#first is obviously going diving when i want but i guess wearing shoes is more common than being underwater

[paponela]

i think my second favorite aspect about not being poor anymore is owning nice shoes. i'll be in the grocery store buying bread and i'll look down to my feet and be like. wow. these really are mine.

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[multiplefandomsblog]

“Offer”

request; Can I get an imagine with Kokichi with an artist S/O who wants to paint him but he keeps flustering them with suggestions of a nude painting of him?

warnings; kind of suggestive, mention of nudity, cussing, mutual pining i think, i made it kinda crack fic, reader has an ultimate talent(artist), not edited too well, ended it weird like always, kissing, lowkey making out tho- 

note; wow i wrote way too much- but hey, i still hope you enjoy this!

word count; 1.9k+

You walked around the school, looking for Kokichi to ask him to be your model.

Although you have sketched Kokichi several times before, you felt you needed to ask him face-to-face so he could just stay still in his goddamn chair instead of changing positions every 5 seconds and ruining your half-done sketch. And so, you went off to go find the boy, finding it surprisingly hard to catch him. 

“There you are! I was looking for you-” You puffed out a sigh of relief, clutching your art supplies close to you as you saw your purple-haired classmate. Not a second after he caught sight of your figure jogging towards him, he had started taunting you. 

“Oooooh, hey S/o, you seem mighty happy to see me, hm? I wonder why that is…” He took a funny-looking step towards you, voice laced with an interrogating tone.

He had that strange smirk on his face, and not the one you liked. N-not that you liked his smile! In consequence of staring at him and sketching him constantly without his knowledge—or so you thought—, you have become almost a master of reading his mood and expressions. 

“Don’t get any wrong ideas, I just wanted to ask you if I could paint you.” For a small moment you swore you could see his expression twist into one of shock, before quickly melting back into his shit-eating grin. “Well of course you would! I’m the ultimate supreme leader, after all.” He acted as if he wasn’t just gob-smacked a second ago.

You beamed up at him, you had been in a small art block for a while and the moment you saw Kokichi, you knew he would be the cure to it. And so, you were ecstatic when he said what he said, “So you’ll do it?” You jumped a little too high, and spoke a little too eagerly.

“Mhm! —but with a catch, of course.” Your face dropped, you should’ve known the little fucker would try and get something out of you. “Nishishi!”

Unsure if you even wanted to know, you asked carefully, “W-what’s the catch..?” Your voice laced with caution, brain suddenly being reminded of all the pranks and blackmail he had fucked everyone else over with in the past. Knowing him, it could vary from, ‘Eat a bug.’ to, ‘Survive a knife game against me!’ 

But what he said was definitely worse than the former, and the latter. 

“You have to paint me fully-nude.”

… It was suddenly very quiet, the echo of his insane remark, bouncing off the walls. The silence mostly coming from your side—then again, what did you expect? Painting Kokichi would mean the end of your art block and a painting of Kokichi, like, c’mon, but painting Kokichi nude would mean- Well, you weren’t sure what it meant; hence, the silence.

Impatient and somewhat annoyed by the silence, he poked at your shoulder, “So? Are you gonna paint me naked or not?” You stared at your shoes, too afraid to make eye contact with the boy you were now thinking of... naked. 

“... C-can’t I just paint you normally?” He pouted, a comedically high whine erupting from his throat as he replied, “But that’s no fuuuuuun!” 

“Don’t you want to see your ultimate supreme leader, whipping out his wang?-” You shoved his face away from your warm one, “Y… I mean n-no, no!” Your tone weak before getting loud and defensive as you caught yourself before all hell broke loose. 

You felt your stomach drop as you thought about the possibility of Kokichi knowing you wanted to see him, and I quote, ‘Whipping out his wang’, Kokichi would never let that one go. 

“Aw man, well I guess you don’t wanna paint me theeeen.” He slowly stepped away, a pout on his face as his back faced towards you. He hummed circus music as he teetered on his feet, balancing on one foot at once as he ‘walked’ away from you agonizingly slow, obviously waiting for you to tell him to come back. 

“Koki-” In a flash, Kokichi had been by your side, dragging your hand to god knows where. “You have me convinced! I’ll let you paint me because I’m suuuuuch a nice guy. Nishishi!” Although you should’ve asked where the both of you were going, you felt knowing the catch was more important, “B-but what’s the catch?” 

Kokichi kept at his speedy pace, yet he answered with a voice that still had so much energy in it, “Aww, I’m hurt you think there’s a catch, do you not trust me that much?”

Silence.

“Meanie... but yeah, you were right to suspect me. The catch is.... “ He drum-rolled on your palm, “You just have to kiss me for payment!” He slowed down a bit to send a cheeky smile your way. You almost tripped on your feet as you heard him, “What!? Bu-” 

Kokichi quickly interrupted you, “Uh-uh, don’t try to pretend you don’t wanna. I know you have nooooo problem kissing those little sketches of me when you think no one is looking~” His voice quieted down sinisterly as he spoke, the evil smile spreading across his face once more. Although he had been wearing an extremely thick mask of a smile to hide his true feelings, anyone would’ve noticed that small blush on his upper right cheek. Anyone.

“You saw that?” Kokichi cackled at your agitated and flustered face, “Nishishi! Don’t worry, I’m the only one that knows. After all, no one finds you interesting enough to actually notice that.” You furrowed your brow at the subtle hint he had given you, “But you did-” 

Kokichi put on a teasing smile this time, “That was a lie! I didn’t see anything with my own eyes, I just assumed you have and so you helped me confirm it! Nice job on fucking yourself over, S/o! Nishishi~!” You rolled your eyes, you liked this guy?

Well anyways, it didn’t seem to matter whether you questioned your feelings for the liar, as you finally made it to where Kokichi had been dragging you to. You watched as Kokichi skipped away from you and hopped on the bench, surrounded by moss and other wild plants. 

“Ta-da! When I first saw this place, I immediately thought of you! You know, because you’re a nerd who likes cliché art settings.” He grinned, posing on top of the bench, “How’s this? Nishishi! Don’t answer that, I know this is perfect.”

 ... He looked like an idiot. But a cute idiot.

Suppressing a laugh, you gestured downwards to guide him down from his strange pose, “U-uh, maybe you could just, sit down? Like a normal person, I mean.” He sneered at you, before reluctantly sitting down, “You’re so boring.” The way he sat on the bench reminded you of a child who had just gotten denied candy. 

Smiling in relief, you quickly took a seat on the bench opposite to him, bringing out your supplies excitedly. Despite the pout on Kokichi’s face, and the grudge he wanted to keep, the way you so excitedly took out your canvas made his heart melt as well as his attitude. 

In the corner of your eye, you swore you could see Kokichi’s genuine smile, albeit it was lopsided but it still made you flush. Without thinking, you spoke, tilting your head upwards to look at him better, “You should smile more, you’re really pretty like that.” He… his mind blanked for a second, his façade fading away slightly to reveal a genuine expression of shock.

He quickly gained his composure back, “Um, okay? I always smile, are you blind?” Despite his passive-aggressive reply, you couldn’t find any reason to be mad, although you should’ve been. You smiled fondly and shook your head, diving back into concentration towards your canvas.

--

After an hour of pointless conversation, flirting, and calculated strokes of your brush, you were satisfied with the result. “... Alright, I’m done.” Kokichi sighed exasperatedly as he stood up and stretched, “Finally! I was afraid my limbs were going to freeze forever in that position.” You stared at him accusingly, “You didn’t even stay still the entire time. At one point, you did a fucking cartwheel-” 

Kokichi slid on over you, leaning over your seated figure to peak at the painting of him. “Lemme see!” He reached for the painting with his pale hands, causing you to jerk the painting away from his reach. “It’s not dry yet! Just look, don’t touch.” You scolded, unamused by his pouty expression. “You’re no fun S/o-chan, but okay. I know how much you like to be in charge~” He teased, before finally laying his eyes on the painting he stayed still one whole hour for. 

You felt your anxiety rise at his silence, “... Well, d-do you like it?” Although you were pretty confident in your ultimate talent and skills, for some odd reason, you felt extremely nervous when you showed it to Kokichi. 

You were confused as to why your hands were shaking, you’ve shown your artwork to galleries, museums, the harshest art critics in the world! So why the hell did it matter so much to you if this one boy liked it or not?

“I think it looks super handsome! And by it, I mean me. Nishishi!” He grinned, “I look good in everything after all.” You scoffed, you couldn’t believe you actually expected a genuine compliment from Kokichi, of all people. 

“Hey so, it’s time for your payment you know?” Payment... what? You looked up at him in confusion, big fat crocodile tears sprung out from his eyes, “Waaaah! I can’t believe S/o forgot our deal!” You flushed again as you were suddenly reminded of the kiss. 

You sighed tiredly, “You were serious?” He glared at you, “I’m always serious!” You gave him an accusing look that screamed, ‘You know that’s bullshit.’ But sighed defeatedly for what seemed like the umpteenth time. As you stood up to walk up to him, you set your painting down nearby.

Squirming underneath his expectant gaze, you leaned in torturously slow until your noses were nearly touching, your eyes were glued to his lips nervously. You kind of just… stood there, waiting. Waiting for him to take initiative, as he usually does. “... You know, You’re kissing me, right? Not the other way around.” His voice was lower, quieter than usual, and you could feel his breath within each word.

He smirked at your awkward shuffle towards him, finding your averting eyes and flushed face extremely endearing. Though Kokichi would never admit it, deep down he was nervous too- But of course, he refused to ever admit that reality. Even to himself. 

“I-I know that! I was just… preparing.” He hummed a skeptical ‘Okay’, standing patiently for the kiss you owed him. Letting out a shaky breath, you quickly pressed your lips on his, before immediately pulling away. Well, you tried pulling away. Kokichi gripped your collar, eagerly going in for more. His lips enveloped yours roughly, he could feel you trying to back away and so he just decided he had to go even harder. 

Once he pulled away, he saw your lips puffy and swollen, and face completely dazed. You wanted to ask him why he stopped but he interrupted you before you could, “You know, I never said you had to kiss my lips, pervert〜” Your eyes widened at his statement, “It seems you’ve been wanting this for a while, huh?” You didn’t say anything, only fuelling his fire. 

“Nishishi! You’re so obsessed with me, it’s adorable~” You took a defensive step back, “I-I am not!” He suddenly leaned his face dangerously close to yours, grinning sadistically as he heard your whimper. “You shouldn’t lie, you know? Especially not to me.” He leaned in next to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth and biting gently. 

“Anyway!” You snapped out your daze as he barked suddenly, “The nude painting offer still stands, you know!” He yelled out, walking away from you, strangely.

[chibimyumi]

Redesign Prompt RESULTS!

Alright, thank you everyone who has voted, the results are now in! Overwhelmingly our winner is Ranmao 🐈!

First of all, I need to insert a few caveats here. Unlike with Victorian fashion, I do not have years and years of studying of Qing dynasty-fashion behind me. So whatever results I show here are the product of a fortnight of reading up and meticulous studying of contemporary photographs. a.k.a. I am merely scraping the surface here. But! I do promise that everything shown here is done to the best of my ability to be responsible as a content provider.

Now without further ado, let us dive into Ranmao’s current design, the blatantly obvious inaccuracies, and how I propose to redes...ign... her outfit while keeping the original intact as much.... as possible????  Heck, this is not even worthy of being called a ‘redesign’, this is straight up designing from scratch!

Hair

Let us start with her bangs. Her bangs are in fact surprisingly accurate, as late Qing dynasty women would wear their bangs in a variety of Bettie bangs trimmed well above the eyebrows. Having sides of the bangs growing longer framing the face was usual too, though they would be cut slightly thicker than Ranmao’s. Though, we don’t know how much hair Ranmao has, so I see no reason to alter it.

Twin braids are very much associated with the “China doll look”, but they seem to have been branded into our image of the “Chinese Girl” because it was the go-to look for unmarried women in Republic China (which is many years later than Ranmao’s time, and also has more surviving images.)

In Ranmao’s time, unmarried girls would either wear the bottom part of their hair down, or have everything tied into a single braid behind them. Girls who preferred a more feminine look would often decorate the sides or the top with flowers or other ornaments depending on their wealth.

Yana’s notes say that the flower in Ranmao’s hair is a Chinese peony, which is also called the Empress of Flowers in Chinese as well as Japanese culture. I could find sources on how the peony was the symbol of the Empress of China, and how one better avoid wearing any type of peonies around the Empress herself for fear of being suspected of disrespect. But I could not find any evidence of such flowers being banned for other people, so presumably it was more an ‘unwritten code of politeness’ rather than fashion law.

Hence, I kept the pink peony design for Ranmao, and decorated them in the way Qing women would have.

