#stop tagging that the one photo is fake it was chosen for a reason

[neilphen]

Paul McCartney and John Lennon on longing  -

1. A moon or a button by Ruth Krauss 2. The Long and Winding Road: The Beatles (Lennon-McCartney) 3. Dead Poets Society (1989) dir. Peter Weir 4. Paul McCartney at Glastonbury 2022 5. Euripides, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides: tr. Anne Carson 6. A Meeting by Wendell Berry 7. Stand By Me (1986) dir. Rob Reiner 8. Paul and Linda McCartney interviewed by Joan Goodman for Playboy magazine 1984 9.  The Triumph of Achilles by Louise Glück 10. Brokeback Mountain (2005) dir. Ang Lee 11. Famous Blue Raincoat by Leonard Cohen 12. I Loved My Friend by Langston Hughes

[persage]

DIFFERENT - S. HARRINGTON

Summary: When you and Steve Harrington find yourself partners on a school project, you quickly realize that maybe he's not the jerk you thought. But that's not enough for you to let go of your fears.

Words Count: 2.5k

Tags: Mostly Fluff. Jealous!Buckley Reader x Insicure Steve Harrington. Family Trauma. Set Before S1.

After a huge writer block, here I am again hope you like it!

3 weeks ago

"Here we are" When you reach the Harrington residence, it's as big and rich as you've always imagined. Steve throws the door open and sets his keys on the table while he watches your eyes drift around the house as you walk further inside. He gestures to the stairs and when you walk in his room you are impressed by the lack of object, photos and posters: it's so simple and plain that it doesn't even feel like someone's room, least of all Steve Harrington. Also you notice that there are no pictures of him in the house, not even family pictures, just an old photo of his parent's wedding where they don't even smile and you know you must not jump to conclusions but you can't help but find it sad. 

Steve feels suddenly nervous, it's not the first time he has a girl in his room of course, but the way you study the space around you, as if you really care, is something new for him. It's oddly intimate, even if he feels like you don't like him at all and you he's an idiot and -also- you are here only cause you have to work on a project.

"My parents won't be home till late so we've got the place to ourselves," He says to distract himself from the fact that y/n Buckley, Carol's Perkins's cute childhood friend, is standing right here in his room. The silence puts him on edge so he keeps talking. "Good thing my parents aren't here to be honest."  

He notices your confused - and maybe even a little disgusted- face.

"Oh don't get me wrong it's just that they are so loud, they scream so much, it's annoying." He sees your face fall, pity written all over your expression. Why doesn't he know when to shut the fuck up? Why did he tell you something so personal? You smile at him, trying to hide the embarrassment and gesture to the bed.

" Can I?" You ask. He nods and he thinks that for some reason it's nice to have you here, within the walls of his room.

"I like your room." You say. "Except for the wallpaper"

He laughs "It’s the only thing I actually chose actually. You know, my mom is obsessed with this house, no pictures, no posters, no paintings. Especially not chosen by me. I ruin everything apparently."

"And she lets you keep this horrible wallpaper? Absurd" He smiles. "You know, I've always wanted a Tears For Fears's poster"

"That's better Harrington."

Present Day

You are chatting with Carol in front of your locker though you are not really listening to her, it's same old story: something about dumping a boy or shit like that. You don't want to be a bad friend, but with Carol it's getting more and more difficult to maintain a good relationship. Being one of the cool kid has gone to her head and sometimes you've got the feeling you're losing her for real. 

"And I said no,  I mean,  he has to fight for me... "

You spot him at the end of the corridor, he's coming towards you. Brown eyes, perfect hair and a big smile on his stupidly handsome face.  You roll your eyes, trying to sound more annoyed than you actually are. "Please, not again. "

"What?" Carol turns and see him. "Oh..." She bits her lip as Steve Harrington passes by and winks at you. "Hi Carol, hi y/n"  He stops,  looking at you "You're really beautiful today"

You lift your eyebrow. "I always am,  Harrington" You fake a smile,  taking Carol's hand and carrying her away towards  the cafeteria, before he can add anything You hate the fact that he’s a completely different person in school than he is in private, that he’s so cheeky and stupid, like he always needs to prove something to people.

"I don't understand why you keep rejecting him, he's hot and he seems really into you" Carols comments, struggling  behind you.  "He's an idiot" You reply.  Liar.

"Well, he is my friend and he' s cool guy". 

You shake your head. You don't wanna tell her the truth, 'cause even if Carol has been your friend since you were three years old you don't really recognize  the sweet girl you've known anymore, and you don't trust  her with your secrets. You can't tell her how you have grown to like Harrington, to care about him, cause the person you've feelings for its completely different from the one she knows.

"You're becoming so boring y/n"

**

"What are you staring at?"Steve asks, laughing as he throws you a pillow.

You throw it back at him, flushing as you look away, "Nothing."

"You looked like you were spacing out."

"I was."

"About what?"

Shit. You certainly can't tell him what you are really thinking. He's cute. And smart in his own way.

He is gentle, attentive to your needs: that you are warm but not too much, that you are comfortable, that you don't take the burden of the work only on your shoulders even if you are better and faster than him. He's even bought your favorite cookies and you don’t even remember telling him how much you like them. He's a total surprise, like a ray of sun in the clouds.

"I was thinking about our project, maybe we should change something." You say

"You're a bad liar. It's already perfect, you have thought about every detail." Steve looks at you like he knows and it makes your hear jump in you chest. What is happening to you?

"Focus on studying Harrington! You are the worst project partner ever."

"But you are the best y/n" He replies, seriously, moving to be near you. "I'm glad you are here" Although you  try to pay attention to what he is saying, you can't help but be distracted by the way he tucks your hair behind your ears. You want to say something clever, or even sweet, to tell him that he is different from the guy he appears at school. Before you can, there's a ring on the doorbell. "Oh, that must be the pizza"

"You've ordered pizza?" You ask, speechless.

"Only for you, partner"

**

Eyeing him as he sits across the cafeteria with Tommy and other friends, you can't help but think how Steve Harrington shines like nobody else in this room and you hate yourself for such a silly thought. Carol has just finished telling Tina about your exchange with Steve this morning.

"I don't understand you y/n" Tina says.

"I mean... He is a well famous knob, I don't wanna be just another name on his list."  You reply gazing at him as he laughs at something. That's the fact: you hate Steve Harrington cause he is not an asshole, not at all. He is kind, careful, nice and sensitive and a whole amount of adjectives that you wouldnt have attributed to him if you haven't find yourself spending so much with him for the stupid literature project.

Still in front of the rest of the world he changes completely, no more a good guy just another douchebag.

"Yes but, you know I've slept with him and he's... So. Good. " Tina winks at you.

Steve caughts your gaze and smiles at you before you can tear your eyes away from him muttering an "I don't  care, Tina." Blushing.

In spite of everything in his eyes, in his smile, you don't see the person he pretends to be. Also you know perfectly well that If you allow yourself to give in to his compliments and jokes, you will find yourself heartbroken.

Oh how you wish to be touched by those hands

"If you don't care then I'll go out with him" Tina states, drinking her coke. "He's asked me out a week ago"

And that's it, the final crack in your heart. "You go girl" You reply casually, playing perfectly your part.

**

By now Harrington's house is familiar to you, you know the smell and the sounds, the floor creaking in some places, the lights that occasionally jump, the garden. You know how Steve drops himself on the bed and how he sits at his desk, but you’re still nervous at the door. And you realize there’s still a million things you need to know about him, about his childhood and his family, and you’re shocked because you care, you care about everything that it's his, actually. You’re afraid you made a mistake, while waiting for him to open up and holding a poster and a vinyl that maybe you shouldn’t have bought. Maybe you’ll make him fight with his parents . "They are strict" He has said once, without adding any details, leaving you with bad sensation. The way his gaze darkned, which lasted only an instant, made you think the situation must be worse than you have imagined. Maybe for this stupid poster, you’ll get him in trouble, but when you have walked past the music store you saw it, you have thought of him as a child, the most innocent creature on earth. He wanted a poster, and you have got him. The Vinyl, that’s an extra. When he opens the door you don’t even realize it, lost in your thoughts.

"Oh y/n, sorry I expected to see you later. I'm still cleaning up." Steve says, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Excuse me, it’s... I haven't realized, you know... timing."

Lie, the truth that you couldn’t wait to see him. His big dark eyes are on you, he smiles as lets them slide on the objects you hold in your arms. "What do you have there? Things for the project? " He question, leaning towards you to peek. You walk away, laughing. "Why don't you let me in first?" He steps aside. "Sorry again for the mess" But there’s nothing more than a few out-of-place items to say the least. "When my parents are out, I always leave a mess."

"It is more tidy than my house, imagine... My sister Robin is a disaster and I am not less."

"I didn’t even know you had a sister. How much more do I have to find out about you?"

"I’m a mysterious girl Harrington," you chuckle, but he stays serious as he watches you carefully. "You are." You clear your throat. "Let’s start solving the first mystery." You hand him the vinyl and he his mouth, surprised and happy.

"Oh my god y/n, but...." He stutters something meaningless, a mixture of agitated and festive verses. The truth is that for years no one has given him a spontaneous gift, even his parents, and when it happens that a gift is given to him on his birthday or for some occasion it is never something that is really for him. They are anonymous gifts, made without thinking about him, without taking into account what he wants or likes, without knowing him. He doesn’t care about something expensive, no, Steve loves small gestures.

He loves your small gestures.

"There is more" You open the poster in front of your body so that he can see it well and Harrington’s expression is priceless, he looks like a child on Christmas Day.

"I can’t believe it" He whispers. He gently grabs the poster from your hands, incredulous and you notice a slight flicker. With a quick gesture he rests it on the sofa next to you and now there are you hips hin his hands and Steve Harrington holds you in a warm and strong embrace, which makes you feel more at home than ever before in your life. "No one has ever done so much for me." He whispers to your ear.

"I didn’t do anything." You reply.

"You heard me y/n, for real"

**

He is in the yard, joking and laughing with his friends avoiding to look at you on purpose. On the contrary, your eyes never left his figure. The truth is that Steve doesn't understand, sometimes he feels like he has hope with you, other times he see a wall between you two even during  your project it was as clear as sun that there was a spark, despite your initial coldness. He felt like you liked him. Not like, like him. Like him just as a person, in short, he' has believed for a moment that you could see something in him. The gift is a final demonstration, or so he thought. Things got worse at school, until you ended up ignoring him. And part of him just wants to run up to you and ask you what’s changed, the other part is terrified that Tommy might make fun of that. And in his heart he is aware that it is precisely this need of him to have to please everybody at all costs that has driven you away. But he can’t crawl to you, not in front of Tommy, its not something King Steve would do.

"I know you want him dead, but glaring at him isn't the right way to kill him" Robin Comments. She is sitting next to you, not looking up from her book. It's not common for you and your  sister to spend time together being so different from one another, but here you are, watching the basketball team's practice.

Watching Steve Harrington.

"Then why calling it a death stare if they don't die?" You ask annoyed, finally taking your eyes off of him to look at your sister.

"'Cause it doesn't work if you switch from an I wanna kill him type of look to an I wanna fuck him hard type of look, don't you know? " She explains. You don't answer, words don't come up at your mind and also you didn't think Robin could really notice your little, silly annoying crush on Steve. Not once.

"Why are you so upset, anyway?" She asks.

"Isn't it clear? He has slept with all my friends and... And I'm just the one who's missing he keeps  insisting being so... I don't know... Sometimes it's a douchebag, sometimes the sweetest boy on earth. Oh God, I'm going crazy"

"Look, Y/n we are the ones sitting there, observing him like perverts, not him. From what you told me he hasn't even tried that hard, in short, he could have done a lot more, if a compliment every now and then is enough to make you want to jump on a guy ... Maybe it's because you like that guy more than you you want to admit. "

You shake your head.

" He is Steve idiot Harrington, I can't like him"

"Oh yes, you totally don't."

"Bullshit, I don't like him, he is an asshole" You say once more.

She sighs at your stubbornness but before she adds something, you continue. "Also he has asked Tina out."

Robin smiles. "Smart move Harrington."

"What?"

"Y/n he's been avoiding to look since we arrived and he's totally failing. I don't like him at all, I think he is an idiot but you are not and if you really like this douchebag that much maybe he's something more than what I think, I also really really doubt it but that's another problem... I mean I believe you are clever enough to understand if he's just using you, but you will never know for sure if you don't give him a chance. "

You quickly realize it's true, you give your sister a smile and without saying another word you take your backpack and head quickly towards him. He spots you and bite his lower lip to hide a smile, while he walks in your direction too.

You take him by his arm and you drag him to the locker room, while his mates call him back and Tommy yells "Get in Harrington" you remember why you wanted to avoid Steve in the first place. You have learned one thing in life: to really understand someone observe the people they surround themselves with. Under this assumption Steve should be a bad person, yet he looks at you with eyes full of something you can't define and apologizes with disarming sincerity. "They are not so bad" He says referring to his friends. "It's that sometimes they forget respect"

"Isn't it the same?" You ask. He smiles. "Would you ever get angry with a monkey because it's rude or stupid? That's the same thing with them. "

"Monkeys are not stupid" You reply.

"You always have to have the last word don't you? " He chuckles, but he doesn't seem nervous. You stay silent. "Do you need something for the project or... Something else?"

"Stop it" You demand.

"Stop what?"

"You know what I mean" You say frustrated.

"No, please, really tell me. " He is lost and sincere.

"Stop... Acting like you care about me, like you really like me and then asking Tina out." And you know it's not fair, the Tina part, but you can't help yourself.

"Oh so you are jealous!" He exclaims as he suddenly realizes it and he is happy, like genuinely happy. You don't know how to react.

"What?! No, I'm not jealous! I'm angry because you're a asshole and you are using my friend and me" You reply, more frustrated by the minute.

"I'm not using her, I know Tina well enough to understand what I can do with her. We are friends too also I have never done everything wrong to you, Y/n." He seems hurt, he is biting his nails in anxiety and he has a  disappointed expression on his handsome face.

" I... " He starts to leave, but you grab him by the arm. "What's up?" He asks. "I'm an asshole, mh? You've been repeating it for as long as I've known you."

"You confuse me. But I don't think you are ... but you act like one, often."

"Not with you.  never with you."

You look in his eyes. "I know, but... I'm scared." He caresses your face, his soft finger tips between your h/c hair.

" So I better not fucking this up"

You nod. "I wanna know you better Steve Harrington."

"I'm honored" After a moment of silence he continues,  his voice firm and low. "I'm serious, I've never been so serious in my life" He takes your face between his large hands, his finger on your burning cheeks.

"Also I asked Tina to lie to you." He whispers leaning his forehead against yours, laughing while you punch him on the chest. He join your lips in a wet but sweet kiss. He had waited so long to taste your red lips, he can't believe this is  really happening, from the moment you have walked in his house showing sincere interest in him, he has known you were different and he has fallen for you quickly. He smiles against your mouth.

"You're an idiot Harrington "

"I agree."

[dyke-remy]

Live And Let Die, part 5

Part 1     Part 2    Part 3    Part 4   Part 6

Description: Agent 008 and Agent 009, professional spies for the MI6 with liscense to kill. Partners in both work and love. After an agent goes missing the partners have to once more go out into the field. (It’s a James Bond AU)

You don’t need to know anything about James Bond to be able to read this fic, trust me

Words: 3505

The train cart was filled with silence. Remy looked at the dog tag, the dog tag which had belonged to Roman. They looked up at their husband. He was staring right through them.

"I- I'll call Q. He'll get us home" Remy hastily let out.

They didn't get a reply. Remus sat perfectly still as they talked to Q. He seemed to be looking at a ghost. Maybe he was dissociating, maybe he was reliving the death. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Eventually Remy got up and took his hand. They held onto him until the train got to it's next stop. Held onto him the long car ride to an airport. Held onto him the entire flight back to England. Held onto him until they back to their apartement at MI6. They knew he would break apart if they let go right now.

Remy was sure M would give them a break from missions. Remus was barely eating, much less sleeping. No one could except him to work.

And yet here they were, 2 days later in M's office. Remus actually sat in a normal position in one of the chairs which was so unusual it even made M uncomfortable. Remy sat in his lap with their arms around his shoulders to comfort him.

"-I assure you 009 that I would let you two have a break if this mission wasn't urgent. Trust me I would be very happy if you two disappeared from my sight for a while" M aka Deceit said. One of his pet snakes had made itself comfortable around his neck.

"Sure girl. What's so fucking important then?"

Deceit pushed a paper over the desk towards them "This. Your luck was in your favor 009. You brought back a document from Ron Stewart's, the man you killed, room on the train correct?"

"Girl I dunno. 75% of the time I'm just like running on instinct and iced coffee but yeah sure"

"Yes well this document talks about Stewart's company partially being bought by this company by the name of Vigur. I didn't recognize it so I asked Q to do some research and-"

"It's a vampire sex ring!" Remy guessed.

Deceit blinked at them "Close. No it's a new company, actually it hasn't even started yet. It will have an opening this week in Manchester. It's an energy company and apparently it's lead by a young new business entrepreneur. It's strange.....When Q looked him up there was nothing. No history, no photos, no educational records. Only a few articles about him and his dad and that he was the leader of Vigur"

"I didn't catch the name"

"Virgil. Virgil Viverno"

Remus suddenly moved his arms around Remy's waist so tightly their ribs hurt. He buried his head against their shoulder. His spouse' placed their hands on top of his.

Deceit looked at him varily. He really did want to let the agents go on a break, he wasn't heartless, but, well, they had a mission to finish, even if it had become an intricate one.

"I suggest you two infiltrate the opening of the company. Find any information you can because somehow this has to be connected to the killings of agents caused by....Jaws...To aid I asked Moneypenny to follow Virgil around a bit and take a few pictures so you two know who to interrogate"

Deceit called for Moneypenny aka Patton. He entered the office with a stack of photos in his hands before sitting down on the edge of the table and laying out the photos. It was all of the so called Virgil. He was sitting in a car far away in all of them so it was a bit hard to see but they got the basic gists of him having short unkept black hair and sickly pale skin.

"Aww Patty I didn't know you got to work out in the field" Remy commented.

Deceit arched his brow "Don't underestimate him"

"I might not be as good in combat as y'all are but I can be sneaky and take a few photos every now and then"

Deceit sent him an unusually warm smile "You did a good job"

Moneypenny blushed slightly "Oh shush you snakecharmer. I'm married"

Remy grabbed one of the photos and looked closer "Betting on him being gay so time for some guy drag. Just 'cause I'm like tots too lazy to get into womany attire. We'll infiltrate the party, I'll take him to his hotel room and look for anything about why this new stupid company exists"

They were quiet for a few seconds before adding with venom in their tone "Or why they murdered Picani"

Patton leaned over and patted them on their shoulder to comfort them. "Yeah it's a bit weird. I followed him around for quite a few days but he rarely ever left the house he was staying at. He never even walked around. Either he was at that house or he was driven directly to the company building. He never stayed there for long so he couldn't have been working"

"Mhm" Deceit began "It could mea-"

Remus slammed his hand down into the table.

"You're all ignoring Roman"

Patton paled a little. Deceit leaned back in his seat. They were all silent.

"I- I mean the dog tag it- it has to mean this- the company- Picani it must have something to do with Roman doesn't it- I mean- I mean- Maybe- Roman could be alive"

Remus looked around at them while holding the tag close to his chest. He didn't look mad. He just looked like a cornered animal, a hurt prey.

"Kiddo" Patton held out his hand, unsure if to comfort or reason with him.

"Killing a 00 agent is quite a big thing. I can imagine that someone would gladly take the dog tag and keep it with them as a souvenir if they'd been in the same building as where it happened. From your reports of what happened there is no chance your brother is alive" Deceit stated bluntly "It is of far greater importance to try and find this 'Jaws' guy before he kills any more 00 agents"

All of the air seemed to go out of Remus. His arms loosened around Remy. They tried to comfort him and whisper sweet nothings to him.

"M don't be so cold about it!" Patton exclaimed. "It's okay kiddo. I'm sure- Maybe- We-" He pressed his lips into a tight line and tried to think about anything positive to say. He gave up and moved to try and hug Remus at least.

Remus stood up from the chair so quickly Remy nearly fell down on the floor. He banged his hands down into the table and leaned close to Deceit. His furious brown, nearly red, eyes stared into Deceit's cold black ones.

"I'll capture Jaws and I'll drag him back here. I'll drop him right here on your bloody desk if that's what it takes to make you take me seriously. And then I Will find my brother! Even if it's just his rotten corpse!"

He stormed out of the room without another word and slammed the doors shut behind him.

--

Remus was driving a black ashton martin towards the company's building where the opening party was being held. He had on a black suit. Remy sat in the passenger seat. They had on a looser fitting black blazer with a white button up under and pants. They'd styled it with a necklace and a few rings on their fingers.

"Babe you don't have to like do this you know that right?" Remy asked while looking over to their husband "Like it's really understandable if you want a break from work or something right now with the whole Roman thing. I can handle it on my own"

"I have to.........If there's a small chance Roman is...is.....out there I have to follow up on.....And even if he's....even if he's...gone....I want to at least stop the people who...killed....him" He held onto the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white "I want to tear them apart for hours upon hours until they're begging me to kill them"

Remy took his hand and intertwined their fingers "I'll be right here beside you" They pressed a kiss to his knuckles "I'mma be cutting people apart as well!"

