finger into your open mouth. Closing around it, you suck at the digit, eyes falling closed as you imagine your mouth full, wrapped around his cock with your head held firmly in place. His voice breaks, stumbling over his words before he can properly gather them. 'Would have been so much faster to get inside you.'

Pulling his finger from your lips with a soft pop, his hands move to the button of your trousers, thumbing it open and undoing the zipper as his other slips beneath the waistband of your underwear. He grips the band of your pants firmly, ready to tug them down at a moments notice, but instead lets two fingers trace the wetness that has smeared over your folds, gliding them along your slit without letting them push inside. Biting your lip, you press your ass back against his hips, feeling the full force of his erection at this angle, and shiver, wanting to be full twice over.

'I could have looked you in the eye when you come around me,' he continues through grit teeth, meeting your ass with a thrust that makes him hiss. 'Asking me with your eyes to fill you up, quiet but aching for it.'

His hand leaves you, slipping up and away from a core that makes you whine in displeasure. Behind you, Chanyeol chuckles at the sound, a dark laugh that tumbles down your back in an avalanche. Guiding your pants over and down your ass, he pushes them down to your knees, walking his hands up your legs before scratching at the sensitive skin where your thighs meet your groin. Lowering your chin to your chest, you exhale silently, nails digging into the plastic to keep yourself quiet.

'When I saw you put these on this morning,' he says, snapping the band of your underwear, 'I immediately wanted to take them off.'

Silently, you curse, the atmosphere becoming thick and heady. All of your body feels dampened by him, cunt and pores dripping with want for him, saliva wetting your parted lips and pussy aching to be soaked full of him. He lets both hands slide over your stomach, pausing his ministrations, pulling your back into an arch against his chest, and demanding that you listen. Raising your head, you look back out the window, vision unfocused and note the way life seems to continue, mundane and dull, not fifty feet below.

'You expected me to just let you walk away from me.’ Mouth against your ear, he licks at the shell, moving his hands up slowly to cup your breasts, massaging the supple flesh . 'My come still dripping down your legs, staining you so pretty.'

Clenching around nothing at the rich chocolate of his voice, you release a wet moan, rolling your shoulders forward slightly to put more of your breasts in his hands. 'Chan, please.'

'What do you want, kitten?' he whispers, sounding so sweet, so docile, so utterly, unbelievably dangerous.

'Your fingers,’ you try, pushing back against his groin. Lifting one hand, you reach back, hoping to palm against his cock, but he removes his hand from your chest, grabbing your wrist to press it back to the floor. With a soft whimper of defeat, you try again ‘Want your cock inside me. Please, anything.'

He hums, considering your words and releasing your wrist to settle between your legs. Sliding the line of your underwear to the side, the pressure against your folds making you sigh, he swirls two fingers over your cunt. The sound of your wetness seems to echo in the plastic cube, though you know it’s just your heightened senses making everything - everything about his touch, his breath, and the almost painful emptiness of your inner walls - resonate.

'Do you know what I wanted this morning?' he asks, voice low as he presses the tips of his fingers inside you.

Whelmed by the sudden something moving inside you, you simply shake your head, luxuriating in the sensation of his skin and bony knuckles as they spread you delicately before moving further into inside, to the second knuckle.

'Words, kitten. Use them,’ he commands. ‘Or do you want me to spank you? Remind you what happens when you disobey?'

Removing his other hand from your breast, he slides the fullness of his palm down your spine before lifting it, delivering a light slap at the same moment he lets his fingers push deep inside you to the hilt.

A moan builds in your chest, threatening to splinter the cage bones before you catch it, choking on the sound.

Swallowing thickly, you inhale deeply, letting the oxygen burn before you speak. 'What did you want?'

He sets a slow rhythm with his fingers, spreading them with every other outward thrust to prepare you. The bones in his knuckles tease you, and you clench around his hand, desperate to hold him inside.

'I wanted to fuck my come back into you,’ he bites you, ‘add more to it before I spread it over your chest. Maybe even come on your tongue.'

Chanyeol adds a third finger, speeding up the rhythm and lets his other hand fall back on the soft flesh of your ass, spanking you harder this time over your underwear. Moaning, you squeeze your eyes shut, wiggling back into his palm as he massages the area before he reaches for the band, pulling your underwear down and letting the curve of your cheeks keep the band in place.

‘You felt how much I wanted you too,’ he chastises. ‘Felt my dick against your hip and you got up, gave me a full view of this ass like I wouldn’t want another bite.’

Again, he lifts his hand, creating a slight breeze in the air that makes the wetness at your clit and thighs tingle. This time, his spank is hard, a crack that seems to detonate around the plastic. A soft cry is wrenched from your lips, legs starting to tremble as you lift the back of your hand to your mouth, muffling your exclamation of pain and pleasure.

Noticing your weakening resolve, Chanyeol stops the soothing rub of your skin prematurely, letting the sting of his palm burn into the flesh as he blindly sends his hand seeking. It’s not a deep hurt, certainly nothing compared to the times he’s slapped your ass red, punished you for the way you called him at work and talked him to a painful erection; the way you wrapped your lips around his cock and sucked him to the edge only to walk away, going back to dinner with his parents; the way you wore silk to his office’s holiday dinner, and sat far away from him all night, spreading your legs wide to reveal your lack of underwear every time he walked by.

No, this sting is positively placid compared to the times he’s ensured you would not sit without remembering his hand, but it aches just the same, tightening the muscles in the base of your spine and suddenly making you painfully aware of your neglected clit.

Chanyeol releases a soft noise of satisfaction before bringing his hand to your face, fist full of his tie.

'Open up,’ he commands. ‘You’ll have to bite down on this to keep yourself quiet.’

Obediently, you open your mouth, letting him gently push the fabric inside, the bulge of the base tucked against your tongue and ensuring it does not come apart.

‘Can you breathe, baby?’ Chanyeol softly takes your chin and turns your head toward his leaning, over you to make sure you are safe. ‘Comfortable? Let me know if it’s too much.’

Eyes locked on his, studying the deep black of his pupils, full of lust and longing and concern, you nod, thinking this kind of affection would be sweet if he did not curl his fingers at the first sign of your approval, grazing the sweet spot inside you with practiced diligence. Immediately, your eyes blow wide, biting down on the tie and letting it muffle the exclamation of ecstasy he rips from you.

And all at once, his hands on you disappear, leaving you alone and slipping from your center with a speed that makes your head look frantically back to his, seeking an answer.

'Play with yourself,’ he mutters before slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices from them. His eyes roll back briefly, tongue peeking out to lap the spaces in between. ‘I need to undo these and I don't have much room.'

The pun of his reference to the space inside the cube and the lack of room within his trousers makes you smile, but only momentarily. Wiping a hand on your leg, hoping the traces of sweat that have built along your skin will clean some part of you fingers and knowing, with lament, that it will only aid in ensuring they become more sticky, you lightly toy with your clit. The relief you had hoped for does not come, and you know, without a shadow of a doubt this was his plan.

You would never touch yourself as forcibly as you craved, always hyper aware of the germs children carry, the germs of public spaces, thrilled by the risk and disgusted by the consequence, trapping yourself in your own tug of war that kept you on edge and waiting for him to push you.

Chanyeol wastes no time in undoing the button and fly of his trousers, already too far gone in his own wanting to delay his pleasure. He’d wanted you since morning, wanted you since he decided to come to you, wanted you before he’d stepped inside the restaurant, and now that he has you as he wants you, there is little control left within his veins to cool his blood. He tugs his pants and briefs down in one swift motion, the length of his erection springing free and standing tall.

Gripping it steadily with his hand, he settles back behind you, kissing your ear, your cheek, your neck as he places his knees comfortably between yours.

‘Hands and knees, kitten,’ he says gently, biting the juncture of your neck and shoulder hard enough for it to bruise. ‘Make sure no one sees.’

With your hands in place and your forehead lulling enough to rest against the window, Chanyeol guides the tip of his cock to your center. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel the come and go of his hand as he pumps himself, taking the wetness from your thighs and folds, spreading it over his length.

‘I can slip right inside,’ he murmurs to himself. ‘You get so wet for me. I’m so lucky to have a pussy made of velvet.’

And with that, he pushes himself slowly inside, gripping your hips to keep you both steady.

Grateful for the tie in your mouth, you moan at the feeling of being spread so full, whining desperately as he rolls his hips, delivering himself to your center and burying his cock inside you to the hilt. Without hesitation, Chanyeol pulls his hips back with an agile snap, only to come forward again, the bones of his hips smacking into yours and making you slip forward. He sets a punishing rhythm, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough for you to know you will be carrying his marks - the indentation of his teeth on your shoulder turning a soft shade of lavender, the dots of his fingers surely deep enough to adorn a regal shade of blue, and the sweet red of the hickeys he kissed onto your neck blooming not unlike the petals of flowers.

The hot steel of his member scorches you, sends your heart beating into your throat, the rush of your blood flooding your ears as your tongue throbs in time with your pulse. Already, you feel yourself clenching around him, wanting him deeper, wanting him harder, wanting him everywhere, and know that you will not lost. In public, you rarely do, given over to the raw intensity of lust, scorched thin and turned to ash before either of you moves within the other.

Chanyeol bends down against your back, dropping his teeth to the indents he had created without applying any pressure, grunting against your skin and licking aimlessly with his tongue as he thrusts into you. The wet sounds of your fucking fill the cube, and the thought crosses your mind briefly that such a vigorous rhythm will surely give you away, but it bleeds away, burned by the press of his tip against your spot. It’s hard to focus on much other than this, the pound of his hips against yours, the almost painful way your skin presses into the plastic - marked by something other than his touch - and the way the intoxicating aroma of his musk has started to temper the atmosphere. You smell him, deep down into your lungs, and you choke on him, crying out into the tie and wishing it was his mouth swallowing your voice whole.

‘You’re so pretty when you’re like this,’ he mutters, lifting his mouth from your shoulder and pressing it to your ear. ‘Stuffed full of me and wanting more.’

Clenching around his cock, you reach weakly behind you, grappling for his hip to scratch a long line against the skin. The most sensitive part of him, his sides, was always your crutch, a method of regaining an element of power when he had you this way, but once again, he grabs your wrist and presses it back to the ground, rolling into you slowly before pulling out, leaving just his tip inside you.

‘Stay still,’ he threatens, rolling his hips in figure-eights. ‘You know how we both get when I let you touch me.’ He eases his cock back inside you, offering you shallow, tantalizing thrusts. The tease makes your thighs shake. ‘I’ll scream your name tonight, when you’re the only one who can hear me beg for you.’

You can’t answer, violently torn between shaking your head no and nodding your head yes. When he’s like this, often his head is thrown back in bliss, Chanyeol yelling your name like a prayer, and you miss it - miss the music in his soul, the enduring cry of pleasure is yours. But instead, you scratch along the plastic, rocking your ass back against his cock, hoping to take him deeper.

‘I’m going to make you come,’ he says, speeding up his thrusts once more as his hand ghosts over your arm, down your stomach, before pressing gently on your mound. ‘I’m going to make you come and I want to feel it.’

With that, he resumes unforgiving rhythm of his thrusts, his fingers diving down over your cunt to tap in time against your clit. The shock of firm, precise pleasure against the swollen bundle of nerves makes your walls clench erratically, your ass thrusting back against his hips messily, desperate in your uncoordinated attempt to reach the climax you can feel building in your belly and thighs. Eyes starting to water, your vision blurs, breath coming in strained huffs as he alternates taps and swirls of his finger in time with his thrusts.

‘That’s it, kitten,’ he coos, his own thrusts losing their rhythm as he nears his orgasm. ‘Come all over my cock. Let me fill this pussy up. And be quiet about it.’

Inside and around you, he is relentless, leading you over the edge before offering a final push, pressing roughly against your clit as he hits your spot. Muffled, your tongue licks at the tie as you struggle to yell his name, clenching around his cock as your back arches, orgasm making the blood in your veins feel like wildfire. The coil in your belly releases in waves, rolling down and through your skin in a torrent that makes your nerves ache. You feel him, all of him - deep inside you as you tremble around him; against your skin, his chest slick and his mouth wet, his own whines sadly tucked away inside his throat; within your bones, rocking the structure of your marrow into something that carries nothing but the kiss of his name.

Chanyeol is a sensory overload, the totality of him making you throb through your orgasm, vision hazed by white and pussy dripping over him, the wet squelch of your release making the cube sound as though it’s starting to sweat.

His thrusts gain momentum as the aftershocks of your orgasm pushes your nerves into oversensitivity, though they are hardly coordinated. Against your legs, his thighs begin to shake, trembling with the oncoming storm of his own releases. With a few thrusts, his hand moves away from your clit to grip your hips, his head falling into the base of your neck as he comes, hot and wet inside you, the warmth of his release coating your walls and mixing with your own juices.