Neckline

By far the most interesting thing I learned from this redesign attempt was that the “mandarin collar” - the thing that pops up first in most people’s minds when thinking about Chinese fashion - was in fact not at all common.

In this academic work on Chinese fashion history, Finnane writes that the ‘high collar’ was “not a common feature of costume before the twentieth century.” Instead, most costumes would have had a round neckline.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 93

The ‘high collar’ gained popularity in early 1900s in China after the Europeans brought with them the beauty standard for high collars, as well as slim-fitted silhouettes. The Chinese increasingly adopted this type of collar and the slim silhouette (the well known ‘china dress/qipao/cheongsam’), and the relatively many early photos that survived helped engrave this stereotype into our minds.

Sleeves

I do not think it requires any mention, but 19th century Chinese fashion did not include boleros... For many of the original designs of Ranmao I can sort of see where Yana got that image from, but this bolero-look truly beats me.

The sleeves worn in the late Qing period were relatively wide, though they were starting to slim down over time. Late Qing women enjoyed much more flexible clothing rules than earlier Qing women, and the width of the sleeves was in great part determined by personal preference, season, but mostly one’s wealth.

Needless to say, the larger the sleeves the more fabric and embroidery it would require, and thus more expensive. Also, the wider the more it would get into the wearer’s way.

I don’t know how much thought Yana put into Ranmao’s original design in relation to her function as elite bodyguard, but considering how the original has zero practicality and only serves to maximise Ranmao’s attractiveness, I have no qualms about giving Ranmao fairly large sleeves too. Besides, let us assume that Lau is responsible for providing Ranmao with clothes. Illegal money tends to fill the pockets quite deeply, I don’t think he can’t spare a few pounds for big sleeves.

Wider sleeves would expose much of ‘a lady’s precious skin’, as such a more fitted layer would have been worn underneath. (The sleeves under the wider sleeves obviously did not have to be orange-ish. This was merely coincidence that both my redesign and the visual source have this colour.)

Silhouette

The figure hugging silhouette x Chinese clothes was - as mentioned above - not at all a thing in Ranmao’s time. In fact, the accentuation of the “female curves” was considered very inappropriate if not downright ugly in the Qing dynasty.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 94

Yana’s notes mention that the thing Ranmao wears is just an European corset and that that is the only thing ‘English’ about her attire.

Well... I don’t know where the idea that Victorians wore corsets on the outside comes from, but I myself admittedly was fooled by this a few years ago too... I promise you all now however, Victorians decidedly did not wear their ‘bras’ on the outside. I think even now this look is considered rather ‘questionable’ by most people.

Instead, Qing dynasty clothes were mostly cut wide and straight, loosely dangling around their bodies offering maximum comfort and space. You feared Ranmao killing you in her corset? Now tremble before her now blessed with maximised agility.

Trousers

Well... I considered ‘translating’ Ranmao’s attire to 2020 standard like I did for O!Ciel, but that would not be Tumblr-filter approved. Skirts so short they could be mistaken for a belt are nothing too surprising today, but wearing one with a split that deep is probably a bit too revealing even by today’s standards.

By the late Qing dynasty, men and women, rich and poor alike predominantly wore trousers. Long robes (skirts) were definitely in fashion too, but they were reserved for those who could afford to not have much agility. If you were a farmer, robes would not have been your first option. Perhaps the way long skirts were viewed by the Qing Chinese was not unlike the way we see them now; ‘more classy’ ‘more feminine’ and ‘less convenient’, but not the only way to express femininity.

In these pictures below we can see relatively rich women, married and unmarried alike, all wearing trousers.

Ranmao is predominantly a fighter, and as trousers are plenty feminine in Chinese fashion culture, I don’t see why she would not choose to wear trousers instead of a restricting long skirt. Hence I gave her a pair of trousers.

Shoes

Like I said before, “the shoes are correct...” But the anklets definitely are not!

Golden or silver anklets are something that are worn by very, VERY young children in China. Even to this day it is customary among many Chinese people to gift newborn children at least one piece of pendant, bracelet or anklet, for it is believed to bring the child luck. More practically, this piece of jewellery will become the child’s first piece of property then, which can be sold later SHOULD they ever run into a financially difficult situation.

These anklets or bracelets would not be removed from the child unless they have outgrown them, which happens fairly quick. Ranmao who is probably full grown should have outgrown them at least ten years ago. Hence, seeing these things on Ranmao would probably make it look like she is still wearing diapers or bibs.

Chinese people would likewise not have worn shoes barefoot. Instead, they would have worn cotton socks which were mostly white.

DOUBLE HAMMERS

HERE COME THE WEAPONS! Luckily Yana wrote the following note or I would never have guessed what they are for my knowledge about Chinese weapons is next to nothing.

“These are【SUPER】heavy. They are weapons called 双錘 (double hammers) and they in fact exist. I heard these were used by power-type warriors.”

So, I googled 双錘 and it turns out that the type Ranmao is holding do indeed exist! But... only in fiction and theatre.

The hammers that were used in actual combat were either very thin and long, or short and plump. Such hammers were one of the most primitive metal weapons in China, and quickly fell out of favour among Chinese warriors when more practical weapons such as the metal spear, sword and bows were invented. The hammers mostly retained their value because of their weight in heroic tales and myths about legendary warriors and deities.

I don’t have the full details, but apparently according to some legends or myths, one of such big-ass hammers could deal a force of 200kg, and thus 400kg combined. Regardless of this being realistic or not, it sure does sound very cool! It is therefore no wonder this primitive weapon retains its popularity even today.

Nowadays when these hammers are used, they are either the blown up theatrical versions, or the smaller versions for the sake of preserving martial arts.

I had a bit of a dilemma as to which version to give Ranmao, but in the end I settled with the short and heavy ones because I wanted to keep the idea of this small and innocent looking girl wielding solid metal balls. Two cheer-leading sticks would simply not have the same weight, figuratively and literally.

Alright everyone! Did you enjoy my response to your votes? I hope you did ^^ Non-European fashion history really is not my strong suit, so my deepest apologies if I messed anything up.

Pray tell if I did, I am always happy to learn ^^

[vanillann]

5 star conversation (r.p)

one person for more parts so i had to do it!!

reggie peter x gender neutral!reader

word count: 3.2k

5 star conversation masterlist

“This place is so much better!”

Alex was spinning in the center of the hall, the 5-star hotel in Dallas was much better than the last motel we stayed at a few weeks back.

“I’ll be happy to use my own bathroom,” Julie swiped her key card, throwing her head back with it turned green and allowed her in the room.

“Goodnight,” she sang into the hall, not wasting time before shutting the door to pass out on the white fluffy soft bed, as the last performance was a long one with a meet and greet after.

Everyone was exhausted from crazy fans and loud music for the first time in a long time.

“I’ll see everyone in the lobby at 9,” Flynn waited in the hall for everyone to confirm.

“Why don’t you ever yell at Julie and (Y/N) about time?” Luke challenged her, hand on his hip as he looked at her with a pout.

“Because I don’t feel bad throwing them out of bed,” Flynn smiled, turning to her own door and not waiting for Luke’s response.

“Hey!”

“I love you (Y/N),” she yelled over her shoulder, smiling and waving to the boys as she most likely would be out cold too.

“That’s my cue, I’ll see everyone at 9:30 most likely.”

Alex pushed my shoulder lightly, walking past me to his door that was beside mine, the same layout he always did when he stayed at hotels.

We don’t talk about the motel.

“Goodnight (Y/N),” Reggie wrapped his arm around my shoulders, hugging me from behind while one of my hands squeezed his.

“Night,” I clocked out, still not recovered from the night spent under the sheets with the raven-haired boy. He let go, moving to his door across the hall and moving in as if nothing was different.

“Something happened two weeks ago.”

I jumped, I had completely forgotten Reggie and I wasn't the only person in the hall, Luke and Alex giving me little smirks as I stared at my door.

“Nope,” I swallowed, swiping my card and rushing into the room. I could hear Alex and Luke laughed but I didn’t care enough to give a witty remark.

My wits had walked into Reggie's room far away from my side, along with my sanity.

“Most definitely,” I mocked Reggie’s voice, throwing my bag on the queen-size bed, this time all to myself and no smiling Reggie walking me like something the gods had sent down.

“You most definitely ruined my standards.”

I probably sounded crazy talking to myself, pacing the room before I fell backward, staring off at the ceiling. I thought back to the little touches and the smirks that were shared between us in two weeks.

“I hate Luke Patterson.”

I didn’t hate Luke, he was like an older brother, but I did hate him. He pushed me off the diving board before I had my goggles on and now there was chlorine in my eyes.

I lost track of time, everything slowing down the longer I stared up at the ceiling, wishing it was the nasty brown popcorn ceiling from the motel so I knew Reggie was laying beside me.

Why did he have to be perfect?

A light knock on the door brought my attention back to this world, my mind wondering if it was worth it. I was probably Alex looking to talk for a few hours and tease me about Reggie.

I rolled my eyes, rolling off the bed and prancing to the door. Alex would listen if I needed to rant, and that I really needed right now. I didn’t even think, swing the door open to see a black leather jacket-clad back about to walk into the door across from me.

“Reg?”

He swiftly turned around, his cheeks flushed as he looked me over up and down.

“You have your shoes on?”

“Yeah I hadn’t changed yet,” I shrugged, crossing my arms and leaning against the door frame as I waited for his eyes to stop darting around the hall.

“Oh, good?”

I nodded slowly, watching as his shoe tapped against the floor of the hotel hallway. I was about to step back into my room when one of his arms reached out and grabbed my sleeve.

“Are you tired?”

“I mean I guess not? Reggie-”

He gave a small smile, pulling on my sleeve and using his other hand to push my hotel room closed behind me. His face so close to me, his breath running over my cheeks and I felt myself feel like I was on fire.

“I saw this diner on the corner and looked it up. It has one star and-”

“A one-star diner? That could kill us,” I laughed lightly, trying to pull my arm back but his eyes were begging me to hear him out.

“Well I’m already dead and-” his smile was large as his eyes searched mine, both of us probably looking crazy as he stood in the center of the hall.

“I don’t have a jacket Reg,” I did my best to stop myself from going, I didn’t need more of a reason to fall for the perfect bass player. I didn’t have it in me to be heartbroken by him.

“Wear mine,” he let go of my sleeve but I didn’t move as he shrugged his jacket off his shoulder and placed them over my shoulder with a goofy little smile plaster across his lips. The leather was warm, but I suppose that could have been how nervous I was in the current moment.

“I guess we’re getting a late-night snack,” I spoke as happy as I could, screaming at my heart to stop hitting my rib cage.

“Yes!” He made a fist, doing a small happy dance as he skipped down the elegant hall of the fourth floor of the hotel. I smiled, trying to look on the bright side of falling for the sweet boy.

I quickly jogged to reach his side, his little skip in his step was making me feel things I didn’t understand. Maybe that was the scariest thing, not understanding the feelings. I knew my feelings for Reggie, of course, but why did I have to feel like this about Reggie? Why could I have fallen for anyone else in this world? Falling for Reggie meant never falling out, cause you just can’t not adore him. He remembered the little things, like my favorite type of diner or my favorite photo with my friends. He said things that made your heart shore, even if not a soul but you would understand. The number of times he had said “most definitely” with that little smirk to me was making my brain break at this point because everyone saw the little smiles but nobody knew why, and something about that made it more fun.

“You coming?”

I didn’t realize I had stopped walking in the middle of the lobby, I didn’t even remember the elevator ride down. I nodded my head, smiling as he held the door from the hotel for me, his bright smile lit up the dark streets of the city.

The traffic was light and I could see the lights on in the small diner, obviously not busy by the looks of the small parking lot and I was shocked you’d find such a sad diner so close to the fancy hotel we were staying at.

I was walking the closest to the road, Reggie on the other side of me as he spotted the crosswalk. Suddenly I felt him slip behind, his hands on my shoulder for a second and gone the next. He now stood closer to the road, obviously looking ahead and not at me.

“What was that about?”

“I didn’t want something to happen and you fell into traffic, this way it’s me and not you.”

Oh, I hated him so much right now, stop making me love you!

He couldn’t do this stuff and expect me not to fall head over heels, because he looked like that and he spoke like that, and he was perfect. We found the crosswalk, both looking both ways before skipping across it into the small diner parking lot with smiles across both our faces.

Reggie held open the door for me, the small rusty diner was definitely one star by how messy and weird the place felt. The booths had holes in them, the tables had inappropriate drawings in sharpie and the only other person in the place was an older man who was doing something illegal by the way he looked Reggie and me up and down, and a few workers.

“Reg-”

“Trust me, okay?” He pulled at my arm, smiling as he found a booth in the corner of the small diner, and giggled when I pouted at it.

“You can have the corner seat, I know they’re your favorite.”

Why do boys like Reggie have to look and be amazing? It was so hard not to confess everything, but I thought better than to do it in a small one-star diner.

