#this is the real reason why i sometimes read sugar daddy AUs even though i don't like them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahtsumu · 3 years

Text

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: [email protected]

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: [email protected]

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving.

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines

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fattlestacks · 3 years

Note

Let's imagine that each of the Matsu gets fat... But the reason each brother gets fat is different. What scenario would you imagine so that the Matsus all get fat but each in a different way?

I’ve done a lot of thinking about this over the years and I do have different weight gain headcanons for each ‘matsu (pardon repeat information as I think I’ve discussed them here a few times before, but let’s go over ‘em again...).

Osomatsu:

Osomatsu is pretty easy, he loves to eat and he’s greedy.

This fact is part of what irks me about the fandom collectively deciding that Ichi is the “chubby” one. Oso is the one who should be chubby if any of them! I feel like the only reason he isn’t canonically chubby is because he has to share his food with 5 siblings...

Based on how much he likes to eat (and the fact that he dreams about being fat in canon) I HC that he’s really into stuffing. I mean, he has stuffed his belly in lots of official content too:

He looks pretty pleased with himself! So I think he would self stuff whenever he got the opportunity (or get Totoko to stuff him in my drawings) this paired with the fact that he’s known to drink a lot of beer I think it’s fair to say he’d have a pretty fat tummy.

Karamatsu:

While Kara likes to eat, I don’t feel like he shares the same passion for overeating that nii-chan does. Left to his own devices, I don’t think he’d stuff himself often (unless maybe it was like his ultra favorite food or something and he had no obligation to share). However it has been shown plenty of times in official content that Ichimatsu seems to like to (over)feed Karamatsu especially when drunk.

While Ichi’s motivations are unclear, I like to imagine it’s a mix of his tsundere nature (despite always being pretty cold to Kara, it has been shown that he is a Karamatsu Boy at heart), his desire to make Kara uncomfortable (too full, bellyache), maybe also just wanting Kara to be chubby for other reasons (to impact Kara’s opinion of himself to just wanting a soft pillow to lay on). So in my AU I feel like Kara’s weight gain is mostly due to him being overfed by others.

Also... don’t get me started on the fandom’s obsession with Kara with muscles... -_- Just let me enjoy my soft lazy baby!

Choromatsu:

I find Choromatsu a little hard to read when it comes to food honestly. He seems to like food about as much as everyone else (with the exception of Oso & Jyushi) that is to say he seems to enjoy it but doesn’t go out of his way to stuff himself or overeat.

As to how I think Choro would gain weight? I always imagine he’s an absent-minded snacker. So engrossed in his manga that he doesn’t realize he’s eaten two boxes of crackers in a sitting...

It should also be noted that Choro is a fun WG/stuffing subject simply because he always wears a button up shirt under his parka. If you want ‘matsus to pop buttons, Choro is your guy. ;)

Ichimatsu:

Alright... I’m not going to really get into how much the collective fandom’s idea of Ichi being the chubby one irks me (we’d be here all day) I will just say that from my observations, Ichi just doesn’t seem that into food. I would go so far as to say that he probably doesn’t even eat regularly on his own, so it’s up to the other ‘matsus to make sure he gets fed every once in a while. This often falls to Jyushimatsu (since they are besties) who doesn’t always make ‘healthy’ choices for him.

But sometimes the other ‘matsus step in to feed him sometimes too. Possibly overfeeding him from time to time just to make sure they cover his bases, haha.

Remember that Ichi was the only one who didn’t get fat in season 2...

He went so far to become a shriveled up ghoul instead...

But anyway... as far as weight gain in my AU goes, I often draw Ichimatsu drunk when he’s overfeeding Karamatsu so he’s got some beer belly going on. That’s why I like to draw him with a softer belly than Oso or Kara who are often stuffed in my art so have rounder tummies. ;)

Jyushimatsu:

I mean... just look at the above image I guess, haha. But yeah, Jyushi is another ‘matsu who loves to eat... and enjoys stuffing.

Jyushimatsu’s reasons for weight gain are pretty similar to Osomatsu’s though I think they are a little more satisfaction based than stuffing pleasure based if that makes sense. More like “Ah-ha! This tastes so good I’m going to eat all of it!!” rather than the feeling of being stuffed... but who can never be sure with Jyushimatsu? The only real caveat is just how active Jyushi is... he is the least lazy of the group so, despite having a massive appetite it might be hard for him to gain weight. But he can also bend reality so if he wanted to be fat, then he could make that happen, haha.

Todomatsu:

Totty is another ‘matsu who I think likes food pretty okay, but doesn’t tend to overeat often on his own. He’s also the only ‘matsu that canonically goes to the gym...

However I like to think he starts packing on the pounds when he’s being spoiled by his sugar daddy Atsushi. ;)

Man... I really need to explore Totty’s belly button fetish more too...

So yeah, those are my basic chubbymatsu weight gain headcanons! What about all of you? I’d love to hear your hot takes on chubbymatsus!

#chubbymatsu #headcanons

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holdmyowos · 3 years

Text

College (Dabi x Female Reader)

Damn if this ain't the most toxic shit I've ever written ☠️

👀 Don't worry about me

Sorry guys

Dabi's a switch in this one. Impossible, I know. Sorry Daddy Dabi you'll have to wait.

Includes: Oh boy do we have warnings for you. Weapons, toxic relationship, cussing, angst, NSFW stuff etc, etc. Pretty much if you're sensitive to anything, this isn't the place for you lol

College AU

Quirkless AU

Ok onto the story

You had just barely started college, freshman year, and you had already fallen for a bad boy. It was on a field trip, you had never seen him before until you saw him on the bus. He had a long, dark jacket with tatters at the ends. He had more piercings than you had ever seen, all over his body, from on his nose to his ears to his wrists. He had dark black hair that fit him perfectly and startling turquoise eyes that twinkled. You walked up to him, and flirted with him for a while, wanting to make a good first impression. "I hope next year we get to have class together," you finished, hoping that was not too obvious. He nodded. The whole conversation he hardly talked, but when he did he had a really raspy, deep voice, for someone so young. Perhaps he was a smoker. It was quite soothing, actually. He seemed to never get angry or raise his voice. He said his name was Dabi. An odd name, sure, but you accepted it.

About a year later a message popped up on the email you used for your school, which was supposed to be only used for school related things. You saw that it was from Dabi. It read,

'I love you. Do you have something more private, like an email or phone I can text you on?'

You almost threw down your phone in shock. After only flirting with him a little, the next year he still remembered you? You must have made a good impression for him to confess out of the blue like that. Either that or he was playing you.

You hardly ever text, so you messed with your settings trying to figure out your phone number. You were not the best at technology. You sent him an email with your number, eagerly awaiting a reply from him.

Almost as soon as you sent it, you saw a text pop up on your phone. He must have been waiting for you. Soon you're texting nearly nonstop, staying up late at night just to message each other. He changes his icon to your favorite anime character. Even more you two have in common. Sadly, this did not change much in person at the campus. The two of you had awkward exchanges in real life, but with texting you had chemistry. How could that be? The two of you only ever had lunch together, no other classes. You sat together, but never really talked. Sometimes you even texted each other at lunch. You had to admit it was pretty dumb, but there really was no better way to interact, if every time you tried talking he had nothing to say.

One night, you were up late getting texts from him.

'Cookie?'

'Cupcake?'

'Honey?'

'Sugar?'

You had no idea what he was talking about, so you did not reply.

'Hey, are you there?'

You had no clue what he was trying to tell you, but you did not want to be rude and say nothing back. So, you simply wrote,

'What?'

'Sorry I thought you stopped texting me and I had a mini panic attack.

Princess I was merely just thinking of the perfect nickname for you'

You chuckled.

'I think you found it.'

"How many piercings do you have? Including the staple stitches I've seen, you have over a hundred," you said at lunch. He nods. "Yeah, probably. One of my friends does piercings for free. I have even more that you can't see though." He motioned down to his chest and stomach and his... you gulped.

The next few days, he opened up about his past a bit. He belonged to the rich Todoroki family, but it was a big secret because they half disowned him. It seemed like a dark and tragic past, so you did not pry very much. Your phone vibrated with a text from him.

'I was thinking about you...in my bed.'

Your heart nearly stopped. He never said anything like that before. Did he mean he was in his bed thinking about you, or having some odd fantasy? You rolled your eyes. Eventually, the two of you would need to have a conversation about the limits of your 'friendship'. The two of you were not even officially in a relationship.

You tried to set a time to meet him, out of school hours, but it never worked out. It seemed you always had to cancel for some reason, and you left him alone. The guilt was starting to catch up with you. You promised yourself you would make this meeting, no matter what came up.

'Meet on the school's balcony that is looking over the city at 9 tonight.'

You knew which place he meant. Many people from your college went on dates there. You had never been, but you had heard there was a really good view of the city from there. The stars were slightly visible, as the campus was on the edge of the city. You crossed your arms, leaning against the railing, gazing up at the stars. Someone came up behind you, running their arms along yours, putting their hips on your butt. "Who's that?" You asked, nonchalantly. "You look cute in that position." Dabi chuckled, and let go of you. "It's so peaceful from up here." Even the low purr of engines and hum of the city kind of faded into the background. You nodded. He slid next to you in the corner where the rails crossed, and held onto your waist. "Princess, I love you." He gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I love you too, Dabi."

The next day, you were walking by a grocery store and you stopped dead in your tracks. Dabi was on the front cover of the newspaper. The caption read 'Whole Todoroki Family Accused Charged With Abuse and Fraud'. Remembering that Dabi was a Todoroki, you flipped through the pages. There was no way he was connected with that sort of stuff, right? He was disowned, after all. There was nothing in the article specifically about Dabi, but there he was on the front page, so he must have done something.

'It's over. I could never be in a relationship with a criminal.'

Surprisingly, he texts right back.

'Wait what?'

'What do you mean?'

'Please don't leave me.'

Your finger hovers over the block button, and you click it before you think about it. "Goodbye, Todoroki," you whisper to yourself, shoving the phone into your pocket. You needed to get out of the dorm. You went on a run around the neighborhood.

Dabi had taken to wearing a leather jacket. A year later and the two of you were still dodging each other in the halls of school. You had memorized both of your schedules, and whenever you saw him in the hall you would advert your downcast eyes, or try to take another path altogether. Every single time you saw him, you got a twinge of guilt. He needed someone to love him, but you were not there for him. Somehow, Dabi had weaseled his way out of going to jail with the rest of his family, and you had to put up with the guilt of ending that relationship. You knew it was hella toxic, but you really had liked him. Sometimes you stayed up at night and thought of how things could have been. You talk to your friend on the phone. "Honey, those bad boys are only good for a one nighter type of deal. It wouldn't have worked out any other way." You sighed. "I suppose you're probably right. But still..."

You had not looked into his eyes in a few months. It hurt too much. As soon as you saw his leather jacket or messy hair, you immediately looked away. So, you were very surprised when Dabi backed you into a corner one day at lunch, followed by his friends, one with oddly red eyes and another with golden yellow. The only word that fit them was thugs. You protest. "Dabi, please leave me alone. I can't take the heartbreak." He presses something cold, metallic, and cylindrical to your side. You look down, and gasp. "Don't look at that. Look at me. In the eyes. Look what you've done to me." Slowly you look up at him. He had bags under his eyes as if he hardly slept. "Come on, doll. Let's take a break. Come with me." You nod. You were not risking your life for anything. One you were outside with him and his friends, he switched his weapon to a knife that the blonde had given him. He twists it into your side, along the fabric of your dress, tearing it slightly. "Now, let's go to our dorms." You might miss next class, but right now that was at the back of your mind, with all that was happening. He backed into his room with you, and shut and locked the door, his friends leaving him. You realized that you had never seen his room, except for when you had FaceTimed him once. It was all black and very dark colors, with a few bright neon blue things that seemed almost out of place.