He stills against you, both of you shaking together, rocked by the force of want and coming down from the raw tempest of yearning you both keep locked away, as best you can. Slowly, his fingers release your hips, rubbing soft, gentle circles over the bruises in apology as his lips give shape to barely audible whispers.

‘I love you,’ he mutters to himself, blissed out and unwilling to find reality. ‘I love you, I love you, you’re everything, my heart.’

Smiling to yourself, you bow your head and spit out the tie, squinting as your eyes burn with sweat and tears. Your limbs are unsteady, bones feeling not unlike gel and ready to give out at a moments notice. Reaching over your shoulder, your fingers graze at his hair, carding through the strands to stroke him back to you, back to the pillar of control you need to help you come down.

Slowly, he comes back to himself with a tiny whine, kissing up your spine as he gently eases his softening cock from your core. Whimpering in discomfort, you let your arms give out beneath you, only to find Chanyeol’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as he holds you close. Turning to face him, you nuzzle into his neck, reminding yourself you cannot fall asleep - you absolutely cannot fall asleep - even though you so desperately want to you.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, kissing your forehead as he smooths your hair from your face.

‘I’m fine,’ you croak, throat dry from lack of use and the strain of being gagged. ‘I’ll need a bottle of water, though.’

For a few seconds, you let yourself be held, glad for the privacy and glad for the protective strength in his arms as he holds you. Eventually, you hear the distant murmurs of children just beyond the play place, adrenaline becoming replaced with anxiety.

‘How do you suppose we get out of here?’ you ask, eyes popping open as you peer at him. ‘I’m not strong enough to go back down that ladder.’

Chanyeol chuckles, kissing you deeply before winking.

‘I thought about that, too,’ he says with a smirk.

‘Oh, no,’ you groan, having already seen where his thoughts have lead you.

‘There’s a slide right here that leads to a ball pit,’ he advises, utterly sure of himself.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you match his smirk with a teasing pull of your lips. ‘Was the whole point of this excursion one long pun?’

He blushes, smiling playfully. ‘Maybe.’

#chanyeol smut #chanyeol x reader #exosnet #kpopwonderlandtag #prettyboysnetwork #tw: public sex kink #chanyeol au #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol scenario #exo au #exo smut #exo scenario #exo fanfic #park chanyeol #tw: nontraditional sex acts

964 notes · View notes

hellishvu · 5 years

Text

— where taehyung is known for being a hard ass but really he has a soft twitter that he shares his thoughts about his crush.

tw: homophobia !! bullying !! not edited due to school !!!

words: 2314

"Follow my new twitter fuckers."

Taehyung posted a normal link, straight to his "brand-new twitter." expect that the link wasn't that. It was his soft twitter about a certain boy, he didn't notice it. Finding himself postig it and then later falling asleep not knowing that what had happened was the biggest mistake and blessing he's ever had.

You clicked through the stories of your friends and mutuals, you had seen that Taehyung posted something on his twitter causing you to grumble, you hated him. He would cause unnecessary fights and when you two fought he would always punk out and leave, you clicked on it seeing his link. You clicked on it to see a bright pink and colorful pastel account, you saw the header.

Taehyung woke up feeling a rush of cold sweat going down his back, Taehyung checked his phone seeing massive amount of nofications seeing his phone vibrate every 2 seconds. Taehyung yawned as slide the lock screen seeing.

Faggot! I knew it!

Across the top of his screen, Taehyung as he found himself laughing meaning it was a harmless joke. The casual insults that are throw at him every couple seconds. The small paranoia of "what if they found out." The small devil that stood on Taehyung's shoulder as he went to school every day.

Taehyung felt himself panic, the amount of times he's dreamed of this nightmare being true, Taehyung scrolled through his messages, unknown callers texting him homophobic comments. Taehyung felt the most panic he's ever felt. The school reputation was everything, in college you would think ruptation shouldn't matter anymore. Expect it does to Taehyung, he cares what others think of him. If he wore something outside of his comfort zone and got made fun of it by his "friends" he would never wear it again. There's a side of his closet where it's left alone collecting dust. The slight insult made Taehyung want to shiver and disappear.

"No this isn't happening this literally is my worst nightmare." Taehyung has muttered under his voice feeling himself gain the anxious feeling he gets preforming. The slight anxiety that triggers when he's standing in front of his entire colleagues singing for a assembly.

The slight problem was that he later found out the rumors of him talking about you in his twitter. Taehyung was on good terms with everyone or at least he tries to, the only person he isn't is you. The sneaky comments he made about you behind your back was made of jealousy that he couldn't have you. The built up anger at himself for letting you slip from his hands was being sent to not himself, but to you. Arguments that sometimes had to be broken up by security and the common yell match that every student has seen at least once.

Taehyung went back to bed, seeing this could just all be some horrific fantasy that some sick twisted dream god put on him. The snoozed on his notifications as once again texts came storming through.

Taehyung woke up, seeing it was his alarm this time waking him up. The slight difference was that his soft twitter or private twitter was getting stormed with hate, the cute soft posts about his day and about his crush was full of homophobic jokes and slurs. Taehyung began to feel that heavy weight on his chest, the burning in his eyes and the consciousness saying to give up its over your secrets out. He didn't want to believe it, he wanted to wait till he was out of college. Out of his self hatred, that he feels when he found someone sweet and kind and handsome and having to either get over it or see them get taken away from someone's else's hands. The title straight was labeled on him and he made sure no one else though otherwise

Taehyung walked to school, the fear of going on the city bus that many of his friends go on. The slight anxiety of thinking of texting his friend for a ride. Walking was fearless and something that could numb the pain of biting his lip.

The music in his earbuds hearing that slight vibrate of the street cars passing by him, Taehyung looked down at his bullet journal seeing the to-dos and the quotes that made him feel a little less afraid. Taehyung took a deep breath as he reached the college seeing his friend Jungkook waiting for him.

"At least he's still there for me." Taehyung smiles at him as he waved seeing Jungkook's nose red from the cold. The snow that was softly squished, Taehyung walked up to him, Jungkook feeling flares and daggers at him and Taehyung.

"How are you?" Jungkook asked as he had black overalls with a fake fur coat keeping him warm but fashionable.

"I've been better. Is it still true what happened?" Taehyung asked eager to hear a "no taehyung you're fine. your secret is perfectly safe." but was quickly snapped out of the fantasy.

"It's.. posted all over the school website. Is it true? Is the tweets about Y-Y/N?" Jungkook asked as he shoved his cold hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Why does everyone thinks it's him?" It's not fucking him!" The slight aggression of his voice took Jungkook back. The sudden outbursts of anger was common with Taehyung.

"Because Taehyung he's the only person that you hate. I guess it's reversed." Jungkook said as he looked at his clock seeing it was time for class.

Jungkook waved bye as he had left Taehyung alone, the casual group of friends he had grouped up with didn't show up to the regular meeting spot. He would show up, hours go by and no one came by. He would walk to class and see them all together laughing and doing the regular stuff that he was apart of. Taehyung glared at them, feeling the betrayal and the stab of the back. Of course he would later cry about it, regularly he would post about it on his soft twitter getting comforted by his online friends and followers. The safe space got invaded by raccoon that just wanted dirt on him.

Taehyung walked in class seeing you in the corner up on the top rows of the class. Your regular seat as you had been listening to music, you hummed as you unplugged seeing Taehyung standing at the door. You looked down after making eye contact, the pitt fights were over and now it's just awkward so so awkward eye contact. Taehyung sat at his regular seat, away from you at the very least.

"Taehyung, I want you to move next to Y/N. If you two can't be mature like a young adult you two are than I will force you to. Sit next to him please." Taehyung heard his teacher say as he widen his eyes, he literally just sat down at his chair. The weekend was just over and he's faced with the worst news, to sit next to you after you probably read all about how much he loves you.

"Hey." You said as you waved seeing the awkward air between you two. Taehyung smiled as he wrote notes not speaking a word to you the entire class. The ignorance as you tried to talk about the situation. What if I liked him back? You asked yourself as you continued to bring it up somehow but would get shut down by Taehyung.

"If I had one thing to wish upon the stars is that you shut the fuck up." Taehyung said as you were starting to get annoyed the sudden rise of anger that built on Taehyung's face.

"The answer this one single fucking question, is the tweets about me?" You asked as Taehyung gulped, the world fades and you two are like in a drama people watching, the lights dimmed having 2 spotlights on you two.

"..No. It's not about you so get your big ego out of it." Taehyung bluntly said as you nodded clicking your pen going back to notes. Taehyung looked at you, in class during your unrealized beauty that he wants to wake up every morning to. He wants you more, no words can explain how much he wants you so bad. The love and the caring, the only thing getting in the way was his own ego and the fear.

"I'm also not gay." Taehyung commented as you scoffed going back to notes. That ticked off Taehyung a little more than usual. Taehyung grabbed your pencil pouch and threw it, you frowned your eyebrows as you saw all your pencils and pens on the ground.

"What the fuck?!" You glared at Taehyung seeing the cocky smile that masked his regret. The sudden anger that fucked him up all the time.

"That is your account, own up to it like a man." You said as you grabbed your notebook leaving the class a bit more early than usual. Taehyung saw his classmates staring at him, Taehyung quickly grabbed his stuff and also left the class.

Taehyung plugged in his headphones as he sat in the library. He was fucked up, the amount of bad luck that had happened today. His body is shaking and his head was throbbing, he needed to go to bed or forget everything that happened today. His group of friends that he would usually skip with him didn't text him at the usual time. Taehyung leaned against the wall, Taehyung looked up from his phone seeing the skipping group without him. They all shuffled past him quicker than regular.

Taehyung was feeling hopeless. He wanted to drink till he was sick, Taehyung waited till he was alone to let out a sob, but the sobs kept going and going. He needed a good cry but now wasn't the time. Taehyung walked to his car with blurry vision. The anxiety that he felt passing when everyone was going to their next class or job he was put into shame. Taehyung saw you outside doing your regular thing, Taehyung quickly tried to unlock his car but received nothing on the other end. Taehyung saw you get up from your bench and walk to your car which was literally right next to his. Taehyung clicked his lock and finally saw it unlock. Taehyung opened the car door quickly as he saw you gain up to him and drove off.

Taehyung sighed in his car, parked in his dorm. Taehyung sobbed in his car, the music that was being played made him want to sob but that was good right? When was the last time he cried due to societies pressure to be perfect in almost everything and have no emotion besides anger.

Taehyung got out of his car deleting all his social media's. The last post would be him explaining why he left on his soft twitter. Deactivating was hurting and he finally build a support system.

Taehyung checked his messages, seeing the spam of hate calm down to 1-2 messages rather than 16. I guess the homophobia do have lives afterall. Taehyung saw one notifications from a special someone.

Namjoon:

Do you want to talk about it?

Taehyung:

No, i'm not gay for the last time.

Namjoon:

Taehyung, i haven't told you but when we were drunk that one time, you told me you were gay. You cried on my shoulder and explained how you were so afraid.

Taehyung:

I was drunk nothing more nothing less.

Taehyung heard a knock on his door, look though the peel hole to see Jungkook. Taehyung sighed as he opened the door seeing Jungkook and You at his door. Taehyung was going to close the door before you pressed your foot so the door couldn't close. Jungkook cleared his throat trying to separate the awkward silence.

"Taehyung we need to talk."

"If you wanted to talk why did you bring him?"

"Taehyung you cant always be a dick to him-"

"Yes I fucking c-."

"What did I do? Huh Taehyung?" You asked as you walked in his apartment not caring if you had permission or not.

"Go away!" Taehyung yelled as he felt the same sting in his eyes. You walked closer to him, Jungkook being behind you making sure you two didn't fight.

"You can go and hate me all you want." You said as Taehyung sighed his eyebrows frowning.

"All I want is an answer of why you hate me so much?" You pleaded, being tired of this nonstop bickering back and forth.

"It's because I liked you, no! I love you. You made me feel things, you made me want to do things I never tried but always had a passion for. You always were there, when I sang alone in the halls when I had detention you would be there. Always... Always be there and I couldn't help but want to catch up to you, and tell you how good you make me feel. I don't think you notice or even fucking cared." Taehyung hit your chest as he rested his head against your chest. Sobs leaving him, you hesitantly wrapped your arms around him. Holding him tight.

"Who even knows if you're gay? I could be running after a straight person this entire time." Taehyung let out a dry chuckle.

"I am gay and I always wanted to get to know you, but you never let me. You never let me break your guard." You admitted as Taehyung sniffed.

"I was so scared of accepting myself and my feelings.. of loving you."

#mala reader #bts x male reader #bts #bts v #bts taehyung #angst #fluff

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vminni · 5 years

Text

Minho wasn’t completely consumed by vanity, but he had a nice face and he knew it. So who could blame him for taking selfies whenever he had the chance? At work, at school, at the studio. A face like his deserved to be photographed.