“Can I start y’all with a drink?” The strong southern accent wasn’t uncommon for the state of Texas, I had heard plenty in the crowd during the show.

“A water,” Reggie spoke but I stopped the lady before she wrote it.

“A coke is fine,” the lady nodded, writing coke instead of water, and went back to the back of the diner.

“That was rude,” Reggie pouted as he took the seat across from me, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes scanned me.

“Never order water from these places, always something bottled that can’t be contaminated,” I pointed to the sink, which was turned on filling a small pan with almost brownish water. Reggie cringed, nodding his head and looking at me.

“You don’t need to die from water too,” I smirked across the table, laughing when Reggie swatted his hand at me jokily.

“You can’t let me live my own death down,” he smiled as he shook his head, smiling when the lady bought out two bottled cokes and a single menu.

“We are cleaning our menus, hope you don’t mind sharing.”

She left us with that, the cokes at the end of the table and a menu in the center. Reggie didn’t move it, opening it and leaning his elbows on the table to read it. His flannel clade arms were nice, something I had grown safe with as he seemed to bring his brand off them.

“How about a burger?”

I zoned back in, smiling when Reggie pointed to a cheap burger at the bottom of the menu with questioning eyes.

“I was thinking more of a hotdog,” I smirked, laughing when he flopped back into his seat before sliding out.

“I’m leaving,” he spoke, my hand reaching out without thinking and grabbing his wrist. I didn’t think much, looking up at him with pleading. His once angry, or what I thought was angry, formed into one of pure bliss. He was sitting on the edge of the seat, our eyes telling our story for us.

“You can’t leave me here,” I broke the tension, smiling when he slid back into the booth across from me and leaned closer to me from his seat.

“Why’s that?”

I thought over my options, did I tell him? Do I tell him I wanna spend the rest of this tour having a sleepover in a motel with him? Do I tell him I’d drink brown water for him?

“What if this diner’s food kills me?” I came up with the idea on the spot, hoping he wouldn’t question me too much on the topic. It wasn’t a lie, it could kill me, the water was brown after all.

“Then you’ll come back to me,” he shrugged as if it was obvious. My heart was definitely fighting my ribs now, trying to jump out and confess everything in this small diner.

“Y’all ready?”

The lady from the earlier harsh voice brought me from my daze, my breath barely coming back and Reggie hurried to find something on the menu for us.

“Some fries and two slices of key lime pie,” he spoke, sliding the menu across the table and winking at the waitress. I felt my heart drop slightly, the woman rolling her eyes but the smallest bit of a smile on her lips.

“Fries and pie?”

“They can solve all the world problems,” Reggie shrugged, his attention back to me as soon as I spoke. My heart fluttered more once I recognized the soft Train song, Marry Me playing through the small diner.

“We don’t have a problem though.”

“We do, we haven’t spoken as much since the motel,” Reggie raised an eyebrow at me like he knew he had caught me red-handed. He was chewing on his bottom lip, waiting for me to say something.

I stopped talking to you because I’m convinced you’re the love of my life.

“Flynn’s had me busy with social media stuff,” which wasn’t a lie. I had officially been handed all social media as Flynn couldn’t do it all anymore, and since I already did the merch it would make sense for me to be in charge of the social media.

“I’m still mad you posted that photo of me,” Reggie pouted, the photo in question was when Alex and Luke drew all over his face in a sharpie while he was sleeping on the floor of the tour bus.

“The fans loved it, it’s been added to many edits,” I smirked, shrugging my shoulder while I looked up at the ceiling of the diner.

“I bet you loved it too,” Reggie leaned back on the table, his face seemed to get closer every time he did. I could smell the cologne running off him, almost making my head spin until I remember I’d been smelling it all-night because of the jacket.

“It’s my lock screen for a reason.”

“Really?” I didn’t say anything, pulling out my phone and proving it. Reggie smiled, asking me to open it to show my home screen. I did just that, putting my fingerprint on the phone to reveal the photo of Alex using my head like a drum set, Julie in the back caught completely off-guard.

“Here,” the fries and the two-piece of pie were placed on the table, the two forks and a bottle of ketchup beside them. I closed my phone, reaching over to pop a fry in my mouth.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest,” Reggie commented, taking his own fire and nibbling on it, looking at me while he did so. I ignored him, looking at my phone that was now ringing beside me. A photo of Luke and I doing finger-guns at the camera flashed across my screen, my eye-rolling into the back of my head as I picked it up.

“Yes?”

“Did you finally run away from us?” I could hear the pout in Luke’s voice as he spoke.

“Yep, I’m halfway to Ohio by now,” I rolled my eyes, reaching for one of the forks but Reggie moved it from my reach.

“You suck,” he spoke, my attention elsewhere as I still wanted a piece of my pie.

“Tell Reggie he sucks too.”

I swallowed roughly, trying my best to keep my voice normal as we spoke.

“What?”

“Neither of you are at the hotel, we thought you two e-roped,” I heard Julie in the back yell “it’s eloped” but I ignored it as I finally got my fork out of Reggie’s hand.

“We’re at the diner on the corner,” I watched Reggie pout once I revealed the location we sat at, waving him off as I took a piece of the pie and shoved it in my mouth.

“That place looks creepy.”

“It is,” I finally rested the phone between my shoulder and head, reaching for another piece when Reggie started moving the pie around the table.

“Weirdos,” I heard him speak, the smirk was screaming through the phone.

“Do you need something?”

“Yes, you both confess-” I rolled my eyes, moving my phone from where it sat, and hung up on Luke. Reggie laughed, watching me place the phone on the table and reach for the pie again. I heard it ring but simply hit the little red button.

“I want my pie Reg,” I pointed my fork in his face, but instead of being a normal person and giving me the pie, he bit down on my fork. I was so shocked at his actions I didn’t even realize he pulled the fork from my hand.

“Did you-”

“Yep, you gave us away so no pie,” he took my fork, letting it sink into the green fluffy pie with a little smirk on his face.

“I totally can’t stand you.”

“Then sit on me-” as soon as Reggie spoke he panicked, trying to take his words back but I was almost on the floor laughing. His cheeks were flushed red, his eyes wide as he looked over my face. He was perfect in the harsh light of the diner, trying his best to fix the words that fell from his lips.

“A way with words I see,” I managed to get out the words in-between giggles. His own laughs were slowly slipping past his apologies, his smile back to normal.

“Always, how do you think I wrote Home is Where my Horse is,” he bit back, him finally letting me take a bit of the whipped cream off the top. For a one-star diner, the place wasn’t horrible, if I didn’t get food poisoning that is.

“Lots of inspiration,” I smiled back, popping another fire in my mouth and laughing when he shrugged.

“Can’t say that I never had a horse.”

“Did you want one?”

“Ever since I was a young Reginald,” he spoke, a fake posh accent with his words. I smiled to myself, a joking plan already forming in my head.

I heard the door of the diner open, the familiar sound of Alex's panicked voice was nice yet frustrating. Luke winked at me, jumping as he slid into the seat beside Reggie, Flynn running to sit beside me.

“I thought you left me,” she latched onto my arm, cozying close to me with a little smile. I laughed at her antics, leaving a small kiss on her head as Julie took the seat beside Luke and Alex took the open one next to Flynn.

“You both ate the food?”

Reggie shrugged, typing something slowly into my phone he had grabbed off the table. Luke tried to speak but Reggie moved and covered the phone from his eyes.

When he finished he locked it, sliding air across the phone and pointing at it. I smiled, putting my fingerprint in my phone, which opened to the notes app.

We got busted, next time don’t tell Luke ;)

I smiled, the zoo unleashed as I read over the words. Maybe we’d been in a one-star motel and diner, but I never felt like the five-star giggles filled the room.

He said next time.

Crap, he said next time.

permanent tag list:

@kittykylax @itstaylorcale @head-over-heart @marvel-rhapsody @accioxtina

julie and the phantoms taglist:

@willex-owns-my-heart @sunsetcurvej @g7aesthetic @who-even-is-galileo

reggie peters taglist:

@miisacore

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Queen of Masks ~ Alfie Solomons

Life as a woman, in any country really, isn’t the best, unless you score a jackpot with the most gentle, sweetest man and you become his housewife and agree to be some kind of baby factory and a maid, should he not have enough to provide for one, and a chef, nonetheless.

However, there are enough ambitious women who have enough spite in their veins to trample over anyone standing in their path of success, and would spit on graves and crush cadavers under their heeled boots that they wear with much pride and conviction.

That is exactly the case of Y/N, a gorgeous woman who won against all odds and became a Veterinary Physician in London, Camden, to be precise, and had to work under an older man who had a clinic - But it was fine, she got to learn loads, and interacting with animals on a daily basis was enough to keep her going and not to answer to any provocation from her male colleague who was far inferior to her, intellectually and intuitively speaking.

And one day, after tending to a gorgeous black race stallion, a tall and broad man walked in with a Bullmastiff boy who, upon seeing her, managed to snatch away his chain leash and jumped on her, trampling her to the ground and licking her all over her face.

The man jumped in shock, trying to pry away his pet from the poor woman, only to notice she was laughing and that he face was bright like the sun, as she tried to wipe away all the slobber from her face.

“I’m so sorry, aye, he’s never done somethin’ like this before. Here, let me help you up, right.” the man extended his hand for her to take, helping raise her up, then reprimanded his dog. “Don’t worry, mister, it’s quite alright. I kinda like when animals act so affectionate, it makes it feel as if I’m doing something right. What’s your name, darling? Let’s get you up on the table...Arghh...What a heavy baby...You’re gonna break every bone in my body...” the woman sweet talked the dog, struggling to hold him in her arms like a baby so she could put in on the table to examine. “He’s name’s Cyril, I got him last year. ‘S just a routine check up, but I think there’s a bump on his neck, yeah, right here.” the man explained, letting the girl palpate his dog and continuing to sweet talk him to calm him down. “Thyroid Carcinoma.” the male doctor spoke, which made the girl whip her head to him with a disturbed look. “Thyroid Cancer? Surely, you must be joking. Have you even been to Vet school?!” Y/N protested, shaking her head in protest at his sudden diagnosis. “What else could a bump in the thyroid area mean? Don’t play smart, just be humble and accept when you’re wrong.” the man rolled his eyes, not lifting his head from his papers. “First of all, even if it IS a tumour, it doesn’t HAVE to be cancer, it can still be completely harmless, thus, benign. Secondly, out of all tumours a dog can have, thyroid cancer is the least common one, the percentage going to maximum 2%. Therefore, NOT cancer! Besides, it could be hyperthyroidism, if you want to go over the top, but again, it could just be something the owner felt because something got stuck in his neck and-....Oh.” the girl then carefully touched the neck area, and smiled widely, looking down, nodding to herself. “What? You shut up ‘cause you finally realised I was right, despite your useless statistics?” the doctor grumbled in annoyance, not caring, obviously. “Wanna bet 100 pounds that it’s not cancer?” she asked, kissing Cyril’s head and playing with his floppy ears, action which made the dog bark playfully. “Ah, sorry, mister, I didn’t ask for your name and whether you find it insensitive or not for us to bet on a diagnosis.” she smiled awkwardly, extending her hand towards the bearded man who was watching the interaction carefully. “Alfie Solomons, lass, but call me just Alfie, right? So, yeah, ‘s fine, bet all you want, just make my boy better, eh?” Alfie shook the girl’s hand, seeing her cunningly going to the other doctor and spitting in her hand to shake and make the bet go through.  “Okay, Alfie, you might want to step to the side a bit...If you value your shoes, that it. They look pretty new.” she chuckled softly, signing him with her head to move to the side, and so he did, as she made the dog vomit, and thus, revealing a small ball. “Oi, I can’t believe it! You stupid dog, Cyril, aye, how could you manage to swallow your own toy, yeah?!” Alfie gasped, his brows furrowing from shock. “Weirdly enough, dogs, especially big ones, are prone to swallowing little things, just like human babies are. It was small enough to just make him cough, but it’s a good thing you got him here in time.” the girl started quickly cleaning up the floor as she explained everything, as the Jew was still staring in shock at the idiocy of some animals. “Well, lass, thank you for solving the mystery, yeah, of whatever the hell this was, right. So, then, tell me how much I have to pay you for this consult, aye.” Alfie asked, which made her snap her head upwards, looking up at him, her eyes wide in shock. “No, God, no, nothing, it’s on me! I mean, if it weren’t for you...” Y/N smirked, reminding Alfie of a vixen, as she twirled around and went to snatch away the hundred pounds banknotes from her employer’s hand, who was looking at her with anger and bitterness. “I wouldn’t have been paid more than I’m paid in 3 months in just one day! It’s the least I can do to thank you...And to also see Cyril again, because I think it’s a connection. Right, Cyril? You’re such a sweet baby boy-....ARGH, GODS, NO-...!” but before the girl could compose herself, Cyril jumped on her torso, knocking her down again, coating her face in yet another sleek coat of drool from the lickings. “Damn it, Cyril, you’re impossible! Let the poor lass live, eh? I know, I know, she’s pretty, but leave her alone, alright?” after he finally managed to pry away the canine, he helped the girl up, who, once again, was laughing. “Let me make it up to you, yeah, for all the trouble this prankster’s been giving you, right. I’ve this bakery, y’know, the one nearby, so, anything you want, yeah, anything, you ask for it, you say my name, right, you say Alfie owes you a favour, and it’s all on the house, eh. How’s that.” he spoke, and he could see that her overly confident and extra demeanour shattered in an instant, making her look down, her beautiful, long hair hiding her features, as she was most likely blushing and smiling. “O-Oh, then, if that’s your bakery, means I’ve heard of you, you’re THE Alfie Solomons. Yeah, I’d love that, if you’d have me, but I told you, you don’t have to. I used you to get money worth of about 3 months, or more, so really, I should be thanking you somehow, but I don’t really have anything else to offer, other than to pay for the consult myself.” her serious, boastful voice turned very soft and shy, as fast as the flick of her fingers, as she walked him out of the clinic, so only he would hear. “Your boss there...He seemed kinda...Angry, eh. Are you gonna be fine dealing with him, lass?” he asked, bending down a bit, speaking to her tone level. “I guess. What’s the worst he can do, anyway. Besides, I care more about this conversation right now, and...About this.” she smirked softly, showing off the rolled pounds from her coat’s chest pocket. “So, Mr. Gangster, is there any specific time you’d be okay with me coming by the bakery? Maybe...Under the pretext of yet another regular check up on Cyril? Or...The smell of freshly baked cookies just captured me enough to find myself senselessly walking into the place?” she asked, diving her hands into her pockets, waiting for an answer, too timid to look him in the eye. “Ahhh, I see you’ve heard of me. Well, lass, I guess I can’t pretend to be some ordinary man, right, but maybe we can still enjoy a nice chat once in a while, eh, it would be nice, right?” the corner of Alfie’s mouth turned upwards, extending his hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s great meeting you, Alfie. And yeah, it would be great. I’ll be seeing you around, alright? Hope I’ll see you soon and maybe we can have a nice cup of tea and anything that you’ve baked. I’m looking forward to that.” she shook his hand, smiling brightly at him, gesture which he turned. “And I’ll be seeing you as well, sweetheart.” with that, she kissed Cyril’s head once again, before waving Alfie goodbye and walking back into the clinic. “And I’ll be seeing you too...Y/N.” the gangster muttered, grinning at his dog and praising him with a few pats on his head. “Cyril, my boy, you’re my lucky charm.”