Remus sent them a tired smile "Mhm. Love you my rotten lil sunflower"

They scrunched their nose "Gross"

"Nu-hu! You're my dear maggot infested heart"

"And you're the human equivalent of a mad scientist's experiment going wrong"

Remus pretended to blush "Awww you're always at your A game with compliments"

"Somebody has to be"

They leaned in for a kiss before getting out of the car. The tall building had an elegant opening door made out of glass.

Remy held onto their husband's upper arm and leaned on his shoulder as they walked in. The entrance was a grand room looking outmost modern. The reception had been turned into a bar and there were cocktail tables here and there.

The opening party was mostly to establish connectioncs between CEOs and such. It was all fake smiles and empty talking between glasses of champange.

"Let's say we're here for my mom's company" Remus whispered.

"Oh yeah the super legal one with a brilliant name" Remy chuckled back.

"Don't you dishonor the name of Octopussy!" He did a dramatic pout "But we'll say we're from the hotel business side of the company and not the y'know jewel smuggling-"

"Or circus business"

"Or circus business yes"

They mingled among the crowd while looking for Virgil. It was ironic how Remy was better at talking about the Octopussy company than Remus was. He'd always been better at the smuggling part than the business part while it was the reverse for his twin. Roman had been chosen to become the full time leader of the company once their mom retired...well that had changed obviously.

Remy was in the middle of making up an elaobarate lie about Octopussy totally being besties with the owner of this company to some business men when Remus pulled them aside. He pointed over to a dark corner of the room.

"Holy shit!" Remy gasped while their eyes widened "That's a total heart-throb!"

"What- No-" Remus looked at them with a confused look before looking back at the corner.

Remy was looking at a tall, broad shouldered, muscular guy in a slick black suit. He stood near the corner with his arms crossed. They were practically looking at him with heart eyes.

"Awww babe are you trying to find me a date? He's just my type!" They said while holding onto their tall, broad shouldered, muscular husband wearing a slick black suit.

"Sorry darling dearest but I was pointing at Virgil"

Next to the muscular guy a skinny man was sitting by a lone table. He had on a black button up shirt with a purple hoodie over. There was a glass of soda in front of him.

Remy pouted "That's not as fun"

"You can try to flirt with him while you get info from Virgil" Remus moved his hand to their jaw and leaned their head up "You horndog"

"Shut up your bundle of bacteria" They teased back before leaning in to kiss him.

"A demon would be jealous of your horniness......because....y'know....demon horns"

"Girl I could walk into a public toilet and press my finger against the wall and I would get the same amount of filth on my finger from that wall as I would get from your skin"

Remus kissed them again "Love you"

"Love you too" They smiled into the kiss.

"Be careful. If I see you leave with Virgil I'll follow you and cut in if I hear anything fucked aight?"

"Got it gal!"

Their hands lingered together for an extra moment before they both willed themself to let go. Remy walked towards Virgil. They unbuttoned the top 2 buttons on their shirt, dragged up their shirt sleeves slightly and fixed their hair.

They didn't get to Virgil. The tall muscular man stopped them beforehand by grabbing onto their shoulder. They couldn't honestly say that they were complaining.

"Mr. Viverno doesn't wish to talk to any more strangers for the rest of the night. He's already had enough people try to manipulate him with sweet talking and business deals" The man, who Remy assumed was a bodyguard, said in a stern tone.

Remy sent him a cheeky smile "Aww girl I'm not here for some money talk or whateva. I just hate parties. I was forced here just as much as the next boytoy"

The bodyguard sneered at them but from over his shoulder they could see Virgil glancing at them. In the low light it was hard to see the details of his face.

"Theo it's okay. You can let him in"

Remy had a shit eating grin on their face as they gracefully sauntered past the bodyguard apparently named Theo. They slumped down on the seat on the opposite side of the table to Virgil. He seemed okay with just sitting in silence, Remy wasn't.

"I'm Diamandis. Remington Diamandis" They reached out their hand after saying the totally real and not at all made up name.

Virgil just stared at their hand "You already know my name. You wouldn't be at the opening if you didn't"

They leaned their elbows on the table "Yeah well introductions are always nice either way. Know whats not like nice? Parties. Fucking hate them" They lied.

He quickly nodded along "Everything is so....loud....there's so many peoples. I've never been to any sort of party or anything before but I already hate them"

"Impressive. If I could choose I would have tots been...." Remy tried to figure out what Virgil would react to best "Been staying in my room all alone like just calm no sounds. Sadly my daddy is like involved with this like octopussy company so I gotta be here" They saw how Virgil immediately tried to hold back a smile at the mention of the name "It's okay, you can laugh"

He covered his mouth with his hand while giggling "Sorry- Sorry it's just- that's a bad word"

"I'm aware. I've been looking to get a new daddy anyhow. Someone less boring who doesn't drag me to all these stuck up parties"

"....Through....adoption...?...Or...?"

Remy realized they were talking to an innocent lamb and quickly changed the subject "So you wanna buy us drinks? A fancy cocktail would sound nice right about now" They leaned their chin on their hands and moved closer.

"I uh I can't. Maybe some soda I dunno"

"What? You're waiting 'till marriage to drink or something"

Virgil glanced up at him "No I- I'm not allowed. I'm 15. Theo said-"

Remy reared back into their seat. The smug look on their face was instantly gone as they buttoned up their shirt all the way up. Now when they knew he was a teenager it was blatantly obvious. Suddenly they noticed the subtle acne on his face, how his arms clearly had had a growth spurt before the rest of his body, how he still kind of had baby cheeks.

"I'm sorry. You should have said- I didn't think- I'm sorry that's like tots gross of me- The lightning is really bad I couldn't see- Sorry girl" They babbled out.

"What are you apologizing for?" Virgil asked while tilting his head.

"I the adult here flirted with you- which is so disgusting and girl I'm like-"

Virgil looked like he was one step away from slamming his hands into the table and standing up "Flirting??" His eyes widened "That was flirting??"

"Indeed it was. I was close to punching you the entire time" Theo muttered while eyeing Remy.

"This is almost as cool and as when I got to try out a phone for the first time a few days ago" Virgil pointed over to Theo "He has a bunch of games on his phone. They're really fun"

Theo let out a ridiculously tired sigh "The games are just there for my kids I swear"

Remy zoned out of the conversation. The sheer weirdness of someone who apparently is a CEO 1. being a teenager and 2. not owning a phone had taken them right out. Every step of this mission seemed to make it weirder and weirder. It made their head hurt with unanswered questions.

"-my room?" Remy got forced out of their thoughts as Virgil asked them something.

"What?"

"Do you want to go to my room? I have a room on the second floor in case I ever need to stay over for the night. The place I actually live is quite far away from here" He fiddled with his sleeves "You said you would rather be in your room like ehhh being calm so I thought we could go away from all the loud people at least"

"Sure kid" Remy almost felt bad for how easily Virgil had done exactly what they wanted him to.

He got up and mumbled something to Theo before setting off towards the elevator. Remy blew Theo a kiss before waving goodbye as they walked past him. In response he gave them the middle finger, clearly showing of the wedding ring on his finger.

One short elevator ride later they were following Virgil through a long hallway. It was all cold grey walls and light that gave them a headache. It was quiet apart from the muffled sounds from the people on the first floor.

Virgil suddenly reached out and held onto the sleeve of their blazer. He looked up at them with big eyes "Have you ever touched snow?"

"....Yes-"

He held onto them harder and a smile played at the edge of his lips "Can you describe it?"

Remy was a bit taken aback by the weird question but shrugged and began to describe it. Nothing had been worse than the freezing winters with nothing but their mothers and a cheap sleeping bag to keep them warm. From the corner of their eye they caught a glimpse of Remus following them.

Virgil's smile grew wider the more they described it. His blue eyes looked at them as if they were the most knowledgable person ever. Before they knew they'd reached his room. It was mostly bare. Just a bed, a nightstand and a few boxes. The bed wasn't even comfortable as they sat down alongside the teenager.

They glanced around for anything important. Drugging a teenager so he fell asleep so they could search through his room made them feel really disgusting but at least it was better than knocking him out. Hopefully it would just feel like a quick nap. Hopefully they could hide the sleeping pill in some soda.

"Are you looking for something?" Virgil asked.

"Nah girl. Nothing. I was just-"

Remy turned back to look at him. His smile was gone and his blue eyes suddenly seemed cold. It felt like his gaze was piercing through them.

"Oh 009. You should have paid more attention" Virgil murmured.

Their blood ran cold at the mention of their 00 title. They tried to speak but realized their mouth felt numb. Their whole body felt numb and as heavy as lead.

"Do you seriously think Theo would have let you be alone with me unless he knew you were so stupid you wouldn't even care to look at the most important part of this room" He scoffed at them.

Remy fell back on the bed. Their eyelids could barely stay open as they looked up. Their eyes widened as they saw dozens upon dozens of spiders sitting on the roof.

"Ruthie is such a good girl" Virgil picked up a big black spider that had been crawling around on the covers. He patted her while talking "All it takes is a small bite from her and a human can be passed out for up to 6 hours"

Remy wanted to muster up the strenght to snarl an insult at least. Instead all they could do was fall asleep as their eyes rolled to the back of their skull.

Virgil's smile widened "Goodnight"

He let out a few more of his dear spiders crawl up on his arms. He threw the bed lamp down on the ground and let out a few fake muffled cries. It was too trick 009's equally as stupid partner to rush in.

And he did. Of course he did.

Remus stumbled into the room with a neutral expression plastered on his face. His eyes darted around the room but quickly landed on his sleeping spouse.

"Sorry! I was uh looking for the bathroom!" He threw out "Oh wow one of you is unconcious that's not good especially not while in bedrooms! Maybe I should stay"

Virgil looked at him as he was the biggest idiot on earth. A few spiders started to crawl up Remus' legs. He looked down at them and quickly shook them off before stomping on them.

"YOU FUCKER!" Virgil yelled. He shot up from the bed and closed his hands into fists. He nearly teared up at the sight of the dead spiders.

Remus took a step back and raised his hands "Hey kid I'm sorry but-"

He didn't say anything more. A harsh hit landed on the back of his neck. He immediately fell down on the ground.

The whole room was spinning. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Virgil moving to hug a person. He seemed to be lifted from the ground and spun around in the hug.

The last thing Remus heard before he passed out was Virgil happily letting out a "Jawsie!!"

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Debut || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

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

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

word count || about 17.7k.

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

    And now here you are.

    On your way to a strange man’s house.

    To lose your virginity to him.

    Because he’s paid for it.

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

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

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

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

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

    You close the door behind you.

    The Uber drives off.

    And you’re alone on the sidewalk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yes,” you say. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

    You shrug helplessly.

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

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

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

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

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

    “An adult?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yeah, about nine.”

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

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

    Great. Real smooth.

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

    “Uh, no,” you say. “Uber.”

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

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

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

    “Sorry,” you say again.

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

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

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

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

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

    You hesitate. “Um–”

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

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

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

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

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

    You slip past him. He smells good.

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

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

    “Sorry,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “If you wouldn’t mind,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    You take a sip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “It is?”

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

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

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

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

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

    “Sure,” you say, drawling sarcastically.

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

    “I believe you,” you say lightly.

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

    “So it’s been said.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Right,” Roger says mildly, nodding.

    You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

    “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

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

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

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

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

    “Oh, you think so?”

    “Yeah,” Roger says noncommittally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “That’s good of them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Nice?” Roger says.

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

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

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

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

    “Have you tried?”

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

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

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

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

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

    “And you’ve struck out?” you ask.

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

    “Too soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “You going to answer it?”

    “In a minute.”

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

    Your hands slide back up your thighs.

    He swallows.

    You smile.

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

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

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

    Your phone buzzes.

    You ignore it.

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

    Roger’s face goes slack. “Uh–”

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

    “Never quite–?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “That’s descriptive,” you murmur sarcastically.

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

    “A demonstration would be nice.”

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

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

    You blink. “Part of the…?”

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

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

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says.

    You lower your hands. “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    so hes hot?

    are you on ur way home now?

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

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

    So you send a thumbs-up.

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

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

    “Don’t,” Roger says.

    You pause. “Don’t what?”

    “Don’t order the Uber.”

    Your stomach bubbles. “Wh– No?”

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

    “Why would you be?” you respond automatically.

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

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

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

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

    “Oh,” Roger repeats, a touch playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “No, it’s fine,” you giggle.

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

    You hesitate.

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

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

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

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

    Roger chuckles, his eyes sparkling.

    “It’s [Y/N],” you add.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Roger laughs.

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

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

    Roger frowns. “What’s stupid?”

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

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

    You huff. “You’re not.”

    “Then what–”

    “Kiss me,” you cut in.

    Roger stops. “Kiss you?”

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

    Roger hesitates.

    You raise your eyebrows. “Unless you don’t want to?”

    “No, I – I do,” he says. “I just…”

    “What?”

    “I feel like the circumstances… I don’t want you to think I’m just doing this because I’ve paid you to…”

    “I don’t think that,” you say. “And I don’t want your money; this is way beyond that now. I’m not trying to trick you into sleeping with me so I can force you to pay me. I just know chemistry when I see it.”

    Roger chuckles. “I was right,” he says. “You know exactly what you want.”

    You steel your nerves. “Yeah,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “And I want you.”

    Roger swallows. “But you don’t even know me.”

    “Nope.”

    “And you’re in my house.”

    “Yep.”

    “And I’m so much older than you.”

    “That’s right.”

    “And you’re…”

    “I’m a virgin,” you finish, nodding. “I know. But for the love of God, Roger, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to scream.”

    Roger exhales, shakes his head minutely, and then says, “God fucking damn it,” and leans in to kiss you.

    You immediately shift to press closer towards him, one hand coming to rest against his chest. He kisses you earnestly, but gently, like he’s nervous. Nervous about making you feel pressured, you can safely assume.

    But that’s not what you’re about. You pull back, and, before he can say anything, you climb on top of him, straddling his waist, and kiss him again, more deeply than before. He breaks away just far enough to whisper, “Holy shit,” and then ducks his head to kiss down your throat. You tilt your head to give him more room, one hand against his chest and the other raking through his hair. His hands, rough and warm, smooth up your thighs, and your breath catches. They stop just under the hem of the dress, and a soft whine slips from your throat.

    Roger moans in response. “Jesus Christ.”

    You reach down and grab at his wrists, urging his hands to go further up the dress. “Touch me,” you pant.

    He draws back, and you look down at him, at his slightly flushed cheeks and his ruffled hair, and you want him naked, right now. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “We can just make out, that’s absolutely fine. Just because of… the whole… arrangement…”

    “Roger,” you say slowly, “I’m only going to say this once, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

    He nods, swallowing.

    You cup his face in your hands, boring your eyes into his. “I want you to fuck me. Tonight. Right now.”

    Roger takes a shaky breath. “Are you–”

    “What did I just say?” you cut in. “Not repeating it.”

    Roger smiles, laughing breathlessly. “Bloody hell.”

    You smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

    “Oh, it most certainly is one, believe me.”

     You lean in to kiss him, and his hands, thank the Lord, slide further up your thighs. You start unbuttoning his shirt, blindly, fumbling a little, and your kisses grow more eager.

    You’ve kissed a number of people in your time. Not a whole lot, but a few. And Roger really takes the damn cake.

    When his shirt is fully unbuttoned, untucked from his jeans, you move your lips down his neck, and he moans, letting his head roll back, his hands shifting to grab your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel the tent in his jeans, and, beyond thrilled, you grind against it, loving how a bolt of arousal shoots through you. Roger’s grip on you tightens, and when you nip at his skin, he spits out, “Fuck.”

    You rock your hips against him again, and he laughs again. “God, it’s been too long.”

    You hum, nipping his throat again and soothing it with your tongue. “How long is too long?”

    “Months. Lost count. Ah, fuck.”

    You pull back, giving him a look, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Try twenty years,” you say dryly.

    Roger shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine.” He kisses you, just once, and then murmurs against your lips, “I promise I’ll make this good for you.”

    You shiver. “I’m sure you will.”

    “I mean it.” He kisses you again, and then sits back, his hands sliding back to your thighs and squeezing them gently. “I want this to be good for you. If I’m going to be your first, I want you to enjoy it. So you have to tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, yeah?”

    You nod. “Yeah.”

    “I don’t care what it is we’re doing – you can tell me to stop at literally any point, and I will, no questions asked.”

    You nod. “I know, I know.”

    Roger chuckles. “You just really want to get things going, don’t you?”

    “Yes.” You press your lips to his, and, now that you both know where things lie between you, you’re both eager to get to the next step. The kisses quickly become more feverish, hotter, deeper. Roger’s hands go to the back of your dress, working the zipper down your spine, and you shudder at the feeling of it. When he’s done, you sit back to yank it over your head, dropping it the floor behind you.

    Roger’s eyes drink you in, his mouth hanging open. “Whoa.”

    You flush under his gaze. You know you look good – you’d worn your push-up bra and matching lace underwear for a reason – but it’s still a rush to get a reaction like that.

    “Bedroom?” Roger says, his voice a touch weak, and you nod, leaning in to steal one last kiss before climbing off him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. He groans slightly as he does so, and you giggle.

    “I know, I know, I’m old,” he says.

    “No, I like it,” you say, tugging him closer to you and hooking a finger of your other hand through a belt loop on his jeans. “Dad noises.”

    Roger shakes his head, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you lean into the touch. “Don’t say that,” he grumbles. “Makes me feel even older.”

    “You’re not old,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even forty.”

    Roger laughs. “Ah, yes, a real spring chicken.”

    “Can you stop whining and fuck me already? I’m gonna be forty by the time we get to it.”

    Roger snorts. “Cheeky.” He leans in to kiss you, and you curl your arms around his neck, pressing into him.

    When you break apart, you take Roger’s hand again, and he leads you to his bedroom, both of you stumbling slightly in the dark house. You’re only in your underwear, but you’re still wearing your heels, and you feel like you’re in some kind of Victoria Secret ad.

    Roger keeps glancing back at you, his eyes sweeping your body, and he’s so distracted he almost runs into a wall at one point, and you have to tug on his arm to pull him out of the way, laughing as you do so. He retaliates by pushing you up against the wall and kissing you senseless, his thigh slotted between yours. You’re lightheaded and unbelievably turned on by the time he breaks away again, and it feels like a lifetime before you reach his bedroom. 

    Roger switches on the light.

    The double bed is unmade, but the room itself is fairly tidy, just a pair of shoes and a shirt on the floor. The whole room screams tax-paying adult, and you’re reminded again that the man you’re about to sleep with is, in fact, a proper adult. Not like you, an adult by the loosest terms imaginable, but a fully-grown man with children and a mortgage and a career, probably. A completely different world to yours.

    But none of that will matter when you’re both naked. 

    He closes the door behind him, and then you’re pouncing on him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and all but tearing his belt off. His hands are tight on your hips, and when you undo his belt and the button and fly on his jeans, he pants, “Bed, bed, go sit on the bed.”

    You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing one knee over the other, taking the opportunity to quickly tie your hair back out of your face while and Roger fumbles with the rest of his clothes, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks and jeans. You can tell that he would’ve been thin as a twig back in the day, and you’d easily call him slender even now, but his body is soft, the sign of a father who’s spent more time taking care of the kids and having a beer in the evenings to wind down than going to the gym. It suits him, looks good on him. You’re certainly a big fan.

    Soon, he’s down to nothing but his boxer-briefs. His boxer-briefs, which are neon green.

    You break out into a grin, and Roger looks down at them, sighing. “Of all the fucking pairs I could’ve put on today,” he mutters.

    “They’re pretty great,” you say, and you make sure you have Roger’s full attention before you uncross your legs, spreading your knees wide, leaning back on your hands, “but I’m more interested in what’s underneath them.”

    From the look on Roger’s face, you’d guess his legs are about to give out from under him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he huffs, and he hurries over.

    Grinning, you scramble backwards on the bed, lying down, and he crawls after you, over you, and his kiss is bruising.

    Your hands are shaking now – with excitement and with nerves, a lot of nerves – but you ignore that, and worm your fingers inside his underwear, wrapping your hand around him and giving him a tug.

    He jerks, and you have a moment of panic where you think you’ve done the wrong thing, but then he kisses you with more fervour, so you do it again. This time, his hand finds yours, gently guiding you away.

    “Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

    Roger looks confused for a moment, and then says, “God, no. I just don’t want to get too worked up before we get to, y’know, the main event.”

    “Oh,” you say, smiling in relief.

    “You really have no experience at all, do you?” Roger says, sounding almost disbelieving.

    “That’s what I’ve been saying,” you say. “It hasn’t all been some elaborate ruse to get into your pants. Literally all I have is some vague, theoretical ideas on how this works. And I know the mechanics. But that’s it. So you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

    “That’s fine by me,” Roger says. He chuckles. “It’ll make everything I do seem much more magical than it really is.”

    “Sure,” you say mock-condescendingly.

    Roger laughs, and he looks so wonderful when he’s laughing that you can’t help but smile, your hand reaching up to comb through his hair.

    He notices the look in your eye, your smile, and he smiles back in a way that makes your stomach squirm and your fingers and toes tingle.

    He kisses you, and the squirming in your stomach grows into full-blown butterflies, big Amazonian ones, and you begin to have an inkling that, oh no, this could be bad. This could be very bad indeed.

    It’s probably nothing. He’s just hot, and nice, and funny, so you’re excited to have sex with him. That’s it. You’re a duckling that’s imprinted on its mother. Except you’re a human, and Roger’s the first person you’re having sex with, not your mother.

    Not the best analogy you’ve come up with. You can’t blame yourself, though – the way Roger’s kissing you is turning your brain into mush.

    He presses a kiss to just under your ear, and then kisses all the way down your throat, and you tilt your head back. “Feels so good,” you murmur.