Today’s photoshoot was happening on the bus on the way back to campus after a lunch out with some friends. Minho’s hair was soft and his face free of makeup, silver crosses dangling from his ears.

He snapped a bunch of pictures, the boredom of the bus ride driving him more than anything. He spammed the group chat with every picture he took, not even bothering to check them as he sent them out into cyberspace. He knew he looked good.

It was a message from Chan that made him pause, curiosity peaked.

‘So glad you’re having a fun flirt-mance on the bus, but why do we have to be involved?’

Minho scrolled back up through the chat and noticed something that he hadn’t when he sent the pictures. There was a boy in the background of every single one. A cute boy with brown hair and a face mask, who was sitting a few seats back from Minho.

In the first picture he was just zoning out, eyes down and completely unaware of Minho’s snapshot.

The next picture he was looking up, eyes wide and startled as they locked on the camera.

In the third picture he looked slightly distressed and his head was turned a bit, as if he was in the process of looking around to see if there was someone else Minho could possibly be photographing.

He seemed resigned to his fate in the fourth picture and he threw up a peace sign, his mask tugged over his chin as he made a face for the camera.

A series of kissy faces, grins and stuck out tongues followed, and Minho found himself smiling at the stranger’s antics.

‘I honestly didn’t even realize,’ Minho typed back before lifting his phone to take one last photo.

This time, instead of focusing on himself, he checked the corner of the screen to see if the boy was paying attention.

He was and he threw up two finger hearts as Minho snapped the picture, grins on both their faces.

The bus stopped at the first campus stop and Jisung stood, wondering if he should say anything to the mysterious photographer as he passed.

He didn’t have much time to think, as the boy was only a few seats in front of him, so he figured he’d just wing it when he got there. He slowed as he reached the stranger’s seat and the boy looked up, offering him a lopsided smile as they locked eyes.

Jisung’s steps stuttered and he felt a blush rising to his cheeks, “Shit, you’re hot.”

The kid laughed and Jisung burst into flames, hurrying off the bus before he could make an even bigger fool of himself.

He practically sprinted into his lecture, dropping down into his seat next to Seungmin with a groan.

“What’s up with you?” his friend inquired, taking in Jisung’s flustered state.

“There was a dude on the bus taking pictures of me and I was going to say something to him when I got off but he was super hot and that’s what I said and he laughed at me.”

Seungmin’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Taking pictures of you? Are you sure?”

Jisung nodded and sunk down further in his seat, “There was no one else behind me. It had to be me.”

“Which was was he holding his phone? Front or back facing you?”

“Front,” Jisung tugged his notebook and a pen out of his bag, glancing up when Seungmin scoffed at him.

“He was taking selfies, you idiot.”

Jisung blanched, “What?”

“You’re absolutely hopeless.”

“Oh god,” Jisung dropped his head to his desk and groaned. “Kill me.”

Minho hummed to himself as he got off the bus and made his way back to the dorms, a debate raging in his head.

Would it be weird to change his home screen to one of the selfies with the stranger in it?

The kid was clearly aware that he was in the photos, and he hadn’t said or done anything to indict he was upset about it.

But it didn’t change the fact that he was a complete stranger and it might be weird for Minho to be staring at a photo of him every day.

Upon entering his room, Minho was pleased to note that his roommate was there. He kicked off his shoes and dropped down on his stomach on Woojin’s bed, reaching over to tug the headphones out of his friend’s ears.

“Would it be weird to make this picture my phone background?” Minho shoved his phone in Woojin’s face, showing him the photo that featured the stranger’s finger hearts. “I don’t know this kid.”

Woojin offered it a brief glance, “Yeah, probably.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, Minho flipped over onto his stomach, phone held above his face. He stared at the photo, at the bright grin of the cute boy he kind of sort of wished he actually did know.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Then why did you even bother asking me in the first place?”

Minho rolled off the bed and shrugged, stashing his phone in his pocket, “I was hoping you’d say it wasn’t weird.”

“Why were you taking photos of a dude you don’t know anyway?”

“I didn’t realize he was in the background, I wasn’t paying attention.” Minho crossed to his mirror and mussed his hair, appreciating the soft pretty boy staring back at him. “He talked to me when he got off the bus. He said I was hot.”

Woojin rolled his eyes at his friend’s primping, “That’s not new information.”

“I know,” Minho grinned, cheekily sticking his tongue out at his reflection. “But I still love to hear it. Especially from cute boys.”

He flopped down onto his own bed and pulled out his phone, legs dangling off the side as he pulled up his instagram profile.

Hesitating for only second, Minho uploaded the selfie with the stranger flashing a peace sign in the background.

He typed up a quick caption before posting, ‘If anyone knows this cutie, please hit me up with his @.’

Satisfied he’d have a name to match to the face within the hour, he balanced his phone on his lap and waited.

Felix was waiting outside when Jisung and Seungmin exited their lecture, bouncing on his toes and looking like he was about to burst.

“Someone’s excited about lunch,” Seungmin muttered as the pair approached their friend.

“Not lunch,” Felix’s stomach let out an audible grumble and he grinned sheepishly. “Okay, I am excited about lunch. But more about this.”

He held out his phone, where an Instagram profile was loaded.

“Hey, that’s me,” Jisung snatched the phone out of Felix’s hand, blinking in confusion. “How did you find this? Who posted it?”

“Minho,” Felix stated, as if it was all the explanation needed.

And it was.

“Oh,” Jisung’s mouth fell open in surprise, brain flooded with all the times Felix had returned to their apartment, gushing about the pretty senior he shared most of his dance classes with who was most definitely Jisung’s type and most definitely single. “That’s Minho?”

“Yup,” Felix popped the ‘p’ and gestured for Jisung to scroll down, his giddiness barely contained. “Look at the caption.”

Jisung did as he was instructed, flushing immediately when he read what Minho had written, “He thinks I’m cute?”

“I knew he would!” Felix was practically vibrating with excitement as he took his phone back from Jisung. “This is fantastic!”

“Why are you so excited about this? And can we talk about it as we move? I’m starving,” Seungmin interjected.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Felix started walking and the other two fell into step besides him. “I’ve been trying to get Jisung to meet Minho for weeks, I totally knew they were each other’s types. But Jisung wouldn’t do it. Now this happened! It’s fate!”

“Did you tell him who I was?” Jisung swung his bag of his back and dug around for his phone, a little nervous to look and see if he had any notifications.

“Hyunjin saw the post before I did. I’m pretty sure he commented your username.”

Sure enough, when Jisung powered his phone on, there were a stream of Instagram notifications waiting for him.

He saw that Minho had followed him, tagged him in a post and liked a bunch of his old photos. He also had a DM, but he was a bit scared to look at that right away.

First he pulled up the tagged photo. It was a selfie from the bus, with half of Minho’s face in the photo and Jisung sticking out his tongue in the background. The caption read, ‘I hope you don’t mind me posting pictures of you, you’re too adorable not to share with the world.’

Jisung doubled tapped the photo before he could talk himself out of it. He thought about commenting, but figured the like was enough to let Minho know he wasn’t mad. He followed the older boy and liked the other photo with himself in it, then moved on to check his messages.

The message from Minho contained only his phone number and a smiley face emoji.

Minho was leaving the studio for the night, hair damp from his shower and headphones blasting music in his ears, when his phone finally lit up with the text he’d been waiting for all day.

It was short, just a simple ‘hey, this is Jisung’ but it was enough to bring a smile to Minho’s lips. He sat down on the wall outside the dance building and knocked his heels off the bricks as he quickly typed out a response, ‘hi, Jisungie, sorry for taking photos of you earlier, I hope you don’t think I’m insanely creepy.’

‘It’s okay,’ Minho’s phone lit up almost immediately. ‘My friend told me you were probably taking selfies and didn’t even notice I was in the background. Sorry for ruining all your pictures.’

‘You didn’t ruin anything! They’re so much better with you in them,’ Minho attached all the photos from the bus to the message. ‘You’re such a cutie.’

No response came and Minho worried his bottom lip, scared he’d already driven the other boy away. Just as he was about to throw his phone in the trash and move across the world to Canada, a new message popped up.

‘How can you compliment me when you’re out here looking like that? You’re so gorgeous, it’s completely unfair.’

Minho giggled, his feet swinging happily as he lifted his phone with one hand and pressed his other hand to his cheek as he snapped a picture. He sent the photo to Jisung, ‘ Stoppppp, you’re making me blush.’

Jisung replied with a selfie of his own and Minho opened it eagerly, laughing when he saw how red the younger boy’s cheeks were, ‘I think I win when it comes to blushing.’

‘ Fine, you win, but only because you’re so adorable.’

Jisung smoothed his bangs with nervous fingers, glancing at the closed door to the dance building. Minho had asked for Jisung to meet him there when his class ended, so they could grab a coffee and actually get to know each other.

Seungmin told him it was a date, but Jisung wasn’t sure. No one had said anything about a date.

He’d dressed neatly just in case, pairing a tight pair of black jeans with a gray blazer over a white graphic t-shirt. He added a few accessory and a beret, but ditched the beret at the last minute because he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, just in case.

He messed with his hair again before shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as the doors open and a wave of chattering students spilled out and down the front steps.

“Sungie!”

Jisung glanced up at the call of his name and saw Minho skipping towards him, hair damp from the shower and duffle bag banging against his hip.

Jisung reached out without thinking, sliding the bag off Minho’s shoulder and on to his own as he offered the dancer a shy smile.

Minho lit up at the gesture, grinning brightly, “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Jisung fell into step besides Minho, glancing at the boy out of the corner of his eye. “So do you.”

“Thanks,” Minho smoothed his hands over his striped button down, smiling to himself at Jisung’s words.

Jisung hitched Minho’s bag higher on his shoulder and wondered what he should say now. He was normally pretty quick witted, but beautiful boys rendered him incapable of normal functioning.

Minho spared him by speaking up, “Felix talks about you all the time.”

“Oh, um, yeah, he, um, might have mentioned you occasionally too.”

Minho nudged Jisung with his elbow until the younger boy met his gaze, “He’s been telling me for weeks that his roommate is totally my type and I should totally meet him. I should have listened to him sooner.”

Jisung flushed and went back to looking at his feet, fingers clutching the strap of Minho’s bag, “He said the same thing to me about you. I didn’t really believe him though. Which is probably why he was so giddy when he saw your post.”

“He practically tackled me when I got to class today. He just kept screaming, ‘I knew you’d like Jisung!’ until Hyunjin told him to shut up. It was a lot.”

Minho’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, thumbing it open. Jisung didn’t mean to be nosy, but he just so happened to glance over as Minho closed out of whatever message he had been responding to.

“You made one of those pictures your home screen?”

It was incredible how quickly Minho’s face turned bright red. He winced, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand, “It’s weird, right? I’m sorry. I’ll change it.”

Jisung stopped walking so he could look Minho in the eye, which proved difficult as the older boy did everything in his power to avoid his gaze. “It’s fine,” Jisung promised. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Minho bit into his bottom lip, cheeks still a deep red despite Jisung’s assurance, “No, I know it’s weird. You don’t have to lie.”

Jisung dug his own phone out of his pocket and made quick work of setting one of Minho’s selfies as his own background. He held it out to the older boy once he was done, “There, now we match.”

A small smile tugged at Minho’s lips, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I like looking your face,” Jisung shrugged as he put his phone away. “Saves me the trouble of constantly going to my photos to swoon over you.”

Minho let out a soft laugh and Jisung could see that his embarrassment was beginning to ebb away. Feeling bold, he reached out and offered his hand to the older boy. Minho didn’t hesitate to take it, weaving their fingers together as they beamed at each other.

“So how was your date?” Woojin asked, glancing up from his laptop when Minho returned to their shared room.

“Check the group chat,” was all Minho said before collapsing on his bed, hugging his teddy bear to his chest and staring at the ceiling with starry eyes.

Woojin rolled his eyes and snatched up his phone, bracing himself when he saw the slew of messages Minho had filled the chat with. Seconds later he let out a disgusted groan.

“Did you seriously have to spam the group chat with ten million pictures of you and Jisung making out?”

#minsung #han jisung #lee know #i forgot to post this one on here #i always just post on ao3 first and then forget about here

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residentanchor · 6 years

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A Lesson in Practicality 3

<<Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Summary: Virgil has a decent day at work for once, giving him the courage to step out of his comfort zone. Author’s Note: IF YOU HAVE BEEN TAGGED IN THIS CHAPTER, it is because you asked to be added to a tag list. HOWEVER, Practicality is a FINISHED story, so if you wish, you can read it HERE on AO3. I will be posting 1 chapter a day until the sequel gets posted at the end. If you wish to be removed, SIMPLY LET ME KNOW! I did not get a chance to add this note to chapter 2 due to work so I apologize for that as well. Thank you <3 Word count: 5298

Virgil regretted his decision to drink with Roman the day before, considering Logan hadn't pulled his stunt and sobered him up as well. He had a pounding headache, and work was a few hours away.