A week passed, and Y/N walked into the bakery - However, it wasn’t the front up, the bakery shop that smelled heavenly - It meant the gangster warehouse where Alfie would usually conduct his business meetings. And, of course, it was shocking to him when heard the click of heels and saw a beautiful, slender woman, dressed in high-waisted pants, with a black turtleneck tucked in her pants, beautiful brown leather boots with heels and a black trench coat that elegantly, yet imposingly hung from her shoulders, as if she was some kind of mafia Queen - Elegant, but deadly.

“Hello, Alfie. I heard you have a job around this place. Not sure what it is...Medic? Secretary? Dog-walker? Maybe you could fill me in.” she asked, her hands in her pants, fidgeting in her spot. “Where’ve you heard about this...Supposed job, eh, lass? And why’d you quit your job from the clinic, eh?” he asked, his fingers intertwining as he leaned forward, elbows rested on his desk. “Ah, well...Y’know...I got my medical license pulled, so I need a way to make money, and you’re the only one that I trusted not to treat me like garbage, so here I am. I know there’s no job, but I had to try my luck and be comedic in a way. It’s probably about the only thing I’m good at, sort of. It’s fine if you don’t want to give me a job, I mean, you can’t trust me with your business info after just speaking to me once, I can imagine, and - “ she kept on ranting, until Alfie raised both his hands in the air to calm her down and stop her speaking, before he raised to his feet, getting in front of the desk and leaning back on it. “Well, I did owe you a favour, right, so, sure, you’re hired, right, I’ll find you something. While we’re at it, can you, yeah, can you fire a gun?” he asked, with a mix of seriousness and playfulness in his voice. “Is it...In the job requirements?” she asked, looking around the place with a fake kind of curiosity. “There’s no job seeking, yeah, so, therefore, no job requirements. I was just being curious, alright, y’know, I have to know what everyone around is capable of, okay.” he explained, which made her smirk and turn on her heel to look at him. “That’s only fair. After all, now that you know that I’m particularly incapable of defending myself against people in general, you’ll just have to be extra careful to keep me safe, right, Alfie? We wouldn’t want Cyril to grieve over me, would we?” she chuckled, extending her arms to her side in a dramatic manner. “Haha, yes, lass, I s’ppose you’re right. Can you handle more than one job, eh? I can hire you as a physician, right, but we don’t always have wounded men, yeah, so, you’re a smart woman, alright, I’m sure you are very capable of reading, writing, doing calculus and other stuff that involves using your head, right, so, I don’t know what name will this job have, but, maybe an assistant of sort, eh? Ollie here helps me out a lot, yeah, but he can’t do everything, he ain’t some God, y’know.” Alfie gesticulated, pointing towards Ollie, then tried to explain to her that things are serious, and not to be taken lightly. “Guess this is gonna be the thrill of my life, huh? I’m in, Alfie. At least I can get along with you without fearing having my license pulled-...Oh, wait, I have nothing to fear about anymore.” she chuckled in a self-deprecating way, making Alfie cross his arms to his chest. “You never told me what happened. Go on, tell me. I’m sure you didn’t kill a dog, or somethin’, you’re too smart a doctor to fuck up.” his curiosity got the better of him, as he saw her turning to look at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape, and he could almost see her brain gears moving, trying to think of a witty answer. “Didn’t you say something about freshly baked goodies and tea? I bet that’s gonna be a much more...Hospitable way of chatting with your new employee, wouldn’t it? Or better said, friendlier? I mean, this place is so...Ugly and humid...Only good for gangster business. The echo here, if you shout, can intimidate anyone, I’m sure. Come on, show me the actual bakery...And you better have a gramophone. I like music.” she smiled up at him, hooking her arm to his, pulling him in a random direction to urge him to guide her to the bakery, where the beautiful smell of bread and cookies mesmerised her, and she playfully swooned in her chair. “I see you’re enjoying this place very much, eh. Well, can’t say I expected you coming today, so I didn’t bake them myself, yeah, but I’ll make it up to you. Sure you want tea and not rum or somethin’?” Alfie asked, a bit awkward staying at the cute little table, with a cute, little cup of tea in his bear-like hands. “Yes, I’m quite sure, Alfie. But it’s fine, you don’t have to drink what I’m drinking, I won’t think of you any differently. In your home, you do as you please.” she chuckled at him, watching as he nodded solemnly, only to down that tea in one go, small droplets of liquid embedding themselves in his beard. “Right, right, I understand, y’er a people pleaser, you want everyone to like you, unless it goes against whatever scheme you have. You’re smart, alright. Very smart, and you’ve sharp eyes, and are cunning. I need someone like you around, yeah. But tell me, how’d you manage to lose your dream job in a week?” Alfie asked, extending his hand to gently grab her chin, pulling it so he could peer right into her gorgeous, vixen-like eyes. “Remember the bet I did when you came around with Cyril? Well, apparently that jerk got mad at me for, to quote, steal his money, so he filed a malpractice lawsuit to get his money back, 5 times more, and pulled away my license, to get revenge on me for humiliating him in front of a customer...Allegedly. Very petty, I know, but, as they say...C’est la vie. Not much to do about it, really. Now I’m seen as a con-artist thief who kills animals, so I have no way of getting a job anywhere anymore, hence why I’m here. Lovely, innit?” she snorted as she took a bit of the cookie, closing her eyes to savour it’s flavour. “And now, I think I died and went to heaven, ‘cause this is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life.” “You’re so hired, lass. Did ya pay the 500 pounds?” he asked, propping his jaw on his hand. “Yeah, thankfully. And by that, I mean I to sell my apartment so now I’m using my saving to stay at a cheap hotel, but, y’know, life’s life. At least I know I won and I was right. Maybe if I had the right connections, I could have won 10 times what I lost...But what do I know. I don’t really know how non-legal things go by.” she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her head in a playfully guilty manner. “Y’know, Y/N...I think we can solve that fairly quick, yeah. Tell me the name, and I’ll make sure things are sold. In the meantime, I’ve a nice, warm room where you can stay, right, and surely, Cyril’s gonna love your company.” Alfie smiled at her, signaling for her to follow him.

At that time, she had no idea this was actually his home, but when she did find out, she was more than grateful, if not, a bit awkward, for  having to rely so much on his kindness. However, just as he promised, Alfie managed to get that jerk of a doctor to pay her 10 times the money she paid him, and thus, she would have been able to get a very modern and luxurious place, only for herself, and even buy a dog, a cat, or hell, more of them.

But she refused, and asked to continue staying with him, if she wasn’t too much of a burden, since she really enjoyed spending time with him, and she had no idea, other than working 200% of her capabilities for her job, whatever that was, at the moment, and, of course, she would have missed Cyril too much.

It didn’t take long for Alfie’s people to realise the obvious chemistry between the two, and Ollie kept trying to convince him to ask her out, but things are always so difficult, aren’t they? Business and logics are much easier than subjective emotions.

It became sort of a routine for everyone around to see their boss writing and reading documents at his desk, while Y/N would sit on the desk, her legs resting on his chair’s back rest, as she would write on her clipboard whatever relevant things she thought were worth noting down, and would occasionally express her opinions regarding ideas that Alfie had, or some businesses that he was dealing with at the moment - All that, with, of course, the frequent witty comments they would exchange - And it was never anything hurtful, or reproachful jabs, only playful and domestic comments that always made her laugh.

“You never told me why you always look down when you interact with people, y’know, and by that, I don’t mean when you’re being some dramatic Queen, but when you’re being yourself. I mean, I haven’t seen women who let their hair so long these days, right, so I was curious about you. You do things much differently than most people, y’know that, don’t you?” Alfie asked, raising his head to look up at her, only to see, once again, trying to think of how to explain things that don’t rely on rational and objective behaviours. “Ah...Well...Uh...Y’know...I’m...My face is very expressive, y’know. So, like...I get embarrassed easily, or...Uhm...When I lie, or something, I tend to grin or laugh. I’m a messy failure who can’t do a pokerface, like, ever, so, since most people are taller than me, if I let my hair cover my face, they won’t see the truth. Or, well, y’know, at least that’s what I hope. I can’t look at them while hiding, so I’ve no way of telling whether it works or not. Contrary to me being flashy and dramatic, I’m kinda shy and terrible around people.” she chuckled awkwardly, looking away from him, bringing up her clipboard to cover half of her face. “Ahhh, I see, I see, so you go to real great lengths, yeah, to get what you want, and so far, you’ve done really well, eh. Is there anything you can’t do, lass? You’ve been doing this job for over a year, and business has improved with...Uh...Lemme see, how much did you say...Ah, yes, here, it says 23%.” he had his glasses on as his eyes scanned the documents on his desk. “I...Can’t socialise, I guess. And I can’t relax. I don’t know how to have fun. Uhm...I can’t human, I guess? I don’t know what to call it, but I think you get what I’m saying. Anyway, we have business work now, so read this paragraph here, I think we have to talk threaten Sabini a bit, he’s over his head now with power, someone has to humble him, give us a better percentage of his business, and -” Y/N tried to quickly redirect the conversation, hating when she had to talk about herself, but obviously, she couldn’t say no to the man who was always so kind and sweet with her, could she? “Nahhh, it’s fine, Y/N, let’s take a little break, right? We’ve been working since early morning, it’s evening now. Ollie, go make tea and bring those treats made today, eh. Now, lass, why don’t you tell me how did you get around to practicing medicine? I’ve always been curious by that, you know, you don’t see many women unafraid of stuff like that, yeah.” he pointed out, letting himself fall down on his chair’s seat, looking up at her. “Y’know, Y/N, you say you can hide your emotions when you hide your face from people taller than you, yeah? But what happens when they look at you from below? Gotta say, Y/N, sometimes, your worried face is rather pretty...Better now, let me look at you when you speak, yeah, we’re equals, when you go all meek on me, you make me feel like some kind o’ merciless boss or somethin’.” he chuckled, raising a bit to put her hair behind her ears, revealing a soft blush coating her cheeks, and god damn, he could feel his heart beating a bit faster. “Uhm...Okay, fine, sure, I owe you that much. Uhm...My dad was a medic too, so it became a family business for a while. And, uhm...Dad was recruited as a war medic, and went with my brother, while I and mum continued to take care of the people and animals from our city. When it was all over, I decided to get to London to practice properly, get more money and provide for my family better. They’re getting old and they need someone to take care of them, somehow.” she explained, but her eyes were darting around, and he could feel she was still hiding something because of her hesitance, but he wasn’t sure what exactly was it that she was trying to hide.