    You can feel Roger smile against your skin.

    He keeps going, kissing the hollow at the base of your throat, further down still, and you bite your bottom lip. He presses a kiss to the top of your right breast, and then looks up at you. “Can I take your bra off?”

    You nod eagerly, and he moves back so you can sit up. “Oh, I’ve still got my shoes on,” you said.

    “I’ve noticed,” Roger says, and you chuckle.

    “As super sexy as they are, I do wanna take them off,” you say.

    Roger ducks forward to drop a kiss to your neck, and the butterflies are back, and you can feel your cheeks going pink. You want to hide your face, but Roger’s right there, and you can’t look away from his eyes. “How about you take your bra off,” he says, “and I’ll get your shoes.”

    “You don’t have to take my shoes off for me,” you say.

    “Well, I want to,” he says simply, and shuffles down, climbing off the bed. He gestures for you to shift forward, and you do, until your feet are hanging off the bed, your knees hooked over the edge. Roger gets onto his knees – he makes a dad noise as he does so, and you giggle again – and fiddles with the buckle on one of your shoes.

     You take a moment to watch him, biting your lip, smiling, and then reach behind you and unhook your bra, slipping it from your shoulders.

    He doesn’t look up right away, and you’re thankful for a moment to get your head around the fact that you’ve never been completely topless in front of anyone before. You’re self-conscious about the grooves the bra has dug into your skin, about the way your breasts look without the aid of the push-up, and you almost go to cross your arms over yourself, but then Roger glances up, and his hands go still. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

    You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice, unsure how else to respond.

    Roger shakes his head, and focuses back on the shoe, making quick work of it and easing it off your foot, setting it down beside him. He moves onto the other shoe. “Talk about winning the fuckin’ lottery,” he says.

    “I could say the same,” you say.

    Roger stops again, looking to you, and then smiles, looking back to the shoe. His ears have gone red.

    He takes the second shoe off and places it beside the first, then presses light kisses to the inside of your knee. He moves further up your leg, up your thigh, and you realise you’re holding your breath. His arms are curled around underneath your legs.

    Roger looks up at you, his thick eyelashes making him look almost angelic. “Is this all right?” he says. “If I…?”

    He’s asking if he can eat you out. Oh, God, he’s asking if he can eat you out. He wants to put his mouth and tongue there, and maybe his fingers, too, and no one’s ever done that before.

    You nod eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly, as Roger laughs.

    You feel your stomach cave in on itself in embarrassment. “Actually, no thanks,” you say, trying to pull your legs back. “Changed my mind.”

    “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” Roger says, still chuckling. He coaxes your legs back to where they were, and kisses your thigh. “It was just the look on your face.”

    “You’re doing a terrible job of wooing me,” you say, aiming for resolute and chastising, but it comes out sounding more weedy and humiliated.

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says again, and his hands stroke your legs soothingly. “I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed.” He smiles, a glint in his eye, and you’re momentarily left breathless. “Can I… make it up to you?”

    You can’t help but smile back, rolling your eyes. “Wow. Cheesy.”

    “Thank you,” Roger says. “I’m going to be honest, as fun as this banter is, my knees aren’t going to last forever.”

    You splutter a laugh. “Yes, yes, okay, yes please.”

    Roger surges up off the floor to press a firm kiss to your lips, and you take a moment to wonder just how dodgy his knees really are if he can do something like that, or whether he was just looking for a convenient segue into getting your underwear off. You’re not fussed either way.

    Roger kisses your collarbone, and then pulls back, hooking his fingers into your underwear. “Lift your hips up for me, love?”

    The pet name makes heat pool between your legs. Oh, Jesus.

    “Mm-hm,” you say, hoping it sounds more nonchalant to him than it does to your own ears, and lie back to lift your hips, and he slides your underwear down your legs and drops them near your shoes.

    You expect him to go back to his knees straight away, but he holds himself above you, kissing you, deep and slow, making you whimper into his mouth. One hand holds himself up, and the other one massages your hip, his thumb kneading your skin. Relaxing you, you realise. You let yourself get lost in the kiss, and you’re only partially aware when Roger’s hand moves from your hip to your thigh, brushing over your skin.

    You’re extremely aware, however, when his fingers stroke through your folds for the first time.

    Despite yourself, you jump, and Roger murmurs, “Sorry,” but you shake your head to dismiss his concerns, and pull him in again.

    For a few moments it’s strange, feeling someone’s else hand there, and you’re very conscious of how wet you are, and you wonder if it’s something you should be embarrassed about, but then Roger circles your clit, and suddenly all your worries seem very far away.

    It feels… good. Really fucking good. Roger’s fingers are rougher than yours, but they’re clearly experienced in how they move.

    You push your hips up against Roger’s hand, wanting more, and Roger complies, his fingers moving just a touch more roughly, and he ducks his head to nuzzle at your throat, kissing it, nipping lightly.

    “Oh, God,” you moan to the ceiling, overwhelmed already, and you almost laugh at how surprised you sound. Your hand grips Roger’s hair, and you hope it’s not too hard, but you couldn’t let go if you tried.

    Then Roger’s hand is gone, and you let out a choked sound at the sudden stop. You try to gather your thoughts to ask why, but then Roger is kissing down your body. Oh, man, you think, unable to conjure up anything else, and Roger chuckles, and you realise you said it out loud, but you don’t have time to be embarrassed, as Roger takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth tugging at it, and you gasp.

    “I’ve never… That’s new,” you say weakly, hissing when Roger runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple.

    Roger pulls off to ask, “Do you like it?”

    “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

    “Good.” He goes back to his task, and you arch off the bed slightly.

    “So good,” you breathe. Roger switches to the other nipple, and you moan appreciatively.

    Eventually, both to your dismay and your excitement, he draws away, and presses a single kiss to the space between your breasts. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says, and then he moves back to climb off the bed, setting himself between your thighs.

    You struggle to wrap your head around it. How he could be making you feel this good, and then still compliment you, as if you’ve done anything to deserve it?

    Roger doesn’t waste time talking now. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and then he dives straight in, his tongue nudging your clit as it pushes through your folds. You suck in a sharp gasp, your hand gripping his hair tightly. Your other hand flails, grappling at the sheets as he starts to find a rhythm. You wind up pressing the back of it to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds you’re making, trying to gather some sort of control, because right now you feel like you’re falling head-first off a cliff, and Roger has complete power over how you land.

    He does something with his mouth – you couldn’t tell for the life of you what it is – and your hips buck against your will. “Sorry,” you blurt out, and it comes out broken and breathless.

    Roger just adjusts one of his arms, bracing it across your hips, holding you down, and you moan. His other hand joins his mouth, sliding a finger into you. “Oh, fuck,” you whisper, and then your hand returns to its position, keeping you somewhat quieter.

    It doesn’t take long before Roger’s working in a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, and the sound of it is so obscene that it makes your face go bright red. You’re climbing towards an orgasm, frighteningly quickly, and when a third finger squeezes in beside the first two, you very nearly come, but the sting of the stretch is enough to keep it at bay.

    But then your body relaxes around the three fingers, and Roger crooks them just so and sucks on your clit, and you move your hand away from your mouth to say in a rush, “I’m– I’m so close, I’m gonna come, fuck, ah, shit,” and then–

    Then Roger is gone, his fingers and mouth are gone, and you’re left teetering on the brink of an orgasm, feeling like the air has been punched out of you.

    “Wh– Roger?” you say, your head a mess. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see Roger still between your legs, but instead he’s massaging your thighs with his thumbs, dropping light kisses to your soft skin.

    He smiles up at you, his nose and chin glistening. “Thought we could try something.”

    You shake your head to try to clear it. “But I was just about to…”

    You can still feel the urge. Another minute, and you’ll be there. But the longer you wait, the more the feeling fades. It makes you want to punch a wall.

    Roger hums. “I know. That’s the point.”

    You frown, trying to wrap your head around it. “You… don’t want me to?”

    “Not yet.”

    It finally clicks. “You’re gonna do that to me a couple more times before you make me come, aren’t you?”

    Roger’s smile widens into a grin. “That’s the plan. If you’re on board.”

    “I’m on board,” you say. “As long as when I do come, it blows my fucking mind.”

    “That’s really the point of it, love.” Roger keeps eye contact with you as he leans forward to press a kiss to your core, and you shudder. “And move your hand away from your mouth. You don’t have to be quiet. The more sounds you make, the better.”

    “When am I gonna get my hands on you?” you ask. “I’ve barely even touched your dick yet.”

    Roger huffs a laugh, and you can feel his breath against you. “We’re getting there,” he says easily. “Good things come to those who wait.”

    “Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” you bemoan, lying back down.

    Roger laughs again, and then his mouth and hands return to where you so desperately need them. You suck in air through your teeth. “Fuck, Roger.”

    Roger moans, and you jerk at the sensation.

    He brings you to the edge once more, and, even though you don’t tell him when you’re about to come, he knows, and leaves you hanging once again. So close, so close, but not close enough.

    You feel like crying. Or kicking him in the face.

    You moan helplessly, slinging an arm over your eyes, your legs trembling as Roger smiles against your thigh – you can feel it. A smug smile that makes your blood boil and your core throb even more than it already is.

    Then his fingers push into you for a third time, and his tongue licks through you, but this time it’s slow, painfully slow, not enough to make you come but enough to keep your head lost in the clouds, enough to make your stomach clench and twist, desperately searching for something. It’s enough to make you grind your teeth together. “God, fuck, I need to come,” you sob against the palm of your hand, your thighs trying to clench around Roger’s ears, but his arm is in the way, keeping your hips still.

    His tongue drags against your clit, steady and unhurried, and the gasping whine that rips itself from your throat is piercing to your ears. Not even your hand could muffle it.

    “There we go,” Roger says, and does it again.

    You squirm. “Roger, fuck, please, I wanna come so bad.”

    Roger’s fingers still move in and out of you at a leisurely pace, but he uses his mouth to say, “You wanna come?”

    “Yes,” you say miserably. “Please, I need to.”

    His thumb presses against your clit, and you bite your bottom lip, your body twisting.

    “Christ,” Roger breathes. “That’s a fucking sight.”

    “Fuck me,” you beg. “Anything, just please.”

    Roger takes his hand away, standing and wiping his face on the back of his hand, and you swear. He kicks off his boxer-briefs. His cock is hard and red, swollen, leaking. You sit up and zero in on it like it’s a four-course meal and you haven’t eaten in days. You scramble off the bed, dropping to your knees in front of him.

    “Fucking hell,” he says, clearly not expecting you to do that.

    “Can I suck you off?” you ask desperately, resisting the urge to just shove your mouth around his dick without further preamble. “I’ll do a good job, I promise. Just tell me what to do. I’m a fast learner.” You curl your fist around him, sucking the head into your mouth.

    Roger makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says quickly, guiding your head away with a hand on your head.

     You pull back, but keep your hand where it is. “Just fuck my mouth,” you say, gazing up at him. “I dunno how that works, but I can keep it open.” You do so, sticking your tongue out, silently begging with your eyes.

    Roger chuckles softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come just from running your mouth like that.”

    You open your mouth wider.

    “Or from just doing that,” Roger says. He pries your hand away from his dick, using it to pull you to your feet.

    He kisses you, a hungry kiss, a you’re doing so well kiss, and it makes you preen. “But I want to fuck you,” he says. “I’ve had my dick sucked before; you’ve never been fucked.”

    “I’ve never sucked a dick before, either, though,” you reason.

    “Well, hit me up next time you’re in the neighbourhood,” Roger jokes. Before you can reply, he kisses you again, and you drink him in greedily, palming at his cock until his kisses grow sloppy, messy, more teeth and tongue, and he has to snatch your wrist. “Let me get inside you first,” he growls. “Good God.”

    “I like it when you’re bossy,” you say, teasingly.

    Roger hums, his eyes dark. “You need that attitude fucked right out of you.”

    “Do it,” you say fervently, grinning in delight when he grabs your other wrist as well to stop you from touching him. “Do it, do it, do it. Fuck it right out me. I need it. Never had anyone try to fuck anything out of me before.”

    Roger shudders. “Jesus.”

    You half-heartedly try to tug your wrists back, but he holds them tightly. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” you say. “Come on.”

    Roger takes a breath, and then lets your wrists go. “Bed. Now.”

    You scramble to obey, clenching your thighs together at the sight of Roger. He looks wrecked already, his hair a mess, his skin flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips red. He goes to his bedside table and digs out a bottle of lube and some condoms. “Maybe should check the date on these,” he mutters to himself, and squints at the packets in his hands. After a few moments of peering at them, he sighs in frustration, and reaches for the pair of glasses on the table that you hadn’t noticed before. He slips them on, and then nods at the packets. “They’re fine.”

    He goes to take the glasses off, but you say, “Wait, show me.”

    He turns to you. “Show you what?”

    Fuck, he looks gorgeous in those glasses. They’re large, round ones, with delicate silver frames, and you make a soft sound. “Oh, wow.”

    “I know, they’re horrendous,” Roger says, taking off the glasses and setting them down. “My eyesight’s always been shite, but I can’t stand wearing the bloody things.”

    “No, you look great,” you say. “So great, in fact, that I need you to get the condom on so you can fuck me literally right now.”

    Roger raises his eyebrows. “You what?”

    “I’m dying here, Roger,” you say loudly, smacking the bed beside you. “You look hot as fuck in those glasses, and I’m so insanely horny that I’m about to explode. I need your dick in me right now.”

    Roger grins, and rips open the condom packet. “All right. Jeez.”

    “Let me do it,” you say, crawling over to him and taking the condom from him.

    “You’ve ever done it before?” he asks.

    “Not since we had to at school when I was, like, fifteen.” You do it carefully, to the best of your memory. Your mouth waters being so close to his cock. “Is this right?”

    “Yeah, perfect,” Roger says. “You look incredible, by the way.”

    You look up at Roger, and the butterflies return. You’re left momentarily speechless, but it doesn’t matter, because Roger leans down and kisses you. His hand rests against your collarbones, and you get another idea in your head. You rise up into a kneel, keeping his lips on yours, and then you take his hand, pressing it against your throat: a silent invitation.

    Roger moans into your mouth, and applies some pressure, just a bit, testing the waters.

    It makes your core ache, and you kiss him harder, so he presses harder in return. His palm is warm against your throat, and you keep one hand loosely around his wrist, the other hand in his hair, as it is wont to do.

    You end up lying back on the bed, Roger pressing his hand against your throat as you gasp and squirm.

    “You like this, don’t you?” Roger says, fingers on his other hand dipping into your folds. “Fuck, feel how wet you are.”

    You nod desperately. Your mouth is hanging open, and your head is starting to swim.

    “Is that all for me, love?”

    You whimper, nodding again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

    Roger lets go of your throat, and you gasp, your eyes wide. “More,” you say immediately. “More. Fuck me like that.”

    Roger smiles, keeping his palm against your throat, but brushes his thumb across your skin. His other hand curls around your knee. “Your enthusiasm is… mind-blowing,” he says with a chuckle, “but just take a moment, yeah? You’re all over the shop. Slow down a bit.”

    “I don’t wanna slow down,” you protest, grabbing onto his forearm.

    “We’ve got time, love. It doesn’t have to be over so quickly.”

    “You can’t tease me like that, almost make me come, like, three times, and then tell me to slow down,” you say. “I need you, Roger. Christ, I need you. Show me what it’s like, show me how good my first time can be.”

    Roger’s pupils are blown wide, and he lets out a shaky breath. He swallows. “Spread your legs.”

    You grin, and do so. Roger lets go of your throat and leans over you on all fours to kiss you briefly. “I’m not choking you while I fuck you,” he says. “I want you to feel all of it, not have your head somewhere else.”

    You nod vigorously.

    Roger reaches for the lube. You hold out your hand, and he raises an eyebrow at you, but pours some into your hand. You reach forward and slide your fist up and down his cock, spreading the lube. He groans and shudders, and then he says, “That’s enough, that’s enough, I want to fuck you.”

    You take your hand away, wiping the lube on the sheets, Roger surges forward to capture your lips with his, and you feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. A shot of adrenaline explodes within you.

    “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Roger says, and you nod.

    Then, slowly, he pushes into you, just an inch or two. You gasp at the stretch, gripping onto his arms, your mouth wide.

    Roger stills, and nuzzles at your throat. “You okay?”

    “Mm-hm,” you say, biting your lip. “Keep… Keep going.”

    He does, rocking in shallowly, just going a little further each time. He’s panting against your neck, and you can feel your sweat pricking your skin. You can’t help but admire Roger’s back, the way the muscles move.

    It feels good. Once you get over the initial shock to the system of having something that size inside you, you realise why you were so excited to get to this in the first place.

    “I’m good,” you say, nails absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. “It– It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

    “You sure?” Roger asks, kissing your neck softly.

    You can’t help but laugh. “Roger, for the love of all things holy, fuck me.”

    He doesn’t need another invitation. He slams into you, and your eyes go wide, a tiny sound of surprise leaping out of you.

    “Sorry,” Roger says, raising his head to kiss you in apology.

    “Don’t fucking apologise, it feels good,” you say back. “Come on, come on.”

    Roger laughs, and kisses you. You can feel his laughter against your lips, feel the way his smile changes the shape of his mouth, and that dangerously warm feeling in the pit of your stomach returns.

    You could get used to this. Get used to Roger laughing against your lips as he’s buried inside you. Get used to teasing him, to turning him on, to rolling around in his bed.

    As soon as the thoughts creep into your mind, you banish them. That’s not happening, you tell yourself harshly. This is a one-and-done deal. You can’t develop feelings for a man you’ve only met once. A man who is, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten, sixteen years older than you.

    Then Roger pulls out halfway and drives back into you, and all you can think about is his dick.

    Your hand goes back to your mouth, just like before, keeping yourself quiet as you moan and whimper. Your ankles hook over the small of Roger’s back.

    But then Roger pauses, sitting up, and he unwraps your legs from around him and pushes one of your knees flat on the bed, keeping you spread out wide. “Hands away from your mouth, love,” he says. “Let me hear you. It’s okay, you can let go.”

    Your face burns, and you cover it with both of your hands. It’s too big of an ask. You’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Roger…”

    “[Y/N].”

    You lower your hands. He’s watching you, his blue eyes burning with desire, but they’re soft, too. Understanding.

    “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Hold onto the sheets, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

    You nod, and, with no small amount of effort, let your arms go by your sides, your fists wrapping in the sheets.

    Roger smiles. “You’re amazing.”

    You turn your head away, overwhelmed.

    “Eyes on me. Hey.”

    You look back at him. Exposed. You’re exposed, in every sense of the word.

    Roger braces himself on the bed beside your ribs, and, keeping one hand on your knee, holding it down, he starts fucking into you again, hard and deep.

    The sound you make could best be described as a mewl, and it’s a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. Your hands tighten in the sheets, fighting the urge to cover your face again. Roger’s eyes are still on yours, and it’s too much, you want to look away, but you can’t.

    “So good for me,” Roger pants. “Fuck. God, you’re incredible.”

    You whine. “Roger.”

    “That’s it, love. Say my name.”

    He thrusts into you at just the right angle, making your back arch. “Roger.”

    Roger groans, and he lets go of your knee to circle his fingers around your clit. You gasp, your eyes finally breaking away from his to look to the ceiling, feeling yourself climbing rapidly for the fourth time that night.

    “Let me come, let me come, please,” you beg, your arms straining as your fists pull on the sheets.

    Roger leans forward again to kiss you, a mess of heavy breathing and tongues and lips brushing. You let go of the sheets to clutch onto him, pawing at his shoulders and back and hips, unable to settle on where you want to hold him.

    One hand inevitably slides into his hair, and you grip onto it, tugging it hard. Roger’s rhythm stutters, and he groans out your name.

    His fingers feel so fucking good, and, doubled with the way he’s stretched you out, tripled with how he edged you before, you just know how hard you’re going to come. You can feel it building deeper within you than you’ve ever felt before, like an impending tsunami.

    Roger readjusts, sitting back again, his brow furrowed as he searches for just the right spot to hit you.

    When he does, you cry out. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

    Your hands scrabble for purchase, and one finds your own hair, burying itself, and you don’t pull, but you keep a firm grip on it, the slight pain being the only thing keeping you from losing yourself entirely. Your other hand finds the same spot as before in the sheets, and you sob, screwing your eyes shut.

    “You close?” Roger asks, and you nod.

    “Say it out loud, love.”

    “Yes, I’m so close, I’m so close,” you gasp. You’re almost there, you can feel it, only inches away, moments away.

    “Open your eyes, come on.”

    You do, and meet his gaze. “Roger,” you whimper.

    “You gonna come for me?”

    “Y-yeah.”

    “I wanna hear it, yeah? Wanna see you. See you come undone on my cock.”

    And that’s the final nail in the coffin. You orgasm pulses through you, so hard that you convulse, and you wail, blurting out Roger’s name, clenching down on him. Your blood roars in your ears, and you’ve never come so hard in your life.

    Roger moans out, “Fuck,” and then pumps once, twice more, and then comes, groaning your name, a shudder ripping through him.

    When he comes back to himself, blinking his big blue eyes at you, you can’t help but think he looks otherworldly. His face, pink, shines with sweat, as does his whole body. Locks of hair stick to his forehead, his temples. His mouth hangs open, and his chest heaves, and maybe it’s the ten-out-of-ten orgasm you just had, but in that moment, you kinda want to marry him.

    He takes the hand you’ve tangled in the sheets, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Your heart just about explodes. “You all right?”