He sat up and went to the bathroom, pulling out aspirin from the cabinet and headed to the kitchen for a drink. He was greeted by Patton who was cooking at the stove, which meant Logan probably had already been up and had a rare day at work at the bookstore, meaning he had to treat his hangover the old-fashioned way.

He waved to Patton, squinting and not wanting to speak, pulling out a cup and drinking water from the faucet. Usually, he avoided tap water, his brain panicking about all the problems with drinking unfiltered water like that, but his head was distracted by the pounding it was suffering from.

He heard Patton move to the table and turned. Patton waved to the food and pointed to him, then the chair, not saying a word. Virgil walked over and was greeted by a plate of eggs and toast, and sighed happily. Logan must have warned Patton of his earlier exploits. Virgil had just sat down when a glass of ginger ale was placed down, and Patton rubbed his back for a moment before heading back to the stove. They both sat silently as he ate, his stomach not too upset to enjoy the meal.

Virgil had finished eating and was pushing the remainder of his food around on his plate when Patton walked up. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks, Pat." The elder took Virgil's plate and went over to the sink. "You have work today?"

"No, not today, and the apartment is all clean, but I'll find something to do. You have to leave soon, don't you?" Patton turned, looking over his shoulder. "You feeling up to it after last night?"

Virgil stood and scoffed. "Roman and I hardly drank, Patton. I have a headache, but I'm fine." Patton looked skeptically but didn't push the matter, going back to washing the dishes. "I've got to get ready if I want to be there on time. See ya, thanks for breakfast."

Virgil took a quick shower and got dressed, running out the door before Patton could lecture him about his hair being wet out in the cold. He didn't want to be late and he didn't want to use his powers, not if he could help it.

He pulled out a pair of earbuds, never taking his headphones to work, and popped them in as he raced towards the bus stop, checking the time. He'd make it with time to spare, but he always wanted to make sure to be prepared in case something went wrong.

The bus pulled up and he took the first open spot, hopping off a few stops later a few blocks from his job. It was closer to noon on a weekday, the sounds of the city growing quieter as he left the main streets to an older building.

He never removed his headphones, his boss didn't care much if he listened to music as he worked, as long as he helped a customer if they asked. He wasn't hired for customer service, but any job like this would demand it when necessary.

Virgil entered the store, waving at the cashier at the entrance and went to the back to punch in to start working. It was a slow day as he organized the small selection of fabric and sorted ribbon that people would just toss back after looking at it, not that he minded the busy work.

About two hours into his shift, he had sorted the spools of thread and was organizing the yarn that was going to be on sale the next week. The work never took too long but there was enough to keep him busy and the store usually was empty on days like today. 'Usually' is what he told himself as he felt someone tug on his sleeve. He turned and saw an elderly woman smiling up at him as he removed both his earbuds. "Sorry sweetie, but do you mind helping an old lady out?"

"Oh, yeah sure. I work here, so if you need anything, I can help."

"Oh perfect!" She reached over and patted a hand on his arm, leaning on her cane with the other. "I'm looking for the knitting needles. Have to keep up my grandma appearance, you know." She chuckled at her joke and Virgil smiled down at her.

"Sure, you're not too far off. They're just over here." He turned and slowly walked towards a wall a few feet away.

"I know I'm old but no need to walk like I do. I know your long legs can make you walk faster than this." He looked over his shoulder and saw the old woman with a twinkle in her eye. "No need to start walking slowly now, you've got plenty of time to do that yourself when you're my age." They stopped in front of the wall and he pointed to the section specifically for knitting. "Wonderful. You want to know a tip?"

"Sure."

She leaned in and smiled. "Knitting needles make for great self-defense weapons. They'll never see you coming."

Virgil's face dropped as he looked down at her, before breaking out into a laugh. He knew the whole store could probably hear him, it wasn't a big place, but he couldn't help it. "Oh. I'll-I'll keep that in mind!" He shook his head and smiled down at her. "Guess I'll have to take up knitting, then."

She reached up and patted his arm again. "This hoodie you're wearing, did you make this? Or did you find it in one of those darkly lit stores?"

He looked down at his black hoodie covered in plaid purple patches. "Oh, I made it, but I just added the patches." He shrugged and pulled the hoodie closed more. "Working in a craft store too long, it starts to get to you."

"It's not a bad habit to keep up with." She turned back to the wall. "I'll let you get back to work. You'll see me if I need anything else."

Virgil smiled and waved, walking back to the yarn display a few feet away. He kept his earbuds out until she had left, answering any other questions she had and even helping her to the front registers with her checkout.

"Virgil, is there anyone else in the store?" He turned and looked back at the girl after the old woman had left. The cashier was the owner's daughter who usually helped out most of the time. He shook his head no. "Oh, I heard laughter. Thought some kids were messing around."

Virgil tensed, ducking his head away. "Oh, uh. That was me. Sorry, I'll keep it down."

"You can laugh?" He looked up as she leaned forward on the counter. "Thought you were only capable of brooding."

He snorted and smirked. "Nah, sometimes my soul tries reminding me I still have one."

The rest of his shift went as it usually did, the encounter leaving him more relaxed than he normally would have been. The manager even pulled him to the side and told him the old woman had given a shining review based on what his daughter had said. His boss cut him early and told him he could go home as soon as his usual work was done instead of making him organize the storage in the back like he normally would have to.

All in all, it was a good day for Virgil, which was a nice change from his usual worries.

When he got home, earlier than expected, he found Patton walk out from his room to see who had entered. "Virgil! You're home early. Feeling any better from this morning?"

"Yeah, I feel fine now. The boss let me go after I was done with the normal stuff." He pulled his hood down and tucked his earbuds away, walking over and falling back onto the couch. "I actually had a pretty good day."

"That sounds fantastic, I'm glad." Patton put his hand on the doorway to his room and started heading back in. "I'll leave you to relax in peace and enjoy the rest of your good mood, okay?"

Virgil shifted in his seat. "I wouldn't mind hanging out with you, Patton." Virgil looked up as his eyes met Patton's lens covered ones. "I mean, you don't have to. If you're busy, I can just hang out and watch a movie or something."

Patton spun around and smiled, practically vibrating with joy. "Do you really?! Ohh, I'd love that!" Virgil chuckled and shook his head. "If you have something to do I'm okay with hanging out with a... Patton pal." He looked away and shrugged. "They're technically copies of you, right?"

"Well, that's the thing, kiddo." Patton sat down on the couch next to Virgil. "They're pieces of me, as well as copies. You helped me figure that out."

"Right, the whole empath thing." Virgil looked down and at the coffee table and they sat in silence for a moment. "Do you think you could help me? With mine, that is?"

"Your power?" Patton leaned in and spoke softly. "Are you sure? You seem so skeptical of it."

Virgil looked back up at Patton and saw the concern in the older eyes. Patton smiled and Virgil couldn't help feel comforted about how much Patton really did seem to care. "I want to know what I can do, after seeing Roman try to work on his. You and Logan seem to have yours figured out."

"I'm always learning something new about me and what I can do, Virgil. I've had a little more time with mine than you have had with yours." Patton slowly leaned in and put a hand on his shoulder. "How about we spend some time relaxing and we do some detective work after, huh? We can watch a movie and talk about how you want to approach this."

Virgil scoffed. "I'm fine, Patton. We can just start whenever." Patton crossed his arms and gave him what Virgil could only describe as a 'dad look'. "Okay, okay. You can tell I'm nervous, I get it. We can watch a movie and go out after, pops." Patton nodded and stood up, headed for the small DVD archive they had. "Actually, I have to make a phone call real quick, Patton."

"Alright. Do you want to pick what we watch?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Put anything in, I don't mind."

Patton nodded and waved as Virgil walking out of the room. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, pressing a few buttons and holding it to his ear, walking to the window.

During the fourth ring, a voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, dad." Virgil turned and faced the entryway to the living room, towards where his new resident 'dad' was before glancing out the window again. "Just calling to check in, see how you've been suffering without me."

"Oh, it's been dreadful." His father sighed dramatically over the phone. "No one plays loud music during the days and there are no messy dishes in the sink from late night snacks for me to clean in the morning. It's so boring!"

"Aww, pops, maybe I should come over and make a mess just to give you something to do."

"Please don't." Virgil chuckled at the quick response. "I miss you, but the last thing I need is having you pop out of nowhere on me."

Virgil bit his lip. His power made him seem like he had the ability to just simply... appear. He could freeze time and take a few steps and start it up again, making it seem like teleportation. He used to prank his dad from time to time when he was younger before he really realized he was only scaring him. Virgil held back a sigh and bit his tongue. "Yeah, sorry. I don't really do that anymore."

"None of your roommates know, do they?"

"Can't really see when I do something, can they?" Virgil knew he was avoiding the truth, but he didn't want to spill on his roommate's secrets. That wasn't his place and the fewer people who knew the better. "I was just calling to see how you were holding up. Want me to visit soon? I just got off of work, I can stop by for dinner."

"Virgil, your old man is doing fine. Yeah, it's a little lonely with just me here but I can manage."

"You're going to end up with an apartment filled with cats if I'm not careful."

"Don't threaten me with companionship, son!" At that, Virgil did actually laugh. He rather enjoyed talking to his dad, even if things would get quiet and awkward after they talked about everything they could. When he moved out, his dad was excited and nervous, just like he had been, but their relationship only grew better with both of them able to breathe and get some space.

"I've got a movie date with my roommate, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Ohhh, a date, huh? Is he cute?"

"Dad, no! Not like that. We're friends!" Virgil hissed into the phone, looking back and hoping Patton hadn't heard him talking. "Besides, I don't see him like that. He's become like my second dad. Not that he's as cool as you, of course. He can cook better than you do though."

"Ouch, right where it hurts, thanks." He heard his father chuckle on the other end. "Enjoy your movie not date, talk to you later."

"Later."

Virgil hung up the phone and went to the living room. Patton sat up from kneeling on the floor. "Oh, perfect! I had found something I think we've both seen just so we don't mind talking over it."

"Sounds perfect, Patton."

Virgil had claimed one end of the couch from day one pretty much, and Patton usually sat in the middle, but he left room for Virgil and sat at the other end of the couch, pressing play on the remote.

Virgil brought his feet onto the couch and got comfortable before he heard Patton clear his throat. "You okay, Pat?"

"Something bothering you, kiddo?"

Virgil frowned and looked back at the tv. "I'm fine, why do you ask?" The advertisements and warnings at the beginning of the DVD were still playing, so he turned back towards Patton, who gave him a concerned look. "I can't get anything by you anymore, can I?" Virgil sat up from his sunken position. "I called my dad. He doesn't like me using my powers and I wanted to tell him but I couldn't." He laid his head back on the couch and looked at the tv again. "I'm just going to worry about it until I'm distracted."

Patton turned towards the other, paying the tv no mind. "If you're not comfortable, you don't have to push yourself, Virge."

"No, I want to do this. I want to understand this thing I have. Watching Roman learn about his and seeing you use yours like it's second nature and I never use mine, I just can't help but worry." He curled into himself more. "Worrying is what I do best."

"I don't think it's what you do best, but worrying about something like that is never a bad thing." Patton turned back towards the tv to see the menu screen pop up. "Sometimes I think people forget to worry about some stuff, it's good to have someone to ground them. You don't worry about anything you don't think is important, remember that. Your feelings are valid, no matter what they are."

Patton pressed play on the screen and Virgil stared blankly at it as the opening started. "Patton?" Virgil sunk back into his comfortable position. "Thanks." He stretched out his legs and nudged Patton with his foot, who smiled back at him.

They had started watching the movie until Patton asked questions about what Virgil had already learned, and what he wanted to learn. He discussed the notebook Logan had kept his notes on all of this and decided to share only what Virgil felt comfortable with later if he was up for it. They talked back and forth, Virgil keeping his answers vague until the credits were already rolling and they had gotten sidetracked.

"I can make a few but after three or four it starts to feel kind of fuzzy, so I usually stick to one or two." Patton had completely turned to the other side of the couch, not paying any mind to the tv. "I've had slumber parties with myself as a kid but my parents were never fans, so I just stopped doing it until I moved out. I told them I never used it again, but I think they know I'm not being honest."

Virgil did a dramatic gasp, putting a hand on his chest. "Patton. Have you told a lie? I'm surprised at you!"

Patton smirked and Virgil nudged him with his leg, sitting closer than they were before. "I either had to lie to them or to myself, and they just don't understand. I've tried talking to them but..."

"I get it." Virgil stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned forward. "No one really understood until you guys. So I just pretended I couldn't do anything, no matter how badly I wanted to just be normal."