"Why did you flirt with me freshmen year if you didn't want to be in a relationship with me?" He had dropped the knife on his nightstand and was laying one his bed in a very stressed out manner, his hands over his face. If you wanted, you could leave. Just hearing his voice again made you want to cry. The pang of heartache once again broke from your chest, even though you had thought it was finally gone. "Fuck, Dabi! How many times are we going to do this? That was insane what you just did. You just threatened to kill me just so you could talk to me?!" You did not know what to say. "Well there wasn't much choice. You were avoiding me!" He flung his hands up in the air. "Well you were avoiding me too, you know." The bell rang, signaling that the two of you would be late to your next class. "I really needed someone. And you weren't here for me." He curled up on his bed, looking weak and exposed. Instead of escaping as you know you should, you knelt down and gave him a hug. "I'm willing to forgive if you are." He sniffled, and nodded, and got up out of bed. "Well, there is one condition. You made me late to class." He rolled his eyes. "Your majesty, whatever can I do to make it up to you?" He said in a sarcastic tone. "Well how about for starters you make me feel good," you said in a joking tone, straddling him. He chuckled. "Your voice tells me one thing but your eyes and body say another. The thing you joked about? You really wanna feel my piercings against that horn lil' cunt of yours, don't you?" He smiled widely. You don't think he had ever smiled before, at least not that you had seen. Your cheeks became red, and you slowly nodded in embarrassment. "I will make you feel really good. After all, princesses deserve to get pampered." He pressed you down onto him. "Of course, you need to do something for me too," he all but purred, shifting your hips against his for friction. "Oh princess, how I've longed for this. So badly." He was actually crying of happiness. Wow. You felt warmth on your heat. He looked so cute beneath you like this. Was he a sub? You always thought he seemed like a dom. You slowly started to touch his crotch, your whole body rocking against him. He roughly grabbed you. "No, no. You might be a princess, but I'm dom. You got that?" You laughed at him. "Nuh-uh!" He came up to you for a passionate deep kiss. Your tongues fought for dominance, neither of you giving in.

Eventually, Dabi broke away. "I-I don't know what to say. I never lost. Hell." He started breathing heavily. "Do nothing. Just pay attention to me," you said, cockily, sliding down his pants to his knees. You played with the waistband of his boxers, but then started to take off your own clothes. You could tell that Dabi was itching to do something. You placed his hands under your bra, and he immediately got hungry, groping you. You took off your bra, and he started teasing your nipples, dragging you down closer to him. You slipped off his shirt. He had even more piercings than you thought humanly possible. Ones across his stomach, on his belly button. Even on his nipples. You took off your pants and started dry humping him, feeling his bulge against your clothed heat. He let out a slight groan. You got off and slowly pulled his boxers down. He left your chest alone and started touching himself, at the base of his shaft and his balls. "You just can't control yourself, can you?" You looked down. He was huge. I mean, you did not think dicks came in his size. He had piercings all along the shaft, and on the tip in a Prince Albert. You helped the poor guy by squeezing his shaft and tracing his tip, careful not to disturb the piercings too much. "I don't like to think how someone else touched you to get those piercings of yours. Was it a pretty chick? Or some ugly old fat guy?" He was lost, his hips bucking into your hands. When you stopped, he said, "What?" "I said who did your piercings." He had a devilish smirk plastered on his face. "Oh, he was super hot. Yellow hair, golden eyes. Goes by the alias Hawks. If you ever want to get your nipples pierced, I highly recommend him," he said as he flipped on top of you, pinning you down. His turquoise eyes burned into you, as if a blue flame. "And you thought I would be sub. What a bitch you are," he laughed as the straddled your stomach. You would not let him get away with that. You smeared the small sphere of precum over his head and put him in your mouth, sure it would shut him up. "Hey!" He protested, but slowly gave up and started making small noises. Since he was so huge, you could only fit about three fourths of him in your mouth. "You just... want to be stuffed full of my cock, don't you doll?" He pushed himself in further, and you took him out of your mouth. He whined in protest. "Princess, please! What are you doing? Quit playing games with me," he growled. It was funny how deep his voice sounded, yet he was whining like a small child. "I can't let you have all the fun." You pushed him pack so that he was between your legs. He slipped off your underwear in delight, catching your drift. He lined himself up with your hole, and shoved his tongue in. He let out humming vibrations that tickled. You arched your back in pleasure. "You really like that hmm?" He made you a sloppy mess before him, growling into your pussy like an animal. He lined himself up with you, and slowly pushed himself in. Every time one of his piercings caught against you, he would slow down and moan. When he finally was all the way in, he filled you up, tears pricking your eyes. "Such a stretch for your tight little thing." He slowly thrusted in and out, you clenching around him. It was not long before you came.

The bell rang, surprising you both. You threw up your middle finger. "Fucking see if I care. I'm staying right here." Dabi chuckled and snuggled against you. "You're mine."

#dabi #todoroki #toya #touya #bnha #lemon #bnhaxreader #dabixreader #my hero academia #Dabi x reader #toya x reader #touya x reader #bnha x reader

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

could write steve femme with billy sugar daddy who loves to spoil his princess.

So, there’s a fluff here, a little angst, and a LOT of daddy kink, and some fucking KINKY SMUT I have no idea where it came from, so, you have been warned. Like I said, I have no control over these boys Ever and Billy got real horny I had to google a lot of Stuff I’m sorry.

There’s some child abuse right away, Steve’s dad is shitty and homophobic.

Also they have an age gap, bc I wanted sugar daddy Billy to be older, Steve is 19, Billy’s thirty, it’s not really mentioned, but if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, pls don’t read.

Also modern au.

Its fucking filthy why is Billy so gross.

Read on ao3!

Steve was seventeen the day his dad caught him putting on makeup.

He was in a little skirt, the sweet pastel blue was nice on his pale skin, the lace of the bralette poking out from beneath the old t-shirt he had cropped himself.

He was finishing his highlighter, smiling coyly to himself when his dad walked in, whatever question he was going to ask dying on his lips. He slapped Steve right across the face, told him he had an hour to pack his shit and leave, letting him know, with no holds barred, that he would rather have no son than a queer one, a disappointing one, an embarrassing one.

So Steve packed his shit, and lived in the Henderson’s spare bedroom for a little under a year, saving up as much money as he could before buying a bus ticket to California and never looking back.

He found a shitty L.A. apartment on Craigslist, a few girls looking for another person. It was small, but well kept, and cheap and the girls were sweet, didn’t mind that he had just as much makeup as they did, would often swap clothes around.

He worked any job he could find, always holding at least two at once, typically juggling three. It was while working part-time as a server at some fancy place he met Billy Hargrove. The guy was beautiful. Had curly blonde hair he would tie into a bun, these piercing blue eyes. He worked in some kinda tech, had made probably millions doing something Steve would never understand. But he took a liking to Steve, would come a few times a week to the restaurant, would insist on sitting in Steve’s section, went as far as reserving the same table every Monday Friday and Saturday, the nights he knew Steve had shifts.

He would typically eat alone, would smirk up at Steve and lick his lips, delighted when Steve would get a little red.

He always left ridiculously large tips, wads of cash Steve would shove in his pocket.

After close to two months, of this, of light flirting and triple-digit tips, Billy finally made a move, politely asking Steve if he would be interested on going on a date sometime.

Steve was overjoyed he hadn’t gone on a date since he was seventeen, about two years ago. He told Billy he’d love to, but he worked every night. To that Billy offered to double whatever he would make on Saturday night, his own exorbitant tip included. Steve just spluttered, saying that was unnecessary and he can just call out.

So they went out on Saturday night. Billy picked him up from his shitty apartment, the girls he lived with cooing over how beautiful Billy is, like Steve doesn’t already know. He closed the door of the expensive vintage car behind Steve, sliding into the drivers side, eyeing Steve and saying you look gorgeous. Steve had wanted to keep it simple, not release his entire femme self on this guy, had worn old slacks and a button-down, but his nails were painted, and he had on some makeup, foundation, contour, highlight, light blended eye shadow and the thinnest black liner, right on his lash line, false lashes short, understated. It was much less than what he wanted, but didn’t know how well that’d go over with Billy.

Billy took him to some nice place on the other side of town, and was the best date Steve had ever had. He was polite, asked all the right questions, gave all the right compliments. Had fed Steve bites of expensive foods off his own plate, expensive foods Steve hadn’t been treated to since his rich parents kicked him out. He walked him to his door at the end of the night, kissing him chastely with a promise to call the next day.

And call he did. He told Steve he was outside, to get dressed and meet him, that they were going shopping. Steve flew out the door, not even realizing he had thrown on a shift dress, a black faux silk one with lace trim, topping it with an old denim jacket. Billy just ran his hands down the creamy fabric and told him he looked so pretty for me today. They went to designer stores, and Billy shelled out what must have been thousands on Steve, buying him pretty silk dresses, cute little skirts, making Steve show him everything he tried on.

Their next date was dinner the following weekend, Billy having to leave town for work, but called Steve every night. Steve quit one of his jobs, the juice bar down the street that paid minimum and left him wanting in the tip department.

They went out, and Steve wore a lovely green chiffon dress Billy had purchased for him, had giggled when Billy had spun him around, taking in the floaty sheer fabric. They had sex for the first time that night, Billy had taken off the black lace panties with his teeth before eating Steve out for maybe hours. Steve stayed the night at Billy’s place, a spacious penthouse apartment in the city, huge windows giving a panoramic view of the hills.

They had been together for a month when Billy called himself daddy, had eased Steve into it with a don’t you want to be a good girl for Daddy?, while Steve nodded and sobbed, coming on Billy’s fist.

Steve didn’t need convincing, but Billy still sat him down, explained what being a daddy meant to him.

“I want to take care of you. Want to buy you pretty things, want to keep you happy, want to keep you safe.”

Steve was kicked out at seventeen by his neglectful father, he was on board with the idea of having Billy, of having his daddy take care of him.

So he quit another job, just keeping the one fancy restaurant, the tips making up for the part-time hours.

They had been together for six months when Billy asked him to move in. Had said Daddy just wants you where I can see you, take care of you.

So Steve had kissed his girls goodbye, left them enough rent to cover his share for a few months, and moved in with Billy.

Billy gave him an entire room to keep his wardrobe in. Had a beautiful white vanity built against one wall for his makeup, had shelves to display shoes, bags, jewelry, had even filled some of the shelves with new things, new outfits made from liquid soft fabrics.

They celebrated that night by shopping for beautiful lingerie Steve modeled for Billy, posing as he took photos of Steve with an old Polaroid. He fucked Steve with a vibrator for two hours after that, edging him until he was inside, letting him cum if he begged.

So Steve found himself living the most luxurious life, spent most of the day in nothing but pretty lingerie, his daddy’s shirts, or nothing at all. He was at his daddy’s beck and call. He quit his final job, having no reason to keep it, wanting no reason to leave his daddy’s side.

Billy was paying bills in his office when Steve came trotting in, silently pawing at Billy’s legs, wanting to crawl under the desk.

“Use your words, Sugar.” Billy didn’t even look up at him. Steve whined. “Words, Baby, be a good girl.”

“Want you in my mouth. Wanna keep you warm.” When Steve got all up in his emotions about something, he would do this. Would climb under Billy’s desk and let his cock sit in his mouth. Would let his mind go blank and let himself drop. So that’s what he did, carefully took Billy out of his slacks, and put his mouth around him, just rested the weight of his dick on his tongue, not sucking, just, sitting.

He liked the darkness of the space beneath the desk, the smell of Billy, his cologne mingling with his natural musk, and he loved the taste, Billy’s skin clean, the salty bitterness of cum was always on his mind, would be on his tongue once Billy finished his work, let Steve go to town.

He had been sat down there for a while, thinking about nothing at all, just letting himself be, when Billy’s hand pet through his hair. He looked up through his false lashes, blinking slowly at Billy.

“You look so pretty, on your knees for me. Know how much you love having Daddy’s cock in your mouth. Why don’t you take me a little deeper, Princess?” Steve moaned as Billy got hard, taking him as far as he could.

Steve loved gagging on Billy’s cock, loved when it hit the back of his throat and his eyes welled up and drool ran down his chin. He sucked for a few minutes, bobbing his head, feeling his own cock harden in his panties, peeking out the top of the lace band. Billy pulled him up by the hair, settling Steve on his lap before standing, walking through the apartment holding Steve, making his way to their bedroom.

The bed was a queen, Billy liked it smaller so that he could cuddle Steve, never wanted him too far out of reach. He put Steve gently down on it, taking in his flushed chest, the way his little panties clung desperately to his hard cock, the way his nipples could easily be seen in the sheer babydoll.

“So beautiful, all dressed up for Daddy.” Steve blushed.

“I have a surprise for you, Daddy.”

“For me? That’s so sweet of you, Kitten.” Steve rolled over, pressing his hips in the air.

The panties were open in the back, just in the right place to see the jewel tip of the plug he had stuffed himself with. Billy knew it was one the big ones, knew Steve was asking for it rough tonight.

“You get yourself all ready for me?” He flicked at the plug, Steve whimpered. “You know that Daddy loves fingering you, Baby. Loves fucking you open with one of your toys. Why didn’t you ask Daddy if you could do this yourself?”

“I, I thought you would like it. I’m sorry, Daddy.” Billy tutted.