But before either of them could say anything about it anymore, a loud bang echoed through the warehouse, somewhere from the entrance, which made the girl jump in her place with a mouse-like squeak, slapping her hands over her ears.

It’s true, any person would get frightened by a gunshot that resounded so loudly through that place - And yet, this one looked like a panicked, scared fawn in the headlights - And Alfie, of course, noticed that and came to a few conclusions for himself.

However, before he could say anything, a man entered their field of vision, and he could feel Y/N tensing up, her face showing shock and disgust at the person who she clearly recognise. She turned her head to look at Alfie, and with pleading eyes, mouthing a few simple words that may or may not have shocked him.

“Let me kill him” she tried to say, but this mystery man spoke out faster than expected, and it was clear she was getting more and more angry and embarrassed by the moment. “Y/N, darling, what are you doing here? Whoring around with other men, getting into illicit business, thinking you’re superior to men just because you have some over the top ambitions that are completely unreachable, and now you think you can get rich by staying around wealthy old men, huh?” the man kept speaking, igniting an infernal fire into her eyes. “Alfie, I pride myself with my never ending patience, but I swear to God, if you don’t let me kill him...I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Y/N muttered between her gritted teeth, shocking Alfie since he never saw her as the violent type. “I’m not doing any business with him, alright, do what you feel like doing, Y/N, he’s all yours.” Alfie sat back in his chair, his fingers intertwined over his stomach, watching with interest whatever she was going to do.

Y/N jumped off the desk and slowly prowled around it, her head hanging low, before she snapped it up, glaring lightnings at the man.

“Fuck off. Now. Or you’re dead. Do you understand this simple language, or do I need to put it in words that even a monkey would understand?” she crossed her arms, spitting poison at him. “What, can’t I be angry at my own girlfriend for being a bitch and leaving me alone? I mean, you really fucked up, y’know? You left me when I needed you the most, how tragic is that?!” he yelled at her, but she only rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Yeah, I left you ‘cause you were abusing me. The way I see it, you’re the one who sucks, not me. Now get the hell out of here. Before I do something you will regret.” her voice went an octave lower, threatening him the same way she learnt from Alfie over the time of business making. “Woaw, Y/N, woaw, that’s pathetic, even for you. You’ve never been able to even raise your voice at anyone. You were nothing more than a crybaby who couldn’t step up to anyone, and then you went to war, and what, you think you changed? You didn’t! Underneath this dumb, tough facade that you’re trying to pull in front of everyone else, you’re nothing more than the frightened little girl who needed to have everything in control and grasp a bit of power to feel superior to others after you got beaten up and had a gun pointed at your head by the Germa-” but he couldn’t continue speaking for, in the blink of an eye, she pulled out a gun for her trench coat and shot him in the head, his blood and brains shooting everywhere, all over her, on the walls and floor. “Well...Ask me anything and I will provide you with an answer that is completely honest this time. But, uhm...Take of your shirt, will you?” she had a solemn, pissed off expression as she threw off her coat before hurriedly taking off her shirt, nonchalantly cleaning up her face, then pulling it into a ball, throwing it on the cadaver, then stepped in front of a very shocked, yet impressed Alfie. “Go on, take off your shirt, will you? It’s clean. You promised I’ll never have to shoot a gun, and yet, I did, therefore I need a clean top, right? So, while I tell you the truth, don’t let me stay like this in front of you, okay?” extending her hand in front of her, while her other arm was over her chest, trying to cover her pretty white laced bra, it took a mirthful laugh out of the Jew for him to finally take off his shirt and put it around her, not caring that he was the topless one now. “Will you ever stop impressing and surprising me, lass?” Alfie asked, petting her head as a way to say she did well. “Once I stop shocking myself, sure. Until then...I believe you want to say something, don’t you?” she asked, slowly stepping in front of him, looking up at him as she properly put on his shirt that looked like a dress on her. “Yeah, lass, I think I did.”

With a gentle smile, he cupped her face, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips, one hand stroking his fingers through her beautiful long hair, while the other caressed her soft visage. The tender look in his blue-green eyes felt like the safest, warmest haven she ever felt, and with an impulse decision that her heart made, she leaned forward, her arms slowly snaking around his torso, her head resting on his shoulder, and closing her eyes, she could finally feel her heart calming, for the first time in her life.

“It was you who went to war, wasn’t it?” Alfie muttered in her hair, holding her tightly. “Yeah. I don’t have a brother. It was me who went with my father to war, but he died, so I had to be the backbone of the troops. When I got home, my mum was devastated and she died of grief. I left that place to get rid of memories...And get rid of that fuckass. War left me with traumas, but it also made me strong enough to face up to who I am and stop taking everyone’s shit just because they think I’m lesser than them. Sometimes...When you talk about your time as a captain...I remember my time there...And...I realise how much I respect you...And also, how different you are from all the people I had contact with there.” she explained, her grip tightening around him, her heart quivering from the deep emotions she was feeling. “You’ve been through quite a lot in your life, haven’t you, lass? And you managed to make a life all for yourself, from the scratch, right, so, I think you’ve been doing great. France?” he asked, guiding her to a more private room, much warmer and cozier, while Ollie was to find him another shirt. “Yeah, France. Thing is...You went through all that, and it was worse for you, since you were a Captain, and you must have felt responsible for every death from your troops...And yet...Ever since we met, you’ve been sweeter than anyone has ever been, and that includes my own family. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them, but maybe...Maybe I’m just a bit softer than I let others think. And you managed to hit the right spot, in the good way, I mean. War changes everyone, and yet, you’re...I have no fitting word to describe how much I appreciate you, Alfie, but here...This thing here feels it, and I think you can feel what I’m feeling too.” she explained, resting her head on his shoulder once they sat down on the sofa, as he pulled her closer to his side, kissing her temple lovingly. “You know, Y/N...You’re not wrong. I tried not to think about my time there and the horrors I’ve seen, yeah, so, maybe it doesn’t come off as anything fantastic, and I still don’t think that being a decent person, right, to people who are close to me, is a big deal. But maybe sometimes we take things for granted, don’t we, so, maybe, you’re right. But that guy has no excuse for being a bastard. You’re safe now, Y/N, and when some day, when we’re done with this gangster mess...We can go to Margate and live a normal life there, eh. You, me and Cyril, and the sandy beach and the waves, right, and maybe, if we get bored, we can shoot those damned seagulls, yeah? They’re so annoying, I’m telling ya!” Alfie chuckled, which, in turn, made her grin at him lovingly. “I’d love to go to Margate with you, Alfie, and have seagull shooting contests together, and run barefoot on the shore, and if it’s enough light from the moon, we can swim a bit. Sounds like the perfect life if you ask me.” Y/N kissed his cheek, lovingly caressing his face before hugging his side. “That’s what I like to hear, lass. I’m sure Cyril would bark like a mad dog from happiness if he was hear, right. S’gonna be fun when we get home, eh.”

[what-the--curtains]

Not A Piece of Art

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 3/5 - Don’t Fall In Love with Me

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Summary: Lines are crossed as you and Peña work to convince the targets of your unions legitimacy.

Rating: 18+ DNI If underage I will block u (don’t try me) , smut (ish?), fingering (woman receiving), swearing

Authors notes: whoop okay y’all, pretty new to *smut* so I’m trying my best please be kind with ur criticisms! Anyways this is a long one I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for all the kind words and support you guys are awesome💕💕

Word count: 6.4k

Tagged: @trash-dino-5000 @diogodxlot @agingerindenial

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Week 2

Sharing the massive California king bed with Javi was less of a palava than you’d expected. It was large enough that you were able to achieve a comfortable distance from him by sleeping on the bed's precipice. Despite your assumption that his annoying personality would carry over into sleep, he was actually the ideal person to share a room with. He fell asleep quickly, hardly moved and most importantly he didn't snore. As the week progressed your sharp edges began to smooth out, helping to relieve the tension making your living situation infinitely more tolerable. You’d relaxed into him slightly, your jaw no longer locking in fury when he so much as entered into your periphery. The surprising nature of the change was only overshadowed by the morning when he’d woken up to your leg wrapped around his waist and his own hand running absentmindedly up and down your thigh. Sometime during the night, and by no volition of your own, you’d maneuvered your way into his arms. Javi wasn’t sure what was more unbelievable, how peaceful you looked while near him or how he hadn’t immediately pushed you off him. The pyjamas you’d been wearing in an attempt to keep your body hidden had failed. Your basketball shorts had ridden up and the Ramones shirt that was obviously an ex-boyfriends had been pushed up by Javis hand during the night. He chuckles, when a faint snore escapes your lips, noting the irony of the situation considering you'd threatened to suffocate him if he so much as made a sound in the night. He wonders if you always looked this way in the morning, he’d never paid attention until he was trapped under you, his heart begins to race as your hand begins circling lightly on his chest. Not wanting you to wake up and see him staring down at you like some kind of stalker he quickly, but gently, rolls you onto your stomach. Besides, domesticity wasn’t an area he was comfortable with, and it definitely wasn’t on his to do list. Especially not with you.

The sound of the bathroom door shutting followed by water splashing onto the tiled floor wakes you up. You swallow, lick your lips and groan into the pillow, not wanting to spend another day living a facade. You roll over, realizing you’d once again shifted into the center of the bed during the night. You groan as you roll out of bed knowing the midday heat that was slowly creeping into frame would be followed shortly by the humidity. Your feet hit the marbled floor, cooling you down instantly as you walk towards the closet that could easily double as a second bedroom, choosing something light and airy to prevent you from sweating profusely. You brush the taste of morning out of your mouth before heading into the kitchen, where you're greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, a mug of which is handed to you by the DEA agent, who was giving you a once over.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the mug and sitting down at the kitchen table.

“I have to ask you a question.” Javi says, once he was sure you had been sufficiently caffeinated.

“Should I be afraid?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as you take another sip of the coffee.

“What's your issue with me?” He asks outright.

“Too early to get into this.” you murmur.

“It's 11 but fine, keep your secrets. How about this one you spoon Steve when the two of you use too...” he stops, making an obscene gesture with his hand causing you to look over to him in disgust.

“What?” you ask, confused by more than one of those statements. His confidence dissipates, as he raises his hands up, shifting into defensive mode.

“I’ve never slept with Steve! Did he tell you we did? That’s so fucked up!” you start, face riddled with anger.

“No he never…” Javi tried to explain.

“Then why the fuck would think that!” you exasperate, throwing your hand up in the air, eyes wide waiting for his response.

“I saw you leave his room when we were on that case out of town” He blurts out, hands still up, further away from you than when the conversation had started.

“Ya! I slept on his couch because of you!” you exclaim.

“Me?” he asks, now more confused than ever.

“Yes! Well I guess technically by the women loudly proclaiming there satisfaction with your performance”

“Is that why you hate me? Because I kept you awake for a few nights” he laughs, unable to accept something so minor had resulted in the fiery feud between the two of you.

“One of many reasons” you retort, drawing out the ‘many’, to justify your grudge.

“Can't control what women do when i’m with them, Cariño .” he says, still in disbelief that something so small was the root of your hatred.

“You know it's fake right?” you say, cocking an eyebrow “Like you don’t actually think that it's real? you may be good but there's no way you're that good. Believe me i've been that person before and not to hurt your ego but...”

“No definitely not trying anything” he says, cutting you off. You were currently giving him more and more reason to hate you. He’d have a better reason for it than you currently did, you continuously treated him like shit, and for something so stupid. Enraged, and pride slightly shot, he grabs the remainder off his coffee and a pack of cigarettes heading out to the balcony to cool off. He lights his cigarette and leans out onto the railing, staring over to the mansion where you were being watched. He can’t let you get to him like that, it was too risky, there was already one hot head in this duo, it didn't need another. Taking a long drag of the cigarette he calls you over, and to his surprise you oblige. Guess you could be compliant when you wanted to be.

“They’re watching” he says as you enter onto the balcony. You lean back onto the railing looking up at him confused.

“This whole wall is made of glass, we need to make sure it's turned on whenever they can see us,” he explains. You hated to admit it, but he was right, this act needed to become more permanent. The pained look evident on your face, as you accept your fate causes Javi to smile. Suddenly endeared by your expressiveness, at least he never had to wonder what you were thinking. He wraps his arms around you pulling you into him, for a tight embrace as he rubs his hand down your back. The tension leaves your body, despite his flaws Peña was an excellent hugger. You decided to try and say one good thing about him everyday until this whole fiasco was over and you never had to put up with each other again.