"Oh, Virge! We are normal." Patton reached over and grabbed Virgil in a big hug. "Our normal just isn't everyone else's normal, but there's no shame in that!" Patton rubbed Virgil's back as the other just sat there confused and shocked until Patton let go. "You're beautiful just the way you are!"

Virgil rested his back against the couch and hid his face behind his hair, trying to hide the smile he couldn't seem to get rid of. "Patton, come on..."

"It's true!" Patton grabbed Virgil's arm and stood up, pulling him along. "Now come on. I promised I would help you so I will!"

"R-right now?"

Patton nodded enthusiastically. "We can eat afterward, or you'll just keep putting it off. You can do it!"

Virgil nodded and looked up at Patton, taking a deep breath. "Take a few steps back, Patton. Ready?"

Patton let go of him and followed his instructions, leaving a few feet of space between them. "Go ahead, son!"

Virgil closed his eyes tight and froze.

Suddenly, he looked up, stumbling forward and intaking a breath of air. He saw Patton in front of him, who had his arms on his hips and stood proudly, smiling down at Virgil. He turned and looked to where he had stood.

In the spot where he had been frozen, as always, was a ripple suspended in mid-air. Virgil always had left them when he broke free of time, figuring it was the way for his powers to show where he had once been, where he tore away from frozen reality.

He turned back to Patton and flexed his fingers. and reached up and grabbed a hold of Patton's shoulders, pulling him forward.

Suddenly, after a moment of tugging, Patton stumbled forward and grabbed onto Virgil, pulling him into a hug and using him to keep himself upright. "Woah, kay." Patton pulled back and brushed off Virgil's shoulders. "There we go! So, how did it go?"

Virgil smiled, proud and tried hiding behind his hoodie. "Take a look for yourself."

Patton looked up and at the tv, seeing it frozen midroll of the credits. He glanced at the clock, which had stopped ticking. "Oh. Ohh, this is nifty!" He spun around and stopped. "Oh, what's this?"

"It's where I took you out of frozen time. Patton, no don't-" Patton reached a hand forward into the ripple in space, quickly pulling it back at Virgil's insistence. "Don't touch those."

"Why, what are they?" Patton looked over his shoulder at the one Virgil had left behind. "They're just wobbly things. Oh!" He pointed down at Virgil. "Your power is just like that Doctor Who episode! Wibbly wobbly timey wimey!"

"Yes, great Patton. Just don't touch them, I don't know what they do."

Patton put a hand on Virgil's shoulder briefly and walked over to where he had broken out of time. "Well, mine went somewhere, I think. So-" He stuck his hand through Virgil's, much to the others dismay, and his hand suddenly came back through next to where it had entered. "Ohh that's weird." He wiggled his fingers and giggled. "Yours doesn't go anywhere."

Virgil grabbed his arm and pulled it back. "Patton! You shouldn't just stick your hand through one of those! Who knows what would have happened!"

Patton frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, how else are you supposed to figure out what they do?"

Virgil grabbed both sides of his head. "I don't know, stick something else through first, not just your hand?"

"Oh." He dropped his arms to his sides. "Yeah, that would have worked." He turned back towards his side. "So yours doesn't go anywhere, so where does mine go?"

"Who cares, leave it alone."

Patton looked over at Virgil who had once again tried to retreat back into his big purple hoodie to hide away. "Virgil, if you want to understand yourself better, you need to take a chance. Isn't that why I'm here?" Virgil looked away, shrugging but not saying a word. "Look, I'll just take a peek through mine and you can hold my hand just in case, okay? If it makes you feel that uncomfortable, I'll leave it alone."

Virgil looked up at Patton, who smiled down at him holding out his hand. His eyes trailed down, before reaching out and grabbing it carefully. "Fine, but just for a second."

Patton perked up and stepped up to where he had originally stood, looking back at Virgil before slowly sticking his head through.

Virgil looked down at the hand he held as it suddenly gripped tighter and he pulled Patton back in a panic. "Patton, are you okay?"

The smile on Patton's face was bigger than ever as he turned and looked down at him. "It leads to a dog park! Ohh there are so many cute dogs Virgil you have to come see!"

"A dog park?" Patton nodded and tugged on their clasped hands, encouraging him to follow. They both took a step forward, Virgil closing his eyes as he came up to the portal. After Patton had stopped tugging him along, he slowly opened his eyes. "Oh, wow. This is the park across town, isn't it?"

Time was still frozen, but there were dogs stuck mid-run, one chasing after a ball that had just been thrown with two others trailing behind, and a mess of people stopped where they had been.

Virgil turned around and reached his hand out, watching it vanish as it came in connection with where the portal would have been. "They're invisible on the other side, but they work both ways." He dropped his hand and looked up at Patton. "I've been running across town when I could make portals this whole time. That's not fair."

"Portals to dogs, Virgil! That's the important part."

Virgil looked around at the park, before shaking his head. "No, my portal didn't lead anywhere, yours did."

Patton let go of his hand and took a few steps forward before spinning around. "Right! After the movie, I was thinking about how I might take a walk by here, I've been inside all day today."

"Some part of you was thinking about it so that's where it led. I usually think about stopping time, so mine led nowhere." Virgil and Patton looked at one another before smiling and laughing. "That's so cool, Patton! I can make portals!"

Patton gasped loudly and covered his face with shock. "You're like a Tardis! Ohh, what if you were thinking about something else, maybe a certain event. Could your portals lead back in time?" Patton looked at Virgil, who froze. "Or we can explore that another day. Want to head back home?"

Virgil needed no other prompting and they both reached out and went back the way they came. Virgil went in front of his portal and Patton stood in front of his, nodding and giving a big thumbs up. Virgil closed his eyes tight again, and everything started to move.

Patton let out a yelp and stumbled sideways and onto the couch, holding onto it tightly. "Woah what was that? It's like I felt the planet rotating all of a sudden!"

Patton looked up at Virgil, suddenly realizing what he had just said, causing Virgil to pale and start to panic. "Wait. Do I stop the whole planet when I do that?"

Patton got up, slowly as to hide how dizzy it had momentarily made him. "No, don't worry! Probably was just a side effect, okay?"

"I stop the whole planet when I do that," Virgil muttered, looking up at Patton. "I didn't think about that, it makes sense though. I don't stop it for just one area, I stop it for everyone but me."

Patton wrapped an arm around Virgil, turning him and leading him to his room. "Calm down, big guy. Go sit down and relax, I'll make us a snack, okay?"

Virgil didn't fight him and walked into his room, as if on autopilot. Patton looked concerned as he pulled the door closed, making a mental note to share his findings with Logan later if Virgil was okay with that.

He heated up some quick leftovers in the fridge and called Virgil out, who seemed better after some time to himself. He didn't speak besides a quick thank you and they both sat wordlessly at the table.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open, causing both of them to jump, Virgil almost knocked his chair out from under him. Roman walked in, covered in paper confetti and glitter. He looked over at Virgil, who suddenly found his voice and was biting his lip, trying not to laugh.

"Don't." Roman walked over to the fridge, pulled out a water bottle and walked out of the room. "I'm taking a shower."

They both waited for the tell-tale sign of the bathroom door closing before they both burst out laughing.

"Oh gosh, he looked like a party threw up on him on accident!" Virgil grabbed hold of the table. "Oh, I needed that. Thank you, universe!"

Patton wiped away a tear under his glasses and looked up. "Finish up kiddo, we could go check out the dog park after this!"

"You think dogs make everything better." Virgil was still smiling and began to eat off of his plate. "Your not wrong, though."

After Roman's reappearance, Virgil broke out laughing again. "Har har, I get it, hilarious." Roman sat on the couch and huffed. "I'm just glad no one took a photo of it."

"Aww, man, I so wish I had!" Virgil sat on the couch next to Roman and nudged him, causing Roman to nudge back. "Should I start calling you Tinkerbell then?"

"Shut it, All-American Terror."

"That one was bad, you're losing it princey."

"I've had a bad week!"

"Guess you're not feeling very glittery?" Roman and Virgil looked up at Patton who dramatically shrugged, causing Roman to cover his face and Virgil to break out laughing again. They were interrupted, which Roman was thankful for when the apartment door opened up. "How was work, Logan?" Patton called out as Logan walked in. "Two days in a row, huh?" Logan adjusted his glasses and smirked. "There's something therapeutic about organizing and alphabetizing books all day in quiet." He pulled out a few sheets of folded paper from his pocket. "I also acquired all the crosswords from the free papers today as well to do in my spare time. It was a good day, all things considered."

"Seems like everyone had a good day today! Isn't that fantastic?"

Roman huffed and crossed his arms. "My day was fine until I got water dumped on me, then someone thought it would be funny to drop glitter and confetti all over me on my way home. I looked silly! And it ruined a perfectly good hair day!" Roman ran a hand through his hair which was now pulled back and away from his face. "One good day, is that so much to ask?"

Logan held up a hand. "I did have a question for you. Patton?" He placed his crossword puzzles on the table. "Your copies, they can touch one another but coming into contact with you merges them back together with you, correct?"

"Yeah, I guess it pulls them back in."

Logan nodded at this information. "Any discoveries you made today, Roman?"

"No, but I don't mind blowing off some steam back on the roof if you don't mind."

Patton stood up and glanced at the clock. "It's going to be all of us for dinner tonight Roman. How about I let you decide, huh?"

Roman looked happy at the suggestion. "Sure, Pat. That sounds delightful."

The rest of the night went smoothly. Logan and Roman went to the roof and Virgil went to his room. Patton stayed in the kitchen and cut an apple for Roman in case he was hungry when he came back, using his powers for too long usually made him a little hungry afterward. Suddenly Virgil ran into the kitchen from his room and ran to him, not expecting the biggest smile on Virgil's face he had ever seen.

"Patton, I have the best news."

"What is it, slugger?" Patton asked before Virgil ran up and held out a bag. "What's this?"

"Remember that stuff Roman was covered in earlier?" Patton looked down at the bag full of colored paper and confetti. "I had it lying around. I was saving it in case I needed to get back at him, and I bet if I try to go back to this afternoon, I can find Roman before he comes home. I had completely forgotten about it and it's been bugging me since Roman came back."

Patton tried his best to make a disapproving face. "That doesn't seem very nice."

"I just want to test it to see if I can go back, it might not even work." Patton looked at Virgil, knowing very well that if he had tried, it would work. "We can go to the dog park afterward!" Patton's face finally betrayed him and he started smiling. "I knew you'd join the dark side, Patton. Now, let's go have some fun!" Chapter 4>> Tag list: @cyberpunkjinx @phlying-squirrel @equipodeleo

#sanders sides #sander sides au #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sander sides #superpower au #slice of life au #practicality fic

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euphwordia-blog · 7 years

Text

University Commuting Essentials

Winter is coming. That’s right, Back to School season is one month away...

So being the girl I am, (the living, breathing human definition of ’extra), I am regularly watching Back to School Hauls, trying to find an expensive planner that I’ll never use and buying a whole new set of school supplies despite the fact that I probably won’t use half of them!

And if you’re anything like me, you’re probably trying to figure out what you need vs. what you really don’t. Well have I got a lifesaving tool for you!

I have compiled a master list of everything and anything you may need in your school bag!...and I mean EVERYTHING. I jot down everything: school supplies, beauty essentials, first aid, clothing, accessories, electronics...etc. Whether you travel heavy or light, this list really helped me consider what I needed to keep in my bag throughout my day.

This list is LONG, and you obviously don’t need to put everything it includes in your school bag. Take what you want from it. If you find a lot of these things necessary to have with you, consider getting a locker to keep them in, rather than having to lug them around.

And now without further ado...

University School Essentials or Completely Unnecessary Shit to Lug Around:

Bags

o Large Tote or Backpack: Depending on your preference.