“Sorry won’t cut it, Daddy’s going to have to punish you.” Steve whimpered as he squirmed on the bed, watching as Billy got up and went to the large drawer they kept filled with sex toys. He selected carefully, bringing a few things and placing them behind Steve. “Strip for me, Baby Girl.”

Steve did as he was told, always did as he was told, slowly pulling the baby doll up, avoiding the perfect makeup on his face, letting the smooth material drop to the ground. He turned around to push the panties down, knew Billy would want to stare at his ass, always wanted to stare at his ass. He re-situated himself on the bed, laying on his back, looking at Billy expectantly.

The first thing he did was gag him.

The pastel pink ball was a favorite of Steve’s, he loved feeling used, so drooling around a gag as Billy did whatever the fuck he wanted to him, was pretty good.

The cuffs came next. They were leather, padded on the inside so they wouldn’t hurt Steve’s delicate wrists, wouldn’t leave red marks and burns like metal cuffs and ropes did.

When Steve was ready, Billy folded him up, cuffing his wrists to the headboard, the spreader bar keeping his legs open tucked under his hands, forcing him open, on display for Billy.

“Since you were so bad, Daddy’s gonna try something new.” He began shifting the plug in Steve’s ass, pulling it out. He swapped it for another, a slightly smaller one Steve dreaded. It was long, and when Billy turned it on, controlled it from an app on his phone, it dug right into Steve’s prostate. “I’m gonna leave this in, but I’m gonna try a new toy on you. make it so you can’t cum, no matter how much you want to.” He showed Steve the new toy.

It was small, a little silver ball at the end of a curved piece, attaching to a ring.

“I’m gonna put this inside you. Really plug you up.” Steve moaned when he realized it would be going in his cock. “Yeah? You want that?” He nodded as best as he could. Billy grinned opening one of the bottles of lube they kept in the drawer as well, kept stashed all around the apartment.

He lubed up the little thing, sliding the ring over Steve’s dick, settling it just under the head. “You ready, Princess?” Steve modded again and Billy pressed the little ball in.

Steve was so full. His ass was plugged, mouth gagged, and now there was something filling his penis, keeping him hard but anything inside.

Billy stood up, coming up the bed and settling in near Steve’s head. He had once tied Steve up with the vibrating plug, and left for his office for an hour or so. Leaving Steve alone through his orgasms had been bad, Steve had been a crying mess when Billy found him again, and not in a good way. He had held Steve close all night and apologized profusely for being a bad daddy, and he never left Steve’s sight when they were fooling around.

The vibrator jolted inside Steve and he whimpered, let Billy rake his fingers through his hair, pet down his thighs and tell him he was being so good for Daddy.

Steve writhed as best as he could, cuffed and bent as he was. He was drooling around the gag. Billy sat next to him, whispering praise into his hair, touching his pretty skin. The vibrator was buzzing roughly right against that spot. Steve was moaning, making as many noises as he could around the pink gag. He couldn’t take it.

“You can cum, Princess. Whenever you’re ready. You don’t need Daddy’s permission.” His back went tense, his legs straining against his arms where his wrists were keeping the spreader bar in place. His balls tightened, but it felt like it went on for hours. The little ball plugging his cock up kept everything inside, kept him from any relief.

His eyes were wide as he looked at Billy.

“You always look so beautiful when you cum, with nothing but a big toy in your tight little hole.” Billy was now pressing on the base of the vibrator, shifting it around inside Steve. “You have another one for Daddy?” Steve nodded, feeling like he hadn’t stopped cumming. “Let me see.”

He felt tears begin to run from his eyes the next time, still chasing release, but getting nothing.

It was intense.

Steve was sobbing out around the gag, spitting out muffled pleas, begging his daddy to let him find release. His legs were shaking, thighs trembling as Billy turned off the plug, the thing getting four unsatisfying orgasms out of him.

“Such a good girl, for Daddy. You want my cock, Baby? You want Daddy to fuck you.” Billy was moving back to his hips, wiggling the vibrator in him, one eyebrow raised.

Steve nodded, eyes wide.

Billy slowly took the plug out, Steve’s eyes rolling back his back tensing. He took off his slacks, throwing his expensive clothes in a heap on the floor, knowing the maid would get them later. He poured more lube onto Steve, dragging his cock through it, slicking himself up as Steve whined.

He pressed in roughly, Steve gasping around the pink gag.

Billy didn’t give him any time, setting a bruising pace, Steve barely holding on to his sanity.

He was drawn tight, the silver ball stoppering him up. He felt like an elastic, pulled tight, near snapping if he didn’t get to cum soon, like seriously cum he felt like he was gonna break into pieces.

“You want Daddy to take it out? Make mess outta yourself?” Steve nodded, eyebrows drawn. Billy leaned down, draped himself over his body, rasping in his ear. “Well, not until Daddy gets to come.” He bit at the lobe of Steve’s ear, upping his pace, hips punishing.

Steve had come again while Billy was fucking into him, had dropped into that space, let his mind go blank except for the steady stream of DaddyDaddyDaddy.

Billy went still, tense on top of Steve as he finished, cumming deep in Steve. He slumped for a moment, breathing deeply, taking in Steve’s scent, the floral perfume Billy had to keep buying him, he used it so much.

Steve whined and he came back to himself, back to his baby underneath him, still cuffed and bent, plugged.

“So good, so perfect, Princess. Always give Daddy just what he wants, what he needs.” Steve gasped as Billy thumbed at his cock, running the pad of his fingers along the silver ring. “You made Daddy cum, you can have this out now, you want that?” Steve nodded, eyes pleading.

Billy slowly took the ring off, the silver ball coming out of him.

Steve felt like he was exploding. His pent up orgasms ripping out of him. He swears he must’ve blacked out.

When he came back, he was cleaned up, the cuffs gone from his wrists, the toys put away. He was under the covers, Billy holding him to his chest. He shuffled around, making a soft noise.

“Welcome back, Princess.” Steve smiled as Billy kissed the top of his head. “That okay for you?”

“Yeah, it was, it was good.” Billy just brought him in closer, tightened his arms around his baby.

“I love you, Stevie. Love you so much, Princess.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

#this is pure filth im so sorry #i had to google a LOT of shit for this #mainly sex toys #harringrove #yikes writes #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #lemons

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bookishnerdhero · 5 years

Text

ROTBTD - OUAT AU Episode 2 (Part 3)

If you came here not having read the first Episode then you might want to check that one out first. Here's the LINK to the very first post for this Fic. Otherwise this part is pretty confusing.

ROTBTD - The Big Four – OUAT AU

Present

“Hey Jack! Cool! I ran into you!”

Jamie approached Jack in the town’s small public library, Sandy’s library. The one time in that week Jack had decided to loiter in the library, the one kid whose principal father practically threatened Jack not to hang out with decided to find him. Again. This wasn’t the first time he ‘ran into’ Jack this week.

“Yeah, real cool. Keep it down, we’re in a library,” Jack said, even though there was nobody else around and he wasn’t actually reading anything. He was actually just scrolling absently through his phone, liking memes and videos about people doing elaborate backflips. Sandy’s library’s got really good Wi-Fi.

Right on cue, Sandy smiled from behind the counter and tapped at an embroidered sign that said ‘Reading Time is Quiet Time’ which he bought from Etsy. The lettering was in gold, just like most of Sandy’s decorations and furniture in the library.

“Oh. Sorry,” Jamie said sheepishly.

“For real, are you following me?”

“No. I came here to return these.” He’d placed three hardcover books onto the counter and bunched his cheeks up as he smiled, a look of total innocence. There was a book about Vikings, another about Scottish highlands and clans, and the final was about dragons. Jack couldn’t help remembering the conversation with Hugo about his dragon sketch as he picked up the book. They didn’t seem to be interrelated topics.

“Dragons?”

“I’m doing research.”

“I see.”

This probably also had something to do with comparing Hugo with the Viking in his fairytale book the other day; Jack was sure but somehow knew better than to point it out. Every now and then he’d mention something about Jack Frost, in Jack’s case, and the Viking in the story…what did he call it? Hector, was it? He didn’t really understand Jamie’s game and his interests, maybe it was his version of Dungeons and Dragons or maybe Pitchener wouldn’t allow internet privileges. It didn’t matter. In all fairness, he didn’t really know the kid so he shouldn’t be quick to judge nor should he feel obligated to stick around and be buddy-buddy with him. Jack St. North doesn’t really hang out too much with anyone to begin with. He was invisible but was used to it. The last thing he needed was for people like Pitchener calling him a bad influence when he was, really, just minding his own business. Still, that was rude and Jack hated being made to feel like he was nothing directly.

Sandy took in the books, touching his lips and pointing his hand in a sign of thanks before gesturing at the rest of the library.

“That’s alright. I have a big test tomorrow and my dad doesn’t want me to do any recreational reading until it’s done,” Jamie said, unshouldering his backpack and already walking over to where Jack was near the counter.

Jack was seated in his favorite spot. There were two comfy armchairs beneath the window and a small coffee table where Jack wasn’t supposed to place his feet on. Sometimes Jack liked to sit around and chat with Sandy in the library during afternoons since he wasn’t interested in extra-curricular activities, and occasionally if he happened to skip a class he couldn’t stand. Sandy didn’t really give him too hard a time about it, though he’d eventually have to think up a better explanation to Nicholas. There would always be tea with a little honey for Sandy and some hot cocoa for him, and sugar cookies from a small pantry out back. In a way, the library was a like a sanctuary where Jack could go whenever he gets tired of wandering—since he liked to wander around town and into the woods surrounding it.

When Jamie sat himself down in the chair opposite him Jack considered whether it was a good idea to lightly suggest that maybe he could look for friends his own age who could also be interested in fairytales. Maybe all he needed was a pep talk that they’re out there and he’d have more in common with them, because Jack didn’t really expect that when Jamie said they were ‘friends’ he really meant ‘friends’ as if he expected they would spend more time together. He promised no such thing. Yet somehow Jamie had already sent him a friend request in all his social media platforms and asked him about it, so he couldn’t exactly ignore them, and already made a group chat with Hugo in it. He named the group ‘Operation Nightfury’, which Hugo seemed to understand the context of from reading the book. He already didn’t have friends of his own judging by the sad amount of memes he’d kept tagging only to Jack and Hugo. He wondered if Pitchener was seeing them because he really didn’t start this.

“So where’s Hiccup?”

“Who?”

“You know, your Viking friend?”

“Oh, the game again. And you mean Hugo. I have no idea where he is, we don’t exactly keep tabs.”

“Really? Jack Frost and Hiccup were really close, though,” Jamie rambled, “Sometimes Jack Frost appears, just when Hiccup needs him the most, and would give him advice. They’d just run into each other. See, Hiccup sometimes forgets to find the fun in things when he gets caught up in the responsibilities of being the next Viking chief.”

“Okay, you lost me. I don’t really know how to follow, I’ve never read the book.”

Jamie legitimately looked sad for a second that Jack wondered if he felt insulted or made fun of. Maybe it was his tone which tended to sound like he didn’t take anything seriously. But the little boy suddenly shifted into a cheery disposition once again, voice all pitchy.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be weird—“

“No, no, you’re not weird,” Jack said quickly, because he didn’t actually want Jamie to feel bad, there’s really nothing wrong with having an imagination. “It’s me. I just don’t get it. I’m a slow learner.”

“I know I shouldn’t bother people with these fairytales. It’s just that after my real dad would tell me these stories, I would tell it to my little sister and we’d…make a game out of it. Yeah. W-we would imagine people we knew playing the characters in the book…so she would think the world was a little more magical.”

“Wait, sister? You have a sister.”

Now Jamie allowed himself to appear a little sadder about this. “We er...got seperated.”

“Oh.” Jack didn’t ask more. “I'm...sorry to hear that.”

“I don't even know where she is anymore. But, I think...if I could find my dad, he'd be able to find her.”

Jack wasn't so sure a father who abandoned his kids to the foster system in the first place should be allowed to locate the other kid, but he figured he needed to give Jamie some hope. Since his first meeting with Jamie he managed to ask Hugo a bit more about what he knew about his situation. Rumor has it that he was just around six or seven when Pitchener adopted him. No one said anything about a sister and maybe for good reason. He nodded along, genuinely sympathetic.

“She was my responsibility,” Jamie continued, “It feels like I abandoned her.”

“Trust me, kid. It's probably not your fault.” He almost couldn’t look at Jamie. At that instant, he saw too much of himself in the brown haired boy. Jack couldn’t even remember his own childhood memories, but the absence was heavy on him. It was as if he was always searching for something or someone, never really knowing if he’d ever find them. “What was her name?”

“Sophie.”

He remembered one of the voices in his dream last night, before the moon woke him up.

The sky is awake. So I'm awake.