    You splutter. “All right? The fuck’s that meant to mean?”

    Roger smiles, massaging the palm of your hand with his thumb. “I mean, are you hurting anywhere?”

    My heart hurts from you being all hot and perfect and stupidly romantic, you think. “No,” you say. “I’m just fine.”

    He pulls out of you, carefully, and it does nothing but reignite a spark of arousal within you. Then he collapses onto the bed beside you with an unmistakable dad noise, and takes off the spent condom, tying it off and tossing it into the rubbish bin beside his bed. When that’s done, he wastes no time in rolling onto his side and pulling you in for a kiss. You hum happily, shifting closer to him, not even caring about the sweat and how wet you are all over your inner thighs.

    When he breaks away, he says, “So. How do you feel?”

    “Like I just had the biggest orgasm of my life,” you say.

    Roger chuckles. “I meant now that you’re, y’know…”

    It clicks. “Now I’ve lost my virginity?” you say playfully. “Had my sexual debut? I’ve become a woman?”

    “Not that any of it matters, of course,” Roger adds. “But it’s still… It can be a big thing.”

    You give him a soft kiss. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” you say. “Virginity is nothing but a social construct and all of that.”

    “Of course,” Roger reiterates.

    “But I feel… happy.” You hope your grin isn’t as cheesy as it feels. “It’s nice to not have to… worry about it anymore, I suppose? I don’t know if I was really worrying about it before, but it… I don’t know.” You shrug. “I just had a really good time. That’s all that matters.”

    “Good.” Roger’s hand goes to your hip, squeezing it. “I’m glad.”

    “Did…” You lick your lips. “Did you have a good time?”

    “Did I have a good time?” Roger repeats, almost aghast. “Are you joking?”

    “Even though I had no idea what I was doing?”

    “You’re a natural.”

    You laugh. Your stomach squirms – both because of those ridiculous maybe-almost-could-be feelings, and because, even though you know in your mind that the whole sex part of the evening is over, your body certainly isn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

    Your thighs clench together, but you do your best to hide how it feels. You don’t want to be greedy.

    Roger feels your thighs move under his hand, though, and he looks to you questioningly. “Are you still–”

    “No, no, I’m fine,” you say lightly, shaking your head. “I was just moving around.”

    Roger pauses, and then says, “All right.” He kisses you, and then takes a moment to gather his energy before he sits up. “I’ll get us some water.” He turns to you, pointing a finger at you, as if something just occurred to him. “You should go pee.”

    Your eyes widen, and you nod. “Oh, yes, good thinking.”

    “Bathroom’s just there,” he says, gesturing across the room at the closed door.

    “You have an en suite?”

    “Well, yeah. Much easier when there’s kids around.” His face falls a little. “Not that I’ve had the kids here very often recently, but uh…”

    “I’m sorry,” you say.

    He shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s fine. Great way to bring down the mood, eh?” He leans down again to kiss you, and then stands up, stretching. “Be back in a mo’.”

    You watch him, your gaze hawk-like, as he pulls on his neon-green underwear and disappears out the door, raking his hand through his hair as he goes.

    Your thighs clench together again, and you whimper.

    You try to push it aside, and slide off the bed to go the bathroom, pulling on your underwear as you go. You don’t exactly feel like putting your push-up bra back on, but you don’t want to just lounge around completely naked. Would it be too presumptuous to put on Roger’s shirt?

    You bite your lip, considering, and then decide to just bite the bullet, slipping it on and buttoning it up. It’s comfy, and smells like him; you understand why women in movies do it now. You do have to call bullshit on wearing a man’s shirt like a short, cute dress though – it’s more just like a long shirt, and you’re glad you’ve chosen to put on underwear.

    It feels odd to pee in a stranger’s house – even odder that it’s an en suite – but you’re thankful that you get a moment to properly gather yourself in private, instead of while being surrounded by the smell of sex.

    It’s when you’re washing your hands that you finally get a look at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth drops open in horror.

    You look like a fucking mess. Your foundation is patchy where you get oily and where you’ve sweated it off, and there’s a slight ring of smudged mascara under your eyes – honestly, you’re thankful that it’s not worse, and that your setting spray did at least something. Your hair, though, is the worst of it all. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.

    “Oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. What can you do? You don’t have any make-up with you to try to fix the problems, but you can’t exactly take it off, either. You have no way to fix your hair. You untie it from the ponytail it was in and try to smooth it out, but it doesn’t really do much, so you tie it back up again, but it’s a shitty ponytail, so you untie it and try again. Then you try a third time, and give up, settling on the disaster that it is, and grab a tissue, blotting at your make-up.

    You sigh, staring at your reflection. Well, fuck. What the fuck are you meant to do? How the hell can you go back into the bedroom, knowing you look like this?

    “[Y/N]?” Roger calls. “You all right in there, love?”

    You shiver. God, the way he says the word ‘love’. The way he says your name.

    You clear your throat. “Um, yeah, I’m– I’m fine. Just…” You can’t say you’re still peeing. Oh, fuck, what if he thinks you’re taking a shit or something? “I’m just fixing up my make-up.”

    “I think there might still be some make-up wipes in a drawer somewhere, if you want to have a look,” Roger says. “Maybe they’re no good anymore, I’m not sure.”

    You have a dig around, and find a packet. It’s already been opened, quite a while ago by the looks of it. Must be Roger’s ex-wife’s.

    The thought of that sits weirdly with you, but you’re not quite sure why. Almost like you feel like you’re intruding, maybe. You certainly don’t feel like you belong here, in this bougie, nice house.

    You sigh again, and pull out a handful of make-up wipes, seeing if there’s any that still hold any moisture. One in the middle has a little bit, so you carefully run it under your eyes, and lightly tap it over your forehead and down your neck to soothe your skin, fixing up any problem areas as best you can without it being too obvious that you’ve just wiped off the make-up.

    The end result is fine. Not good, and certainly not great, but… yeah. Fine.

    You throw the make-up wipes into the bin, take a deep breath, and exit the bathroom.

    Roger’s on his phone, and he looks up when he hears the door open. His face goes slack when he sees you. “You’re wearing my shirt?”

    “Isn’t that what girls are meant to do after sex?” you joke.

    “I just haven’t seen, um, anyone do that in… in a long time,” he says, somewhat stilted, and he glances down at his hands. He quickly turns his eyes back to you. “It looks good. Really good.”

    “Thank you,” you say, and pad over to the bedside table near him, where he has two glasses of water waiting. “Which one’s mine?”

    “On the left.” Roger sets his phone down and watches you as you take a sip of water.

    He’s close to you, and, like before you kissed for the first time, you’re hyperaware of every movement. But he barely moves, just waits for you.

    When you put the water down, you hesitate. You want to climb on top of him, kiss him, feeling his arms around you again, but is that too much? Does he want you to go? Are you overstaying your welcome?

    “You all right?” he asks gently.

    You nod. “Um, yeah,” you say, and take a step back. “You probably, um, have work or something tomorrow, so I should go.”

    You don’t miss the way Roger’s face falls a bit. “Oh, you want to go?”

    No. “Well, it– I don’t want to impose…”

    “If you want to go, then I’ll order an Uber for you,” Roger says. “But don’t feel like you have to go if you don’t want to.”

    The Amazonian butterflies are back yet again. “I…”

    “Because – and correct me if I’m wrong,” Roger says, reaching out and tugging on his shirt, pulling you closer, and you go without any resistance, “but I think you were telling a bit of a fib before, when you said you were… what did you say? Just moving around?”

    You press your lips together as Roger guides you between his legs, and he tilts his head back to gaze up at you. He smiles at the look on your face. “Am I right?”

    You can feel your face heating up again. “No,” you mumble unconvincingly, hiding your smile behind your hand.

    “No hands over mouths,” Roger murmurs, reaching up and taking yours. “You don’t have to hide.”

    Fuck. Oh, fuck. His voice sounds like a warm fireplace feels, and you barely even know him, but you’ve never felt safer, more comfortable, around a man. You can’t pretend now – you’re really starting to like him.

    Roger raises his eyebrows at you, just a touch, searching your face. “So? Am I right?”

    “It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine, really. You’ve done plenty, I… I can’t ask for more.”

    Roger hums, and presses a kiss to your palm before letting your hand go. “All right, okay,” he says. “I was wrong, I see. Can I at least tell you what I’d do to you if I had been right?”

    You breathe in shakily, and nod once.

    The corner of Roger’s mouth quirks up. “Well,” he says slowly, “first I’d kiss you, of course. And, as hot as you look wearing nothing but my shirt and your knickers, I’d undress you again. Get you lying down on your back, all spread out for me. I’d kiss you some more. Then I think I’d choke you, because you seem to like that a lot, yeah?”

    You nod, hypnotised.

    Roger nods as well. “Right. And then, while I was holding you down by your throat–”

    You gulp.

    “–I’d get my other hand, and I’d–”

    “Okay, yes, you were right,” you blurt out, and grab his face, ducking down to kiss him desperately. He kisses you with just as much hunger, and nudges you a few steps back, giving him enough room so he can stand up and start unbuttoning the shirt. As soon as he’s done, your shrug it from your shoulders, and Roger pulls you closer by your ass. One hand moves to cup your jaw, his tongue pressing against yours. It doesn’t take long before the hand shifts to your throat, and you whimper softly, urging him to tighten his grip.

    He does, and the feeling of it goes straight to your core. Your hands clutch at him frantically.

    He lets go of your throat, and you suck in a gasp, then latch onto his neck, kissing and nipping and sucking at his skin, licking off the salty traces of sweat.

    “Careful, love, careful,” he says shakily. “I can’t turn up to work looking like I’ve been attacked by a vacuum.”

    You huff, but soften your kisses. He moans under his breath, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything hotter.

    Soon, you break away, and crawl back onto the bed, and he follows you, positioning himself on all fours above you to kiss you deeply, his knee slotting into between your thighs. He presses it against your core, and you instinctively grind against it, shuddering when it fires an electric shock of arousal through your system. Roger shifts, readjusting his balance so he can bring his hand back to your throat, and you welcome it. You grind against his leg again.

    It’s when you have to stop kissing him, your brain going into overdrive trying to force you to focus on breathing, you have to breathe, that Roger sits back, moving his leg out of the way and replacing it with his other hand.

    “Fuck, Roger,” you gasp, twitching under his grip, your hands vice-like on his forearm. Your eyes slide closed, revelling in the way your head swims, the way your body fights to suck as much oxygen as it can into your lungs. You’re still so wet from before, still so stretched out, that Roger slides two fingers into you at the same time with ease, and you let out a stuttering moan, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers swirl around your clit, hitting it in just the right way, and within minutes you’re almost there.

    “Most people think the best part about getting choked is the actual ‘getting choked’ part,” Roger says out of the blue, and you frown, trying to follow, opening your eyes.

    “Hear me out,” Roger says casually, pushing his fingers back into you and flicking your clit with his thumb, and you whine. “Are you close, love?”

    You nod.

    Roger hums. “You look so good like this. Does it feel good?”

    You nod again. “Mm-hm.”

    “Yeah, looks like it does. Looks like you enjoy it.”

    “Ah, Roger, please.”

    “It’s all right, love, I’ve got you.” Roger’s fingers quicken their pace, and you make a sound, squirming.

    “As I was saying,” Roger continues, “people think the best part of getting choked is actually getting choked. But it’s not. The best part of it is actually being let go. Do you want to see?”

    You nod, barely even listening to what he’s saying. You’re too close to coming to pay attention.

    And then Roger lets go of your throat at the same time he brushes your clit, and a rush of oxygen flows into your lungs, a rush of blood flows back to your head, and your orgasm slams into you, and the world seems so much brighter in that moment. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, your back arching, your eyes wide.

    It feels like it goes on for a lifetime, although perhaps that’s just your mind trying to sort itself out. When you do finally start to come down from your high, you realise you’re shaking, and Roger is grinning at you. You blink at him owlishly.

    “Wh– Huh?” you breathe, your heart racing, and Roger laughs.

    “So you’re alive, then,” he teases, and leans down to kiss you.

    You grab onto him, kissing him soundly, and roll the both of you over, so you’re straddling him. You just stay like that, just making out, letting the frenzied kisses lull themselves into something slower, something calmer. Just kissing for the sake of it. Roger’s hands stroke up and down your back, and you could almost fall asleep like this.

    Speaking of falling asleep – you have to break away, hiding your yawn by tucking your face into his chest. Roger hums, and you can feel it vibrating against your body. You smile. “Sorry,” you mumble.

    “Can hardly blame you,” Roger says, his voice low. “It’s late.”

    You let yourself slump against him, a moment of pure self-indulgence, and then roll to the side, dumping yourself onto the bed. You groan, unable to stop yourself from instinctively shifting into a more comfortable position for sleeping, your arm beneath your head like a pillow, your eyes closing.

    “I’m sorry,” you say again, muffled by your arm. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

    Roger says nothing, and you feel your stomach coil in guilt. God, he wanted you to leave fifteen minutes ago, didn’t he? He was just too polite to say anything. And then you pressured him into making you come again, because you were too selfish to know when enough was enough. Great, fucking great, you’ve fucked it all up, and you’re a huge piece of shit, and you–

    “Did you want to stay the night?” Roger asks tentatively.

    Your eyes fly open, and you shift up onto your elbow. “What?” you say. “Stay?”

    Roger glances away from you. “It– It was just a suggestion,” he says. “Just an idea, I don’t know. I, um – it’s just late, and I don’t want you travelling all that way on your own. You can, obviously, if you want to, that’s up to you, I just…”

    You’re hardly even listening. You’re still struggling to drink in the first thing he said. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

    Roger looks to you, and bites his bottom lip. “If– Well, if you want to, then, um, yes, I’d like you to. But only if you want to.”

    You beam, and your heart triples in size. “Um, yes. I’d like to.”

    Roger smiles back. “Good. Great. That’s–” He clears his throat. “Did you want to have a shower?”

    “I think so,” you say with a laugh. “I’m…” You went to say I’m so disgusting right now, but you don’t want to fuck up your now-sleepover before it’s even properly begun. “Yes please.”

    “Well, you know where the bathroom is,” Roger says, nodding towards the en suite. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer, if I remember correctly. I’ll get you a towel.”

    “You’re not coming into the shower with me?” you ask coyly.

    Roger blinks, and you laugh.

    “Oh,” he says. “You were joking.”

    “I wasn’t,” you say. “You just made me laugh.”

    Roger swoops down to steal a kiss, and you don’t let him leave, pushing up into him, stealing a few kisses back.

    “Let me get you a towel,” he says, and then climbs off the bed and pads out of the room.

    You bite on your finger to stop yourself from making some stupid giggle, or maybe a dumb squealing sound like a little girl. He asked you to stay the night. He wants you to stay the night.

    Oh, shit, you realise, your finger dropping from your mouth. Justine. You never told her what was happening.

    Where’s your phone? In the living room. Spitting out a curse, you pull on your underwear and Roger’s shirt again, and hurry out. You run into Roger, arms full of sheets, in the hallway. “Hey, is everything all right?” he says. “What did you forget?”

    “I never told my roommate I wasn’t coming home,” you say. “Last she heard, I was about to book an Uber.”

    Roger’s eyes go a little wider. “Shit, whoops. Yeah, go tell her.”

    You shoot him a smile, and scurry off to the living room. Your phone is on the couch, and you snatch it up. Wow, shit, it is late. You’re glad you only have an afternoon lecture tomorrow.

    Thankfully, just one message from Justine, from about half an hour ago. hey, haven’t heard from u in a while. just send me a message when u get this ok? xx

    You respond. fuck sorry, left my phone in the other room. I have SO MUCH to tell u omg, but in a nutshell uhh we ended up sleeping together, it was fucking amazing, and now he’s asked me to stay over, so ill see u at uni tomorrow maybe? if not then at home xx

    You keep your phone in hand, and head back to Roger’s room. He’s started cleaning up in the minute you were gone, stripping the bed. Fresh sheets sit on the floor. “What’s this?” you ask.

    “I’m making the bed,” Roger says simply, tugging a pillow from its case. “I’m too old to be sleeping on sheets I’ve just had sex on. Let me tell you, it makes a difference. And the sheets were due for a change, anyway.”

    You step forward. “Well, let me help.”

    “Don’t be silly, jump in the shower.”

    “Don’t tell me what to do.” You set your phone down beside his on the bedside table, and together the two of you help remake his bed.

    Roger chases you into the shower then, and says he’s going to tidy up the room a little more before he joins you. “I’m on a roll now,” he says, picking up your shoes from where you kicked them aside during the bed-making. “Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

    You take the make-up wipes. The door is about halfway open, and you can hear Roger moving around, hear when he trips over something and hisses out a curse, making you smile.

    The make-up wipe freezes in the air near your eye. You can’t very well have a shower and go to bed without taking your make-up off – it does not make even a vague semblance of a pretty picture – but this is… way more intimate than you were expecting. Why didn’t you think of this when you agreed to stay over? Roger’s going to see you without your make-up on, with your hair tied up in a bun. He’s going to see you in the morning, all bleary-eyed and disgusting. Fuck, morning breath. You have the spare clothes you brought that you can change into tomorrow, but no extra underwear. Nothing to wear tonight. It’s a miracle that Roger even has a spare toothbrush. What time does he get up for work? Will he expect you to leave before he wakes up?

    Are you a one-night-stand? Is that what this is? Are you asked to stay the night if you’re nothing but a one-night-stand, or does the fact that he asked you mean something else?

    “Is your roommate all right?” Roger asks, coming to the door, leaning against the doorjamb. “No freak-outs?”

    You lower the make-up wipe. “Um, no. It’s all fine, I think.”

    “Have you found the toothbrush?”

    “No, I haven’t checked yet.”

    Roger moves around you, pulling open the drawer and rummaging through. “Ah, here it is. Still in the packet! How good am I?”

    You smile as he presents it to you like it’s a medal of honour. “Thanks.”

    “Sorry about the make-up wipes,” Roger says. “They’re not great.” He huffs, and then leans against the edge of the sink, rubbing his hands down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m… I’m actually really nervous.”

    Your eyebrows shoot up. “Nervous?” you repeat. “About what?”

    “About… you staying over,” he confesses. “It’s been, I don’t know, ten years since I’ve had anyone new sleep over. My brain is suddenly filled with every annoying thing I do when I sleep. And I look awful in the mornings, let me tell you. If you think I look bad now, just you wait.”

    “Who says I think you look bad now?” you say. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I think you’re a hot piece of ass, Roger.”

    Roger splutters, flustered, and you grin.

    “I move around a lot,” he says. “When I sleep. So be prepared to cop an elbow to the face.”

    “Don’t you worry, I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say. “And I move around, too.”

    “I run hot,” Roger adds. “I’m like a space heater. And sometimes I talk in my sleep, but only when I’m really stressed about something, like work. I can be really very clingy.”

    “I run cold,” you say with a shrug. “So clingy suits me fine.”

    Roger pauses, staring at you, like he wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Then he snaps out of it, glancing away. “Sorry,” he says for a third time.

    “Don’t apologise,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to. I’m nervous, too. Like, really fucking nervous. I’m– I’m too nervous to even take my make-up off.”

    Roger’s eyes search your face. “I won’t care what you look like,” he says gently. “I’m sorry that you feel nervous about taking it off. But it won’t matter, I promise.”

    “Just wait and see,” you joke in a sing-song voice.

    Roger is silent for a few moments, and then he says, “Well, I hope you’re ready. I’m going to kiss the bloody daylight out of you when you take it off.”

    You don’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to do that.”

    “I’m going to. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable without make-up on. And if that means I have to keep kissing you all night as a reminder that it doesn’t matter what you look like without make-up, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

    You duck your head, making a disgruntled sound. Why does he have to say cute shit like that? Why must he make you suffer?

    Roger pushes the packet of make-up wipes a little closer to you, waggles his eyebrows at you, making you giggle, and then reaches across you for his toothbrush.

    You start wiping off your make-up.

    Roger waits until you’ve finished taking it off, until you’ve brushed your teeth, until you’re well and truly left without anything to do, and then he cups your face in his hands and does exactly what he promised he’d do.

    One steamy make-out session and one far-too-long shower later, you’re sitting on the newly-made bed, wrapping in a towel, the strands of hair that slipped loose from your bun sticking to your neck and temples. You’re watching Roger pull on a pair of underwear and rifle through his chest of drawers. He pulls out a huge shirt, clearly worn and well-loved, and turns to you, holding it out. “I went on a day trip once to Brighton,” he says. “We were out to a pub and I spilled red wine all over my shirt. Had to buy a new one. Sent one of my mates to get it for me and he came back with this. Hence why I have a shirt about five sizes too big for me.”

    “You didn’t have to explain,” you say with a chuckle, taking it from him.

    “I feel like I did,” Roger says. “I, um, usually use it as a sleep shirt when I travel.”

    You slip it on, and then stand up, letting your towel drop to the floor. The shirt is long enough to cover everything, but you’re not about to bend down any time soon.

    You glance over at your underwear, where they’re in a pile near the door. Should you put them back on?

    “Please don’t,” Roger blurts.

    You look to him. “Huh?”

    His face goes red. “Um. I just– I– You– I saw you look over there, and–” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “I, um…” He looks to the ceiling, and says it in a rush. “I’m sorry this sounds awful but I saw you looking over at your knickers and I don’t want you to put them on because you look really hot wearing my shirt and the thought of you wearing nothing underneath makes my brain explode.”

    “You’re one to talk,” you say, “standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers like that doesn’t make my brain explode.”

    Roger’s eyes flick towards yours, and he breaks out into a smile, and then laughs. “I guess we’re even, then.”