“I’m going to go down to the beach” you say, knowing the ocean was the one place that could keep you calm. Your rage absorbed by the waves, breaking as they crashed into the rocks of the shoreline. You change into an overly revealing one piece before heading down to shore barefoot, happy to have some time away from the confinement of your shoes and the house. You lay the towel out on rock with your cover up prepared to let the water wash over you when you hear your name called. You turn to see Helena spread out on the sand like a cover girl, tilting her oversized sunglasses down as she beckons you over.

“How are you settling in?”

“Better than expected” you say smiling, sitting down on the sand next to her.

“You're lying to me..” she says causing your stomach to drop “glass walls we see everything the two of you have been fighting non-stop.”

“Must it be like having free tv?” you laugh, “The fights are my fault, since the move, i've lost my edge. I haven’t painted anything good in months and I’ve been taking it out on him”

“Hmmm” she hums out, eyes scanning yours, looking for a crack to pry into.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You almost have me convinced, but there's something I can't quite explain, something is amiss between the two of you. What secrets do you harbour? I’d love to know”

“None,” you pause for a moment contemplating your next move carefully, “at least none that involve him” you say eyes meeting her’s she raises her eyebrows and puts her sunglasses back on, seemingly satisfied for now, or simply having lost interest. She stands up, grabbing her towel and book.

“We’re scheduled to have a few new pieces arrive this week, you should come see them once they arrive. Bring your husband. Carlos would be thrilled to see him as would I. Shall we say this coming Saturday?” she asks.

“I’ll have to check, but that would be lovely.” You watch her leave, before standing up and brushing the sand off your ass. You make your way over to the shallows and dive beneath the water. Javi watches from the windowsill as your figure disappears beneath the waves, a strange feeling of concern staying with him until he sees you resurface.

You plod back up to the house as the sun begins to set, not wanting to get stuck out after dark. You walk into the house and the smell of something fills your nostrils, was he cooking? You take a quick shower before returning to the kitchen to see a very disgruntled looking Javi who had evidently made an effort to cook for you both as a gesture of good faith.

“Smells good” you say, you weren't going to criticize him for actually trying to be a better roommate.

“Probably the only thing about it that's good” he grumbles sitting down across from you.

“Well this is not as bad as I thought” you say the food was actually edible, but that was really as much credit he’d be getting.

“Thank you”

“For what?” you respond.

“Lying to spare my feelings” he says.

“ First off I'd never lie to protect your ego and secondly, well I appreciate the effort, you’ve now proven to me that you really can't cook, so I will start cooking for you as well.” you offer

“Thank god” he says, standing up and heading over to the sink.

“I'll wash up, you cooked” you say nudging him out the way so you can get to the sink. He drops the dishes, willing to let you take over, standing at the counter watching you as you clean.

“ She thinks there is something off about us, Helena, I saw her at the beach, she practically said we weren't who we were pretending to be.” you state, turning back to see if he’s listening. “Probably not helped by the fighting I suppose” you admit.

“Probably not.” Javi says.

“Oh and we're going to theres for dinner later this week, the tests came back positive so drugs are definitely coming into contact with the paintings. You need to get him to ask us to make him a fake copy, or at least to admit he’s sending fakes.”

“Begs the question, where are the real things?” he asks.

“Who knows. Gotta be somewhere, he’d have to own them so that when they get mailed it doesn't look sketchy.”

“Mhmm,” he says absentmindedly.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” You ask whipping the towel at his head, noticing he's checked out completely.

“What?” he says, forehead creased, still looking concerned.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About how to convince them that we are... you know… together… physically” he states cautiously.

“Well maybe we only do it in the bedroom, or maybe we don’t do it all? Relatioships dont need to have sex.” you explain.

“No, but I may have suggested that we do it frequently and everywhere” he says sheepishly, eyes on the counter.

“Great” you sigh. “Well, go on, sounds like you have a suggestion.” you continue tilting your head as you continue to dry a pan.

“It's an indecent proposal, but a proposal nonetheless” he draws out.

“Don’t beat around the bush, Peña, get to the point” you say, turning the dish back on the rack.

“I think we could stage what would be considered the beginning stages of it, well within their view without it being obvious”

“Where? In the living room?”

“Yes, but we’d move to the bedroom before anything serious happened” he swallows, prepared for any reaction.

“Alright,” you sigh “but no mouth kissing” he laughs “What?”

“No mouth kissing? How old are you?”

“Shut up!” you say, going to punch him in the arm, but he grabs your wrist rubbing his thumb over it, smiling when you get flustered, pulling away quickly.

The next morning he finds you in the bathroom, hair pulled back out of your face as an exasperated groan escapes your lips.

“You don’t have to put makeup on for me” he smirks, just when you were starting to find him tolerable he went and did something that made your blood boil.

“I’m not putting makeup on” you, murmur. A half lie, you were currently in the throes of trying to artfully create fake hickeys on your neck.

“They're not usually sparkly, you know,” he remarks, smiling as your jaw clenches slightly and your nose scrunches up.

“Ugh, you think I don’t know that! “ You say, grabbing a towel and rubbing the skin raw.

“Don’t worry I’ll leave some tonight” he states.

“You know we're not actually...” you assure looking at him through the mirror.

“I'm well aware, but I want them to look real, nothing intrusive scouts honour” he says holding his hand over his heart.

“Please Peña we both know you're anything but a boy scout. You realize you’ll need some as well.” you state,

“Deal” he says, grinning and raising his eyebrows. Had he just gotten exactly what he wanted? You stand in the bathroom, brows knitted and lips parted as you try and figure out the answer.

It’s after dinner and you stand in the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. The racy lingerie you had chosen was hitting every curvature of your body perfectly. You want to cover yourself up. Showing your body to someone new was always nerve wracking, even if this was simply an act you still had a sinking feeling in your stomach. A feeling brought on by the deeply rooted fear of disappointing someone.

You pull on a sheer robe with a faint gold floral pattern, it didn’t cover you up much, but it did make you feel less vulnerable. You pull on the high heels that match the lingerie, thanking god that you only had to walk a few meters to your destination.

The distinct clack of high heel on marble causes Javier's head to turn. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you striding down the hall. He shifts in his seat biting his tongue to distract from the current urges he was feeling. He reminds himself that none of this was real and that he had to keep his cool. You already despised him for being an ass, he didn't want you adding pervert to the list of things you currently hated about him. He leans forward, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray, swallowing hard as you come to stand before him. His eyes move slowly up your body to meet your gaze, but your eyes are looking over him. He puts out the cigarette and places his hands on your hips roughly pulling you down onto his lap. His hands ease up and down your back venturing only as far as the contract would allow.

“What no snarky comment?” you say finally looking down to meet his deep brown eyes.

“Nothing to complain about from my end” he murmurs, his hands rubbing over your calves.

“Gross” you whisper

“Que me estas haciendo hermosa”’ “What are you doing to me sweetheart?” he asks, momentarily forgetting you knew how to speak Spanish.

“What was that?” you say enjoying the power you currently had over the usually cocky agent, who was seemingly in trance. He opens his mouth to say something but before he can get a word in you place a kiss on his jaw line. His mouth hangs open as you begin to trail kisses down his neck. You stop beside a prominent vein caused by his jaw being so tightly clenched. You graze your teeth over the area before biting down on the tanned skin. He thanks himself for deciding to wear jeans and not something thinner, feeling himself strain against the fabric. His grip on your waist becomes vice like when you begin to suck on the area you’d just marked. The soft moan that Javi unwillingly emits takes you by surprise causing you to giggle.

The laugh awakens something in Javi and he growls as he stands up, taking you with him. You wrap your legs around him to steady yourself as he buries his head in your neck. You inhale sharply as he latches onto your skin, immediately locating a sensitive spot. Your head goes back as he nips at the area, biting your lip not wanting to give him the satisfaction. You move your hands through his hair pulling it so he detaches from you, dark eyes staring into your own before quickly moving to your collarbone. He bites down causing you to buck into him, and you could practically feel him smirk into your skin as he moves down to your chest, working overtime to get some kind of noise from you.He drops you onto the couch causing your hair to fall in front of your face, as you work to steady your breathing. You understood why he was sent to get information from women, despite your constant attempts to belittle him, there was no denying that he knew what he was doing.He kneels down in front of you and pushes your legs open.

“Peña” you warn.

“Just marks, I promise” he says and you give him the go ahead. He kisses above your knee before working his way along your inner thighs stopping just before the hem of your underwear staying there long enough to convince anyone watching that he was tending to your needs. You're sure he can see your arousal, despite your attempts to hide it when his teeth had grazed against your inner thigh your body betrayed you. You could feel yourself slowly soaking through the thin fabric. You pull his head back and he pushes himself up onto his elbow positioning his body over you.

“Think they've seen enough?” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Probably” he says, if he was a worse man he would have lied and gone back down between your thighs, silently hoping you’d allow him to venture further. His hands pull you into him and your arms wrap around his neck as he lifts you up again, walking you both towards the bedroom. You tried to keep your crotch away from his torso, fearful that you'd leave a stain on his shirt, you’d never live it down if he found out. He stops once more in the kitchen propping you in the counter to mark your neck up a bit more, when you try to squirm your hips away from him he digs his fingers into your skin locking you in place. He pulls you off the counter and carries you into the bedroom, mouth still attached to your skin, willing to take this as far as you would allow.

“Stop” you whisper, pulling yourself out of the situation. Immediately he removes his mouth and drops you onto the bed where you fall with a slight bounce. He walks over to the closet grabbing some sleepwear.

“You want to use the bathroom first or?” he asks as if nothing had just happened.

“No, I just need to brush my teeth, you go ahead.” you lie, knowing full well you had to wipe yourself clean as well.

Javi shuts the door making sure it locked before he growls in frustration, he’d half hoped you wouldn't have stopped him. He thought you’d been enjoying what he was doing, most women did and he knew fucking the rage out of you would feel phenomenal. Maybe women were just that good at faking it, though he swore he could make out a wet patch seeping through your lingerie. His cock, which had been at half mast since you walked into view, had been straining painfully against his jeans for the past 10 minutes. He groans as he finally frees it, contemplating wrapping his hand around it and fixing the problem right now, but he can’t risk you hearing him. He turns on the shower instead, letting it run cold before stepping into it. He walks out 30 minutes later to find you passed out on the bed, the soft snoring that was slowly growing on him filling the room. He crawls under the covers, waiting patiently for you to find your way over to him. Even in the dark he can see his handiwork beginning to take shape, he smiles knowing he’d left them there, only wishing the scumbags back at the office could see them, so they’d finally stop pestering you.

“God I feel like I'm in highschool again” you say running your hands over your neck.

“What the fuck were you doing in highschool?” Javie laughs. How the hell had you gotten out of it looking like a mosaic while he’d only got stuck with the few you’d managed to leave on his neck.

“Come here” you say, watching as he gets out of bed, it was one of the rare mornings that you’d actually woken up before him.

“Why?” he asks stretching as he shifts out of bed leaning his elbows on his knees as he reaches for a cigarette

“I've got to scratch your back up a bit, and don’t smoke in the bedroom!” you chastise.

“Really?” he asks, walking towards you leaving the unlit cigarette in his mouth.

“Ya look at these nails? They leave marks,” you say wiggling your fingers in front of his face. He stops in front of you allowing you to hook your hands under his arm to get to his back. Apparently, Peña was most compliant when he'd just woken up and before his coffee. Slowly, you rake your painted nails down his back causing an involuntary growl to come out.

“You all done?” he mumbles

“Yup” you respond

Week 3

The following days fly by and it's not long before it's time for you to go to your neighbours for dinner again. The bruises on your skin left by Peñas skillful mouth were still prevalent, but now in the unflattering healing process. You walk into the kitchen in another lingerie set, having taken to walking around half naked now Javi had already seen you in such and you no longer considered him a threat. He’d demonstrated his ability to understand basic consent by not forcing you to continue after you'd told him to stop. A low bar, but still one that wasn't crossed. You scoot up onto the counter and he hands you a coffee running his hands up and down your thighs as you take a sip.

“They still watching?” you sign out, annoyed at having someone in your personal space so early in the morning.

“I think so, I've seen a few people move in and out the house, a couple of cars driving up as well, but they've gone now. Wonder if they've got a new piece come in, maybe something you can copy for them.” he says.

“Ya Helena had mentioned something about new arrivals. Think I'll get to see it tonight?” you yawn, as he flicks his lighter failing at getting a flame to appear.

“Hopefully” he grunts, you grab the cigarette from his lips, placing it between your own before taking the lighter and getting it in one. You take a drag as he kisses your neck before taking the cigarette back from you and heading out onto the balcony.