Please tell me a bedtime story, Daddy.

Something in Jack's heart tugged when he heard the name. He thought maybe because all this talk about family and loss reminded him of his own family. Maybe he knew someone named Sophie in his old memories.

"Are you okay?" Jamie asked. It must’ve shown in Jack’s face that he was bothered by something.

"What? It's nothing."

"Do you think maybe I could see her again someday?"

"Hey, now, of course. It's a small world," Jack said. "You never really know who you'll run into."

The library door flew open, as if on cue, and three girls from Disney High clustered in. The uniforms, with the school logo of a castle and an arch over it, were a giveaway. They weren’t noisy, since this was a library, but their presence in the once quiet library made it a little less. Sandy made a welcoming gesture as the girls greeted him.

“Hey, Sandy! Have you got anything new?” a girl with a ponytail secured by a blue bow said while returning an armful of books. Sandy responded with warmth as if this girl was a regular in the library. He proceeded to show her to the Fiction section, while the two other girls seemed deep in animated conversation by the counter. One girl had her dark curly hair up in a sensible bun and was surveying a magazine rack, picking up one about baking. The other girl, Jack was too busy staring at. He couldn’t really pay attention to what they were talking about. It was her. It was the girl from the café. Her hair was styled up a little differently and she looked different in her school uniform. More regal somehow. She actually tilted her head at Jack and he tried to act like he wasn’t just staring.

She probably saw. Jack pretended to be more interested in his phone.

“Why don’t you talk to her?”

“What?” Jack said, flustered and too obvious because he didn’t expect even the kid would notice him.

“That girl?”

He checked to see if the girl heard Jamie.

“I don’t know are you talking about and even if I did it would probably be a better idea to keep our voice down in a library.”

"Because you were looking at her like this.” Jamie made a goofy expression that could not have been his, he must be exaggerating.

“Now why would I do that?”

"Don't you feel the connection?"

"Next you're gonna’ tell me that in that book she's supposed to be, what? Mother Nature? The Easter Bunny?"

"The Easter Bunny's a man...well, bunny, but he's Mr. E. Aster."

"E. Aster? My dad’s friend, also known as my World History teacher who may or may not hate me? You've got to be kidding me."

"It makes sense! Who else would know so much about the world but the Easter Bunny? He's got portals he could hop to at any minute--"

"Okay, okay. I get it.”

Jack stopped, quirked an eyebrow, because the girl was giggling to herself as she watched them, albeit also responding to what the other girl was saying. She was just looking at him.

"Now come on! You clearly have a crush on her, so you might as well talk!"

"You have a no sense of personal boundaries!" Jack replied, but he could already feel himself getting convinced. She was looking at him! She was looking at him!

"I'll be your wing man!"

"Where are you getting all this? You're ten!"

"Come on, Jack! What fun comes out of doing nothing?"

Jack was taken aback from that. It sounded like something he would tell himself before doing something stupid. "Alright. Alright. I'm talking. Not like anything bad is going to happen, so fine."

Jack approached her as casually as he could, walking into an aisle in front of the one she had just ducked into. What was he thinking saying that? Of course this was dumb. He turned around to go back but Jamie was giving him a thumbs up and he couldn’t make things worse by suddenly fleeing so he fumbled through the shelves.

“Uhm, you go on ahead.” He heard the girl say.

He glanced at the book he’d randomly picked, Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata and proceeded to pretend to be flipping intently through it. But he can only scan a book’s pages so much without really looking at the text, especially when he was actually stalking someone. Where was he going with —?

He looked up and they were seeing each other through the book shelves.

“Hi.” He found himself saying. His voice was, thankfully, normal but he felt a little self-conscious with how deep his normal was. Also, had it always been this quiet?

“Hi,” she said.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said around the same time she mumbled something along the lines of “Have I seen you before?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“The, er, Cass’ Café, just up the street from here.”

She nodded as he spoke. “Lucky Cat Café, yes, I ran into you.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

“You, er, often go to Lucky Cat Café?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

There was a moment of painful silence where he had no idea what to say next and whether or not he could just nod and retreat. He’d caught her attention, it was too late, and all he kept saying was ‘yeah’.

He looked back at where he wanted to retreat to and caught sight of Jamie watching him, mouthing “Say something!” with apparent exasperation. He made his eyes go wide and tried to tell him to ‘chill’ without exactly saying it. Unfortunately, the kid and his movements were grandiose enough that the girl saw it as well.

"Kids.” He tried to shrug it off but it doesn’t seem like an explanation but a dead give-away of what this was, so he might as well roll with it. Accept that it was an attempt at flirting.

"I understand. I have a younger sister. You two are lucky to be close."

"Oh, he's not my brother. Just a friend. New kid in town, decided to show him around."

"I see.” She held her chin with her thumb and forefinger in a gesture of thoughtfulness. “I never pegged you for the warm and hospitable type."

"Pegged me? Wait, you've seen me before? I mean, before-before?"

It took her a minute to reply because she realized she said something to make herself obvious now too. "Around. Yes. I notice a lot of people."

Jack smirked, he couldn’t help it. "And here I thought people barely acknowledge that I exist."

"I find that hard to believe," she said under her breath.

"What?"

"I mean, people. Unbelievable sometimes."

"Eva? I found what I was looking for, you coming?" the girl with the blue bow in her hair said. The two other girls were now waiting for her by the counter and were raising their eyebrows at Jack.

"Oh, er, yes."

“Eva?” he tried out her name. “So I guess I’ll just wait and see if you’ll be around at the café again sometime. Assuming you don’t see me first.”

She made an awkward laugh and covered her mouth as she backed away from the aisle. The three girls walked to the door and he saw the other two taking glances back at him, each playfully elbowing Eva now and then.

“Okay now, who was that?” the girl with a bun and, now, a cookbook in her arms asked.

“I don’t know. I—“ she was trying hard not to smile. Trying.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” the other girl with a blue bow and, now, a larger stack of books said.

“I’m so stupid. I forgot to ask his name.”

Jack acted like he wasn’t really listening all the while, sauntering back into his seat with the copy of Snow Country still in his hands. It was only after he heard her say it that he realized he’d forgotten to tell her his name, but hopefully it means he’ll still see her again. He’ll definitely keep an eye out for her.

"You're blushing."

"No I'm not."

"You do like her."

It was only a little later that they left the library, right after Sandy gave them snacks and started teasing Jack about the girl too. Jamie insisted on following Jack, since he was going to wait at the café again and wanted to tell him about the story of the friendship between the queens of the Enchanted Forest. It was in the middle of telling him a particularly different version of Princess and the Frog than he remembered that they bumped into Audrey.

"Hey, er...what's your name again?" Audrey, who normally couldn’t be bothered to even talk to Jack, asked.

"Jack. It's a very common name.” And his situation in town should’ve made it very hard to miss. “How come people forget?"

"Oh, yeah, right,” she continued dismissively, “I was looking for Hugo. Have you seen him? He was supposed to be at Hockey practice today but he bailed out. Again."

"I didn't think he got to play Hockey. Or liked to."

"Yeah, but you know his dad."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind. You wouldn't understand. I've been trying to help him but if he doesn't show up there's nothing I can do.” She had a hand on her hip and a particular expression of disappointment that suggested this wouldn’t be the first time. “Anyway, if you see him, tell him I was looking for him."

She didn’t have to wait for Jack to respond before going ahead.

***

Past

Merida had her bow drawn. Her heart was beating madly and it occurred to her how stupid it was for her to have wandered off alone. Especially now with sinister things at large in these parts of the woods. It was too late, of course, and she was now face to face with—

“Pitch Black.”

“The one and only,” the man replied with a silvery voice. He had such a presence about him that suggested fear—cold, endless, fear. His face was corpse-like, sunken eyes staring back at her like an almost empty skull. Most of the first few seconds with this monster was spent with him circling her; whether studying or taunting her, she wasn’t sure. The words he’d bought up again were about her and Hiccup, stitching together whatever doubts she’d had in the cave to what he’d warned her earlier in the woods.

"You know what they say, that's just how the story goes."

"What are you going on about?" she tried to tamp down whatever bad feeling she had while in his presence, suppressing all of her doubts about what just happened. The Dark One can sense desperation, she remembered from Maudie’s tales to the triplets. You best wish you’d never see him in the wood. To see him is a bad omen.

"Did you think you were meant to be? If anything I'd say you were nothing but star-crossed.” He obviously talking about her and Hiccup, trying to get to her. She backed away slowly in an attempt to run off, but he reappeared at her side.

“I know how these stories go--the hero goes off to do the right thing," he continued with a thin smile. He gestured with his arms, making shadows materialize in thin air, showing her a dream vision or a nightmare vision. Dark magic. "The story should go that he defeats great threats against his people, marries Astrid and leads the Vikings with their Dragons, forging a new path and name his once small village.” Small shadow versions of the Vikings and their dragons appeared in the space between her and Pitch, the village of Berk rising and improving before her eyes.

“He will be the greatest chieftain the the Hairy Hooligan Tribe and the isle of Berk has ever seen and finally bring honor to his father’s reputation. A true happy ever after.” He paused to see her reaction before saying, with such relish, “You're just getting in the way."

"I didn't...I didn't ask for us to meet,” Merida said after the shadows faded.

"The only reason why the two of you met is because you tried to change your fate and now everyone else's fates would suffer for it. Including..." he takes her by the chin and makes her look at another vision where Hiccup is surrounded by the highlanders in the ring of stones, "his."

"No!” She threw her arm over the shadow and then faced the Dark One with as much fierceness as she could muster. “Why are you showing me this? What do you want?"

"Let's just say I have a general concern about all things happening in this land. I keep tabs, you see. Your kind of love would bring nothing but conflict to either one of you or both your people. Though I couldn't care less how that turns out, details, details, I'm what you would call...an opportunist. I see a person in desperate need of an answer, I go and give them another option."

His smile was anything but trustworthy.

"And what is that?"

"Ready to make a deal, are we?"

"I don't even know what you're trying to propose. I've dealt with complicated bargains in the past, I'm not about to make another mistake. I won't go through with this." She tried to leave again and this time it almost seemed like he would let her go. There was nothing in her way but a part of her stayed to listen.

"But what if I tell you there was a way for you to have both? Be in the arms of your lover,” he said, forming new shadows, “and ensure the safety of your kingdom?"

It was as if the whole wood went silent.

"State your terms."

"Have you ever heard of a forgetting spell?"

(End of Part 3)

Episode 1

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Episode 2

Part 1

Part 2

Tag List: @rose-sparks13 @beautifulslimezonkpaper @rosesnvines@jewishicequeen @hiddenwriterspirit @shiroi-majo

Just let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged!

Thanks for reading!

#the big four ouat au #the big four fanfiction #jelsa #mericcup #jelsa fanfiction #merricup fanfiction #rise of the brave tangled dragons #rotbtd au #rotbtd fandom #rotbtd fanfiction #jack frost #elsa frozen #merida #hiccup horrendous haddock III #Merida and Hicccup #Merrida x Hiccup

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jaerie · 5 years

Text

11/11/11

I was tagged by @phd-mama and @allwaswell16 and @chloehl10 so this is more like 33/11/11 hahaha I got a little carried away with this but I love answering stuff like this

Answer 11 questions, come up with 11 more, tag 11 people.

1. Tell me, do you like music on when you write??

No, I have to have silence. Or, you know, normal household noises. When I was in high school I listened to music with the tv on while doing my homework but now.... I think it’s moreso because I periodically close my eyes and visualize the scene or really throw myself into the character to get the emotions right and the music just takes away from that. I also hear music in a really complex way which I won’t explain here because this is about writing, but yea, it’s too much stimulation

2. Are you someone who plots everything out before you write it?

Absolutely not. I can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve actually plotted something for a fic in this fandom. I’m definitely a fly by the seat of my pants kind of writer. I generally have somewhere the fic is going, but I usually let the characters steer so sometimes it vectors off someplace I never expected it to go. That’s how so many of my better fics have gone. I did have to plot out As We Were, As We Are extensively because wow complex precise true to life timelines, but that’s really the only one I’ve actually done a real one for.

3. Do you write in chronological order?

Most of the time, yes. Occassionally I’ll jump down and write or start a scene that either inspired the whole fic or that I want to get down before I forget it, but I usually write from start to finish.

4. Do you like to eat while writing?

hahahahaha usually no. But only because I’ll get distracted and like.... not write....

5. Is there a trope you love?

I am a sucker for fake/pretend relationships. It’s so obviously one of the most predictable storylines but I’ll read every one of them. I don’t know why. The misunderstanding angst of it... I don’t know!