    “We’ll be truly even when I see you wearing my clothes,” you say teasingly.

    Roger steps in close, his hands coming to your waist. “I don’t think your dress would fit properly, love.”

    “I’ll have to come better prepared next time,” you say, and Roger hums, leaning in to give you a kiss.

    Next time. Next time. You said ‘next time’. Talk about presumptuous. Christ! What is wrong with you?

    You break away. “Not that I think there’ll be a next time,” you say quickly. No. Bad phrasing. “I don’t want to assume there’ll be a next time.” Still bad. “I don’t want you to think that I think there has to be a next time.” Even worse. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to have a next time if you don’t want there to be.” Better. Not great, but passable.

    “I want a next time,” Roger says. “If you want one.”

    “I do,” you say, God, far too eager. “I’d really like there to be a next time.”

    “Me too,” Roger says.

    You press into him for another kiss, and then, finally, the two of you make it to bed.

    Once you’re under the covers, you almost fall asleep immediately. You didn’t realise how exhausted you are. Roger reaches over and switches off the light, and then wraps an arm around your stomach, his front against your spine. You allow yourself to smile freely in the dark, even as your eyes close and you drift off to sleep.

                                                      ~~~

    “I’m… I’m going to send you the rest of the payment,” Roger says. He’s dressed for work, just in a white dress shirt and black slacks, and you’d been admiring him and enjoying the coffee he’d made you after you’d gotten out of the shower. It’s early – too early, for both of you.

    But now your stomach drops, and you lower your mug of coffee from your lips. “You are?”

    “Yes,” Roger says.

    “You don’t have to,” you say. “I said it last night, I don’t care about the money.”

    “I know,” Roger says. “But it’s still right. You started this whole thing to help pay the bills, and it’s not your fault that there was that whole mix-up. You don’t deserve to miss out on getting the money you’ve rightfully earned.”

    “You don’t deserve to fork out that much money because of that whole mix-up,” you say. “You’ve already paid half of it. And it’s– it’s quite a fair bit, Roger.”

    “I can afford to pay it,” Roger says. “I’m living more than comfortably. Giving you the money you’ve earned would just mean that I can’t, I don’t know, travel overseas this year.” He raises his eyebrows a touch. “Well, now that I might not have to be paying for three kids as well, maybe I’ll still be able to afford to go.” He shakes his head. “That’s beside the… My point is, I can afford it. And you deserve it.”

    You don’t know what to say. “Roger…”

    “Just let me,” he says earnestly. “Please. I want to.”

    You open and close your mouth a few times. God, you’d be mad to turn down the money. But it doesn’t feel right. Does it? You don’t even know what to think.

    You glance down at your mug. “All right,” you say quietly, so much so that you’re not even sure if he can hear you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder. “Thank you, Roger.”

    “Hey.”

    You look up at him, and he smiles. “You can pay me back by letting me take you out to dinner.”

    Your face immediately grows hot. “Suave motherfucker,” you say, and he laughs.

    “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says playfully.

    Your stomach squeezes. “Sure,” you say. “But I’m paying.”

    Roger snorts. “Not bloody likely.”

    “I’ll fight you for the cheque, don’t think I won’t.”

    “Maybe I’ll just sneakily pay for it before you’ve even realised.”

    You narrow your eyes at him. “Can we settle on going Dutch?”

    Roger sips his coffee. “All right,” he says eventually.

    “Good.”

    He takes out his phone, holding it out to you. “Text me some time during this week,” he says. “About where you want to go. Or just text me if you want to say hi. Or call me. Y’know, whatever.”

    You tilt your head to the side as you take his phone. “That wasn’t quite as suave, I have admit.”

    Roger sighs. “Damn.”

    You laugh, and send a quick text to yourself, then slide the phone back to him.

    He seems extremely pleased, but he takes a casual drink from his coffee like he’s trying to hide it, and you can’t help but think it’s horribly cute.

    He shoots a glance at you, and sees you grinning at him, and his cheeks turn pink, and he clears his throat, turning away to the sink to rinse his mug out.

                                                      ~~~

    You’re at uni, half-asleep, shuffling back to the bus stop after your never-ending lecture, when Justine barrels into you, grabbing your elbow so tightly that you yelp. “What the fuck happened last night?” she exclaims.

    You don’t know why it hadn’t been awkward this morning. Apart from the money conversation. There had still been some nervousness, on your part anyway, but Roger had been too focused on getting ready for work to let any uncomfortable silences hang. You have to admit that it had been nice to wake up with someone’s arm around you, and you had been quietly delighted to see Roger fussing over the faint bruises on his neck, pulling up his shirt collar and adjusting his tie to try to cover them. After you’d both gotten ready for the day, he’d dropped you at the nearest bus stop. “And I will text you,” he’d said seriously. “Don’t think I won’t.”

    “Good,” you’d said. “I’ll be waiting for it. Three days is the general rule, right?”

    Roger had groaned. “Don’t make me wait three days.”

    You had chuckled. “I’m not making you do anything.” You’d hesitated, and then said, “Is it weird if I kiss you before I go?”

    Roger had taken a breath. “I… wouldn’t say so, no.”

    So you’d leant in and kissed him, and he’d kissed you back, and you’d wanted to keep kissing him, but a car had pulled up behind you and honked, so you’d drawn back, whispered, “Bye,” and gotten out of the car.

    Once you’d figured out how to get home, you’d crashed, sleeping until your alarm had woken you up again for your lecture.

    “Stuff,” you say to Justine.

    “Stuff?” Justine squawks. “Don’t give me that shit. You have to tell me literally everything, or I’m going to kill you. Come on.” She loops her arm through yours, and starts towing you towards the bus stop.

    Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out of your pocket.

    I know it hasn’t been three days, but it’s been more than three hours. Is that enough time, do you think?

    You smile, reply, I think so, yeah, then quickly pocket the phone before Justine can sneak a glance as Amazonian butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

[mrsbhandari]

Shutter - pt 4

a/n: bonjour!! im here officially with pt 4 to this fic so i hope you like it!! <3

warnings: some language and its kinda suggestive in parts but nothing explicit teehee

words: 3.8k (damn)

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @brycemaloliver

#

Tyril stood alone in his large apartment, eyeing each piece of clothing in his perfectly organized closet with varying levels of hatred. He didn’t want to go too formal and wear a suit, because this was most likely not a fancy date at a fancy restaurant. 

Wait.

Is this really a date?

She hadn’t responded to his final text, making him sweat more than he ever had in his life. He stepped over to the other side of his closet and landed a slender finger on a gray turtleneck sweater. 

“...Acceptable,” he murmured, breaking the silence of the air in his apartment. Quietly opening a drawer, he picked a pair of simple black slacks, crisp and pristine. 

In her own apartment, Naexi called the local pizza joint and placed her order before grabbing a baggy college sweatshirt that slipped off her shoulder and some jeans, keeping her shoes off but her cozy socks on. She definitely considered this a date, but she didn’t want him to know that. After putting on music, she danced a little in her kitchen while checking her phone, eager for any updates from Tyril.

Radio silence. 

A knock sounded, barely audible over the music, so she turned it down and walked to open the door. 

Tyril could barely handle it. She was standing there, collarbone slightly exposed under her sweatshirt, dark hair in a messy braid that draped over her shoulder, and slivers of her thighs were revealed from the rips in her skinny jeans. She was as alluring as she was in the first moment he saw her. 

“C’mon in. I have a coat rack on your left.” There was something interesting about the information, but he couldn’t place his finger on it until he securely hooked his jacket and scarf on the small hooks protruding from the wooden structure. For years, he had been waited on hand and foot in other people’s homes because of his wealth and status, but the simple act of being allowed to take his own shoes off and hang his own coat up was...refreshing. “Do you...like my rack?” 

“I beg your pardon?” He whirled on her with wide eyes, well aware of the double entendre.

“You’re like...smiling at it. It was my brother’s, but he broke it and gave it to me.” 

“Why would he not throw it out?” Tyril’s elegant features twisted into confusion, and he frowned when she seemed to laugh at the memory, believing the sound to be directed at him. 

“He’s awful at fixing things, so he knew that if he gave it to me, I would find a way to fix it.” Still smiling, she ran her eyes down his outfit before stopping on his feet. “Of course you have those fancy socks.” 

His eyes found her mismatched socks, her left foot covered with stripes and the right with polka dots. Face returning to its neutral, he raised a single eyebrow and allowed the left corner of his mouth to turn up into a half smile. “I think yours are much better than mine.” 

She stuck her tongue out and waved her hand, beckoning him to fully enter her cozy apartment. It was vibrant, with dozens of pictures hung on the wall with no real pattern. The walls were an odd crimson, but a combination of the decor and the numerous candles spread throughout the living room and kitchen made the space feel like home. Small piles of books and knick knacks were scattered on every surface he could find, a distinct contrast to his own museum-like home where everything had a place and stayed in it. Smiling to himself, he noticed the three vases of flowers he sent to her positioned on varying tables and bookshelves spread throughout her home. Upon closer inspection of the pictures, he spotted a few of her and Nia; during a party, in front of a castle in what looked like Germany, in graduation caps and gowns as they held up their degrees for the camera. 

She silently watched him from her spot on one of the barstools around the kitchen island, slightly amused at how out of place he looked in the light of her apartment. Everything around her was warm and inviting, but he stood tall and aloof, clothes dreary against the bright backdrop of her prized possessions. He was poised like a man who had never been denied a thing in his life; for some reason, she found herself both wanting to give in to that and to challenge him as much as possible. 

“Are all these pictures ones you’ve taken?” 

“Yup! There’s a few that aren’t mine, but most I’ve chosen from my own portfolio.” 

“They’re beautiful.” Once she didn’t respond for a few moments, he looked up to find her gazing at him, a slight blush on her cheeks and her head cocked. She wore a look similar to the one she had on when they first met, studying and searching for something he had yet to offer. Or maybe he had been offering it the entire time he was here without knowing she had found it. It was both unsettling and pleasant, to be the main focus of her intense and calculating stare. She finally seemed to realize that she hadn’t answered, so she broke her eyes from him and nodded. 

“Thanks.” 

“I like your apartment, as well.”

“I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

There. Something flashed in her eyes as they met his, ten feet away with something connecting them. He had given her a challenge, but unlike in the bookshop, this wasn’t one born from anger; it was something entirely new. Time seemed to slow around them, making the candles flicker almost supernaturally and their heartbeats decelerate. His mouth was dry and although he held her eye contact, he couldn’t help but notice the rest of her body in front of him, enticingly revealed with taunting slits and stretches of the fabric. 

He didn’t know it, but her observant photographer’s eye was watching him as well, taking in the impossibly long stretch of his neck under his turtleneck and how, even in socks, he still carried with him an aura of being the most important person in the room. Here, standing in her apartment, admiring her photos, and staring at her like he wanted to pin her against a wall, Naexi finally realized just how pretty he was. The more she took in the dark hair framing a pale unblemished complexion, complemented by the high arch of his eyebrows and his perfectly positioned nose, the more it hit her that from the moment they met, she had been suppressing the urge to kiss him until she forgot her own name.  Full lips parted as if to speak, but he was cut off by a swift knocking on the door. As if broken from a trance, they both seemed to tense and look towards the sound at the same time, but Tyril beat her to answering. 

“Wait--!” she called, but the door was already open and Tyril was once again proving just how much space he took up as he bent to avoid hitting his head on the frame. 

“Who are you?!” The delivery guy, a short and stout man with a tendency to eat everything in sight as well as be painfully loud about any and everything having to do with everybody else’s business but his own, was staring up at the billionaire with a mix of curiosity and hostility. Tyril seemed taken aback by the shouted question and took a step back, allowing Naexi to push his large form out of the way and offer the man the cash as well as an explanation.

“He’s my date, Threep.” Tyril looked down at her with a smug smile. So this is a date. “Meet Tyril.”

Threep offered the pizza to her before giving him a small wave and a tip of his hat. “Sorry about that. She rarely has dates over, so I wanted to make--”

“Keep the change, bye!” She slammed the door and deadbolted it. “That’s enough of that.” 

“So this is a date, then?” An already high eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms, tight sweater showing off the sculpt of his arms as they flexed. If Naexi tried hard enough, she could pretend that she was only drooling over the pizza that was beginning to burn the skin of her palms. She also pretended that the reason she was gripping the pizza box hard enough to whiten her knuckles and bend the cardboard was because she didn’t want to drop it. It had nothing to do with the fact that she had accidentally shoved him to the area next to the door closest to the wall with very little space in an effort to pay, which was the reason she was standing with her shoulder pressed to his chest as his back rested against the wall, slightly jostling one of her pictures. She also had to pretend that the smell of his cologne wasn't so overpowering in the best way that she felt like passing out was the best way to succumb to it. 

She was doing a whole lot of pretending, but one glance towards the icy blue eyes boring into her soul told her that she wasn’t very convincing. Straightening up and ignoring the wave of heat that washed over her, she scoffed.

“Don’t give me that look, pretty boy. You knew.” It was his turn to blush as he took in the nickname, but his recovery was much quicker. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Do you prefer Boy Billionaire?”

“That wasn’t my question.” He offered an infuriating smile, showing perfectly white teeth. His left incisor was sharper than his right, giving him the boyish look of a mischievous fairy tale creature, ready to swindle a boy with some fake beans for a cow. Judging by the sliver of vulnerability seeping through the flecks of dark blue in his eyes, he rarely showed this side of himself in public. She coughed, breaking the spell he had over her and finally noticing the rapidly cooling pizza box in her hands. 

“I hope you don’t mind pizza. I considered cooking but my landlord likes his buildings not burned to the ground.” She gave a small self-conscious laugh.

“I don’t mind.” His voice was soft and he seemed to be leaning down, face getting closer and closer to hers, lips barely parted and fresh breath brushing against her cheek. His eyes stayed on hers, drawing her in like a shimmering pool with secrets beneath the surface. A million thoughts ran through her head at once, fighting to be heard.

Oh my god, are we gonna kiss right now? Is that what I’m feeling? He’s leaning down, should I try and meet him in the middle? Which way should my head turn? What if it’s not good?! He’s probably kissed hundreds of girls, why the fuck should I be special? He’s so warm. Or is that me? Am I warm? He’s so close, and he’s so beautiful, I can just--

He stopped, his eyes half-lidded and meandering lazily between her lips and her own gaze, wide and worried. The thought of the famous Tyril Starfury doing anything lazily was foreign and suspicious, but she could smell the strawberry of his chapstick on his lips mixing with the smell of his cologne mixing with the smell of his deodorant and it was so mesmerizing that all she could think was kiss me. Then, she realized that he was straightening back up, stealing his head away from her personal space and taking the pizza box in his hands. It was a ruse. A taunt. A tease. 

“Excuse me!” Naexi said, hand on her hip as she followed him into the kitchen, fuming at the innocent look he sent over his shoulder before he opened the pizza box. 

“Yes?” Grabbing a plate from the counter, he paid her no attention while he helped himself to the drawers and cabinets. Despite his faux obliviousness, it was clear that there was a heavy, palpable tension in the air that could be cut with the knife Tyril seemed to be looking for. 

“What are you--” 

“Hm, found it.” He held up a blade and pulled out a fork, marveling at her mismatched cutlery. 

“Have you never had pizza before?” She grabbed her own two slices with her hands before placing two more on another plate for him. He scoffed, a haughty sound that surprisingly sent a shiver down her spine. 

“Of course I have. I just prefer not to make a mess.” He punctuated his statement by tapping the utensils together once before setting to work, cutting up his pizza and placing the cheesy pieces in his mouth. She watched him while she ate her own pizza, grease dripping onto her hands and onto the plate. After finishing her first piece, she looked down at his plate to see that he was only half done with his own. 

“I figured that you would have two people on either side of you while you ate, each with napkins to wipe your face if you ever got dirty.” She assumed a butler’s stance and held up her own napkin, delightfully out of season with “Fun in the Sun!” printed on it. She dropped her voice an octave and swiped her napkin over the empty space next to her as she spoke. “Yes, sir, Mr. Starfury. We can’t have you getting applesauce on your Versace!” Despite himself, Tyril let out a loud laugh, one that was nothing like how he sounded in the interview. This one felt whole and full of genuine emotion. It was an infectious sound, and Naexi found herself smiling like a buffoon at drawing it out of him with her stupid joke. 

“Why applesauce?” he asked, hand covering his mouth as he continued to chuckle. She reached across the island and pulled his wrist down, laying his hand palm up on the cold granite. Her nails slightly bit into his skin, making him flush.

“It's the first baby food I thought of.”

“Well that’s just rude,” he jabbed, a small smile still dancing on his lips to show no real malice toward her. They continued eating, Naexi replaying his laugh in her head as many times as she could. They polished off most of the pizza, leaving just a few slices that she began to wrap in aluminum foil. He rolled up his sleeves and started the water in the sink. A small black hair tie was pulled off his wrist as he positioned his hair into a messy bun with a few pieces falling out to frame his sharp bone structure. Naexi’s brain nearly short-circuited.

“You don’t--”

“I want to.” He nudged her with his elbow, now revealed along with a long forearm. She nearly had to wipe her mouth at the sight. “Contrary to your obvious belief, I do know how to do work.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” With a firm nod, he focused on the steaming water flowing and scrubbed the plates with a strength showcased in the flexing of his arms. He moved with a natural grace that seemed to seep into every move he made, whether he was simply walking down the street or working hard to clean her plates. She went back to her seat at the island and watched his back while he cleaned. The sound of the music was barely audible over the roar of the water, and the combination of sounds lulled her as her eyes roved from the top of his shoulders down to the perfect curve of his ass, delectably sculpted in his slacks. The gravity of just who he was seemed to finally be hitting her. 

She had one of the richest men in America in her kitchen cleaning her dishes. And damn, if he didn’t look good doing it. 

Tyril was acutely aware of her eyes on him, and he was extremely happy that the water was hiding the shaking of his hands from his nerves. He tensed up when he felt her walk behind him, her arm brushing over her backside in a barely innocent gesture as she walked to the fridge, grabbing a soda from the door. 

“You want anything?” Not trusting his voice, he shut the water off and shook his head, giving her a small smile. She took out a bottle of water for him anyway. Eager to continue any sort of conversation with her and extend the date, Tyril racked his brain for something to say. 

“Your brother,” he began, freezing up when her eyes fell on him. “What does he do?” 

“He’s a musician. Last I heard...I think he was on tour in France.” 

“Wow.” She smiled and grabbed a frame off a nearby table, the picture inside featuring a man with brown hair that fell over his forehead as his fingers strummed a black guitar on a stage backed with green lights. 

“His name’s Kade.” Their fingers brushed as she passed him the frame. 

“Is your entire family full of artists? Photographer, musician…”

“Oh, I was adopted.” Looking closer at the picture, Tyril admitted to himself that there were no similarities in how the siblings appeared. “Kade’s always been the wilder one, though.” His eyebrows raised.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’d be surprised at some of the antics Kade has gotten up to throughout the years. You got any siblings?” She took a sip of her soda and Tyril was briefly distracted by the way her lips wrapped around the lip of the can. 

“Yes, just one. Adrina.”

“Fancy name.”

“Speak for yourself, Naexi.”

“Touche.” She took another sip and Tyril decided to look away lest the night end far differently than he originally thought it would. Her own heart fluttered at the way his tongue molded her name. “You can sit, if you’d like. Or do you feel the need to tower over everyone else in the room?” Gesturing to the open stool next to her, she laughed at his frown. 

“I don’t tower,” he said, but he sat next to her anyway. His long legs bumped against hers, sending shocks to his spine at every contact. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? He studied the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her lips naturally curved into a smirk, the way her eyes easily communicated an entire array of emotions that she seemed to pick and choose to display from like a catalogue. A strand of black hair fell against her cheekbone and he moved it behind her ear without thinking. They were close, getting closer, both gazes dropping to the lips nearly physically connected, already linked by the soft breaths shared. Time was moving slow, too slow, and Tyril ached for the clock to keep ticking, to keep bringing him closer and closer to feeling Naexi’s lips on his, to feeling the perpetual heat surrounding her to engulf him with it. After what seemed like an eternity, their lips were just a centimeter away from each other. His breath tickled her cheek as he whispered.

“May I kiss you?”

[sunsetinmyvein]

Just Off the Key of Reason - Chapter One - Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

Monday, 5th of March, 2007 – Boston, Massachusetts

The trip to Boston had mostly passed in silence. She had sat on the back bench of the bus working on paperwork given to her by the label while the rest of them did their own thing. Pete scrawled in his notebook, Patrick listened to music, and Joe and Andy chatted happily at the front of the bus, too far away for her to hear the conversation properly over the music coming from the radio. They had set out somewhat early that morning so that they could sleep well and continue the drive to the venue the next day. Patrick’s older brother lived in the middle of the two cities and had been happy to let them crash at his house while he was away for the week with work. After a few hours of driving they pulled up for their first rest stop to refuel the bus and themselves. Joe was the first to make the brisk jog to the bathroom, and while the others waited for their turn they stood around the small aisles of the glorified gas station convenience store. A pair of blue tinted sunglasses instantly caught Pete’s attention and he strolled away from his two band mates to investigate. He took off his own and tried them on, admiring himself briefly in the small mirror attached to the stand before coming to the decision that he wanted them. Taking a quick glance at the price tag hanging off the side, he ripped it off and slipped his old sunglasses into his pocket. Suddenly he felt a presence standing behind him, so he busied himself examining the rest of the sunglasses on display.