This year I’ve opted for a large tote. This one by Lululemon is so spacious and durable AF. It has interior pockets, a removable pouch (where I hold my makeup) and a shoe bag. It was more on the pricier side, but Lululemon has great quality stuff and this bag will last me years. If I’m not in the mood to carry around a purse, I’ll always switch it out for my tried and true JanSport backpack.

https://shop.lululemon.com/p/bags/All-Day-Tote/_/prod8260423?rcnt=14&N=8bd&cnt=19&color=LW9MJ7S_028694

o Lunch Bag: Unless you’re buying lunch everyday.

o Makeup Bag: I never have time to fix my face in the morning because I like to get my beauty sleep until the last second so I just take a pouch with me and do it in the car or on the subway.

o Hygiene Bag: Because having tampons and pads flying out of your bag when you take something out isn’t sexy.

o Pencil Case

o Zip-lock Bag

o Book Bag: I like to keep my books separate from my bag, especially the first week of school when I’m buying a bunch of textbooks. Things get heavy or there’s no room in your bag, so it’s good to have a book bag with you in your bag just in case.

o Wallet

o Shoe Bag

School Supplies

o Folder: I prefer carrying a folder around with me to keep handouts or loose paper, rather than a binder but if that’s not your style then...

o Binder

o Lined Paper (hole punched and not hole punched)

o Graphing Paper

o Notebook

o Red Pen

o Blue Pen

o Black Pen

o Led Pencil (2)

o Led

o Wooden Pencil

o Eraser

o Sharpener

o Scissors

o Glue

o Tape

o White out

o Highlighter (3 different colors)

o Staple Remover

o Mini Stapler

o Hole Punch

o Sticky Notes – 2 sizes

o Post it flags

o Paper clips

o Cue cards

o Calculator

o Sharpie – 2 sizes

o Ruler

o Agenda

o Calendar

o Textbooks

o Bookmark

o Lock for Locker

o Water Bottle or Thermos: I prefer Swell water bottles because they keep the temperature of whatever I’m drinking the same for over 7 hours.

o Notebook (Journal)

o A good book

Electronics

o Phone

o Phone case: My dad knows that I lose my presto card constantly, so he bought me this phone case where you can hold up to two cards in the back. I’m always holding my phone anyways, so this helps me make sure I never lose my transport pass.

o iPhone charger or portable battery

o Computer

o Computer Sleeve

o Hard-shell case

o Computer Charger

o iPod or Mp3 device: If for some reason you can’t keep music on your phone.

o Fitbit: I use my fitbit as a watch and it’s connected to my phone so when I get a text, the fitbit will vibrate and show me my text on the screen. It’s also great for tracking your steps, how many calories you burn, and the fitbit app can also help you track your water intake (which is super important).

o Earphones/Headphones

o USB: In case something goes wrong with your computer, you will always have your documents saved on the USB

o Camera

Clothing and Accessories

o Bus tickets/Bus Pass

o Umbrella: one of those small foldable ones that are easy to carry around

o Hairbrush

o Hairpins

o Hair Tie

o Blanket scarf: As the name suggests, you can use it as a blanket when it gets cold during lectures or just a regular scarf.

o Rain jacket

o Rain Boots

o Winter Jacket

o Gloves

o Sunglasses

o Extra clothes (leggings, a t-shirt, underwear, socks...etc.)

o Winter hat

o Running shoes

o Fast Flats: These are genius. They take up very little room and they’re very light. If you get a blister or want to change shoes, these flats are perfect.

o House Keys

o Lighter

o Tea Bags: because sometimes the tea options at random school cafeterias suck.

Hygiene Products

o Deodorant

o Facial wipes

o Sanitary Wipes

o Disinfectant Wipes

o Tampons

o Pads

o Panty liners

o Body Spray

o Roll-on perfume

o Lip balm

o Tissues

o Mini Vaseline

o Nail File

o Hand Sanitizer

o Hand Lotion

o Gum

o Mints

o Tide to Go

o Floss

First Aid

o Band-aids

o Disinfectant wipes

o Polysporin

o Tylenol/Advil

o Melatonin

o Vapo Inhaler

o Halls

o Vitamin C packet

Beauty

o Compact Mirror

o Foundation

o Powder

o Powder Brush

o Beauty Blender

o Concealer

o Concealer Brush

o Primer

o Setting Spray

o Highlighter

o Bronzer

o Tweezers

o Wax Strips (2)

o Highlighter/Blush Brush

o Blush

o Mascara

o Eyelash curler

o Eyeliner

o Eyebrow Gel

o Eyebrow Pencil

o Lipstick

And that’s it! Anyways, I hoped this helped you plan and prepare for school. Just remember that you probably don’t need most of these things and you may possibly end up with just a pen and a piece of paper by the middle of the year.

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flighty37-blog · 7 years

Text

The Swedish Flag & The British Flag

Author’s note: There’s a distinct lack of strictly Martyn/Cornelia fics. With them as central characters. So I’ve decided to create a universe for them.

Rating: Mature themes PG-R Most likely.

Summary: We know how Dan and Phil 'met'. Dan stalked Phil, and they eventually became best friends. Some people are convinced they're lovers. But what of Cornelia and Martyn? Truly they're an established couple. They've been dating for eight years. As long as Dan and Phil have been friends. How did they meet? I know that Martyn does some DJ work. Perhaps he met Cornelia at a big party?

May (2009):

Martyn Lester was spinning tracks. He had his headphones on and was dancing along with the tracks he had put on. The lights were strobe, and the disco ball was glinting. This was a ritzy party. Some singer was supposed to be entertaining.

Someone named Dahlgren? Well they'd better be worth their salt. How could this party get any better? As with most gigs, Martyn got free reign of the buffet. Which was good, because DJ-ing was a hell of a gig. He got hungrier as the night went on. In fact, his stomach was starting to rumble. He went to find Joe, his replacement. Just as he turned to search for Joe in the crowd, he bumped into someone. She was tiny.

She had a dark curly mass of hair, and the deepest, bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Her lips were in a bright red lip paint colour. And when she batted her long, luscious eyelashes at him, he melted. She was gorgeous.

He shook the thought from his head. 'No. No. I just broke up with Sheila. Bad Brain!'

"Hi. Sorry. Excuse me. I was trying to find Joe, he's my replacement, and I'm hungry...." He moved to the side. She moved to the other side, but they still managed to bump hands.

"Ow!" She shook her hand to the side, trying to get the hurt to go away.

"I am so sorry!" He yelped.

"It is fine," her accent was soft, but definitely not British nor American.

The music was almost deafening, but he felt as if, they were the only two people in the room.

Just then Joe ambled up. "Hey Lester!" He waved, and also bumped into Cornelia.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't see you there," Joe apologised as well.

"Apparently I am invisible tonight," Cornelia's eyelashes fluttered again.

"Joe! Focus! Get to the stage," Martyn gestured.

"Oh, yeah....Okay....Nice catch Lester!" Joe nudged his ribs, and he exited, leaving Martyn with this stunning beauty.

"I'm Martyn Lester," Martyn stuck out his hand. Likewise she stuck out her own hand,

"I'm Cornelia Dahlgren."

Dahlgren, Dahlgren. Why did that name sound so familiar?

"You're the singer?" He asked, she was so tiny.

"Of course I am. I was on Sweden's Idol," Cornelia puffed up a bit with pride at her announcement.

"Ohhh did you win?" Martyn asked.

"Yes I did, and now I am here....Excuse me," Cornelia was soon swallowed up in the crowd.

The food was forgotten for a moment, and Martyn felt the urge to find her again. She was intriguing. Tiny as a fairy, flawless in complexion, her lovely big blue eyes....Her hair....All of her....Gorgeous!

He shook his head and went to the buffet. He decided he'd better eat.

His phone buzzed, "Hey Mum...." He assured his mother that he was well, and that Phil was doing well.

"I hear he has a stalker?" Catherine worried.

"I don't think it'll turn out bad," Martyn assured her.

He reassured her one last time, and then they said, their 'I love you's and goodbyes.

His mum was one tough lady, but he loved her, he really did. He continued to search the crowd, hoping to find the bright sprite he'd nearly trampled over. But she's gone. He ate, finished, and went to relieve Joe at the DJ station, flipping the lights, and pushing random buttons, until 'she' sashayed onto the stage.

She gripped the microphone tight between her hands, and her eyes closed, as her voice sang, and lilted towards the heavens. She was an angel. An absolute angel. Her vocal range was melodic and sweet. And when she opened her eyes again, she made contact with everyone in the crowd. Then she gave a nod towards the DJ station.

Martyn felt himself blush. His heart raced, he felt something. He was attracted to her. What straight guy wouldn't be attracted to her, or any female for that matter either? As she finished her set, she was hounded by the autographees.

They wanted her. Everyone wanted her. Martyn....Wanted her. She was too beautiful. She was way out of his league.

Normally he went for the taller, bigger titted girls. The ones who were dumber than rocks. But she mesmerised him. He was smitten. He needed to talk to her again. Before she could disappear, Martyn followed her, leaving a flummoxed Joseph in his wake.

"Where ya goin' man? I can't do this! It isn't my turn!"

But Martyn's deaf now. He needed to see her, talk to her....

Cornelia's POV:

She smiled inwardly.

That tall red haired blue-eyed British man, boy.....Male. He was younger than she.

She could tell by looking at him. His flipped up hat, his smirky cocky grin. He was a player. But she felt a faint stirring. He was handsome, but she could tell he was smart. Clever. A decent human being. Somebody that Roger, her ex, wasn't. Her insides were telling her that Martyn Lester was someone she should get to know. Perhaps, one day, more intimately. Tonight she was intrigued. She wanted to find him again.

She needed to talk to him again. She needed to get to know him more. He had certainly left an impression on her. And she felt the vibrations, the butterflies.

She felt a crimson flush on her cheeks.

Cornelia was smitten....Cornelia was soon to be in love. Somehow she felt her hopes and dreams were intertwined with this person. All she had to achieve was the physicalness. But first they need to talk. And then, she felt the bump again. He'd run over her once more. But she didn't mind the hurting in her elbow. He was before her. She smiled gracefully.

Martyn:

"Oh my god! I am so, so, sorry! I keep hurting you. And normally I'm a pacifist. I hate hurting people," Martyn splutters out, and mentally slaps his forehead.

Usually he's pretty articulate.

Unlike Phil, who's barely articulate and very shy, even though he went to Uni, is going to uni. He's in Manchester studying whatever.

Martyn left Uni a year and a half ago. Now he's a part time DJ and he'd studied online business managing. No need to tell this beautiful person about it. She'd think he was boring. She was looking quizzically at him. Waiting for him to speak aloud again.

Cornelia:

He was so cute when he was flustered. She could tell he was trying to speak, but he was fumbling his words. She reached out and put a comforting hand on his arm. The only part of him she could reach. She's really short compared to him. She's really short anyway.

Martyn:

"Again, sorry about running you over, but....I....You're very pretty...." Oh really smooth there Lester. That'll surely win her over. Yeah....He sounded like a stalker.

She laughed. That's a good sign isn't it? Maybe? He's got a shot. A chance. Didn't he? She's got the most gorgeous smile. Her eyes are lit up too. Her eyes are such a bright blue. So pale like a robin's egg, or like a pale blue morning sky. Ugh! He's waxing poetic. Stop it Lester. Talk Music! So he tried to engage her in favourite music.

Cornelia: She put a hand to her mouth to keep her deep chuckles hidden. "It's quite alright. I'm resilient," she assured him. Her accent was coming out again.

Martyn:

"I'm British," he croaked out. Like she wouldn't have guessed already? Good one there.

He's acting more and more like Phil. Uncoordinated, shy, awkward. Any time now he'll trip over his own shoelaces. Any time now he'll have something bite him. Any time now he'll just fall for no reason.

"I mean want to go somewhere quiet?" He asked.

She nodded and they found a quiet corner. She sat down on the swing, and he sat down in the metal garden chair. And they talked, and chatted. They laughed a little.

Cornelia: She just knew there was something wonderful about him. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he smiled.

The way he moved his hands when he made a point.

They talked about music, their favourite bands. Why they were interested in music. What drove them. They talked well into the night, and as the party died down, and the caterers packed up, they were still talking, and suddenly, Martyn was holding her hand. Cornelia never wanted to let it go. It was soft, it was giant, and yet it invariably fit in with her small hand. She blushed this time, as he let go. He was obviously embarrassed. But....

Martyn:

"Let's exchange phone numbers, it would only seem fair after all," he insisted.

He was relieved when she nodded yes. He wrote his number down on a scrap of paper from his pocket, and tore it, handed her the pen and she wrote down her number on the other half. They exchanged pieces of paper. Then they parted ways.

Martyn was disappointed to see her go. He wanted to introduce her to his mum. Maybe one day.... She rang him as he pulled into his driveway at his flat. He answered, and balanced the phone on his shoulder as he unlocked the door. She sounded a bit upset as well. He wanted to hug her, the way Mum hugged him when he was sad.

Cornelia:

She had never felt this way before. Actually, physically needing a person. She had always brushed it off as something unnecessary. But somehow, Martyn Lester brought that out in her again. Her vulnerability....He was awkwardly chatting again. Making her smile.

"This might sound desperate, but I just wanted to hear your voice again," Cornelia's blush deepened. She was in the corner of her tour bus, and she didn't want anyone to hear her conversation.

"I must have a nice voice," he'd said to her.

She answered, "You do have a nice voice. I enjoyed talking to you, and I'm glad we exchanged numbers. It'll be less lonely on the road, during tour."

Martyn:

"You're on tour?" Martyn was intrigued.

Of course she was tour! She was a singer for cripe's sake! Argh! He slapped a hand to his forehead. Seeming to startle her as she had asked what 'that noise was'.

"Nothing. I was slapping at a pesky fly," Martyn lied.

"Oh I see. Was it connected to your body?" She asked.

"No. Why do you ask?" Martyn retorted.

"I swear I heard skin being slapped," Cornelia answered.