6. Have you written it? (See 5)

I don’t... think so... Is that bad I don’t remember? But I don’t think I have

7. Is there a trope you hate?

I can’t really do the sugar baby/daddy scenario... there are a few cases where it’s worked but in general, no.

8. Have you written it? (See 7)

I think there is a little bit of it in a couple maybe? And someone asked me to write one that’s still in my maybe pile... so I might.

9. Can you read your main ship with other pairings?

Depends. Usually yes because if it’s a pairing I don’t like I just kind of generically gloss over it in my mind a bit? Or imagine the same description but not that exact person? But there aren’t really a lot of absolute nos for me and it’s usually related to me not like that PERSON rather than the ship (taylor swift for example, have to really speed through fics with her in parts BUT like I said, it’s easy for me to imagine a likeness that’s not HER specifically. Idk). If it’s well written then it’s worth getting through it, if it’s not well written, I probably wouldn’t finish it anyway.

10. What’s a solid NO GO for you?

I don’t have many and most of them even have exceptions so I don’t know what a solid no is until I see a tag that’s a solid no?? And they’re the usual general niche things? (scat, watersports, idk those things) Hardcore bdsm-type is a no for me (but there have been some exceptions). MOST things that are nos for me like daddy kink, I can still read the fic, I just kind of... speed through those parts? I don’t really have any actual triggers... I don’t really read a lot of girl direction if they’re both girls. Which is a weird complicated issue for me because I WRITE IT. And there are some good ones out there that I have read but in general...? idk it’s weird and probably has a lot to do with me being sdpofijapsdgjoidsjfosdj about words for vagina rather than it actually being girls. But to be fair it took me years to be comfortable writing cock and dick without blushing and running off. I don’t know, it’s something about reading it that it usually isn’t my first choice. That was a long complicated answer just to say “not really”

11. Do you have a signature move, aka, let’s say for no particular reason, just because, coming in pants?

oh my god. Yes. Probably. I can’t think off of the top of my head but I definitely find myself returning to the same phrasing or words or actions. Especially when it comes to abo and knotting.

1. What’s your favourite fic you’ve ever written, and why?

Sisterwives and As We Were, As We Are I think because they are the two I put the most into. Plotting, planning, emotions, etc.

2. Pick three words that you think describe your works overall.

Problematic (lol), intense/emotional, sexual.

3. How long does it take you to write a fic?

Varies. I’ve written 20k+ in 24 hours and I’ve written 5k in a month. Really depends on what I’m working on and my emotional state of stress.

4. What’s the hardest thing about writing?

For me? Fluff and filler. And English. I’ve fallen into a pattern of writing that probably has a lot of errors in tense. But... it is what it is.

5. Do you listen to music or anything while you write? What’s normal for you when you write?

I answered this one in depth above

6. How do you come up with titles for your fics?

I have this terrible thing where I just name a fic and run and then regret it and want to change it once it’s already posted hahahahaha There are a handful that I’ve named after Hanson lyrics just because I think it’s funny... but most of the time there is no rhyme or reason to it.

7. What’s one piece of advice you’d give to a new writer?

Just keep writing. Because it’s easy to get discouraged about kudos and attention. Kudos and attention does NOT equal quality. It’s still something that I struggle with letting go, but as a new writer it’s more difficult not to see that as a failure. But my first fics in this fandom still have some pretty low kudos counts and my fics in other fandoms have as few as FIVE kudos. Five. I think they’re great fics, but I’m just not as known in that fandom/there aren’t as many readers. For example, I wrote this AWESOME Brokeback Mountain fic for the Hanson fandom and it has only 15 kudos.

8. How important do you think tags are when you are publishing a fic?

*gets up on soapbox* Tags are the most important part of publishing a fic. I am a firm believer that anyone can write anything the want as long as it is properly tagged. Proper tagging is the writer’s only responsibility to the reader. If those are in place, what follows doesn’t have to be tailored to anyone.

9. Do you write for fests/exchanges? If so, do you enjoy them? If not, why not?!

I have mixed feelings about this. I used to write for both. Now I exclusively write for fests and I’m selective about the ones I participate in. Why? Well for one, deadlines. I’ve made the mistake too many times of overcommitting and then nothing felt right and I was stessed about it and just... not good. As for exchanges... I’ve been burned in the past? By dropouts and such? Or by the giftee not liking or never reading the fic? Or by me needing to drop out for mental health reasons but not because I was writing FOR someone? I’ve done a handful of pinch hits since I swore off exchanges, but they’re too much anxiety for me personally. (I have had some good experiences with exchanges though!! Not all of them were bad!!)

10. Which work of yours are you most proud of and why?

As We Were, As We Are..... because.... DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH FRICKIN RESEARCH I DID FOR THAT FIC!? ALL WHILE WRITING IT DURING NANO?!?! I put soooooooo much into that fic that I’m sad it didn’t get much attention. It was written for the Alex exchange so Harry is written as Alex so that’s probably why. Some people have a big problem if fics aren’t written a certain way. I don’t know. I was really sad about that though. I LIVED in WWII for months with that fic and it will always be special to me. I’ve even thought about putting more work into into it to have it published somewhere. I know it’s not like... classic 1D fic quality or whatever but I think the bones of it are strong enough. I don’t know, I’m probably delusional. haha but I still like it

11. What’s next for you?

Oh man. Well. I said I was going to stop writing for this fandom. But then this rush of support came in and then I started to feel really spiteful and thought that I’d keep going just because of that... and I feel like I’m only just now gaining a following for my fics that keeps me motivated enough to keep improving... soooo I’ve committed to a few fests coming out this fall. I am also participating in Wordplay going on right now. The first fic comes out tomorrow I think. I also have some Sisterwives timestamps.

1. What fic have you written that you wish everyone would read?

dunkirk fic and sisterwives probably

2. What’s your favorite character you’ve ever written?

hahahahaha harry from one of my yet to be published sekret fics hahahahaha but I really love so many of them like shifter harry

3. What’s your most popular fic and why do you think it’s your most popular?

By Kudos? Where Do We Go Now. And I have no idea. Because I always have to click to even remember which one it is. And it was written so fast and I remember not liking where it went but just hit publish because it was a pinch hit... I honestly have no idea. Someone please give me insight on this because i have no idea.

4. What’s one of your favorite fan fics that you haven’t written?

I kind of answered this above but I’ll also say The Wilds because it wrote so fast. I wrote the whole thing in under 24 hours

5. What is your current WIP about?

Ummmmm Some of them are going to be posted on anon I think? So I’ll just say Thor Harry

6. What is a fic that you hope to write someday?

siiiiigghhhhhhhh my Almost Famous au

7. Do you read fics from other fandoms? Which ones?

I read a lot of Thorki... and random fandoms. I love to read a lot of fucked up shit just for the shock value of it?? I don’t know, I’m weird like that. So I started branching out to general tag searches so I’ve read stuff from tons of fandoms that I don’t even know what they are. I think Supernatural is one I frequent a lot because they have some real fucked up fics.

8. What author or book has influenced you as a writer?

Sooooo There was a writer that really sparked my creativity back when I was in a different fandom. But then they disappeared from that fandom and I ran into them as a popular figure in the 1D fandom but they’re kind of hated in the fandom now?? so I won’t say their name. BUT in the other fandom, they had this fic that I still go back and read to this day every once in a while. It was intense, a lil fucked up, and just... yeah. The kind that sticks with you.

9. What’s one of your favorite books from when you were a child?

Island of the Blue Dolphins. Which I reread a few years ago and ??? idk I was a weird child. I mean I didn’t think it was a BAD book

10. What’s an au/trope that you thought you didn’t like until you read one and loved it?

Harry Potter AUs? haha I’m sure there are more than that because there have been a LOT I didn’t think I’d enjoy and then I loved... OH THE TIME TRAVELER AU. I don’t remember why but I didn’t read that foreeeeever because I didn’t think it was my thing.

11. Choose one: angst or fluff?

angst. this isn’t even a question.

Wow. I probably spent too much time on that. If you’ve made it this far, kudos for sticking in there through my ramblings.

Let’s see.

1. What is the most problematic concept in one of your fics?

2. Mpreg. Yey or ney and why.

3. What aspect of a fic can you write but not read?

4. What aspect of a fic can you read but not write?

5. What fic is your most popular?

6. Is it a fic that surprises you or is it one you wish was not as popular?

7. Is there an exchange/fest that you didn’t write for that you wish you would have?

8. Do you write in any other fandoms?

9. What was the first fandom you started writing for?

10. Do you write other pairings other than your main?

11. What projects are on the back burner?

Omg this was so hard. um.... @tragic---love @wendydarlingfics @reminiscingintherain ummmmmm omg tagging people gives me such anxiety bc i feel like i’m annoying. its a struggle. back at cha @chloehl10

#11/11/11

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feixing02 · 5 years

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((……so I was gonna do 250 of em because that’s how many emojis there are but I realized when i transfer from docs it doesn’t number everything. Also I’m tired of this sitting here. Soooo have like 175 lol

She’s got a handful of human teeth she kept that were gifts from crows.

Falls asleep on the RED base couch sometimes b/c she just wants to rest her eyes.

Never sleeps on the BLU base couch. Wilhelm is in the building.

Keeps a jar of sourdough starter.

The starter has been named Charles.

If all the flour gets used and she can’t feed it she will get antsy.

Doesn’t understand why people love their parents when the parents are shitty to them.

Says she doesn’t like coffee.

Doesn’t like coffee unless it’s mostly milk and sugar.

Secretly admires the Spies knife flippy skills.

Will do the ‘definitely not watching’ side eye if knives are being flippied in the vicinity.

Makes up hoverboard tricks on her spare time occasionally.

Does it in a closed room so her board doesn’t go flying away.

Makes lots of banging sounds against the wall as it slips from her feet.

Very good at peeling potatoes, cutting fruit, chopping veggies…

Was never taught to cook anything complicated.

Well versed in cooking basics, through.

Can draw faces pretty well.

Wants to take life drawing lessons.

Wants to see a musical on Broadway.

Is constantly uncomfortable if her hands feel dirty.

Keeps a lighter and cigarettes in her pockets.

Doesn’t smoke.

They’re for a certain disembodied head.

Or on the off chance someone asks for one.

Not very familiar with types of alcohol.

Doesn’t have much alcohol because she doesn’t like the sting.

Favourite fruit is apples, though she’s picky with them.

Red delicious is the favourite type of apple.

Do not give her a granny smith she will not eat it.

Really likes marbles as an aesthetic.

Owns a denim dress that goes down to her calves.

The dress is shaped kinda like a bag.

Fashionistas everywhere are horrified.

Really likes saltwater taffy.

Dislikes getting stuff stuck in her teeth.

Just suck on the taffy instead of biting it.

Bite ice cream and popsicles instead.

Has made kick the can ice cream on base.

If she gets a nosebleed while they’re not working she’ll just let it drip into a garbage can/sink until it stops.

Dislikes licorice.

Writes letters to James still when something troubles her.

Doesn’t send them.

Used to gross smoke smell.

Thinks glasses are cute.

Gives herself pretty janky haircuts.

Sometimes will remember stuff that makes her happy and just start giggling.

Doesn’t do it when around people much, since it looks a little crazy if you can’t see her thoughts.

Still gets uncomfortable watching people kiss in movies.

Or in real life, tbh.

Pain tolerance is pretty crap compared to the mercenaries.

Gets better as she spends more time in the gravel war.

Likes small spaces.

There’s a cupboard on BLU’s side that’s just big enough not to be uncomfortable she hangs out in.

It’s secret.

Will go there when she doesn’t want to be approached by anyone.

Mostly aimed at Wilhelm tbh.

The kind of person to take napkins from restaurants.

Lives in the middle of nowhere after the war.

Close enough to get groceries in a tiny town but no one knows her.

Continues to write letters to people on the teams.

Actually sends most of them now.

Lives with two cats.

Never finds out what happened to James.

((James dies from lung cancer and is in a p awful state because of his OCD.

Showers really late at night on base.

Takes her paintball gun and a towel to partially cover up.

Anybody try to sneak in and she will scream.

Tries to get Jean to stop chain smoking by offering candy.

Gets briefly addicted to the candy.

Goes traveling for a while after gravel war ends.

Knows a bit of Mandarin.

Doesn’t eat apples by just chomping down on one.

Will always chop them into slices first.

Dislikes oranges.

Makes loaves of bread to add to their supplies sometimes.

Makes cookies and different pastries often once she realizes she has tons of people to eat them now.

Don’t have to worry about making too much.

Likes the routine of baking.

Terrible at lying.

Bad about making breakfast.

Is too lazy to do much in the morning.

Would rather spend the energy on work.