“I don’t think you came in with those.” She spoke up from behind him. He spun on the ball of his foot to face her, seeing the look of disapproval etched into her features.

“I’ve had these for ages.” He lied with an easy shrug.

“Really, now?” She asked, her gaze flicking to the price tag lying by Pete’s feet.

“Yep.”

“Put them back.” She ordered, leaning down to pick up the tag and hold it out to him.

“No.” He frowned, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose for emphasis.

“Yes, Peter.” She growled. He could tell she wouldn’t budge, so he opted to change his tactic.

“Pete,” He corrected, turning on his charming smile as he lowered the glasses to make eye contact. “Babe, don’t you want me to look my best? You’re the one who has to look at me every day.” He purred, taking a step towards her and placing a hand on her waist. She only looked up at him, so he continued. “I could get you something too.” He offered, moving close to her ear so that he could whisper and place a kiss on her cheek. For a moment she didn’t react, so he held his ground, knowing full well that girls always fell for his charms. She ran a hand up his chest and moved her head slightly so that they were close enough to feel their breath mingling between them. He was instantly silently celebrating his success as he leaned in for the kiss. But before he could close the distance, her hand shot up and pulled the glasses away from his face faster than he could even comprehend what she’d done. There was no opportunity for him to object as she marched to the counter and placed the glasses and the price tag in front of the cashier, apologising briefly before calling them all back out to the bus. He cursed under his breath, annoyed that he’d been so easily tricked into giving them up. As a move of revenge on the way out, he snatched a candy bar and slipped it into his pocket. But he swore he saw her paying for it at the till through the bus window as he moved back into his seat.

 It was another few hours before they made it to Patrick’s brothers’ house. It was a small, family home tucked into a suburban neighbourhood with all the usual trimmings; a white picket fence wrapped around the property and a small wooden porch sat out the front with a bench next to the entryway. They felt a bit like they were walking into a movie set with how perfect it looked. Patrick walked up to the door, grabbing the key from above the frame before letting them into the house. The inside was just as sickly sweet as the outside. They were greeted with a staircase as soon as they entered, family portraits lining the wall on the way up. To their left was a living room with a fireplace and a large couch. Further in the back a kitchen could be seen and it was assumed all the bedrooms were upstairs. Thankfully, Patrick’s brother had a relatively large family and everyone could have their own room for the night, but all of them felt a little bit uneasy in the house, like they were intruding even though nobody was home. Pete in particular felt out of place. He was never one for the middle of the road life, and staying in a house like this only made him remember why. Everything seemed so fake to him; the smiles in the posed family photos, the way everything was ridiculously clean and most importantly, the fact that the place seemed like people didn’t actually live here. Andy meanwhile looked mostly at home, though part of him felt the tension as well, albeit for different reasons. Part of him had always wondered what it would be like if he hadn’t chosen this path, and as he examined the obviously meaningful trophies and Knick-knacks placed carefully on top of the mantle, he felt a bit bittersweet that he might never have a life like this for himself. After a few silent minutes of contemplation from everyone, Patrick finally spoke up.

“I’ll stay in my brothers’ room; all of the others are fairly similar but you guys should probably go up and pick where you want to sleep. He told me there was a casserole in the fridge with instructions on how to cook it, so I guess I’ll go work out how to use their oven.” He said with a small smile before moving into the kitchen.

 It turned out Patrick’s sister-in-law was a very good cook, and Patrick himself was handy enough with an oven to work out how to not ruin her hard work that she had left for them. The meal was mostly quiet, excluding the odd comment about their show tomorrow night every now and again. By the time they had finished, most of them were happy to turn in for the night, tired for being stuck in the bus all day.

“I might hit the hay.” She yawned.

“Yeah, I’m beat.” Joe added, running a hand through his hair. Andy nodded in agreement, pushing his chair out from the dining room table to stretch slightly.

“I’m gonna make sure my guitar is ready for tomorrow. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Patrick said from the kitchen as he finished drying the dishes.

“Yeah, I should probably tune my bass.” Pete sighed, standing up to retrieve it from the bus. The singer watched from the sink as everyone slowly filed upstairs.

“Hey,” He heard her call from the stairwell. He looked up from the dishes to meet her gaze down the hall. “Don’t stay up too late.” She flashed him a friendly smile and he nodded in response. “And Pete?” She called as he stepped back into the household. He hummed in response as he shut the door behind him. “Don’t break anything.” She added before continuing up the stairs to her room for the night.

“DoN’t BrEaK aNyThInG.” He mocked under his breath.  

 Patrick had insisted on leaving the house how they had found it, wanting to make sure that everything was clean before taking care of his guitar. After a very long hour of waiting for the bassist, he and Patrick soon found themselves sitting in the front lounge room. Pete had a look of deep concentration on his face as he tried to tune his bass by ear, in the end snatching Patrick’s tuner and doing it properly. “I feel like we should go talk to her.” Patrick said quietly, plucking one of the strings lightly before twisting the peg a touch to the left.  

“Why?” Pete grumbled, slipping his bass back into its bag.

“Because she’s going to be hanging around for like… half a year?” He scoffed. “Do you really want to be angry at someone for that long?” Instantly he regretted his words, because he knew that Pete would relish in that. Pete liked being angry at people. It gave him a reason to be a dick and not feel bad about it, to cut out people who were too much effort. More often than not, it was just easier for him to find reasons to be angry at someone than it was for him to compromise the parts of his personality required to maintain friendships.

“Is that a challenge?” Pete grinned deviously.

“No, Pete…” Patrick sighed. “Just… cut her some slack. She’s only doing her job.” He strummed a few notes, making sure he was content with how his Gretsch sounded before placing it back in the carry case.

“Yeah, well her job is fucking annoying.”  He spat.

 Tuesday, 6th of March, 2007 – Boston, Massachusetts

They left early the following morning to get to the venue with plenty of time to set up for the show. Andy and Joe were happy to split the final eight-hour shift at the wheel, while the other three members of the road trip crew continued the journey in silence. They arrived with three hours before the show, but most of that time was used up in unloading their equipment from the bus and sound checking. They only had just over half an hour to sit down and mentally prepare for the crowd they would be facing. When the time came for them to take the stage, she stood on the sidelines and watched them play. It was undeniable that they put on a good show, and their songs sounded just as good live as they did on disc, if not better. She had wondered if Patrick’s voice was altered at all in their tracks to hit some of the notes that he did in songs, but she was surprised to see that he could hold up to all his own music when it was played live. Joe was happy to get the crowd into it, always jumping and spinning and putting as much energy as he could into all his movements. Andy seemed content to sit behind his kit at the back of the stage and not have to engage with the crowd, but the look in his eyes suggested that he was in his element. And Pete… Pete was just constantly a worry. At one point throughout the show he swung his bass around his shoulders so hard that from the sidelines she could just picture the strap snapping and it crashing into their equipment. Or worse, a part of the venue that the label would have to pay to fix. During another song he leapt off an amp with so much force that it nearly tumbled off the stage into the crowd. When they stepped off the stage for their short break before the encore, she made a beeline for him.

 “Be more careful with your bass.” She scolded. He looked down at her from over his bottle of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he pulled it away.

“What?” He frowned as he placed the bottle next to him.

“How you were swinging it around out there and jumping off stuff, it’s not a cheap instrument.” She elaborated as Andy caught wind of the conversation and slowly made his way over.

“It’s my bass.” He reminded.

“That your label bought for you.” She countered. He stood there for a moment, trying his best not to reach out and punch her in the face.

“Don’t fucking tell me how to do my job.” He growled.

“I’m not telling you how to play, I’m just telling you not to-”

“Break anything? Steal anything? Cost the label any more than the bare minimum they want to offer me? I know! I fucking know!” He yelled as he took a menacing step towards her. Andy quickly grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled him towards the stage.

“Come on, we’re back on.” He said, trying to diffuse the situation. As they walked out for their final few songs, the crowd went wild. Pete made sure she was looking straight at him as he kicked a hole through one of their amps in the last number, shooting her a sarcastic smile.  

 The show was a hit with the fans and the band decided to spend a few minutes by the back door, posing for pictures and signing items. By the time they had finally made their way back inside and loaded all the equipment into the bus, it was just after midnight. Patrick walked down the empty halls of the venue, trying to make sure that they hadn’t missed anything before setting off to their next stop in New York. As he rounded the corner he saw a familiar figure sitting on the edge of the stage. “Sorry that the guys haven’t been very… sociable.” He apologised with a sheepish smile, making his way over to her.  

“It’s all right,” She shrugged, looking up at him. He noticed that she had been reading as he moved to sit next to her. “I can’t say I’d like it if I was told I was going to be stuck with someone I didn’t like day in, day out either.” She shut the book in her lap, turning to face him.

“No, no, no, I’m sure it’s not that,” Patrick assured, although the voice in the back of his mind told him that Pete and Joe were probably not overly fond of her. “They just don’t know you yet!”

“And you do?” She asked with a smirk. He paused for a moment, adjusting his glasses as he tried to think of an answer.

“Well, no… I, uh…” He stumbled as he scratched at one of his sideburns anxiously. “You seem cool. I’m not about to write you off just because you got stuck with us. The fact that you’ve put Pete in his place a few times already says a lot about you. Most women would’ve fallen prey to his charm instantly.” He chuckled.

“Thanks, Pat.” She smiled at him, making him freeze for a moment at the new nickname. Nobody had called him that in years, he was pretty sure the last person that had called him Pat had been yelled at so badly that nobody dared to bring it up again. It was a name that he only allowed for family members because he felt bad whenever he told them off for using it, and his grandma also seemed to constantly forget that he didn’t like it. But as he looked at the girl sitting across from him, he felt like maybe it didn’t sound so bad this one time and decided to let it slide.

[enby-prompto]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum Characters: Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia Additional Tags: Post Cartanica, Past Violence, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Canon Compliant, chapter 10, the heart of a king, Gladio Knows He Did Something Wrong, Post Altissa, POV Third Person Limited, POV Prompto Argentum, For Catharsis Summary:

The train kept steaming on ahead, endlessly and without pause, away from Accordo, away from Lucis, closer to Tenebrae, and ever more toward their final destination: Gralea. It was now that the low and consistent rumble of the engine and tight walls became oppressive, as if the tracks before them came to an inevitable but abrupt end and he was helpless to stop it. If anyone had cared to ask Prompto, he just might have replied that they may as well be heading straight for a cliff.

But he couldn’t say that, not when Gladio and Noct had finally stopped fighting.

Prompto tried to ignore the growing ache in his jaw.

Written for @kaciart 

Edited by @chocobutt-trash

Read on Archive or Under the Cut

Prompto couldn’t help but notice the way his body gently swayed in time with the train car, right to left and back. It hadn't even been an hour since they had left Cartanica, and already the trip into the Royal Tomb felt like a lifetime away.

He had chosen to watch the sunset in the dining car. Its inappropriately early rays bounced off the chrome lining in the seats and window panes, casting odd patches of intensely strong light, and he had sat there, not hungry, content to watch the ebb and flow of the his fellow passengers, crossing the pools of light carelessly, casting even stranger shadows along the wall. The light faded as quickly as it appeared.

It would have been nice to snap a few shots, but no one would available to share the evidence with later. Noctis had coasted straight off to sleep shortly after they had departed, Gladio had stomped off somewhere, and well, there was Iggy, but… his spirits snagged before they could rise, and fell as fast as the encroaching night spanning above the train. What good was it taking photos of a trip you didn’t want to remember?

But they had found the next Royal Tomb, together. Even with Iggy in his current state, they had proved that they could still function, and as a team. Prompto should have been psyched, but even as he peered up at where his emotions were supposed to be functioning, they hung low overhead. Ever since they had departed Altissa, the weight in his chest grew with time and distance; growing dread coursed through his veins and kept him from sleep.

Their trip, the world, everything, was off kilter. Somewhere along the way, everything had gone so wrong. Prompto couldn't shake the feeling that they were running late; they had taken a wrong turn and only had to double back. He could almost remember the wedding as it should have happened, echoing in his mind like a phantom limb, the shots he would have taken, the way he wanted his suit to fit. His brain rewriting the way the world fell away when they had finally found Noctis and … not …

Guess he’d never get to meet Lady Lunafreya now.

Prompto sucked in air too quickly, his own thoughts winding him. Pushing aside the thought threatening to choke him, he noted how the warm lamplight in the cabin was such a weak substitute for the earlier sun. Most everyone had cleared out at that point, leaving him with only a few folks lingering in the back booths. Even the kitchen had closed. The chef, if you could call him that, followed the last group out.

And still, the train kept steaming on ahead, endlessly and without pause, away from Accordo, away from Lucis, closer to Tenebrae, and ever more toward their final destination: Gralea. It was now that the low and consistent rumble of the engine and tight walls became oppressive, as if the tracks before them came to an inevitable but abrupt end and he was helpless to stop it. If anyone had cared to ask Prompto, he just might have replied that they may as well be heading straight for a cliff.

But he couldn’t say that, not when Gladio and Noct had finally stopped fighting.

Prompto tried to ignore the growing ache in his jaw. As the light outside finally faded, he caught his reflection in the window beside him. It was jarring. The face that peered back at him seemed to have aged a few years in as many months. Sad satisfaction washed over him as he noted his weight, he really had lost more than intended; his cheekbones sunken, the corners of his eyes redder than usual, bags accompanying them. If it weren’t for the fact he looked like crap, a younger version of himself would be jealous.

Just under the skin, over the origin of that ache, gentle purple had arisen in a shape that Prompto tried to ignore. Fingerprints. His heart fell.

How long had that been there? Had the others seen? It couldn’t have been there long, right? They would have said something.

They would have, right?

His gaze fell to his hands, uselessly grasping at each other on the table, glad that the worse side was the one facing glass. He ignored the tug in his guts, willing himself numb while the memory of his same hands running over tattooed skin, bodies close, and the sensation of a broad hand cradling his head so tenderly morphed into one that shoved him so hard he spun and crashed against an armrest in the narrow aisle.

Prompto huffed and grit his teeth, disturbing the relative quiet of the train car, unwilling to follow that train of thought any further.

Not that it would be the first time. He, of course, had been smacked in the face after running straight for a cactuar, who thought it would be funny to use the Shield’s shield as a springboard. As the big guy had turned, Prompto went flying face first into his fist. Honest mistake. He wore that shiner for about a week, which had felt about twice as long due to the endless teasing.

But that had been then, on a sunny day in Duscae. Prompto frowned. The bruise was going to stay for about as long. Maybe he would swap vests, the higher collar of his other outfit might be enough to distract from the blemish. Maybe. He could just ignore it, or pass it off as battle damage, but…

The rest of his body ached then, back and knees stinging from use just enough to derail his train of thought. Cartanica was the first real run as a group since they had left Lucis, and a few residual dings from that Malboro reminded him that he had to be better now, more efficient.

It was then the car door opened, and even without looking, he could spy tattooed shoulders and familiar stance.

Gladio.

He hung back for some reason; Prompto, unwilling to meet his gaze, took to studying his hands and desperately hoping the bruising couldn’t be seen from where he was standing.

It wasn't like he was angry… he just, didn't know what to say. They got to the tomb. Iggy made the choice to stay. They were all good. Prompto couldn't bring himself to think of anything else worth mentioning. Nonetheless, Gladiolus stepped forward, stopping next to Prompto’s booth.

“Where’s Iggy?”

Prompto had to speak, before an awkward silence could descend.

The taller man placed a hand on the back of the booth opposite, eyeing the empty counter instead of the figure before him.

“With Noct.” The Shield’s tone was even, which for some reason surprised Prompto. Still, he kept his gaze turned downward, side-eyeing the way Gladio’s reflection caught the light.

“Can I sit?”

Shit.

“Uh… Yeah, sure. ‘Course!”

Prompto scooted over to make space as the other moved to sit opposite.

The tattooed man stopped short, shooting back a confused look.

“No, it’s uh, it’s - we’re all good,” the blond twisted his mouth into a smile, moving back to the center of the bench and forcing himself to meet the other’s eyes, landing on his collarbone instead. Close enough. Gladio didn’t sit down.

Shit.

Prompto blinked at him, fake smile plastered on with old glue, slowly peeling away upon realizing that from where the Shield was standing he could catch an ample glance at the gunner’s jawline and the mark that was there.

Shit shit shit shit.

He choked in staccato.

“I, uh, we did great today! I’m… um, really glad that we - that everything worked out…” Prompto turned away not long after he began talking, as if he was suddenly very interested in what lay outside the window. Which was now in complete darkness, leaving nothing but his reflection.

The big guy sat down beside him, arm draping around the back of the bench and taking up the remaining space in the booth. While Prompto wanted to relax into the constant warmth Gladio seemed to put out, he felt trapped, pressed up against a rock and a hard place. Well, a Shield and a hard place.

Shit.

He didn’t want to do this right now.

What was there to say?

They all did great together.

Everything was okay.

Prompto’s hands grasped each other again, and he prayed to whatever remaining gods were around for the exchange to be over. But silence stretched on for several moments, and it was enough to drive him to shoot over a curious glance to his companion, who was respectively staring a hole into the seat before him.

Good gods, did he look tired. Of course, spending a day picking off beasts and daemons would wear anyone out, but Prompto hadn’t seen the other man look that tired since, well, since… the Fall.

Apparently, Prompto hadn’t been the only one run ragged by the past few months, and suddenly the blond felt like an idiot for not seeing it before. They had both been covering for Iggy and Noct for so long, and as they grew closer to their final destination, it was only becoming more and more apparent.

Gladio wasn’t angry, he was scared.

Prompto bit his lip and looked away again, trying to quell the gnawing in his gut.

“Listen,” Gladio rumbled, shifting his gaze opposite the blond. Prompto turned his head in response, but found himself studying the window panes again instead of looking anywhere near his companion. He could hear a deep inhale.

“Prompto, I-” The train lurched to the side, throwing them just slightly off balance. Gladio brought his other hand to the table to steady himself, and Prompto knocked back into the taller man’s arm. Unwittingly, their gazes met.

Prompto wanted to melt, the warm brown eyes upon him shining in the lamplight. The hard, piercing glower that the blond had been expecting was actually so… soft, yet unyielding. He had seen this look before, after they had taken in a hurt chocobo and Gladio had to carry it back to Wiz’s. The whole way back, it cried. While the Shield had put up a strong front for the first half of the trip, by the time they had returned, the big guy could hardly pull himself away, murmuring “Oh, no… Shhh, it’s going to be okay. You’re gonna be alright. Shhhh…” Prompto could so clearly hear the words despite the hushed tone, and had swooned. That was the moment he realized he wanted to trust Gladio with his life.

They were okay. Everything was fine.

Just as Prompto felt himself leaning in, Gladio brought a gentle touch to his ear, eyes narrowing on the bruising. Suddenly, it was far too cramped, and Prompto’s breath hitched.

It was then blue eyes blinked away to the tattooed arm on at the table, and it took all that he had to contain a cringe.

Gladio, to his credit, looked stricken and withdrew.

“Prompto, I-” he tried again, only to be cut off.

“It’s fine! I guess I just knocked into a rock fighting that Malboro!”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s okay! We’re all-”

“Cut the crap, Prompto!” Gladio brought his fist down onto the table, grabbing the attention of the last remaining passenger in the car, who left in short order. It was then he seemed to remember himself, and sighed pointedly. When he looked back to Prompto, he must have noticed his eyes welling with tears, because his face fell yet again. Shame streaked his features as he looked away.

“I know what I did.”

“I know… but…” Prompto tried, blinking away moisture, desperately reaching for his ability to restore his mask. Gladio caught his gaze dead on again, eyes puffy and stained with irritation as he ran a hand over the surface of the table.

“I'm sorry.”

Those two words were barely mouthed, but they broke the gunman, and a sob escaped his chest. Gladio watched the blond deteriorate, eyes bright, usual veil of stoicism torn to shreds.

“It’s not okay,” Prompto gasped, wishing he could curl up into nothing. Gladio shook his head, pained and repentant expression all too real.

“It’s like… you didn’t even see me,” Prompto’s voice broke, tears falling down his cheeks, “None of this is okay.” He pulled away from the other, denial fading away like sunlight. A dejected Gladio moved to stand. The train car grew colder as the man peeled away, and Prompto reached out before he could stop himself. He caught a hand, desperately coming to grasp the other’s last three fingers.

Gladio froze. Prompto inhaled deeply, grip unfailing.

They both looked, not at each other, but their hands. A broad palm slowly turned to meet the anxious grip around his fingers, intertwining assurance.

Gladio returned to his seat, stretching an arm around Prompto’s shoulders and pulling him in. Breathing a long held sigh, the blond let the warmth of his partner wash away the tension in his shoulders. In the dim lamplight, Prompto eyed the veins in his hands, knuckles white as he gripped hard enough to hide how his hands wanted to shake. Very softly, he swore he heard a gentle “shh” from the other, before his grip was returned in kind. With an even inhale, Prompto leaned until temple met collarbone. He could feel a cheekbone pressed against the top of his head.

Minutes stretched on as they sat in silence, nothing to hold onto but the other.

The train barreled on, an encroaching snow storm invisible in the night.

[scrollthebreakfasttable-blog]

Breakfast with Desi

In today’s social media world, there are two types of art that, in the eyes of many, are oversaturated. In the city of Atlanta a phrase I’ve heard often, and have even used: “throw a rock in any direction and you’ll either hit a photographer or a SoundCloud rapper.” But while I was sitting there, scrolling through her Instagram, I felt nervous, because the woman that was about to sit down with me isn’t just any photographer. I was sitting down with Deseri Rice, one of the best photographers in Atlanta.