“Welcome!” Carlos booms opening the door to you both, embracing Javi and kissing you on the cheek. “She's more beautiful with every passing day, though I did prefer her skin when it was all one colour” Carlos remarks, raising his brows to Javi in congratulations.

“I can get overzealous,” he laughs.

“A need to mark his property, it's what men do isn't it Cariño ?” he says looking at you as you force a smile.

“Hello, apologies I was in the washroom” Helena says making her way down the staircase. Peña takes the moment to wrap himself around you biting gently on your earlobe.

“Helena perfect timing, take Melanie to the bar, get her a drink, I need an opinion from her husband.”

“You look at her as if you’ve never been with her before, full of wonderment.” Carlos says closing the door to his office and gesturing for Javier to sit on the significantly shorter chair as he takes his place in front of the large oak desk.

“The beauty of loving an artist, they wear many different faces, everyday she's new to me. How can I be of assistance?” he asks.

“That is the wrong question. Can you be of assistance? I believe you to be genuine, but my wife is neurotic, you know how they are. She seems to think you and your wife are not who you say you are. She’s suspicious after a recent unpleasantness with the previous residents of your home, you see.”

“Who can blame her. Many people have questioned our relationship, they think someone like her would only be with me for one reason. But I know the truth, even if the rest of the world doesn't” Javi explains. Helena was smarter than her husband, thank god she wasn't in here with them. He’s sure she’d see through him.

“That's what I believe as well, so by asking you this I put myself in a very precarious position. One I hope you will appreciate. I will not share the details but I need your wifes services.” Carlos states,

“I don't think she would be comfortable…” Javi starts, playing up his incompetence.

“Ha, not those kinds of services though I would not pass up the opportunity. You say she can make copies of art?”

“Yes.”

“Can she recreate this,” he asks, pulling out a photo of a painting in a local museum. Not famous enough to draw attention, but well known enough to not be handled by too many people as it passed through security.

“I'll have to ask her, but I don’t see it being an issue” he says

“Have her do it, drop it off when she's done.” He demands.

“I assume her name won't be attached to this, if anything happens”

“Of course not, we keep our friends safe.”

“Good” Javi nods his head slowly sucking on his teeth as he rises from the chair.

After dinner Helena and Carlos excuse themselves. Leaving you along with Javi,

“I have to pee, I'll be back” you say, standing up and trying to find the bathroom you’d used the last time you were here. You find yourself lost, but you follow the sounds of raised voices, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“You have involved them too soon they cannot be trusted!” Helena whisper yells

“Helena you’ve truly lost your mind this time, did you see the marks on her neck between her legs, how do you explain those?” he says slamming his fists onto the desk.

“Marks can be manufactured, they mean nothing! If we go down it's your fault” she says through gritted teeth.

“If they so much as step a toe out of line, i'll kill them both myself”

“Watch them tonight, she recoils slightly at his touch before settling in, somethings off, I know it.” She states

“Do not presume to tell me how to run this business, and do not blame me for your over emotional outburst again, you know what happens when you stop serving your intended purpose” He spits.

You quickly turn, not wanting to stick around any longer, the sound of there not so silently yells drowning out the clack of heels as you scurry back down the hall. Javi, who had gone out in search of you after you failed to return, is winded as you almost slam into him. He looks down to see a very obvious look of distress on your face. He pulls you into the bathroom locking the door behind him.

“What?” he asks, shaking his head.

“What yourself?” you spit back, despite the confident tone he can see that you’re shaking. He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs gently rubbing circles helping to calm you down. “they're not buying it” you say, if you didn't get it together you’d both be screwed.

“You can't go back out there like this they'll know.” he murmurs, unsure how to stop you from going into a complete meltdown. He should have better prepared you for the psychological trauma of being undercover.

“I’m sorry, i'm going to blow this.” you say, the first time he’d gotten an apology from you.

“I have an idea, but you stop me if you...” he starts

“Do what you have to.” you say, needing to forget what you’d just heard, not waiting to end up in a body bag.

He lifts you up onto the granite countertop between the two sinks shifting up the thin material of your dress up as he does. He pulls down your underwear, stuffing it into one of his pockets as he pushes your knees apart taking a moment to take in the view. He makes quick work of putting his mouth on you. Sucking down on the already sensitive skin, you emit a loud moan, unable to mask how good the pain felt. His hand moves over your mouth.

“Shhh, baby we can't be too loud” he murmurs into your skin as his hand slips the strap off your shoulder exposing your breasts. He massages it intermittently pinching your nipple until it buds while his mouth works away at your neck. You go to move your thighs together, desperate to create some friction when he bites down on your collarbone, but he uses his leg to keep them separated. He runs his hand down your body. You whimper slightly as he slowly drags a single digit up and down your slick folds gathering up your juices.

“Maybe those women weren’t as fake as you thought.” He says, his mouth attaching to your exposed nipple, preventing you from responding.

“What was that “ he asks, smugly slowly circling around your clit as he sinks two fingers into you. He feels you clench around him when he grazes up against your most sensitive area.

“Jesus your fucking tight” he half moans into your neck as he begins to slowly pump his thick digits in and out, his thumb continuously circling around your swollen clit. You arch your back in an attempt to get him deeper inside you, encouraging him to pump faster, curling his fingers to apply pressure to your g-spot. His mouth goes back to your breast and he bites down on your nipple causing you to whine out desperately.

“Are you faking it now?” he asks, smirking down at you, you don’t know why but the cockiness was doing it for you. Unable to respond you close your eyes and throw your head back. He hears your breath get shorter, and he feels your walls begin to flutter around him. You clench down on his hand as you climax, his hand covering your mouth stopping any noise from reverberating out of the bathroom. He leaves his hand over your mouth until he feels your breathing calm, his thumb running over your cheek bone as he does. He brings the hand down to your throat squeezing it gently as he reluctantly removes his fingers from the warmth of your pussy. He bites his tongue when he hears the disappointed huff leave your lips at the loss of his hand. You watch as he washes his hands and exits the bathroom leaving you to deal with the mess he’d made.

“Excuse us, my wife she gets emotional somethime, things come over her, you know how women can be.” he explains to Carlos and Helena who had been waiting in the bar for who knows how long. You appear behind him flustered, hair messed dress slightly askew, new marks already forming on your neck. Helena looks impressed, Carlos looks surprised, your appearance made it clear as to what had just happened in their bathroom. A fact made even more obvious by your underwear which was currently hanging out one of his pockets. You quickly go up and stuff it deep down the extreme embarrassment you currently felt had completely overtaken the fear of being killed. Had he planned this?

“Emotional, is that what they're calling it these days” Carlos asks, shooting Helena an ‘I told you so’ look. At least one of them was convinced.

As you walk back into your house you bend over taking off your shoes, snapping up immediately when you remember you weren't wearing any underwear. You were dreading the inevitable bragging that was sure to come. You remind yourself that it wasn't really you in that bathroom. It was your character, you didn't cum for Javi, Melanie Alvirez did. You still still hated him.

“He wants you to paint him a copy of this” Peña says, coming up behind you, sliding the photo into your view.

“He trusts us?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Not enough to tell me what it's for, but after that little performance I think he may just tell us what's going on. One last thing.” He says shifting out of his jacket, losing the tie around his neck. “Don’t fall for me,” he says.

“Oh please” you laugh, embarrassment replaced by annoyance.

“Seriously, It wouldn’t be the first time” he brags

“You may be good looking Peña, but you're not a piece of art, so get over yourself” you dig.

“Meaning?” He questions, still smiling.

“Pretty, but lacking depth” you say, returning a fake smile.

“So you think im good looking and good at fucking?’ he continues, hoping to rile you up.

“When did I ever say I thought you were good at fucking?” you ask, fully prepeared to knock his ego back down after accidentally inflating it.

“Your right didn’t say it, moaned it” he emphasizes leaning over the counter.

“Congratulations Peña you know where a woman's clit is! Would you like a round of applause, maybe a participation ribbon, a plaque reading ‘man does the bare minimum’?”

“You’re seriously tryna tell me it wasn’t good?” now you were just making him angry, reactions don’t lie. He’d watched your face, every breath, every bite of your lip as you tried to stop yourself from screaming his name. He knew you'd enjoyed it, he felt you clench around him, felt you soak his fingers.

“No, I'm telling you that you're not ‘screaming through the walls loud’ good!” His teeth are gritted and his nostrils flare as he throws his hands up in the air, heading towards the bedroom. He needed to get away from you. Not wanting to throw you down on the closest surface and show you just how good he could be.

You watch as he storms off into the bedroom, your shoulders deflate and for the first time you consider that maybe you’d gone too far. You’d been trying to piss him off, trying to hurt his feelings, and you’d overstepped. Especially considering you weren’t exactly being truthful. Was he good? Yes. Did you have to take more time than you'd care to admit getting yourself together afterwards? Maybe. Were you curious to know if he could actually make you scream? Absolutely. But he also wasn’t the first guy to leave you feeling that way. It was good but it wasn’t ‘scream it from the rooftops’ good. You wonder if he was even trying, or if he wasn’t invested in your pleasure just giving you enough to make it look believable for the neighbours. The thought leaves you even more interested in his full abilities in the bedroom, not that you'd ever tell anyone that, or that you'd ever do it. You wait an hour or so before going into the bedroom and falling asleep.

In an attempt to clear the air you make breakfast the next morning. Javi appears from the front door, he’d been down to the beach early in an attempt to get you out of his head. He sits down at the bar furiously trying to get his lighter to start up. He sees your hand appear, not looking up he hands you the lighter and lets you pluck the cigarette from his mouth lighting it up in one, before offering it back to him. A moment later a delicious looking breakfast appears beneath him finally causing him to look up.

“Look, I took it too far last night and i'm sorry if I said...” you start

“Save it” Javi says, tucking into the food before him “nothing to apologize for if you were telling the truth.” the use of the word ‘if’ irks you the wrong way, but you let it slide. “besides, it's not like it matters, I only put work in for the women who actually want me”

“Fair enough” you say snorting, causing him to look to you again

“What?” he asks, trying to maintain his scowl, but failing upon hearing the unrefined sound come out of you.

“Your bedside manner never fails to delight me” you say cleaning up the dishes “i'll take this as im forgiven” you nod to the plate that was now empty.

“For what? No offense sweetheart, I don’t take much stock in others' opinions of me.” You did admire that about him, he really didn’t care what others thought about him. You marked that down as his good quality for the day.

[dirtykpopsnaps]

Brought Together by Dance - Jung Hoseok (soulmate au)

Warnings: None

Contains: Cute soulmates!Hobi and Y/N meeting

Requested: no

Words: 7, 470 (huh...my longest yet and it’s for my bias...this was not intended😂😅)

———————————————————————

I smile around at all of the little kids gathered before me. “Alright, guys, you heard Mrs. Melany, you can go,” I laugh lightly. As soon as I say this, all the little children start taking off their soft shoes as putting them away in their dance bags. Before long, Melany and I are alone in the room. Narrowing her eyes, she turns to me and playfully glares.

“Maybe you should teach beginner ballet. They actually listen to you,” she says. I laugh lightly, taking my soft shoes off and changing into my sneakers.

“I guess I just work well with little kids,” I smile. She rolls her eyes lightly at this explanation.

“Well, there’s that but they can also see your attachment when you dance,” she points out. I shrug lightly, nodding my head and smiling at her.

“Yeah...that could also be part of it,” I giggle.

When I’m done pulling my sneakers on, I look down at my ankle. Even through the light pink material of my tights, you can clearly see the outline of my attachment tattoo.

My soulmate attachment is a small tattoo at my ankle. It’s of a little ballerina dancer and, truthfully, it’s part of the reason that I started doing ballet in the first place. When I was very little, I would ask my mother what it was and one day when I was about four, I asked if I could start ballet. From that moment on, ballet and dance in general have been a very big part of my life. I don’t know where I would be if my soulmate attachment was any different.

From next to me, Melany also pulls on her sneakers after practice. “So, when’s the flight?” She asks calmly. I shoot her an excited smile.

“Early tomorrow morning. Like, *super* early, so I’ll be turning in early tonight,” I tell her.

“I want lots of pictures, okay? Especially if you get to meet that group. You know the kids would love them,” she reminds me. I nod my head lightly and stand up, hoisting my dance bag onto my shoulder.

“I will absolutely send you pictures, especially if I meet them. I’m honestly not sure what’s going to happen,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders.

Talking between ourselves, Melany and I leave the ballet studio. We wave goodbye to the receptionist, Annalise, then head out to the parking lot. We climb into the car together, ready to get takeout and talk for a little while. You see, Melany is my best friend. I met her in my first ever ballet class and we just grew closer and closer over the years. When Melany asked me to help co-teach the beginning ballet class at her school, I was so excited! I immediately agreed and I’ve been co-teaching classes with her for about a year.It’s one of my favorite parts of what I do.