Dislikes tea.

Unless it’s mostly sugar.

Wears a scarf and beanie when it’s cold.

Likes the comfort of really heavy blankets.

Will be really uncomfortable if blankets are too light as she’s trying to sleep.

Drinks a full glass of water as part of her morning routine.

Doesn’t know how to shuffle cards.

Doesn’t know how to play poker.

Developed a habit of keeping her back to the wall.

It’s pretty unconsciously enforced at this point.

Good at folding clothes.

Good at cleaning in general.

Dislikes cleaning in general.

Bad at improvising.

Gets anxious when forced to improvise.

Doesn’t know how to drive a car.

Wouldn’t be a good driver if she ever learned.

Didn’t see the stars until she was out in New Mexico.

Too much light pollution in the cities.

Spiders look cool to her but she’s still got some level of arachnophobia.

Likes how suits look on guys.

Has a habit of ordering lots of food and just slowly chipping away at it.

Would probably not eat enough if she weren’t doing exhausting work every day.

Likes honey on toast.

Cautious of all animals.

Loud chewing is especially gross to her.

If you stick gum anywhere other than the garbage she will silently judge you.

She’s had to clean too much of that for it not to give her flashbacks.

Shortest among the teams.

Reads those really cheap romance novels.

Prefers crunchy to soft food.

NO MAYONNAISE.

Favourite books are “Daddy Long-Legs” by Jean Webster and “The Adventures of Perrine (En Famille)” by Hector Malot Adapted by Edith Heal.

Goes out flying at night sometimes so that she can do it without the risk of being shot.

Keeps cassette tapes.

Knows how to make lao puo bing (sweetheart cake).

Has issues writing things that are interesting to read.

She can do formal and functional but expressing feelings is hard.

Rarely wears dresses, likes them but they’re not as convenient.

Thinks marriage could be nice but isn’t super hung up about it.

Makes lists to organize things she has to do.

Forgets stuff easily if they don’t have to do with other people.

Sings in the shower.

Is a bit of a crybaby but mostly in private.

She makes a point to run the fuck away or suppress that shit in front of peeps.

Modern AU (kid version)

Loves Hamilton.

Probably said to Dr. Humboldt at one point, “I have the honour to be your obedient servant.”

Likes her job as a receptionist.

Continues to take transit for like over an hour to work there even as her residence changes.

Her penny board is red with white trucks and blue wheels.

Pretty into battle tetris.

Isn’t great at it but plays a lot on the school computers when she can.

Favourite candy is Hi-Chew.

Never been to a sleepover.

Hasn’t ridden a bike.

But could probably figure it out in like ten minutes.

Buy her a frappuccino it’s her favourite.

Will sit outside clothing shops and sketch what’s in the display.

Knows how to make paper stars.

Wants to learn piano.

Has a lot of celebrity crushes on comedians.

Pretty clueless about current events.

Knows the public transit system super well.

Deity AU

Likes splashing around in water.

Especially with her wings out.

Will take opportunities to land on Diva’s head in pigeon form.

Sitting on people’s head as a birb is funny to her.

Mortals don’t understand what her birbs are saying unless she wants them to.

It just sounds like normal bird sounds.

Cue pigeon following her friends around and reciting the Bee movie.

Has a hoard of pretty marbles.

Shapes them when she’s bored.

Gives marbles as gifts sometimes, just as like a pretty thing.

Writes things and pins them up in her trees.

Sometimes poems she’s seen and likes.

Steals glass bits from mortals to hang up in her tree.

There’s some wind chimes up there too over the years.

She likes the sound.

Will sometimes talk to stray cats about her troubles that she’s too nervous to talk to Diva about.

Tells him about James this way.

Sometimes checks in on Ludwig secretly through gift eyes when she misses him but doesn’t want to approach for whatever reason.

Feels bad about it because it feels like spying.

Has a pile of gifts she made but hasn’t given yet.

Actually is pretty rich off of her job.

Even if she’s not paid much, Penna barely ever spends the drachmas on anything.

Wears backless sweaters in the modern age.

Gets a bit of a ‘hoard shiny things’ compulsion as time goes on.

Sometimes pretends to be an injured bird so humans will pick her up.

Meets James in 1840s.

Doesn’t tell him she’s a god.

Eventually kills him with Diva.

Touches her torc as a nervous reaction to be reassured that Divitiae was there for her.

#refiinedrogue #ask meme

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shimmershaewrites · 6 years

Text

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 13 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title: Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating: PG-13?

Warnings: adult language, angst. Allusions to Carol/Other.

Characters/Pairings: Daryl Dixon, T-Dog, Noah, mentions of Beth Greene, Sophia Peletier, Carol Peletier, Merle Dixon, Karen, Enid, mentions of Noah/Beth, Jacqui, Jacqui/T-Dog, past Merle/Karen, past Carol/Daryl, original character.

Waltzing’s for Dreamers

Seven years after Vegas. Middle of March.

His mouth tastes like ass.

That’s the first thought that coalesces in Daryl’s sludge-ridden brain when he fights his way back to consciousness. His mouth tastes like ass—hairy ass—with an undercurrent of Jack and…wait a damn minute. Just when did he board a fuckin’ Tilt-a-Whirl? Suddenly finding himself spread-eagled on the rottin’ porch, squinting into the too-bright morning sun and trying to figure out why the kid from his last period is looking at him like he’s a member of the undead, he groans. Tries to sit up but that just spurs the jackhammer battering against the confines of his skull to maximum and shit. Is that T kicking at his boots? Tossing a grease-soaked bag in his general direction with a smile that’s more pitying that anything?

“I’d offer you hair of the dog, but…”

He opens up the bag and takes an experimental sniff. Winces when his stomach rolls like he’s trying to surf a ten-story wave with a kid’s piece of shit boogie board and sets the offering aside. Notices the stray that’s been haunting the place since his first night back lurking in the yard, big brown eyes peering out from beneath an overgrown crepe myrtle bush, and grumbles. “Man, don’t even.”

“Just saying. You two looked plenty cozy to me,” T says. His grin a little more genuine as he falls back into his old pattern of trying to wrestle a matching smile from Daryl’s reluctant lips. “Right, Noah?”

The teen smirks. Ducks his head and mumbles something indecipherable beneath his breath as he wisely leaves the two of them alone.

T shakes his head and offers him a hand. “Kids these days.”

Daryl lets him pull him to a sitting position but waves him off from doing anything more. In response, his old friend plants himself on the porch beside him and with the farmhouse’s weathered wall at their backs and a grove of towering pecan trees beyond the crumbling stone pathway, the tire swing swaying in the breeze, they lapse into a familiar sort of silence. Just let each other be while they gather up their thoughts because it’s been a long time. Too damn long. Eventually, he just has to know. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Kids these days,” Dog repeats. “They talk.”

“What kids?” Daryl asks, even though he has a pretty good inkling who before the question has fully left his mouth. The boy? Noah? He’s a quiet sort, much like he’d been that age. Observant. And the little Greene girl that never strays too far from his side when she can help it? Well, she ain’t loud exactly. Not in your face confident like far too many of her little jerk classmates are, but she notices things, too. Seen his truck coming and going as he passes her daddy’s farm every day. Talks and knows some people that know some people and they talk, he’s sure. Which leads him to wonder. “Carol know?”

“That you bought this old place? Don’t think so. That you got trashed last night? Probably, considering the way things went down between you and Soph yesterday. Those two are tight. ‘Specially since you…”

“Go ‘head. Say it. Ain’t like I don’t know I’m an asshole.” He picks at his thumbnail. Sighs as he tries to bury the all-too-fresh memory of the words ‘Phia had thrown at him like knives. It’s an impossible task. Because even now, he’s bleeding from the cuts. Don’t know if he can stop the seeping before it becomes a hemorrhage. Don’t know if he should even try because ultimately? She’s not wrong. No matter his reasons—reasons he’d once held to be valid and honorable—he’d still left. Still broken the promises he’d made and hell. He don’t want to think about it because all he can picture is her pretty little face. Fierce and tear-stained as she’d landed gut punch after gut punch and as much as it’d hurt. As much as it still goddamn hurts, he can’t help but be proud because she’s got her mama’s back just as much as Carol’s got hers and it’s a thing of fuckin’ beauty, those two. No. Those three, he reminds himself. Feeling his throat close up and make it even harder to force the next words out. “I left. Abandoned them. Right to hate me. Don’t blame ‘em.”

“They don’t hate you.”

“Do,” he insists. “Know what she said to me? I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead ‘cause no way would my daddy leave me. How the fuck does she not hate me, Man?”

T takes his time answering and he looks just as torn up as Daryl feels. “Soph. Carol, too. They’re hurt. There’s a difference,” he tells him. “That woman hated you, she wouldn’t have cared enough to check on you.”

“Carol called you?” Hope flares in his chest. Instant and bright before it fizzles away because there’s that look again. The one full of sympathy that looks more like a grimace than anything. That look told him she cared, yeah. But not enough to outright refuse another man’s ring. Put his back on.

“Went about it roundabout. Reached out to your brother. Then his crusty white ass called me,” T finally admits.

“Merle?” Daryl scoffs. Immediately regrets it when the pounding at his temples resumes. “Merle called you?”

“Shocked me, too.”

“He’s changed.”

“Sounded like it.”

“Got himself a girl. Enid. Same age as ‘Phia. Little older. Real wiseass.” Something resembling a laugh sneaks past his lips. “Thought she got it from Merle but Karen ain’t all sugar sweet neither.”

“Reckon she wouldn’t be, getting with the likes of Merle,” T-Dog chuckles.

“Reckon you’re right,” Daryl admits. He notices the kid out in the yard, trying to coax the mutt out of its hiding spot and into the open. Swears beneath his breath and earns himself a frown from the man beside him in the process. “What? He makes friends with the damn flea bag, I’ll never get rid of it.”

“You feeding it? Don’t even try to tell me you’re not. Man, I seen that bag of food in the back of your truck. You done splurged on the good stuff. Might as well start thinking up names.”

“Pfft.”

“Think I’m kidding.”

“Stop,” Daryl mutters. Resting his head back against the wall with a groan. Letting his gritty eyes drift closed as a hard-fought smile twitches at his lips. “How you know the kid?” he asks after a while.

“Remember Jacqui?”

His brow furrows in thought. Eventually, he nods. Eyes still shut against the beaming sun. “Yeah.”

“Noah’s her cousin’s boy. The one that lives up in Virginia? Anyway. They’ve been having trouble up there with a gang. Calls themselves the Wolves. His mama thought he might have a better chance of it making it down here in sleepy little King County. She just didn’t figure on him falling into puppy love. And I’m not talking about your furry friend over there. Get my drift?”

“The little Greene girl?”

“Beth,” T confirms. “Lives down the road a mile or so. When the kid found out I was coming here, he up and volunteered to tag along.”

“Bet,” Daryl remarks. Fumbling for the forgotten takeout bag when his stomach grumbles. Pulling out a biscuit and unwrapping it, taking first a small, careful bite. Then a much bigger bite when his stomach don’t rebel completely. “Still don’t really explain how you know the kid. Unless you and Jacqui…” The shit-eating grin on Dog’s face answers the unasked question for him and he lowers the breakfast sandwich to his lap. Wraps it and the bag back up and tucks it away for later. “You and Jacqui? Really?”

“What you mean really?”

“Nothing. Just thought you two were friends.”

“We were. We are. I’m here to tell you, Man. Sometimes those old sayings? They’re true. Friends really do make the best…”

“That’s alright,” Daryl cuts him off. “Get it. I do. M’happy for you.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it. Happy for you, too.” When that comment earns him a raised brow, he clarifies. “Happy you came to your senses and finally come home.”

“Well,” Daryl mutters as he watches him stand. Dust off the seat of his pants. This time when he offers him a hand up, he takes it. Does the same. “Might be the only one.”

“Don’t do that, Man.”

“Do what?”

“Throw yourself a pity party. Own your shit.”

“Own my shit?” Daryl echoes. “You don’t even know the half of my shit.”

“Doesn’t matter. Still the only way you’re going to be able to work toward making things right.”

He’s right. Course he is. Don’t make the words any easier for him to say. It just isn’t the Dixon way. So he dips his head in deference. Casts his gaze to T’s own truck, laden down with all the tools of his trade and an idea starts to form as he looks over the ramshackle old farmhouse. One that the other man reads all over his face, no words necessary. Sighs but offers to shake on it all the same.

“Gonna take lots of work. Hard work. Carol and those kids, though?”

“They’re worth fighting for.”