This woman was observant, talented, cute, pretty, sexy voice, sexy compact body. Eyes to die for. Eyelashes long and lush. The list went on and on. She had a great personality. Mum would LOVE her. He, he already felt something. But he was a red blooded male. Didn't he think about sex all the time? But he didn't want to have just sex with her.

He wanted something more. Something solid. Something that she could bring into this potential relationship.

"Martyn Lester, are you listening to me?!"

She was bossy. Add that to the list. But Mum was bossy so that was okay. It was great that she was an assertive female. A kind woman. Would she be a passionate woman? Would she belong to any causes?

Cornelia: "Martyn? Martyn Lester!" Her exclamation seemed to have jolted him out of whatever la-la land he was in. He'd begun to speak out loud once more.

She giggled. Wait a minute she was giggling? Better tamp that down. But his deep, rich laugh melted her again. And they just laughed together. They talked until she was yawning. And then they said goodbye.

A couple months later:

Red Bull Festival....

"Ahhh we meet again!" Martyn said.

"Yes I was told I was being paired with you," Cornelia said, and her eyes had a certain shine to them.

"Coincidence....They told me the same thing," Martyn's smile lit up his face.

"I don't mind it one bit," Cornelia answered.

They gave each other private smiles. They had been communicating whenever they could. Email, Skype, Facetime, Twitter, Facebook, anything social media. His mother was concerned, Phil was intrigued. Dad was secretly cheering him on. Martyn was pleased, and he felt a bit of wholeness fill the void that Sheila had clawed in him when she'd left.

"You're gonna get a girlfriend before the year's out," Phil had teased.

"You're gonna be friends with your stalker before the end Bro," Martyn teased back.

"We've Skyped a few times, and Facetimed. He's not that bad. I kinda like him. Did you know he's going to Manchester University? He's studying to be a lawyer," Phil was getting excited.

"Slow down Baby Brother! Slow down....What's his name?" Martyn smiled. Phil needed a close friend. Oh he had 'friends', but he needed a close one.

"His name's Daniel Howell, but he said I could call him Dan. But...." Phil's voice trailed off.

"But?" Martyn paused waiting for Phil to collect his scattered, excitable thoughts. That boy was always running on reserve adrenaline. He was a weird kid, but he was nice. And kind. Everything that Mum and Dad had instilled in them both.

"He's eighteen, I'm twenty-two," Phil blurted out.

"So?" Martyn was not understanding this train of thought at all.

"Sooooo he's got his whole life ahead of him?" Phil turned the statement into a question towards the end.

"And? So do you! Look at you getting your BA in English/Linguistics and then going back for another semester to do videos/editing," Martyn replied.

"I know...." Phil's voice turned to pride.

"See? So you need a friend to help you through your revision, and he probably needs help with his revising. I say you two become friends. The sooner the better....I gotta go Bro! I'm DJ-ing at the Red Bull Fest," Martyn said.

"Okay. Cool. Well I'm making a silly video," Phil responded.

"I'll watch it when you upload it like usual," Martyn assured him.

"Thanks Martyn," Phil was mollified.

"Any time. Catch you in the hereafter," Martyn signed off.

Then he had met up with Cornelia and they were presently speaking:

"Well it could be worse," Cornelia jokingly shrugged.

"Yeah I could be with a mongrel," Martyn joked back. He had a weird sense of humour. Who didn't in his family? He hadn't been the one to watch his parents sleep when he was a child though. So Phil had been weirder, by a slight margin.

"You're funny Mr. Lester," Cornelia said.

"Mr. Lester's my father. Please keep calling me Martyn," Martyn implored.

"Okay, just as long as you don't slip up and call me 'Ms. Dahlgren', I'll think it's my spinster aunt," Cornelia said, her eyes keeping their sparkle, her lips slightly parted.

Oh how Martyn wanted to kiss those plump lips. Her hair was dyed. It was a lovely crimson. He liked that colour on her. Her lips matched her hair. He smiled wider.

"Are you alright Martyn?" Cornelia turned her head to the side.

"I-I'm fine. Well we'd better get to our places," Martyn said, as he helped her onto the back of the stage.

"We'd better meet up after we're finished our tasks," Cornelia said.

"We will, but if we don't, we'll just ring each other," Martyn responded.

"Sounds good to me. I like having a mobile," Cornelia decided.

"Thank God for mobiles," Martyn agreed.

So as time went on they were paired together more often at gigs, and they grew closer, and closer. Soon they were together. Officially.

Date night:

One of the rare nights where she's not hopelessly going from city to city on her tour bus, where he's not being a dj. They're holding hands, and looking out at London. They both moved to London. Different flats, opposite sides of London. But they're in the same town. The same time zone. Cornelia's leaned against Martyn's long arm, as they're holding hands.

"It's so gorgeous. The moon is so full....Martyn! A shooting star," Cornelia followed the star's path with her pointer finger.

"Make a wish," Martyn whispered in her ear. They're seated on a bench. Cuddled close. Leaning on each other now.

"I already made my wish. Two months ago. You appeared and almost trampled me to death," Cornelia chuckled.

Martyn rolled his eyes, and he spoke, "You're my wish too." He kissed her lips. He'd finally been granted permission.

"How's your brother Peter?" Cornelia mixed up the name. On purpose.

"Peter? Don't you mean Phil?" Martyn scrunched his eyebrows together, until he realised she was kidding. She followed Phil on YouTube. She was one of his subscribers.

"Of course I meant Phil. How is he managing university? How is he doing with his 'online friend'?" Cornelia asked.

"He's doing well and have you seen his channel? It's growing by leaps and bounds," Martyn's so proud of his baby brother.

"Of course I've seen his channel. But I want to know about his 'friend'," Cornelia answered.

"They've met up a few times. But always in public places. So they've never been 'alone'. You know?" Martyn answered.

"Like romantically? Or just doing 'boy things'?" Cornelia asked.

"Just off by themselves doing whatever they want," Martyn shrugged. Which was hard to do considering Cornelia was still lying her head on his arm. But he'd managed.

"Of course, so when do you think they'll be 'alone'?" Cornelia teased.

"Knowing Phil? The minute Mum and Dad go out of town. Which they're planning to do in October," Martyn said.

"When do I get to meet your parents I've heard so much about?" Cornelia asked.

"Soon...." Martyn answered.

Soon (two months later, three months of dating) August 2009:

Soon for the two of them, their busy schedules and such, did not happen until the end of August. They had free time, they flew to the Isle of Man, after Martyn had told his mother that he was bringing a 'special friend'. Which he hoped was enough to satiate his mother's insatiable appetite for gossip, and concern. She was pretty overprotective.

"Martyn! Fruit of My Womb!" Catherine enveloped Martyn into a tight, vise like hug.

Martyn didn't dare squirm, the hug would have gotten tighter. He knew the more he relaxed, the lesser the hold would get. He had to be patient. So he shot a glance over at his father.

"Catherine....Let the boy go. He's got to breathe," Nigel stepped in and rescued their oldest.

Catherine, albeit reluctantly, let go. She patted Martyn's cheek, and turned her attention the strange red haired, woman standing almost awkwardly behind Martyn. She was so tiny, and petite.

"Hello Dear. And might I ask who you are?" Catherine was ready to hug another person. She couldn't hug Phil, but anyone would do at this point.

"Mum, Dad, meet Cornelia Dahlgren....My girlfriend," Martyn said proudly.

And then the grilling had begun.

"I'm thirty-one this year," Cornelia softly said, they were now seated in the lounge.

"Eight years," Nigel nodded.

"Age is just a number. You're welcome to the family My Darling. You've made my Martyn very happy!" Catherine jumped up and hugged Cornelia with such ferocity that Martyn had to step in and help her out.

Or he would have if Cornelia had not hugged back, with just as much, if not more ferocity. She had taken on his mother! She was fantastic! She was a keeper! Martyn and Nigel exchanged glances, and they both secretly smiled behind the women's backs. Yes, Cornelia would do just fine in this family.

Catherine brought out the light lunch she'd made, and Cornelia followed her and helped put out the drinks. So natural. As if she had always belonged. Despite Catherine's protests.

"Dear, you're our guest. Do sit next to Martyn, I have a feeling he's missing you," Catherine had tried to dissuade her 'new daughter'.

"He'll live. He's lived without me before, he can live without me again. Our schedules are so conflicting. I'm working on a new project called Camp Mozart. He's out being a DJ and trying to fit into the business world. We're so busy...." Cornelia sighed.

"But you must make time for yourselves," Catherine insisted.

"We do. It's nice to have technology at your fingers," Cornelia smiled softly.

"Oh how far we've come," Catherine sagely nodded.

The two women chatted, becoming closer as well. So close that as soon as Martyn and Cornelia had taken their leave, Catherine had adopted her. Not officially, just made it known to her husband and son.

Moving in:

"It's economical, you'll have a place to stay instead of temporary shelter. I'll get to hold you and snuggle you Every Night! C'mon please say yes. I found this cute little flat...." Martyn wheedled.

"Martyn! You're incorrigible. We'll need space to put my instruments and things for my studio," Cornelia pointed out.

"I found the perfect place. Please come see it with me?" Martyn begged. They were talking over the phone again.

"Okay, Okay, I'm coming into London tomorrow morning. You'd better be my chauffeur Lester," Cornelia said, her smile had gotten bigger.

He was so excitable. A bit like Phil. Phil was more excitable. She had met Phil a couple of times, and he was always going on about this 'Daniel Howell' kid. She had looked Dan up on YouTube, but he hadn't posted anything yet.

She went back to YouTube, and found Dan's video.

Oh god was this kid in for some surprises with the Lesters. He'd better be prepared. She would be there to guide the poor soul. He was every bit his eighteen year old self. But she enjoyed the content. Really. She had laughed where it was supposed to be funny, and had forwarded the video to Martyn.

Martyn took great delight to chortle at Phil, and Phil had defended his young friend. So brotherly rivalry was going full force now. Cornelia just made popcorn and watched it sort itself out. They never seriously argued; they were better friends and brothers than anything.

She was glad when the plane landed, and Martyn was there waiting for her. He took her to a hotel, and they spent the night in each others' arms. Content. Happy. A couple.

The next morning:

"Welcome home!" Martyn spread his arms wide around the (as of yet) empty flat.

"Martyn, it's HUGE!" Cornelia said, as her voice echoed about, bouncing off the walls.

"It's got space for the instruments, we can put a door there, and section it off. And you can have your own little studio....And look there's the kitchen I can burn stuff in. No I learnt how to cook. Honest! And....Look at the cute tiny bedroom. Our bedroom. Please say yes Nell?" Martyn stopped for breath.

"Martyn...." She sighed. It was all so perfect. Too perfect. The man of her dreams, this tiny apartment. They had been dating all of five months. She was still thirty-one. He was still twenty-three. He was a boy, he was a man. He was hers. But the niggling doubt still wavered through.

"I'm so old Martyn," she'd said. She had said so many times before but he'd brushed the concern off.

"Age is just a number. Our personalities make up for the rest of it," Martyn teased, but backed away as, she backed into the door to the flat.

"Please don't go Nella," Martyn said.

"I-I have to. This is too much like a fairy-tale. And fairy tales aren't real. You're not real. My parents are divorced. I have crazy relatives. I can't be your perfect woman," Cornelia was trembling. She had to go. So she turned and fled.

"CORNELIA!" Martyn raced after her. But she was gone. Disappeared into London's fog. "NELLLLLLAAAA!!!!" He sat down on the stoop. He tried calling her, but her phone went to voicemail.

He stumbled down the street to his car, and went back to his flat, he lay down on the bed, and he looked up at the ceiling. "Nella...." He whispered. She was his. She was always going to be his! He would find her. But what if she never wanted to be found again? He'd found her once. He'd find her again.

On the plane to Sweden:

Cornelia was in tears. She was going her mother's and step-dad's house. She needed some solace, some solitude. It had been a stressful tour, and she needed to calm her aching soul. To keep her mind in check. She'd brought her trusty omnichord. It was a silly thing to bring. But it brought her comfort. So much comfort. But Martyn.... Her Martyn. No he was just a boy she'd met. A fling. He wasn't real anymore. Yes he is! Her romantic side screamed. And thus she'd buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Quiet, but wracking sobs.

"Mamma!" She'd gibbered in Swedish, and thus had begun a whole conversation, entirely in Swedish.

Two nights later:

Skyping with Martyn:

"I miss you Nelia," Martyn said the first thing that sprang into his head.

"I miss you too Marto," she'd said, she'd begun putting several nicknames to him, and Marto seemed the funniest out of them to her.

"Nelia please come back," Martyn pleaded.

"I need some time away Walrus," she'd said, as another nickname came out.

"But Honey Bear...." Martyn pouted. He could look so dejected and her heart broke just a little bit more.

"Honey Bear?" Cornelia cracked a smile.

"Honey Badger?" Martyn quipped, and he too cracked a small smile.