To me, Beyonce, Solange, Yara Shahidi, Zendaya, Janelle Monae, Ava DuVernay, Lupita, and Deseri Rice, are top of the list when I think of the phrase Black Girl Magic. Each of these women are trailblazers, visionaries, and undeniable talents. For anyone who ever modeled for Desi, the feeling of being in front of her camera is completely different from other shoots. Normally you’re focused on giving a look, or appearing to follow a certain aesthetic. Desi frees you from that, and is one of the few photographers who truly captures you as you are, as your truest self. After a friendly hug I decided to dive into some questions.

What got you into photography?

I’ve always been into the fashion ads in magazines and editing my profile pics for myspace. It wasn’t until my Intro to Photography class that I discovered it as my passion. After learning the controls I took it and ran with it.

How do you pick your people? Ever turn anybody down that got mad about it?

I feel as if everyone has their own uniqueness about them. It may not be as evident as some but I take it as a challenge. I haven’t really turn anyone away. If it’s not one of my concepts then it’s a paid gig and usually that filters out the ones I’m not creatively connected to. Honestly if my models are passionate about the project and really into it, it always works out. I will say I’ve had a few that aren’t on the same creative plane and I just let that dissolve on its own naturally. But I encourage everyone to find themselves in front of the camera.

Your tag is deseritheartist but every time I hear people talk about you they say “Desi The God”. Why not take that handle?

I’m honored of the title honestly. I don’t mind others calling me that but I rather not call myself a God for personal reasons. I played around with the spelling and still felt uneasy. Also I don’t want others that don’t know me the wrong impression of me calling myself that.

I honestly find this part fascinating. Myself included, ego has always played a major role in the world of entertainment, from the justified confidence of Grammy winners, to has beens like Bow Wow and his lies about private jets. The concept of “fake it ‘till you make it” and showing out for an audience has always seemed extremely important, but from what I can see, faking anything is beyond Desi. She’s real, she’s honest, and she’s kind. That’s a major breath of fresh air, one I think everyone who meets her appreciates. As usual, I start to lose focus after my strawberry pancakes arrive, so I went back to asking questions so I wouldn’t have to do much talking.

At what point in a shoot do you look and go “Oh shit, I did that!”? When do you know you’ve taken the perfect shot?

During photo sessions I get this high feeling like mid session after me and the sitter(s) have warmed up and I just let go. This feeling doesn’t happen every session which doesn’t mean those shots weren’t good but some of my best shots comes from that feeling. It’s like I’ve caught the photo holy ghost lol.That feeling man, I can't explain it. After i see the result from that feeling, that’s always my reaction. I really be in awe sometimes while editing, that’s when it hits me the most.

Top 3 models/celebrities you’d love to shoot?

There’s not many I follow. But i find Kiko Mizuhara, Luka Sabbat, and Kwollem style very intriguing. There’s more but definitely my top three.

Desi laughed when I passed on my idea that a collaboration between herself and Zendaya would probably snatch every wig in existence.

Top 3 magazines you’d love to do a cover shoot for?

There are a few that I’d like to work with like Blanc, MODZIK, and Pause Magazine. I’m actually working on my own, AU COURANT, be on the lookout.

Desi has recently announced that AU COURANT is still in development but a release date has not yet been chosen. Check her social media for updates on that via her instagram @deseritheartist

Cosmo? Essence? Or Vogue?

It would be cool to have a spread in all of these.

For your IG followers, your story is always lit. Seems like you always find the dope events and shows. In Atlanta there’s an event every 10 feet, so what’s your secret to avoiding wackness?

I really love these questions lol I’ve had several people come up to me like “Yo, Des what’s the move?” There’s tons of things to do in Atlanta just gotta be plugged in. If the vibe isn’t right I leave immediately. My secret is follow the DJ’s lol the ones you really like have a following with similar taste and you can never go wrong with the crowd.

One example of this that any follower of Desi’s knows is her friendship with an incredible DJ known as Thrice Groove. Thrice is slowly but surely taking over Atlanta, and Desi has been there to witness the way he dominates a room with his amazing sound.

Top 10 songs on your playlist right now?

Out of a trillion? I flip flop a lot between decades and genres so I revisit a lot like the song just dropped.  Lol in no order.

Blossom Dearie - Ravyn Lenae

Supposed to Say Goodbye - Etta bond & Raf Riley

Pick it Up - Famous Dex

Dam Girl - Frills

Vogue -Full Crate

Mi Gente - J.Balvin & Willy William

Due to Me- Jean Deaux

Distractions I: The opposite sex - Kilo Kish

Hold It Down - Mia Gladstone

Get Money - Michael Da Vinci

Despite my extensive music library I feel a tinge of shame for not recognizing a single name listed, and make a mental note to download every single artist later. Aside from a great photographer’s eye, Desi also has an amazing ear for music, so anything she reccomends is usually dope.

So in today’s social media age, there’s photographers who literally get paid to live with and follow influencers. What’s the dollar amount you’d do that for? Or never ever?

Depends. If i really f with that person’s vision and I have full creative flexibility then I’d do it as long as my living expenses are taken care of. I’ve actually never heard of this.

At this moment I pull of my phone and show her my favorite example, a talented guy out of LA known as Brendan North, who until a few months ago, would follow Logan Paul. With a simple “oh, cool” she goes back to her food.

3 breakfast must haves?

Eggwhite Omelette, all the veggies and pepper jack cheese. Breakfast potatoes with veggies. My mom’s grits with cheese (very particular about my grits)

I laugh a little because while she works her way through her healthy omelette, I’m still waging war on the Colorado Omelette, which is the exact opposite of healthy. If I wanted to I could probably come up with some correlation between her talent, incredible vibe, and responsible eating, but I’d rather pretend there’s unrelated and not give up my Colorado Omelettes.

Last month Desi put on an amazing event called Only On Thursdays. She did one last year that went amazingly well, and this one also did not disappoint. In fact, Breakfast Table has the honor of being one of the vendors. It was the perfect place for artists to represent themselves on an equal, and supportive, playing field.

What is “Only On Thursdays”? Only On Thursday’s originated from me wanted to showcase my work gallery style but also involve the music scene in Atlanta that I want to share with my friends. Also to bring back that portfolio review feel from college. I felt like I lost my creative mojo once I graduated because projects aren’t forced on me anymore. My main goal is bring together everything I love and give local photographers and artist a platform to present their work. Many are scared to take that step. This event is for everyone to get inspired and take that leap. So far I’ve helped maybe 4 artist showcase their talents for the first time and hopefully it doesn’t stop there.

How do you decide what artists to put in your show? I do not do open calls for artist. They are carefully picked by what I believe will flow well with the collection and from whom I gain inspiration. They aren’t super famous artist, they might not have a collection by the time I contact them. Really just your everyday artist coming together for something awesome.

You have this crazy soulful element to your photos, it’s like, you can identify a Desi shot out of a group. So, my last question: Do you realize how dope you are? Lol i’m just me.

I believe with all my heart that someday, Desi herself, and the world, will realize her greatness.

-Amelia

[codename-bewareofthefangirl]

Hell Mission, IwaOi

DEAAAR @kiviont! Sorry, when people tag me in the comments I don’t receive any notification and I’ve noticed it only know. Anyway, I’ve written this on the train during a no-day, trying to cheer me up. After your comic I was stuck on the story and in the end I couldn’t resist: I wrote this little thing, just to satisfy myself a bit. Now, I’ve corrected it (I hope, since usually my English sucks) and fixed some parts; I don’t know if I should write a sequel or not,  every time I write about IwaOi I feel like I could write about them for hours. I hope you won’t be disappointed by the the setting, explanations or developing. I just love their bantering and immediate pining: those two for me a real soulmates.

Have fun and enjoy!

IwaOi, Spy!Iwaizumi x ProPlayer!Oikawa AU, Inspired by/Sequel of This Post, Humor, Fluff, Oikawa Is Thirsty, Iwaizumi Is Done, Mentions of Akaashi/Bokuto/Kuroo/Sugawara

 Hell Mission

 “Akaashi please send someone else.”

“Iwaizumi-san pl-”

“Akaashi, I’m serious. Send. Someone. Else.”

A sigh from the other end of the transceiver.

“Iwaizumi-san, it’s the first time you’ve asked me something like this in years and I’d love to help you, but, unfortunately, it’s impossible. I can’t send a substitute agent at this time.”

Iwaizumi groaned loudly, hitting the white wall with the palm of the hand.

“Why?” He asked, nearly begged.

Another sigh.

“First, because we’ve already sent to anyone who’s organizing the wedding party your false identity and you can’t suddenly disappear. It could blow our cover.” Akaashi kept speaking in an unexpressive tone, but Iwaizumi could recognize that infamous inflection he used to calm down Bokuto during his childish mood swings and it was irking him, “Second, you’re closed in the restroom. What do you expect me to do?”

Oh, the devil was even smirking right now, Iwaizumi could swear it.

“He’s tried to hit on me. He. Has. Hit. On. Me.” He hissed trying to keep his voice down as someone suddenly entered the luxurious bathroom.

“Yeah, he has good tastes, nothing strange.” Iwaizumi had to bite his tongue to not curse and clenched his fists, waiting for the guest to leave. When he heard the toilet flush and the door closing, he exhaled tiredly.

“Do not make things worse, Akaashi. I’m not supposed to get in touch with him.”

“He’s the one trying to approach you, it would be more strange to blatantly avoid him. Especially when he’s that handsome, and please do not deny it, I have eyes.”

“Yeah, I have them too, thanks. But he’s a freak: he’s followed me after I turned him down and he’s annoyingly persistent. He calls me Hiri-chan and I haven’t even told him my fake name. By the way, I fucking hate it.”

Iwaizumi should have known, from the second his eyes had lingered a second too much on that fake, flamboyant smile, that the mission was going to be hell. “It’s the usual bodyguard stuff!” they have said, “It’s only a week!”, “You’re attending a wedding! You can eat and enjoy yourself as much as you want!” they have repeated while pushing him on a plane to L.A.

Bullshit.

After three hours of following around his never-stopping target, the same guy had had the guts to corner Iwaizumi and shamelessly hit on him.

“It only means the cover is working well,” Akaashi tried to reassure him, not understanding what was bothering his colleague that much, (apart from the name thing, but he found that amusing), “You can’t do nothing about his…cheerful personality.”

“Shitty personality!” Iwaizumi automatically corrected him, “I’ve seen him showing real emotions maybe twice in the entire day…Anyway! That’s not the problem! I wasn’t trying to attract attention, Akaashi. Hell! I tried to keep a low profile!” Iwaizumi said frustrated as he paced back and forth the lucid tile of the toilet. At that point, he hoped someone was going to attack the target for real so that he could vent all that stress out.

“Bokuto let you know that it’s because you’re hot, especially with that shirt, and to not worry about it.” In the background, Iwaizumi could hear the loud agent cackling, probably with Kuroo.

“Tell him I’m going to whoop his ass as soon as I come back.”

He could practically hear Akaashi’ smile.

“I will,” he complied with the usual politeness, “Now, please Iwaizumi-san, leave that restroom and go back to the party. Our target can’t remain without cover too long and you’ve been away for fifteen minutes.”

Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing his temples, but nodded. He knew he hadn’t a choice and, honestly, now that he had calmed a bit, his pride as a secret agent was prodding him to find his mark and do his job as good as he usually did: perfectly. Iwaizumi wasn’t the ace agent of his agency without motive.

“Akaashi?”

“Yes?”

“Keep your eyes open,” Iwaizumi mumbled, “That guy approached me too quickly. It’s strange.”

“Iwaizumi-san, he’s a professional volleyball player, please relax.”

He heard a sudden ruckus and a loud voice pierced his left eardrum.

“GOOD LUCK IWA!” Bokuto screamed excitedly. “EAT A LOT OF GOOD FOOD! THE TARTS LOOK DELICIOUS!”

“Relax Iwa!” Kuroo followed with a lazy chuckle “The poor boy just wants a good bang!”

Iwaizumi felt his vein popping and he angrily hanged up before he could lose his patience and blow his cover by yelling at those dumbasses of his friends.

Gritting his teeth, he straightened the collar of his shirt and checked the guns and knife were hidden in their place. He finally opened the door and cautiously exited from the toilet, surveying his surroundings.

Clear.

He washed his face with cold water and glared at his reflection in the mirror, green eyes ready to murder someone on the spot.

“You can do it,” he whispered to himself, “You’re a professional.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath and braced himself.

Oikawa Tooru was just a normal, egocentric, pretty guy. Everything was going to be fine.

  Or maybe not.

The next day, Iwaizumi was once again locked in the toilet of the restroom, trying to understand what the hell had gone wrong with his mission.

“How the fuck is possible?! Is he the devil?” he roared, scrolling through the photos he had taken that morning.

“Well, this is…interesting.” Akaashi mused in his ear.

“No, it’s creepy!” Iwaizumi repeated, tapping furiously on his camera. He felt partially infuriated, partially amazed and a tiny bit scared.

“Are you sure it’s not a coincidence?”

“I was taking photos of everyone, strolling casually around. I was far away, using the zoom to locate him. It can’t be a coincidence,” He replied, staring at a pair of sharp chocolate eyes, “It can’t be.”

After the incident of the afternoon before, he had decided to try and avoid direct contact with the target. He had kept Oikawa under surveillance from further away, focusing on chatting with other guests and building a more credible cover. During the night, he had managed to sleep only three hours, as that devil had chosen to stay up watching old volleyball matches and shitty tv series until four; for this reason, at morning he had been less than inclined to interact and had used the excuse of photography both to avoid conversations and keep an eye on Oikawa from afar. He had taken photos of him, probably with the idea of studying him later.

And Iwaizumi could have sworn that every time he had pressed the button and snapped the photo, Oikawa wasn’t looking at him. He shouldn’t have, because Iwaizumi was far away and faking to photograph flowers, other peoples enjoying themselves and other shit like that. Because Iwaizumi was undercover and a plain, normal guy that had never talked before with the amazing Oikawa Tooru. Because Iwaizumi was good at his job and his job meant secrecy and going unnoticed.

And yet, there he was. Looking directly into the lens, a faint grin on the thin lips as he challenged Iwaizumi.

“This bastard is playing around,” he growled tightening his grip around a particularly good photo of the boy, sunrays playing with his chestnut hair as he entertained a group of damsels, surrounded by bushes of roses. But he was gazing at Iwaizumi.

“Iwai-”

“Don’t worry Akaashi, one way or another I’ll win this battle!” He felt his heart drumming, the lips curving into a predatory smile. Oikawa wanted to play? Oh, he was ready. Iwaizumi was going to show him how fucking good he was.

“Iwaizumi-san I don’t think you should let hi-”

“Later. I’m going.” And he cut off the communication, storming out of the bathroom ready to fight.

 Iwaizumi made small conversation with some random guests, just to mix in the group as he strolled around the spacious, shining ballroom. He side-glanced Oikawa, still surrounded by squealing fans; funny thing, Iwaizumi had never seen him talking to the same person more than twice. Did he really know someone there? He didn’t remember reading about Oikawa’s friends, but maybe he had forgotten it and it wouldn’t have been a surprise. The room was full of people he had been forced to memorize faces and identities, all dressed up in elegant dresses and suits, but that he was already forgetting. It was just…too much. A soft music played in the air, the crystal chandeliers gave everything a golden aura. Well, for being on of the most awaited wedding of the year, they were doing a good job.

“Some champagne, sir?” A posh waiter offered him a flute and he gladly accepted.

The problem with this kind of events? There were too many people. Even if you learned the identity of every guest, an unexpected enemy could still sneak in as a waiter or a forgotten relative or…well, pretty much as everyone. And, obviously, Oikawa had to accept the invite to such a grand occasion instead of staying in his small, tidy apartment where his team could watch over him with ease.

Iwaizumi fought to not frown and sipped the champagne.

“At least the food is good…”

“Well, I’m happy you’re enjoying at least that, since you seem to dislike the company.” It took Iwaizumi all the years of training to not jolt. He stiffened and tried to keep his poker face as he turned to greet his sudden interlocutor.

“The fact that I dislike your company it doesn’t mean I dislike everyone else’s,” he replied blankly. Five seconds before, that little shit was at least twenty feet away from him, how had he done it?

Oikawa Tooru, staring down at him with evident mirth, burst in an amused chuckle.

“Oh no, I’m pretty sure you’re bored out of your mind,” Oikawa winked at him, “I’m an incredibly good observer.” His smirk got sharper as he finished the sentence.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Really? Is it due to your job?” He faked to not know every single detail of Oikawa’s life.

The brunet frowned and then gaped offended, realizing what he meant.

“You don’t know who am I?” He asked incredulous, a ridiculous pout on his lips.

“I even know your favorite brand of milk bread,” Iwaizumi thought, yet he answered with a shrug.

“I just know you’re annoying. And suck at flirting.”

Oikawa was jaw-dropped. Iwaizumi had to mask a grin watching his butt-hurt expression.

“I,” Oikawa stressed it as he scrunched the nose, “am the national volleyball player Oikawa Tooru-”

“Oh right, I’ve seen you. You’re not bad.”

“I’m not bad?-What?-I’m the best!” Oikawa was now outraged, and Iwaizumi couldn’t restrain himself anymore, bursting in a warm laughter.

“Are you making fun of me?” Oikawa asked suspiciously, crossing his arms. Iwaizumi shrugged again, still a faint smirk on his face.

“Maybe?” He took another sip and glanced around, but nothing attracted his attention. Not when his target was chatting with him, not when the most outstanding man in the room was whining like a child by his side.

“And, anyway,” Oikawa continued poking his shoulder, “I don’t suck at flirting.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

“You pinned me to a wall, talking about smooth and subtle,” Iwaizumi snorted, giving him a dirty look. Oikawa scoffed and replied with an alluring half-smile.

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.” Iwaizumi ignored his cheeks heating up and his mind screaming “FUCK HE’S HOT” and remained deadpan.

“Guess it’s not your forte, anyway.”

Oikawa threw up his hands with an exaggerated sigh, “Let’s leave that aside! I mean,” he corrected himself, “it is outrageous and absurd that you don’t appreciate my appeal, yet I’m more disturbed by the fact that this conversation has just destroyed all my hypothesis.”

Even if he still wore that carefree smile, Iwaizumi noted how his eyes had become suddenly serious. He should have left with an excuse, not letting his target drag him into dangerous situation but…there was something captivating, something that pushed Iwaizumi to stay to discover, see more about him. He felt curious. And, damn, challenged and irritated, but that was another factor.

“What hypothesis?” he asked as Oikawa checked him from head to toes.

“Uh? Ah, that you are a tsundere, obsessive fan of mine.” Iwaizumi’s disgusted and horrified expression hurt Oikawa’ pride.

“Do you have this kind of fans?”

“Yeah, from time to time, but you evidently are not one of them.”

“On my dead body,” Iwaizumi assured him gravely. Fuck the mission, he has his pride to protect.

Oikawa nodded, acknowledging his words, and hummed thoughtfully. His long, slender fingers loosened up the knot of the teal tie he was wearing and Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered to the smooth skin of his throat.

“So,” Oikawa mused regaining the other’s attention in a heartbeat, “Why were you photographing me?”

Iwaizumi risked choking. Shit, that dumbass really wasn’t subtle at all.

He stared at his target. The boy was waiting, trying to hide the trepidation behind the sharp, piercing eyes, and everything in his body posture, straight back and arms crossed, signaled that he didn’t have any intention of back up without an answer. Maybe, there was a little of fear or hesitancy in the way he bit the corner of his bottom lip, but Iwaizumi felt sure that wasn’t going to stop Oikawa. He had seen one of his matches: that guy was made to fight, especially battles that seemed impossible.

“How did you know?” He asked instead, taking his time to choose what to do.

Oikawa flashed a peace sign, grinning proudly.

“Setters’ keen senses,” He replied puffing his chest out, “A real setter is able to see everything on the court and to analyze every detail to plan how to move. I told you, I am the best.”

His unwavering self-coincidence struck Iwaizumi. The setter wasn’t joking, he was oozing honesty and pride and, for once, it was genuine and sort of…not annoying? Iwaizumi could tell it wasn’t just boasting, Oikawa knew what he was talking about and seemed to have worked hard for it.

“So?” Oikawa pushed, leaning a bit to get on the same-eye level of his.

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue, irritated by the difference in height, and flickered his forehead. He grabbed the tie of the brunet and pulled him closer.

“Follow me,” he ordered in a gruff whisper and quickly turned on his heels, walking straight to the balcony.

Oikawa, cheeks reddening, stumbled on his feet and rushed behind him. That had been…hot. Shit that man was hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Oikawa could hear his friend Sugawara laughing at him for being such a clumsy, thirsty teenager.

 Iwaizumi guided them until they were in a secluded area of the garden, inside a childish maze of pruned hedges. The red rays of the dying sun cast strange shadows on the ground, while silly couples chased each other or strolled peacefully while talking in whispers. The man nudged to the brunet to sit on a bench of stone.

Oikawa was literally quivering with curiosity as he bounced his leg up and down while he waited for the answer. He wanted to know why that -hot- stranger was observing, or stalking, him and he really, really hoped it wasn’t because he was a sort of psychopath.

Iwaizumi scanned the area, searching for any sign of threats. When he found none, he finally brought his gaze back on the player.

“Could you stop moving? You’re attracting attention,” he grunted with a dirty look.

Oikawa glared.

“If you answered me, maybe I could,” he coldly replied, yet he did as asked and smoothly relaxed his shoulders. He even wore a fake smile, as a practiced mask.