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bxebxee · 7 years

Text

Going Once, Going Twice, Sold (Birth of a Sugar Baby)

Note: This is a two-for-one deal. I wrote this to participate in the Bangtan Bookclub Monthly Challenge: Sugar Daddy Edition, and also as a (late) birthday gift to my very good friend, MVP, whom I love and adore and respect and would probably donate my kidney for if she were in need of one. I had so much fun planning this out with @94hixtape and @sugaredmarbles - Smut Goddesses tbh. I got Really inspired by Cheese In The Trap! Yet again, this came out Different than how I originally imagined it, but I’m hoping it’s not a total disaster.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: college au, sugar daddy au Warnings: escort/prostitution, online perverts, unsanitary mention, masturbation mention Word Count: 5144 Rating: A, for Ambiguous (because it’s not really smut, but it’s not exactly the Safest thing for work. Feel?)

But the real reason anything at all started with Hoseok was something much simpler, and probably wholly unexpected - not that you ever planned on any of the other members of the MBA Society to find out.

You leave your unlocked phone in his car before stumbling your way into your tiny, studio apartment. And he sees a twitter notification asking you for further discount on your panties.

That is all it takes.

You have exactly $2.30 on you at this very second, broken down by a wrinkly-looking dollar bill with the rest scrounged up from various coins.

“Fuck,” you whisper, sneaking a glance at Seungcheol making his rounds collecting money to pay for the meal your group just ate. Luckily he’s still a few tables over, which gives you time to make puppy eyes at your friends.

Jisoo wordlessly hands you a couple of folded singles. “It’s all I have left minus emergency money, and you’re not getting that. Sorry baby.”

“I fucking love you,” you sigh, grateful for anything. When Chaeyoung goes to hand you money, you shoot her a stern glare. “Don’t you dare. Underclassmen do not pay for my shit.” You had absolutely abhorred being taken advantage of when you were a freshman, and you’d be damned if you subjected Pure, Perfect Chaeyoung to something like that.

The MBA Society liked to have spontaneous dinner meetings (read: excuses to get drunk), and while they were called “optional,” the tacit truth was that if you didn’t show up to one, your invites for the rest of the semester were revoked. So even though you knew you were beyond broke, you still had to drag your feet over to a moderately-priced meat house and pretend to enjoy the food.

“Just take the money, good lord. You can pay her back later,” Jisoo sighs as you continue to resist the younger girl’s offer. “He’s coming over here right now,” she hisses.

“I’m really okay with it,” Chaeyoung says enthusiastically in her Freshman voice. Her eyes are so innocent, and you feel like the Worst. You’ve effectively become the very person you wanted to avoid turning into, but there was no way around it...

Seungcheol comes around to your section a few seconds after you hastily accept a shiny, crisp ten-dollar bill from Chaeyoung. You give him a halfhearted smile as he accepts money from you.

“I think I’m gonna pass on second round,” you tell him, doing your best to look tired rather than depressed.

He frowns at the news. “Awww, why? It’s no fun if you’re not around. You gotta show the newbies how a real professional handles karaoke.”

You let out the fakest laugh, and you see Jisoo’s nostrils flare in embarrassment from the corner of you eyes. “I really, really want to, but I gotta take care of assignments. I’m behind.”

He sighs, pouting cutely at your reluctance. “Alright. I won’t push tonight. But don’t make this a habit.”

“I won’t,” you reply to his retreating form. When you’re sure he’s left earshot, you heave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll pay you guys back ASAP.”

Jisoo snorts, “Don’t bother with me. I want your notes from last lecture though. We’ll call it even then.”

You blink. “Seriously?” you ask because it seems like you’re getting the better deal.

“Uh, yeah,” she replies, eyes incredulous at your surprise. “I skipped that day, and you have the best set of notes out of anyone who’s willing to share. Apart from Hoseok of course.”

You blink at the mention of Hoseok who did not show up today. Seungcheol had mentioned it was something related to his family. You try not to be too bitter because Hoseok is truly the sweetest even though his special treatment drove you nuts. It’s not a secret that Hoseok skipped out on these meetings all the time, and he still had an open invite. Maybe that’s what happened when you were the son of a millionaire business tycoon. Sometimes you wonder if everyone just lets Hoseok get away with doing whatever he wanted because they all wanted to get a job at his mother’s company.

It’s an ugly, recurring thought, and you have to kill it with fire regularly.

“Do we have a deal?” Jisoo prompts when you don’t answer for a while, and you shake her head with a sigh when she thrusts it in your face.

“Oh my god, yes, deal,” you giggle, swatting away her hand after a few moments. She always did have a penchant for the theatrical.

“I wish Hoseok showed up today though,” Jisoo mentions, taking out her phone to check on her Instagram. “He would have probably covered the meal like he always does.”

A lump of discomfort forms at her words. “He’s not a wallet, Jisoo.”

“I know, but it’s not like he’d miss the money when he’s fucking loaded.”

That’s not the point at all, but you don’t argue with her because there’s no way to win when she gets into an argumentative mood.

The first thing you do when you leave the restaurant is open Twitter and check your direct messages. You only see five new messages, and among them three are spam - advertising things like free hookup services and the like. One message is a glorified sext (you block that one), and the other is an offer, albeit much lower than what you’re looking for.

It’s with a bitter heart that you confirm the sale, letting twitter user @75649qx know that you’ll mail him your used panties for the low price of fifteen dollars. Factoring in shipping and underwear costs, you’ve made a grand total of seven dollars and change. This wasn’t even enough to pay back Chaeyoung for covering you at the restaurant.

It’s with a heavy heart that you make the choice to walk home. You needed to save your bus fare if your sales were going to shit.

“This is okay,” you tell yourself while trying to ignore the fact that you’re in heels, “It’ll be exercise.”

You look behind you to see if the rest of the group was still loitering by the restaurant, but they’ve all left for a second round of drinks and fun. You are truly alone.

A car honks loudly, and a voice calls out, “Hey, you’re still here?”

You nearly jump out of your skin when you see Hoseok’s head peeking out at you through the window.

“Hoseok!” You walk over to him, confused and a bit relieved to see a familiar face. “What are you doing here? I thought you had other plans?”

He smiles, eyes crinkling in an affable manner. “Took care of everything as soon as I could. You know I’d never miss a meeting on purpose. Where is everyone else?”

You shrug. “They left for drinks, but I needed to cut out early. Assignments...” You know you’re talking too much, revealing way too much for your statement to read as anything other than defensive.

Hoseok nods slowly. “Ah... which assignments?” Of course he’d ask, of course.

You swallow because you share nearly all of your required classes with him. “Just... online quizzes and projects-”

“The ones that are due in two weeks or the projects that are due at the end of the semester?” he questions with a knowing look.

“I like being ahead,” you lie, a true procrastinator through and through. You were probably just going to go home and marathon chick flicks.

Hoseok smirks at how bad you are at lying, and you hear the soft click of a lock disengaging the passenger-side door of his Benz. “Get in loser, we’re going drinking.”

“Hoseok-”

He gestures using his head, “Get in. I know for a fact Seungcheol is close to blacklisting you for the semester.”

You groan, trudging over to open the handle of the door. “Hoseok, I’m broke,” you sigh as you shut the door and put your seat-belt on. “I can’t afford to go drinking every other day. I mean, I had to ask Little Chaeyoung to cover me for dinner. Fucking embarrassing!”

Hoseok signals as he pulls away from curb. “Hey can you ask them where they are?” he says, completely ignoring your blabbering. “I don’t wanna get there too late...”

A quick text to Jisoo is enough to get the location, and you tell him.

You open your wallet to fish out two dimes you had missed while trying to find money for dinner. “What can I possibly get for twenty cents?”

Hoseok laughs, and you join him because this is entirely ridiculous.

“Will you relax?” he finally says when he pulls up to the bar. “You know I’m gonna cover the bill. You may drink to your hearts content.”

You frown, reminded of Jisoo’s careless statements. “It’s not right,” you tell Hoseok for the first time. The two of you weren’t spectacularly close, but you did interact with him from time to time. “People shouldn’t treat you this way.”

“What way?” he asks, face looking as if he’s confused. You wonder if he’s playing dumb because there’s no way he never noticed how people always slid the bill towards him, or looked to him to cover the check.

“They’re taking advantage. No,” you shake your head, “Not them - we. We are taking advantage of you, myself included. And it’s not right.”

Hoseok’s smile freezes on his face for half a second, but it’s enough for you to know that you’re not wrong. He is quick to recover, and he looks at you with a soft gaze in his eyes that you don’t completely trust.

“You’re sweet for thinking of me. But I’m doing this for purely selfish reasons,” he informs you.

You get spectacularly drunk that night.

In the following months to come, the members of the MBA Society would look back on this night and associate it to the night you and Hoseok began to “talk.” After all, you did arrive to the bar with him, get drunk on the booze he paid for, and left in his car because you were too drunk to walk in a straight line. No one else even brought a car, either planning on relying on public transportation or a taxi. The members would assume all sorts of things among themselves, the majority opinion being that you threw yourself on him while drunk out of your mind. Most of them discounted the idea that Hoseok would be the initiator of fucking your drunk self because he was too kind and good for anything like that. Some thought you may have just confessed your deep-seated, imaginary feelings for him.

You leave your unlocked phone in his car before stumbling your way into your tiny, studio apartment. And he sees a twitter notification asking you for further discount on your panties.

That is all it takes.

Hangovers on Wednesdays are never a good sign, but here you are, on-time to your 8AM hell class with a head that pounds so bad you swear people could see the throbbing.

“I lost my phone,” you groan, sliding next to Jisoo and slipping her your notes, as promised.

“Actually, you didn’t,” comes Hoseok’s voice from behind you. You turn your head around and squint at him since he sits right in front of the brightest fucking window you’ve ever seen in your life. He truly looks like the sun made flesh at this angle.

Hoseok hands you the phone you left in his car.

“Fucking- Oh my god, thank you,” you gush, head spinning from relief. “You have no idea-”

“Interesting Twitter, by the way,” Hoseok says, effectively turning your insides into ice.

“What,” you croak.

Jisoo crinkles her nose in an adorable, confused expression. “You have a Twitter? Add me, bitch. How could you not contribute to my follower count?”

“No!” you protest too loudly and too quickly to be considered polite. “I-I can’t. I’m too embarrassed...”

You feel like you’re going to throw up at any second from the combined double whammy of the hangover deluxe special and Hoseok’s knowledge of your Twitter account.

“What do you have on there that’s so embarrassing I can’t see?” she snorts.

Your mind draws a giant blank, but thankfully Hoseok cuts in. “She runs an idol group fan Twitter. It’s wild.”

Your friend rolls her eyes. “Never mind,” she tells you, “Don’t follow me. How old are you even?”

Hoseok smiles at you, but you don’t have the heart nor the stomach to respond back in kind. What the hell was he even playing at?

Three hours of class feel like torture, but at least it gives you time to come up with a valid excuse for what he saw. Judging from his reaction he didn’t seem like the type to out you, but you could never be sure with men. And despite his kindness, Hoseok was still a man, and therefore, inherently untrustworthy.

You have a script, a speech, a monologue, a soliloquy - you have it all prepared by the time the lecturer grunts the final word. It’s all a joke, you’d say. It’s a prank, you’d tell him.

“I need a drink after this class,” Jisoo whines.

“You had enough drink yesterday,” Hoseok chuckles, and she raises a mischievous eyebrow at his words.

“I held back yesterday,” she harrumphs, “I could’ve gone harder, but this one girl kept bugging me about how I was treating you like a wallet, so I held back.” Jisoo, that blunt bitch.

Hoseok smirks. “Gee, I wonder who that is.”

You grit your teeth. It’s now or never. “Hoseok, can I talk to you for a second? In private?”

“Sure.”

Hoseok’s easy acceptance feels weird, and you can feel the stares of Jisoo and a few other people looking at you weirdly. You barely talk to Hoseok, and he was on their radars all the time as a Prime Dating Candidate. No, you couldn’t do this here with too many eyes and ears.

“I’d…like to buy you coffee?” It comes out as a question.

Your face burns as Hoseok has the nerve to act like he’s thinking about it. “Yeah, I have time for a quick cup of coffee.”

You fake a smile. “Great.”

“Super.”

“Peachy.”

How did one open up a conversation about being caught selling used panties to perverts online for pocket money to a young, twenty-something college male who’s net worth was somewhere in the millions thanks to his rich, mogul parents?

Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee as you sit silently across from him. You’ve skipped a drink altogether even though the scent of hazelnut and vanilla wafting from his cup is enough to get you salivating for caffeine.

“Do you, uh, want a sip?” Hoseok asks, following you line of sight.