"Marty," Cornelia gave him a look.

"This is heavy Doc!" Martyn said, quoting from Back to the Future. He loved those films.

"Mum said I was named after Marty McFly, she just added the 'n' to make it look proper," Martyn shrugged.

"I'll come back Martyn. I just...I need time, and I need to center myself," Cornelia brought the conversation back full circle. Becoming serious again.

"Whatever you need to do. Hey I've started Yoga myself," Martyn said.

"Have you now?" Cornelia was intrigued.

"Yeah!" Martyn's eyes lit up.

"How limber are you?" Cornelia asked, as she raised an eyebrow.

"Kimberly says I'm so limber, that I have mastered a lot of the Yoga poses," Martyn winked at her.

"Perchance is Kimberly, female?" Cornelia bristled for a brief moment.

"Maybe?" Martyn asked, enjoying that she was sort of jealous.

"I'll be home soon My love munchkin," Cornelia blew him a kiss.

"I can't wait for your return!" Martyn said, and blew her a kiss of his own. He was happy, so was she.

Cornelia cut the visit short. She needed her Marty-Pumpkin. She said goodbye to her family and she was jetsetting to Martyn. He had been rung by her mother, and was waiting for her. He swooped her up in his arms and carried her all the way to the car. Then he drove to his flat and they fell asleep in the bed. Cornelia told him that the place he had found was perfection. They moved in at the end of the week.

Cornelia and Catherine bought kitchen supplies. Cornelia and Martyn made short work of christening the bedroom. Life was good. Life was falling into place. The more he spent with her, the more he loved her.

November 2009:

"Stop fidgeting, Mum and Dad love you," Martyn stilled her hands, and she gave him a smile. Catherine loved her to bits and pieces and had even introduced her to the rest of the immediate family as, 'My Daughter Cornelia'. Cornelia could practically hear all the caps in her introduction, but she had dutifully smiled, and been charming and herself. The relatives loved her. They were going to the Isle of Man. Or just 'the Isle', as Martyn had dubbed it.

"But it's not Christmas, but nearly Christmas, and we won't be back home until the New Year, and...." Cornelia was nervous, so nervous her leg was jiggling up and down.

"Steady my dear, steady. It'll be alright," Martyn leaned over and kissed her lips. He loved her plump lips.

"I'll try, I'll try very hard," Cornelia acknowledged and leaned into him, burrowing into him. She was tiny, and he was the perfect height to be her burrow, her hiding place. He held onto her, steadying her, and she placed her tiny feet against the round window. She fell asleep, arms around Martyn, and head nearly in his lap. He held onto her so she wouldn't fall, and had his head leaned against her neck and the top of her back.

Landing on 'The Isle':

"Ouch!" Cornelia was jolted awake as the plane landed, they were whisked off to the cottage nestled by the seaside on a hill. Welcomed with open arms, and vise-like hugs by Catherine, hands shaken by Nigel, and biddings to 'come eat, or I'll be offended', by Catherine who was gesturing at all the snacks on the table.

"We're having an extra guest today. Phil said he's bringing over a 'friend'," Catherine put her fingers in air quotes.

Martyn had the grace to raise an eyebrow. He knew who it was, or he guessed who it was going to be. He gave Cornelia a significant look.

"Just wait, she'll adopt Dan Howell. And I'll be stuck with him for life," Martyn half-joked.

"Would it be so bad? I've never had a brother, or a sister," Cornelia said.

"No I think it'd be cool to have another sibling. And he would be 'the youngest'. Ousting Phil from that position. Besides he might get showered with so much love he'll pack up," Martyn joked again.

"I didn't 'pack up'. I love this family, and I love...." Cornelia hesitated. This would be it. This would be the life changing event. She took a deep breath and exhaled. "I love you Martyn Nigel Lester," she said it in almost one breath.

Martyn grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners and he kissed her, "I love you too Anna Maria Cornelia Dahlgren."

"Just Cornelia. Please?" Cornelia sighed.

"Nella. Nelia. Core. Cory. Corn. Corny," Martyn named off all the variants of her name.

"Silly Marto, Marty, Tyn, Mart, Walrus, Unicorn, Love...." Cornelia reached up and they kissed again, just as the door was flung open.

Phil ambled in accompanied by said guest.

Introductions:

"Mum, Dad, Everyone this is Daniel Howell...." Phil started off.

Boy were the kids nervous. Especially the Daniel Howell kid. He was all of what? Eighteen years old. Martyn knew that being around them would soften the sharper edges and leave him with more confidence then he knew what to do with.

Daniel, Dan as he liked to be called, looked all about the room. Licking his lips, wiping his hands on his black trousers, scuffling his feet across the carpet. Mum sure had her work cut out for her. Getting him out of his shell, would be like pulling a shark's tooth. Or better yet, finding a needle in a haystack. Cornelia, and Martyn locked eyes. Then Martyn and Phil also locked eyes. All thinking the same thing, 'Good Luck'.

"I'm adopting him," Catherine dropped the thought as casually as breathing. Her two boys weren't surprised. She'd adopted Cornelia. Why not adopt Dan. Luckily Cornelia had started a soft conversation with Dan, and Dan hadn't heard Catherine's proposal.

Otherwise he would have been more nervous and scared than he already was.

"I told her not to," Nigel joked. He was pushed by Catherine, but they 'made up', by being goofy with each other. Nigel had brushed his hand against her bum. Phil and Martyn had graciously looked the other way, whilst Martyn had jokingly covered Cornelia's eyes.

No kid needed to see their parents being lovey dovey. It was sickeningly cute, but he felt his grip tighten on Cornelia's waist. He felt her hand on his knee. He felt her eyes on his, and he put down his hand shield.

"You're mine Martyn," she whispered.

And he nodded because she was his as well. It was an unspoken agreement, punctuated by their loud nature, coupled with their louder ribbing, and their pet names soon to come.

"I could use another brother," Martyn offered.

"Just the same as I could use a sister," Dan was nothing if not polite.

"A sister and a brother....But that means...." Phil sighed.

"Ousted from the youngest position. It happens to the best of us Bro," Martyn, reached over and punched Phil's shoulder.

"OUCH!" Phil protested and rubbed his hurt shoulder.

"No violence at the breakfast table," Catherine put down their plates and then she and Nigel took their seats.

"Awww I was just about to initiate Dan into the family by flinging him out of the window," Martyn sighed, and clicked his thumb and middle finger together, creating a tiny sounding 'snap'.

"Save it for when Dan isn't scared as hell," Nigel intervened.

"Dad! You said 'hell'!" Phil covered his mouth with his hands.

"You say hell too, and we're really not that religious. Just if some crack pot comes to the door asking, we're all...." Nigel paused.

"We're all Roman Catholics," the rest of the original Lesters answered in unison. Dan and Cornelia shrugged at each other.

"Yep the sacred cross and all that sh..." Nigel was interrupted by Catherine's hand over his mouth.

"So that's where you get that move from!" Dan exclaimed just as Phil put a hand over Dan's mouth to keep him from uttering and adding any colourful swear words of his own.

Dan licked Phil's palm. A move that Phil had demonstrated when Dan had put his hand over Phil's mouth after an embarrassing statement in front of one of the workers in a hotel.

Catherine rolled her eyes.

"That's kinky," Cornelia whispered to Martyn.

"I'll happily demonstrate," Martyn said, and placed a hand over Cornelia's mouth, but lightly.

Cornelia kissed his palm, leaving a bright pink lip mark on his hand. He grinned at her, and they locked feet. Playing footsie now, they jockeyed for positions. How he loved this closeness to her. How he was glad he'd almost trampled her to death. How he was swept away by her loveliness, her talent, the way she could keep up with his train of thought. The fact she was into Yoga now, and keeping him healthy, and keeping their minds healthy.

Feng shui had nothing on them. They were even more aesthetic than anything. At least the were until Dan entered their family life. He was the more aesthetic one. But they didn't mind. It was Martyn and Cornelia.

Fast forward a few years (8 to be exact):

Eight years. Their relationship had survived the pitfalls that eight years had wrought. Surviving the near Dan and Phil fall out of 2012. Happily managing the store, and being the supervisor/manager of such an outlet. His baby brothers becoming even more famous. He and Cornelia were content to not be in the limelight. Surprisingly they have followers. Not a lot of followers, but enough to have a solid fan base.

His brother and friend writing not one, but two books. He has his Cornelia. His Corny-Toad, and she has her Marty-Dart. They're as cute and unrefined as the day they'd met. And that morning, Martyn was puttering about their newest flat. Their biggest flat yet. It was nothing compared to the duplex/maisonette that Dan and Phil had. But it was his and hers.

"What is it Honey Pot? Are you okay?" Cornelia was making breakfast, but she felt the thoughts buzzing about like angry flies. Or worse. Wasps.

"I'm in deep thinking mode my Sweet Swede Princess. Queen of the North," Martyn was playing something on her keyboard.

"Don't smash the keys too hard, you'll break it. Then I'll break you. That instrument was expensive!" Cornelia called from the kitchen.

"I won't. It was just some songthat popped into my head, and I can't get it out. Thanks for letting me play on the keyboard Honey Pops!" Martyn called back.

"I love you my little Alskling!" Cornelia was happy, and so, Martyn was in turn happy.

"Your little what?!" Martyn joked, she'd called him darling. Her little darling. It sounded sexier in Swedish. His mum usually called them Darlings, or 'Dumplings'.

He liked the Swedish language better, and had begun to practice it on his own. He'd begun to inject Swedish endearments into their every morning when they woke up conversations, and into their good night conversations, he endeared himself to her even more. And she would pat his cheek, or kissed him outright. Her small frame, his tall gangliness.

"Yin and Yang," Martyn nodded.

"Ping and Pong," she stuck her head around the kitchen's door.

"Wine and Glasses," he was being sillier now.

"Cheese and Crackers," Cornelia kept the silly flow going.

"Water and fish," Martyn nodded.

"Dan and Phil," Cornelia chuckled.

"No! That stops right now!" Martyn carefully put the keyboard down, and walked into the kitchen, scooping up his little Swedish flower into his arms and kissing her neck.

Making her drop the spatula, and giggling and kicking her feet into the air. Twisting and turning to get down, so that breakfast wouldn't be burned, but instead she was deposited into a nearby chair.

Martyn washed off the spatula and finished breakfast. He put the food on a plate, and he kissed her curly mass of hair.

"God I love you so much," Martyn said.

"God has changed her name to Cornelia. Please address her as so," Cornelia dictated, and laughed, as she dug into her food.

"My apologies," Martyn said.

"Snygg rumpa," Cornelia looked at Martyn's rump, which even though it's sat in a chair she still eyed it with passion.

"Sot som en gris," Martyn returned.

"Sweet like a pig huh?" Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

"You're the one who told me I had a sweet arse," Martyn answered.

"You could have told me 'Hej sotnos'," Cornelia said.

"But the nose is like that of a cat, and cats make me think of cat whiskers, and cat whiskers makes me think of my brothers," Martyn shuddered for dramatic effect.

"And nobody wants to think of their brothers when they're flirting with their significant others," Cornelia affirmed.

"Damn right," Martyn nodded.

"Jag alskar dig," Cornelia sighed happily.

"I love you too," Martyn nodded.

"Your Swedish has improved greatly," Cornelia approved.

"I've been practicing," Martyn answered.

"Who's teaching you?" Cornelia asked.

"It's an online course," Martyn answered.

"Hej Sotis," Cornelia got up from her seat, and went to nuzzle Martyn's neck.

"You're the sweet one," Martyn finished his meal, and collected Cornelia's empty plate, then they went to sit down in the lounge.

They turned on the television and settled comfortably against each other. Marveling at their closeness. Feeling pride and love at the same time, as Cornelia burrowed into Martyn's side, her hand lazily outlined his knee, his thigh, his leg, and in-between....He's so soft. So manly....So cute, and adorable. And thirty one to her thirty nine. But age? What is age? Just something that happens, and then you die.

She closed her eyes and felt Martyn wrap a long arm around her. She felt safe, and loved, and content. Age be damned.

"Age be damned," She murmured against him, allowing herself to doze again, before the commitments started coming in. Before they were busy again. Before they had to separate and be individuals. Then the night would be theirs, and theirs alone.

"Age is a fleeting number in this stage play we call life," Martyn whispered in her ear.

She smiled at that part. They were and are together. Whether they make it official or not. Whether they finally give Catherine and Nigel grandchildren, or make Dan and Phil uncles or not. It still remains to be seen. They've still got their whole lives ahead of them.

"Phil turns thirty tomorrow...."Was Martyn's last sentence.

"Hmmm...." Cornelia was lost in a happy foggy daze.

Martyn held her tighter, and he too fell into a doze. The television blared, their phones buzzed. But Martyn and Cornelia were asleep. Holding onto each other. Not letting each other go.

The end.

#Martyn and Cornelia fanfic

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