Iwaizumi snorted at his expression, but didn’t comment.

“Do you remember the middle-blocker from the Kyoto Team you defeated three weeks ago?” he asked instead, stretching a bit to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Oikawa eyes fell on his arms and his throat dried.

“You mean the lousy, whiny middle-blocker that offered me money to let them win?” Oikawa managed to answer, tearing his gaze away and focusing on Iwaizumi’s face. Bad idea, those cheekbones were sharp enough to cut his heart in two.

The raven nodded, hiding a smirk at the disgust in Oikawa’s voice.

“That one,” he confirmed, “He hadn’t lied when he had threatened you, dumbass. He really was from Yakuza.” Iwaizumi revealed it slowly, trying to read every expression passing in Oikawa’s eyes.

Surprise. Shock. Confusion. Understanding.

Fear.

“Yakuza?” he repeated, playing with the hem of his shirt. “I thought he was bluffing...” Even if he was trying to conceal the tremor in his voice, Iwaizumi still noticed it.

“Yeah, he’s one of the younger sons. He didn’t take really well your rejection and…asked his dad to take care of it, to heal his wounded pride. The fact that you whooped his ass during the match didn’t help.”

Oikawa frozen, chocolate eyes blown wide. His entire body tensed and Iwaizumi stilled in response; he had a feeling that if he dared to make the slightest move, the setter was going to flee with all of his energy.

“So?” Oikawa whispered, forcing a blank expression.

Iwaizumi frowned. Fear didn’t suit Oikawa.

“So, they sent me to protect your shitty ass, stop being so fucking scared.”

Oikawa gaped, “You’re here to protect me?” he shrilled loudly and Iwaizumi cursed, slapping a hand over his mouth with a deadly glare.

“I’m trying, but you’re making things difficult Trashkawa!” he growled as he glanced around. Nothing suspicious.

Oikawa nodded and Iwaizumi released him before his mind could focus on the fact that Oikawa’s lips were in fact as soft as they looked and-Fuck.

“Who asked you to protect me?” he whispered excitedly, smiling like a child, “Are you a bodyguard? Have you done this before? Is your name really Hiri Nezumi? Have you already find someone suspicious? Can I help you in any way?” At every question, Oikawa inched closer until he was few breaths away from Iwaizumi’s embarrassed face.

Shit, his lashes were long.

“First,” he slapped his hand on Oikawa’s face and pushed him away, “We were already monitoring that gang and we couldn’t let them kill off a national player, so we took action.”

“I knew you knew who I was!” Oikawa cheered proudly, making him roll his eyes.

“Second,” Iwaizumi continued, “I’m a secret agent, not a full-time bodyguard and-”

“That’s so cool!” the brunet thrilled bouncing on his seat and Iwaizumi felt the need to slap him on the head and hug him at the same time. Oikawa was more of a dork than what he seemed.

“Anyway, my name is not Hiri Nezumi*, my stupid colleagues chose that stupid name for me.”

Oikawa snorted and chirped a “Fitting,” before Iwaizumi shut him with a glare.

“And finally, no I haven’t found anyone suspicious for now and the only way you can help me is behaving and not blowing my cover. Do what you were doing, be normal, forget everything.”

Oikawa pouted, deluded.

“But I can’t forget it now that I know it!” He complained waving his hands around, “I can’t Agent-san! Absolutely impossible.”

Iwaizumi groaned, “Do you want to die? No? Do what I say.”

Oikawa stubbornly shook his head and Iwaizumi felt tempted to stun him and lock him away until the week had passed. He wasn’t bothered about it being illegal, not when Oikawa’s capacity of annoying the shit out of him and still looking cute was illegal as fuck.

“What if I have a better idea?” Oikawa interrupted his dark plans and the raven knew from that sultry tone that he was going to regret everything he had done until that moment.

The brunet leaned again, locking eyes with him. A hopeful, tempting light shined on his perfect face and Iwaizumi would have wanted to stand up and leave, but he could only restrain himself from headbutting him. Or kissing him. He hadn’t decided yet.

“I bet it’s going to be a stupid one,” he deadpanned, but Oikawa didn’t waver.

“Well, you have to keep an eye on me, right?” Iwaizumi nodded slightly and Oikawa’s sharp grin widened, “Then, let me flirt successfully with you, Mr. Secret Agent-san,” he whispered tilting his head to the side, chestnut locks falling on his eyes, “I’ll make sure you’ll never lose sight of me for the rest of the week, night and day. Never.”

Oh, Iwaizumi should have known that mission was going to be hell.

His target was the devil himself.

   *Hirinezumi means Hedgehog (guess who has chosen it ;D)

Next

[instazood-blog]

Instazood Instagram bot

Instazood Instagram bot Review

Nowadays that there are around 600 million individuals on Instagram, it comes as no surprise that people and businesses are working hard to build an active account on Instagram with a huge amount of followers. When you want a very large number of followers, what can you do? Of course you have the option to try out the well-known methods such as following people, properly use of hash tags, keep posting every day, establish attractive content, using filters and so on.

However, the point is that all these tricks are quite time consuming, besides there is no guarantee to achieve what you are looking for. But you have an easier way to get more followers and likes in your Instagram account. Instagram Bots are the tools which enable you to automate all your Instagram activities. The basic idea is that it just does the same thing that you would do manually; however, it performs it within a short period. It means you set a robot to work on your Instagram account. The robot starts to like, follow, comment and send direct messages instead of you at the maximum rate that Instagram permits. These engagements will lead to more exposure of your account and it will eventually bring you lots of followers. Now, don’t you think it as an easier way than manual methods for getting more followers and likes on Instagram?

Instazood is one of the most popular Instagram bots which has proved its value to more than 10000 happy subscribers. For gaining huge number of followers and likes within short period of time, there is no better option than this cloud-based software because it can work at an amazing speed. Whether it is your personal profile or your business profile, you don’t need to stay online and be active all the time on the Instagram platform. Instazood runs 24/7 while you are living your life and brings you followers, likes and comments.

To get new followers by Instazood, it is essential to set your targets, i.e., the group of people who would have interest on your profile/service/product. This will give you more likes and followers and you will get the chance to use the social media platform to create your personal or brand image. To optimize people following you back, pick a popular account that is similar to yours and just follow their followers. Instazood allows you to do this.

Instazood provides you with these services:

· Scheduled Post: This is one of the most useful features because all you have to do is uploading, for example, 30 photos and you won’t waste time everyday uploading and writing a caption for every photo. You set it up once and Instazood uploads for you automatically.

· Automatic Following/Unfollowing, Liking and Commenting: These are usual features you expect of an Instagram bot. But Instazood is up to date with the Instagram API and as a result, you can follow/like/comment at maximum possible rate without getting traced or banned by Instagram.

· Automatic Direct Message: One of the best ways to communicate with followers on Instagram is sending direct messages. By Instazood auto direct messaging service, you can send automatic welcome messages to your new followers, send automatic messages to all your followers or send automatic messages to accounts who aren’t your followers. Strike up a conversation with your new followers by automatically sending them a direct message. Offer a discount code, present a call to action or just say hi!

· Multiple Account Management: There is no limit to add account on Instazood. It’s very useful for people who have many accounts to manage (like me).

· Like and Follow a Specific User’s Followers: This is another practical feature and I’ve gotten a follow back rate of 70% by following and unfollowing users from accounts that are similar to mine.

· Like and Follow a Specific Location’s users: maybe you are just interested to attract people from a specific location, this feature allows you to be in touch with them and introduce yourself.

· Free Customer Support: They guarantee that the software works well and you are happy.

· Three Days FREE Trial: This is an offer you cannot reject easily! Just give it a try and if you were satisfied, subscribe and continue.

On instazood you can target:

Instazood works based on your targets, this makes it distinguished from other systems. Targets statistics which demonstrate efficiency of your targets help you to know whether your targets are properly chosen or not. After that, you can manage your targets. Delete the ones that weren’t successful in bringing you followers and add fresh ones. This option is the best way to optimize your Instagram bot. With this option you manage to get the maximum efficiency.

Instazood shows you the numbers of follows, likes, comments and skipped accounts based on every target and you can turn on/off follow, like, comment on every target also you can pause/play your targets. Your targets have a status option that shows you if that target is active or paused or completed and you can change that status.

Instagram pages: Find some of the famous pages in your niche that have numerous followers and their content are similar to you, and then target their followers by Instazood.

Hashatgs lovers: You are able to target the people who have liked the pictures with a hashtag that you choose.

Hashtags owners: On Instazood, you can target the accounts that have used a specific hashtag that you are interested in.

Geo-locations: if you want to target the ones who have been in a specific location, you can do it easily using Instazood. This option is very practical indeed, especially for the local bossiness owners.

On Instazood system you can filter the accounts that the system interact with them based on:

Gender: You may be just interested in getting male or female followers. Instazood has a filter for that; you can simply define for the bot to just interact with males or females.

Media age: If someone’s last post is for a long time ago, it means that account is not active and interacting with it is just a waste of time, so Instazood provided this filter to help users define the media age of the account which the bot works on it.

Skip used accounts: When your bot works on a specific account, for example it follows it and after a while unfollows it, it doesn’t seem logical at all, if the bot does the same again. It is not only useless but also could be annoying for that person.

Max followers: Do activities only if target account has no more than specified number of followers. If people have many followers they may not pay attention to your activity because they get many followers, likes and comments each day — it is usual for them.

Max following: Do activities only if target account has no more than specified number of following accounts. If target account has many following accounts it may mean that it is auto promoted account — bot. But you need only real followers, right?

Min posts: set a min post limit for the accounts that Instazood interact with them. For example if you set 5, the bot won’t contact users with less than 5 published posts. This can be so useful because most of the fake accounts don’t have many published posts, just 2–3, and by this filter, you can skip them.

Skip business accounts: according to your purpose on Instagram, you may not be interested in business accounts. This filter allows you to put them aside.

Skip accounts with a web site: Based on your needs, you may want just individuals as a follower; in that case, it makes sense if you use this filter to skip account with a website.

Skip accounts with phone number: Usually businesses and people who are looking for potential customers use their phone number on their bio on Instagram, you may want to skip those accounts in order to get more individuals and genuine followers.

Select Languages: Local businesses which are using our system to gain more customers are interested in using our software to attract merely local people. Then it is practicaql for them to use only their local languages if the bussines is not international. By the way, you can set as many as languages for the bot to interact with accounts who used that languages.

Black list: If there are some account that you do not want to interact with them at all. You are able to add them to your black list so the bot never engage with them.

Stop words: you can set some words and if the bot found those words in an account bio or post, the bot does not interact with those accounts. To prevent being in touch with pornography or violence content, you can use this option.

For Auto-unfollow you are provide with these options:

Unfollow scheduling: In our service it is possible to set the correct time for you to unfollow from unwanted follows. Simply select the appropriate time to unfollow and the system will automatically start the task in exactly the set deadlines.

Keep personal following: When checking this box you will unfollow only users which were followed by our system. It may be reasonable if you want to keep following users which are interesting for you and you do not want to unfollow them.

Min following days: when the bot follows an account on your behalf, it would be practical if you follow that account some days and give enough time to that account to follow you back. Also, it seems ugly to follow someone and unfollow him/her after some hours. With this option you can set a “Min Following Days” for the bot. then the bot won’t unfollow any account which was followed earlier than the number of “Min Following Days”.

Following threshold: when you are using auto-unfollow, the number of your following increases every day, so you must set a threshold number for the bot. so when your following number meets that number, the bot stops auto-follow and start to do unfollow.

Unfollow number: once your following number met “following threshold” the bot starts to do unfollow, but how many account?! In this option you will define the bot the number of account which must be unfollowed after meeting “following threshold”.

Run promotion while unfollowing: When your bot is busy with auto-unfollow, it cannot do auto-follow at the same time, but it is possible to set it do like and comment while doing auto-unfollow. If you want to continue liking and commenting while the bot is busy with auto-unfollow, you can mark like or comment or both of them. But you should know that promoting while auto-unfollow, decrease the auto-unfollow speed significantly. So if you want the bot to do aut0-unfollow at the maximum speed, please do not mark this section.

White list: There should be some accounts that you do not want to unfollow them never. You can write those accounts in white list then the bot never unfollows them.

Also instazood have some options to customize activity of your bot, this is that options you can customize:

Activity speed:

Night pause

Follow + like

Comment + likes

Min likes

Max likes

You can limit your activity:

Follow/day

Follow/hour

Unfollow/day

Unfollow/hour

Likes/day

Likes/hour

Comments/day

Comments/hour

Instazood show you very useful thing:

number of follows on each targets (that system do for you)

number of likes on each targets (that system do for you)

number of comments on each targets (that system do for you)

number of skipped on each targets (The number of accounts that do not fit the selected promotion settings.)

number of all activity on each targets (Coverage) (that system do for you)

Conversion rate

With this numbers you can manage your targets to get best preference, also you can on/off like, follow, comment on each target. You can filter numbers that instazood show you on targets and statistic:

Status of targets

Type of targets

Time: you can limit numbers from 1hour …

https://medium.com/@jonbolto/instazood-instagram-bot-29783d38a56d

[sundownunited]

Late nights and Early mornings, a constant mantra at SXSW, and plague on my soul. Day 3 starts only a couple of hours after Day 2 ends, but this first session in the morning at 9:30am is a must for me, as I’m current affairs “woke”, as the kids say.

First session is “Cover POTUS as the Failing New York Times”. The title alone is enough to guarantee my attendance… and apparently 2,000 others as this session was a packed to capacity, which is saying quite a bit for such an early session. The session was lead by NYT columnist Jim Rutenberg, who was having a fireside chat/interview with his boss, NYT Executive Editor Dean Baquet. It was an excellent discussion on journalism’s role in politics, combating fake news, the economic model of news agencies in the 21st century, and of course, covering Trump, all the while cracking jokes in an engaging and lively session.

Here are some significant takeaway quotes/points from Dean Baquet (not verbatim):

“Trump wants the favor of NYT and when he doesn’t get it, goes into a rage.”

“I think it’s more important to cover the story and say it’s false, then to not cover it at all because it’s false.”

“We are hiring like crazy, 3 renown investigative reporters, bulked up white house and political coverage. We are preparing for the story of a generation. There are going to be 20 books written about this period in Journalism.”

“The original mission of the collective community of journalists became clear again after the election: aggressive coverage of the government.”

“The reason Breitbart is not journalism is because they are not in seek of the honorable pursuit of the truth.”

“The next generation doesn’t understand the secret text of journalism. They don’t realize an NYT journalist risked their lives to bring news from Aleppo Syria.” …On what the difference is between bloggers and journalists.

“200 stories are put out a day by 1,300 NYT employees.”

“Digital headlines are different from print. They have to tell more, since it’s just a headline link, rather than a print paper with a picture and layout architecture.”

Next, I headed to WeDC house for their session “Technology & Storytelling”, for reasons that should be obvious if you are reading this article. Halfway through this session, they had to pause and clear everyone out because an attendee fainted. SXSW is a marathon, not a sprint; make sure you eat, drink, and sleep! The session continue after EMS took the woman out. The session focused on VR experiences in story telling, which, though very interesting to me, is not a medium I am currently in, and as a result, I left early.

Next up was a podcast meetup, so I could share and brainstorm ideas about pod-casting to level up my own podcast I co-host, The Feedbak (www.thefeedbakcom), that covers lifestyle, culture, politics, events of leisure events, with a focus on music and nightlife. The meetup was in a conference room the JW Marriot. A good sized crowd, but unfortunately the execution of the meetup became more of a Q&A session hosted by the organizers rather than a chance to talk with other pod-casters and share ideas. As a result, I again left early, though I did gain a little knowledge from a few questions answered.

Back at the WeDC house earlier, I had sparked up a quick conversation with my neighbors in line who told me about Neil DeGrasse Tyson (NDT) making an appearance at the National Geographic (Natgeo) house at 3pm. With this intel in hand as I left the podcast meetup, I headed straight for Natgeo.

Natgeo is, surprisingly, crushing it this year at SXSW! They have an open bar with a great listing of Natgeo TV show themed drinks (covered in Day 1 article). They also have great interviews, VR sessions, giveaways, and even parties/shows at night. If such as a thing as “nerd lit” exists, Natgeo is undeniably it.

I hit Natgeo over an hour before NDT was to go on. I sampled some drinks and did some work on my laptop while a session narrated by a NatGeo photographer David Guttenfelder on his photography work in North Korea (which was rather amazing).

Once that finish, Neil DeGrasse Tyson took the stage with director Ron Howard to talk sciene shop on science/scientist in movies/tv and Natgeo’s new tv show directed by Ron Howard about Albert Einstein called “Genius”. This session was amazing. NDT lead the conversation, asking questions of Ron Howard, while constantly cracking jokes and commentary; NDT’s charisma is a godsend for the science community. The crowd laughed, applauded, and was just overall in rapture during the entire hour long session. Natgeo even gave away thick, illustrated coffee table books on NDT’s Star Talk show.

Here’s a few quotables/points taken away:

“No nation owns science. If your country pulls back on science, then others will arise to take your place.”

“Scientists have not been viewed as fellow human beings until recently when TV/Movies began creating scientist characters with fleshed out personalities.”

“First get your facts straight, then distort the facts.” — Mark Twain as quoted by NDT.

Next and final conference session of the day to hit was Mark Cuban’s “Is Govt Disrupting Disruption?” This was another 2,000 full capacity session in the same ballroom in the Austin Convention Center (ACC) as the NYT session earlier that day. The session also featured founder of The Zebra, Adam Lyons, and was moderated by Michele Skelding of UT-Austin.

The session was OK, but compared to the earlier NYT and NatGeo sessions, I found myself becoming victim to my lack of sleep and nodding off. The overall theme of the discussion was around what the government should regulate and what it should not, a time old debate in the US and many other countries. I didn’t hear too much new, but several laughs and some additional humorous comments about Trump kept my eyes open more often than not. I did take down one statement (not verbatim) by Cuban that stood out to me:

“I’m a libertarian, but I evolved through empathy that we as a society need to take on Healthcare so that, as Reagan said, we don’t have people falling over dying in the streets.” …on some healthcare as a right in the US.

With the day sessions behind me, I needed a bite, a drink and some conversation. I met up with some of the Domination Team at the “Health & Tech” happy hour at WuChow sponsored by Aetna.

This happy hour was specifically chosen because WuChow is the finest, fanciest, most delicious Chinese/Taiwanese restaurant in Austin and it plays old school 80s and 90s hip-hop exclusively to boot! True to form, excellent food at this venue along with crafty cocktails; it was packed, but I still made some friends with strangers and ate/drank rather well.

Meanwhile, most of the Domination Team was at Sidewinder’s bar for Canada’s “Eh” party. Food and drinks kept everyone there adding some lively energy to the party until the DJ played several songs of Canada’s own Celine Dion. That’s a quick way to get people to leave a party; Celine might be great, but she isn’t party great.

Other’s in the Domination Team got detoured from the Canadian party by a bar on sixth street wooing them off their path as they were walking by and giving them a free bottle service of liquor to just hang out for awhile. Helps to be pretty, turned up, and pushing good energy!

Next, I hit up the Hangar Lounge for Shopgate’s Decoded Fashion closing party. Made it a little late for food, but drinks, good music, and catching up with several members of the Domination Team kept me around for awhile. I eventually bailed and snuck back home to drop off my laptop, freshen up, and nap. Except the nap never happened; I instead hopped right back out in the SXSW mix for a show!

I first stopped by Empire Garage & Control Room to catch a few sets of some of my favorite local Austin acts (Riders Against the Storm, Magna Carda, Ava Rain, Alesi Lani and more.

  After that, I went to my true destination: Vevo House At Pelons Bar where Nick Grant and Jay Electronica were performing. Upon walking into the door (entrance granted by showing tweet of the show flyer), a waiter insisted we take shots of tequila he was passing out. I refused at first (can’t be getting too wasted and I had been drinking all day), but the waiter then gave a lengthy description on the incredibleness of the tequila that ended with him saying it was $60 a shot. Although I don’t believe the $60 price tag nor remember the length story of the tequila, for the waiter’s notable efforts, I went ahead and downed a shot. Helps it was free! We later dubbed the Tequila “Mermaid Tears” since that’s about the only liquid we could think of worth $60 a shot.

    I missed Nick Grant’s show at Vevo House, but caught Jay Electronica start to finish. Holy Hell, Jay can flow and perform… he rocked the hell outta that house. He came into the crowd of that tiny venue and stage multiple times, I have several selfie photos and videos to show for it. He even pulled a random Austin audience member claiming to be an artist and let him freestyle on stage for a minute or two. Overall, top notch hiphop performance, and I don’t say that very often about shows without a band or big stage presence/production.

Meanwhile, the majority of the Domination Team was at The Belmont venue for the Holonis party, taking picture’s with their childhood crush Mario Lopez (aka A.C. Slater), Bow Wow, and watching a show by Warren G. Open bar was flowing the whole time, and so were the smiles and turnup’ness.

A few others of the Domination Team closed it out at Intel’s AI Lounge where local Austin artist Mobley (think Pharrell but plays all the instruments live too).

After the Jay Electronica show, I called it a night at the incredulous early SXSW time of 11:30pm; the less than 3 hours of sleep the night before had fully taken its toll.

2017 SXSW CHRONICLES: Neil DeGrasse Tyson + Jay Electronica // DAY 3 Late nights and Early mornings, a constant mantra at SXSW, and plague on my soul. Day 3 starts only a couple of hours after Day 2 ends, but this first session in the morning at 9:30am is a must for me, as I'm current affairs "woke", as the kids say.