“No,” you answer in a clipped tone.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“My Twitter,” you finally say through gritted teeth, “You saw my twitter.”

Hoseok nods, fiddling with the flimsy, recycled paper that lined the body of his coffee cup. “Yeah, I did.”

“Are you going to report me?”

He raises his eyebrows, “Are you serious?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, Hoseok. Can you just... tell me what you’re going to do with the information because I’m tired and hungover, and I feel like puking anytime I get a weird feeling you’re going to expose me.”

Hoseok’s expression looks comically surprised. “I can’t believe you-” He cuts himself off, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again to fix you with a stern look. “I would never expose your private life.”

“Then why did you have to go through my Twitter?” you ask bitterly, feeling more and more humiliated by the second.

“Because...I’m a piece of shit, and I was curious,” he answers after a long pause. “I’m sorry.”

The anger melts away faster than you expected, and you don’t know if its because you genuinely find the situation not worth getting mad over or if it was because of the sight of Hoseok’s contrite expression.

“So you promise you’re not going to spread this around?” you ask once more, and Hoseok nods vigorously to your relief. “Then it’s cool.”

“Just like that?” he asks.

“It was my fault for leaving it in your car in the first place,” you concede. “Being curious is normal.”

“What if,” Hoseok starts after a big gulp of coffee, “What if I followed you?”

Now here was something unexpected. You honestly don’t know. Being followed on Twitter by strangers and selling to them under the guise of anonymity was one thing. Having Hoseok, a classmate and fellow society member, follow you was another thing. You bite your lips as you weigh your options.

“Just don’t interfere in my sales…please.”

Hoseok bites down his smile of excitement. “Cool.”

“Are you some pervert?” you mutter, trying your best to stem the surprise that Hoseok was even curious at all about this instead of branding you a werido.

“A little,” he coughs, “I guess...”

You can’t take this anymore. “I’m- I’m- I’ve got to go,” you stammer, face feeling warmer by the second.

“Wait,” Hoseok says before you can stand up to leave. “Can I just say one more thing?”

He’s already come this far; you don’t know what else he could hit you with to surprise you.

“Go for it,” you sigh.

“I couldn’t help but to notice your sales numbers,” he mentions, and you wince. He called them your sales numbers.

“Yeah, so?”

Hoseok wets his lips. “They’re a little on the low side,” he explains.

“If you’re just here to make fun of me, you can unfollow right now,” you pout.

“No, no, no, no.” Hoseok is quick to dissuade you from that thought. “That’s not it at all. I just had, I don’t know, feedback? Maybe? On how to get more sales.”

He keeps surprising you.

“Okay...”

Hoseok takes that as permission to continue, which it is. “Okay, see here you’ve pinned a tweet advertising underwear rates by how long you’ve worn them. That’s pretty standard for this field, but you’re not going to get anywhere with that kind of marketing. The field is full of girls selling their day-old panties for cheaper, which is why your sales are suffering. You need to change it up.”

You don’t know what you should be more shocked about, the fact that he approaches this with the same type of academic lean as he would a class project or the fact that he even knew this niche market well at all.

“So how would I increase sales then?” you ask, deciding to just go with it and suffer later in your room, by yourself, with a bottle of hangover medicine.

“Instead of selling by how long you’ve worn them, describe what you did in them. You’ll get more sales that way. Trust me. Like, did you exercise in them? Did you sweat? Did you touch yourself through them?” You make a choked noise of surprise at the turn of the conversation, something Hoseok decides to ignore in favor of making his point. “Imagine the pervert who bought your panties knowing you came in them.”

“I... Oh,” you swallow. This sounded like something worth a try.

“If you start selling panties you’ve touched yourself with, your sales will go through the roof. I would have thought that was obvious…” he continues.

“It’s really not obvious at all.”

“Really… hm…” Hoseok looks pensive and laughs after a beat. “Maybe it’s because I’m a pervert that I know this.”

Hoseok's words from earlier at the café leave you distracted for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. You're supposed to be sixty pages into your assigned reading with a full day's head start on the upcoming capstone project for the semester, but you've made zero progress. As much as you'd like to blame Hoseok, you know it's not his fault for speaking his mind since you allowed for him to put in his two cents in the first place. Your pathetic predisposition to fixate on anything and everything is the reason why you keep rewinding and replaying his words.

It is all so... sordid. You never had any illusions as to why people bought your used underwear, but this would cross the final line in your eyes.

Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you open up Twitter and post:

New! Selling 1 Pair of Panties (3 Days Old). Exercised in them for 2 hours. Heavy Sweat. DM for details.

You sell that pair for fifty dollars, and you’re hooked.

Three nights later, you touch yourself in your bed, thoughts drifting in and out between various people but inevitably centering on Hoseok. You remember the café conversation and how his voice got into a lower rasp when he talked quietly about your used panties. And you don’t know why this gets you off, but it just does. You don’t want to think about it too much because it’s Hoseok and he was still your classmate. (You touch yourself three times to thoughts of him until your panties are gross and sticky.)

Still flushed on your orgasms, you tweet, marveling at how your mentions go through the roof from people wanting to buy.

Hoseok is a fucking genius because after only a week, you’re officially two thousand followers richer with ten sales in the bag. You pay back Chaeyoung and Jisoo, and take them out for ice cream as interest.

People suspect that you and Hoseok are dating when they see you at coffee shops and bars all over town.

“They just don’t understand that it’s not a date,” you hiccup, yelling over the loud music of the club. “This is a business meeting.”

Hoseok thinks you look adorable in that peplum top, and he tells you that.

“You are so off-topic,” you giggle drunkenly, shaking your finger at him in a no-no-no sign. “Back to panty sales!”

“Your quarterly projection looks great. Now can we get back to talking about how hot you look?” he flirts, and you feel amazed that you can tell he’s flirting big time. “Dance with me?”

“What?” He holds out his hand, and you take it. “Business,” you purr into his ear as he maneuvers your body to face away from him on the dance floor. “This is Business.”

“Oh, I know,” he agrees, grinding into you deliciously.

You close your eyes and let yourself go, enjoying the moment with Hoseok as he takes control and leads your body towards that satisfying, messy end. And before you lose it altogether, you grab onto his neck to make out with him in full view of everyone around - a true act of impulse.

Hoseok drags you away from the masses and pushes you up against the dirty wall of the club when it becomes too much for him, breathless and laughing because you literally came in your pants in a crowded room full of drunk dancers - and it was all because of him. Your eyes are closed as you lean against the wall. You don’t care that it’s probably filthy because you feel more alive than ever. You can feel Hoseok’s breath puff lightly across your face.

Hoseok leans over to talk straight into your ear. “Go on Twitter right now. Make a post about a lightning sale.”

“But you said I should do one in a few weeks?” you ask, referring to yet another sales plan Hoseok had advised you.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Do it now. And type what I tell you to.”

You open your app, fingers shaking as you type out the words as Hoseok dictates:

Lightning Sale. Bidding Ends 2:00AM. Condition: Wet, Fresh Orgasm After Clubbing. Will Send Immediately.

“Good girl,” he tells you after you post. Your phone vibrates with notifications, and you ignore them in favor of kissing him some more.

The next day, you decide to tweet and thank everyone who participated in the lightning sale. You see a notification from Hoseok’s Twitter handle. He likes your tweet.

It is a proven fact that when things go well and when you’re able to take a few steps forward, Ms. Bitter Bitch Life has a way of fucking things up tremendously so that it’s two steps forward and ninety steps back. Or in your case, $10,845.68 worth of steps back.

You receive an automated text message from the university telling you that your recent tuition payment has been delinquent for thirty days and that they Absolutely Need to receive payment within a week. A quick call to mom reveals that medical expenses had to be covered, and you don’t fault her for not telling you when she had a small business to run and dad to take care of.

“I actually got a part-time job,” you tell her, “And I’ve been saving up, so I think I’ll be able to pay this off.” You are speaking out of your ass because no, you have not been saving, but you’d do some calculations to see how many pairs of underwear you’d need to masturbate in to reach your tuition payment.

Is it a surprise to you any longer that the first person you message about this is Hoseok and not Jisoo? You know for a fact Jisoo would judge the hell out of you for doing this in the first place, and at least Hoseok has helped you with getting sales done while providing some fantastic orgasms.

You meet Hoseok at your coffee shop, and yes, you’ve started referring to various places you’ve been to with him as your place. (And the song to which he made you orgasm is now your song for whenever you needed to get in the mood.)

“Don’t look down,” Hoseok tells you after you’ve spilled the beans. His mouth set into a firm line when he sees how embarrassed you look. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, so don’t look down.” You do as he says and fight the urge to look away. “Listen to everything I have to say, and don’t interrupt until I’m done. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’re never going to sell that much in a week. And if you hike prices now, no one’s going to buy them, and you’ll be out of income moving forward. What you need is time, which you don’t have.” You face falls when you hear his words, but Hoseok isn’t done. “I can get you time. I’ll give you tuition money, and you can pay me back as you make sales.”

There is a part of you that’s ashamed of being so relieved to hear Hoseok say that. And maybe that same ugly part of you wished for him to offer that to you when you told him in the first place. “I’ll take it. Thank you.” But you’re too practical to let your ideals get in the way of living.

And that’s what you do. You wonder if you should feel bad that you’re using Hoseok like this.

Accepting tuition money has now effectively changed things, and the two of you have crossed the point beyond no return. Neither of you say anything about it, choosing to accept this new reality and carry on.

“Have fun with your boyfriend yesterday?” Jisoo snarks in good-natured teasing.

You frown, “I’m single. If you’re referring to Hoseok-”

“Of course I’m referring to Hoseok,” she giggles, “The boy never leaves your side!”

“We’re not dating...” It’s business.

It’s slow paying Hoseok back, but it’s getting there. As a gesture of thanks, you invite him to your tiny room for dinner. It’s only ramyeon and some side dishes, but you’re almost positive he’ll appreciate the gesture, and you’re right. Hoseok digs in with gusto to instant noodles loaded with all sorts of canned meats.

“This is godly,” he exclaims, swallowingly thickly.

“You’re godly,” you giggle, freezing because the statement slipped out, and you want to sink into the ground. But Hoseok, testament to his character only smiles and lets you move on with little embarrassment.

Hoseok catches sight of your underwear packages that you have yet to ship out sometime in between dessert one and dessert two. It makes him feel… odd, and jealous. He pinpoints his emotions immediately and knows that he’s jealous as hell when it comes to you, and while it was fun teaching you “sales tips” and flirting along the way, he doesn’t want to share anymore.

You message a few people, confirming shipments on twitter while he waits, and soon after you’re done he grabs your wrist to catch your attention.

“I want to consider the tuition paid in full.”

You furrow your brows. “I’m not even halfway done paying…”

“I’ll let the dinner tonight be payment for the balance.”

“Are you out of your mind? This was nothing-”

“No it wasn’t,” Hoseok cuts you off, tugging at your wrist so that you walk closer to him. “This is not nothing, and I want for you stop selling your underwear to strangers.”

You look him directly in the eye, having a good idea of what’s coming up, but you want to be sure. “This is how I live though.”

“Before me.” Hoseok feels nervous as he thinks about what he’s about to offer. “I’ll let the ramyeon for tonight be payment for the rest of last month’s tuition. And I want to continue having ramyeon with you for tuition. It’s not a bad deal…”

You’re not an idiot; you know what it means. And you had a good feeling you’d probably fuck him tonight even before he sprung this on you. You pull at your hand to have him let go. After a few moments of typing and swiping, you show him a deactivated twitter.

“I’m shipping out the ones that are left, but I’ve deactivated.”

“That’s fine. Because I’ll take care of you.”

[1 Semester Later]

Hoseok surprises you with another set of expensive lingerie. You’ve long since graduated from the plain white pairs you used to soil on purpose to sell.

“Don’t get so excited,” Hoseok says, “They’re not for you.”

You raise your eyebrows at Hoseok’s statement and decide to take a jab. “What, you’re going to wear them then?”

He smirks. “Would you like that? You wanna see me in lace? I’ll do it if it gets you off. You like seeing men in lingerie?” He effectively shuts you up by going the extreme. You still blush after all this time, and he loves it.

“Ugh, stop. What are they for then?”

He suppresses the urge to smile widely. “I want you to wear them. And I want you touch yourself.”

“Hoseok…”

“And when you’re done cumming…oh, let’s say five times? Yeah, five is a good number. I want you to take them off, and give them to me. For old times sake.”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you buy from me once?” You had always suspected, but now you’re even more suspicious.

“I’m not telling.”

#bangtan bookclub #bbc monthly: sugar #hoseok fic #hoseok scenario #jhope fic #jhope scenario #genre: au #member: hoseok

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