Melany and I chat happily all the way to the Italian place that she decided on earlier. “Alright, my place or your’s?” I ask, putting the bags of food in the backseat of her car. Melany takes a moment to think before responding.

“Your’s. You have to go to sleep early tonight, plus I don’t wanna wake up Thomas with our talking,” she explains. See, that’s one difference between Melany and I. Melany’s already met her soulmate, Noah, and she has a 6-month-old baby boy named Thomas with him. I, on the other hand, have yet to meet my soulmate. I nod my head lightly and climb back into the car.

“Good call,” I say quickly.

Calmly, Melany drives the car back to my small apartment. When we get their, I grab the food out of the back and hand her my keys to open the door. Melany pushes the door open and lets me inside the apartment. I immediately walk over to the coffee table and set the takeout on the table. When I turn back around, Melany is sending looking at her phone. She must feel me looking, because she looks up at me again and smiles softly, “Noah was just asking where I was. Told him I’d be home in a couple hours and that we’re just talking,” she explains. I nod my head lightly and we both sit down to start eating our food.

Once we start eating, our conversation dies down a little bit. “Okay, Y/N/N, I know you’ve told me the story already, but *please* tell me again? It’s so cool!” She squeals excitedly. I laugh lightly at her excitement and oblige.

“Okay, so obviously, you know that I’m a professional dancer. I do ballet productions all over the world and stuff like that, you know that. Well, a few months ago, I got this call from this music company is Korea called BigHit. Apparently they’re kind of a big deal, so of course I was like ‘what’s up? What do they want?’. Well, the person who called me said that they wanted a professional ballerina for an upcoming music video for one of their groups called BTS. It’s not a major part, just a few scenes here and there within the video, but it’s apparently a pretty big deal. And, by some *miracle*, when they started looking for professional ballerinas, my name came up. So, voila,” I giggle. Melany sighs, leaning her cheek into her hand.

“You’re literally so lucky,” she sighs happily. I shrug lightly, shooting her a soft smile.

“I guess I am. It’s kind of a big deal and I’m pretty excited about it.” Melany shoots me a look.

“So...have you seen any pictures of the group?” She asks. I give her an odd look and raise an eyebrow.

“If you think I didn’t look them up immediately afterward, you obviously aren’t my best friend.”

Melany squeals excitedly, doing a little dance in her seat. “Show me, show me, show me!” She squeals. I laugh loudly and go into the search engine on my phone, looking up ‘BTS’. Search results start folding my phone, but I just go into the ‘pictures’ tab and find a good picture. “Okay, here’s a kind of recent one,” I say, flipping the phone to show her.

Melany looks at the picture, then back up at me. “Wow...they’re cute,” she says in surprise. I give her a wide eyed look.

“I know, right?” I respond. A few seconds of silence fall before she looks up at me again.

“What if one of them is your soulmate?!” She gasps. I roll my eyes and scoff at the idea.

“Ha, yeah right! Don’t get my hopes up, Mel,” I laugh.

“Well, they could be! You haven’t met your soulmate yet!” She points out excitedly.

“I mean, technically, yeah, one of them could be. But, I also don’t want to get my hopes up and then have them crushed,”

I tell her. She sighs softly, nodding her head at me.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

For a while, Melany and I just bounce between topics. She makes me promise to take lots of pictures in Korea and I agree without having to be pressured. She tells me a little bit about Thomas and what’s going on with him. We even talk about the class today and how our students are coming along. After about an hour, I look up at the clock. “Mel, I should probably be getting to sleep. I have to be up and at the airport by, like, 6 AM,” I groan. Melany makes a hissing sound through her teeth.

“Oh, yikes, have fun with that. See you in a couple weeks, Y/N/N,” she says, pulling me into a big hug before grabbing her things and heading out the door.

Once Melany’s gone, I throw out my take out container and take a shower. I take a little longer in the shower than usual, singing softly and letting the hot water soothe my aches from teaching dance all day. When I finally feel soothed enough, I turn off the water and grab a towel from the hanger on the wall. I quickly change into pajamas and then brush my hair. I brush my teeth immediately afterward and then climb into bed. I know that going to sleep with wet hair is a *really* bad idea, but that’s morning Y/N’s problem, not mine.

———————

After what feels like only five minutes later, my alarm starts blaring from my phone. I groan loudly, shifting around in bed to turn off the offensive noise. Peeling my eyes open, I stare up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, I groan again and sit up, climbing out of my warm covers. I walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror, sighing at myself. As I predicted, going to bed with wet hair was a bed decision. My hair is sticking up at odd angles and looks horrible. Sighing to myself, I pull a brush through it and just throw it up in a bun. I don’t have time to deal with that this morning.

I do my morning bathroom routine and walk back into the bedroom, pulling on the travel clothes that I had picked out yesterday morning. The travel outfit is a fairly simple one and one that I would normally wear if I didn’t have dance that day. It consists of a plain white t-shirt, my favorite dark blue flannel, ripped black jeans, and some black and white sneakers. Once I’m dressed, I check the time again and walk around my small apartment, checking to make sure that I didn’t leave anything I would need. I add my hairbrush and toothbrush to a small travel kit, then place them in the pocket of my carry on. When I’m sure that I have everything, I grab my phone, wallet, keys, and luggage and leave the apartment.

I order a Lyft to the airport and thank the driver when I’m finally dropped off. I grab my luggage and carry on out of the trunk and make my way into the airport. For the most part, my morning at the airport is just a bunch of running around. I need to check in my luggage, go through customs, and wait in *a lot* of long lines, but I finally make it to my terminal. While I wait for my flight, I grab a small breakfast from the little airport café right at my terminal and eat quickly. When I’m ready to just *wait forever* for my plane to start boarding, I sit down in one of the seats at the terminal and wait. I plug my earbuds into my phone and leave one earbud out so that I can hear if they start calling people to board. Calmly, I tap on Spotify and start playing the playlist of BTS songs that’s been recommended to me.

Honestly, ever since I got this job, I’ve been looking into BTS more and more. Now, I haven’t done a major deep dive information search on them, but I know the basics. I’ve learned their names and I know that Namjoon is the leader. I’ve focused a lot on listening to their music. Truthfully, I really do think that their music is pretty cool. A lot of it is really catchy and I won’t deny that I’ve had some of their songs playing through my head for the last few days. I’m actually pretty excited to have the opportunity to work with this group. This is a *really* big opportunity and it’s definitely a way for me to get myself out there a little more. Plus...how many people can say they’ve done something like this before?

Before I know it, I hear the hostess calling out people to board. I stand turn off my music and push my phone back into my carry on, standing up to join the growing line. Slowly, we make our way onto the plane and I search through all the isles, finally finding my seat. I put my carry on in the bag holder overhead and take my seat, settling in. It’s not long after that that the plane is in the air and I’m on my way to Korea.

———————

Suddenly, I feel someone shaking my shoulder lightly. I yawn softly and stretch up, looking at the person next to me. The person is sweet, smiling stewardess. “We’re here, Ms,” she says. I nod my head lightly and thank her, getting up from my seat. My whole body feels exhausted from the flight and I can already feel my least favorite part of traveling setting in...jet lag. Brushing off the tiredness, I grab my bag from the overhead compartment and step off the plane and into the airport. As quickly as possible, I go through everything at the airport again. I check in and make sure that everything is set up correctly before I’m finally able to leave and try to hail a taxi to my hotel.

Thankfully, hailing the taxi does not take a particularly long time. A taxi drives up and I’m able to give him clear (enough) directions to the hotel that I’m staying at. The drive is fairly short and, when we get there, I pull out the chunk of money that I brought for the trip. The driver can obviously tell that I don’t know how much money I’m actually holding, so he just chuckles lightly and takes a couple of the bills. I flash him a thankful smile and grab my luggage and carry on out of the trunk again, heading into the hotel. Finding my room in the hotel goes about the same way as the taxi and I suddenly feel very thankful that everyone I’ve met so far is so kind and helpful. The worker is able to direct me to the correct room and I thank them and wave softly before I head over to the elevator.

By the time I get to my room, I can already see the sunlight creeping up over the buildings and I sigh softly. Again, I’m very thankful that I was able to sleep most of the plane ride here. That doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly exhausted, but at least I won’t be dying of tiredness by the time I come back to the hotel tonight. For a little bit, I look around my little hotel room and nod my head. It’s nice. When I’ve seen everything that I can, I open up my luggage and pull out my squished dance bag. I set it on the bed and start filling it with some of the things I might need, like my pointe shoes, my soft shoes, extra tights, and deodorant.

Once I have my dance bag filled with things, I change out of my travel clothes and into an outfit more fit for dance. I was reassured that the company would have a costume made for me specifically for the music video, so I don’t need to worry about that. Calmly, I walk into the bathroom and fix my hair again, putting it into a nice ballerina bun. After what feels like hundreds of bobby pins and clips, I feel satisfied with my hair and grab my dance bag before heading out of the room.

Before I leave the hotel, I grab out my phone and walk up to the front desk again. “Hi, um, could you give me directions to...this address?” I ask, showing the receptionist the address I was given. She nods her head happily and starts pointing out of the door, doing her best to give me directions that I would understand. When she’s done, I thank her profusely and start walking in the direction that she told me. The directions were fairly straightforward, so I’m able to find the building without much trouble and I’m soon standing right in front of the biggest building on the street.

Slowly, I open up the door and walk into the building. The lobby of the building is large and there are people everywhere. A receptionist behind the desk catches my attention. “How can I help you?” She asks, tilting her head lightly.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m the ballet dancer that was contacted for BTS’s mv,” I explain. Immediately, realization frowns on her face and she picks up a phone, speaking into the receiver. When she’s done with the conversation, she looks at me again.

“They’ll be down in a moment to take you to the costume department, then you’ll be taken to the stage for the mv,” she says sweetly. I nod my head and thank her, looking around while I wait for whoever is coming to get me.

After a few moments, the elevator door opens up and a woman steps into the lobby. She notices me and waves me over. I hoist my bag up again and walk over to her. I see her eye my bag curiously and I feel a little nervous. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I packed a dance bag,” I say softly. She chuckles lightly and smiles at me.

“That was smart. Unnecessary, but smart. Thank you for being prepared,” she says. I nod my head at her once, then look away again. She presses the button of the elevator again and we both wait in silence. I look down at the floor, resting my hand lightly against my dance bag.

When the elevator arrives, we both climb inside and she presses a button on the wall. I’m still looking down at the ground and feeling a little awkward when the doors open again. I look up and my jaw drops to the ground. This floor is decorated plainly, but there are rooms that lead off in all directions. Racks of clothes, shoes, and other accessaries are scattered all over the place. Each room has a small sign for what the room contains. The woman pays no attention and steps off the elevator, making her way through the floor and making sure not to touch anything. I follow after her and she leads me into a separate room. The sign on the door simply reads ‘extra costumes’ and I follow her inside the room.

The room inside is filled to the brim with racks of costumes. There are boxes of accessaries stacked on shelves and shoes lining the floor. She shifts through the room and comes back to me with a beautiful white and gold professional ballet costume. In her other hand, she pointe shoes of the same color. I search around the room once before looking back at her. “Sorry if I sound ungrateful, but are there soft shoes, as well?” I ask. The woman nods her head and points towards some shoes on the floor. I pick them up off the floor and nod my head. “Soft shoes are easier to walk in. I’ll switch to the pointe shoes when they ask me to,” I explain. She nods her head and flashes a soft smile before handing me the costume and leaving the room.

As quickly as possible, I change into my tights and the costume. I slip on the soft shoes and check my hair in the mirror. Before I leave the room, I put all my clothes into the dance bag and pick it up again. Once I’m ready, I pick up the pointe shoes and walk into the hall again. The woman smiles when she sees the costume. “You look very pretty,” she compliments. I flash her and soft smile.

“Thank you. This costume is absolutely beautiful,” I respond.

“Thank *you*. I worked very hard on it,” she says. With that, she gestures me to the elevator again and we both wait for it to appear.

When the elevator arrives, she stays on the elevator and gestures me out. This level looks large enough to be a warehouse. There are people hurrying around and fixing things. Some couches are pushed off to the side, far out of view of the camera. Several cameras are focused around different sets with props to make them look a certain way. A person comes hurrying over to me and I suppose he’s the director. He looks me up and down before smiling. “I’m going to guess that you’re Y/N?” He asks. I nod my head quickly. “Good! This way.”

Immediately, the man leads me passed several of the sets. I look at each one as we pass, but I’m only able to catch glimpses. He leads me up to a set that is made to look like a room. It’s intricately made and very detailed and there are people hurrying around to fix small things. I walk back towards the wall and set my dance bag against the wall. Curiously, I look around the whole area and my eyes suddenly are pulled across the room. On a different set of couches at the far wall, I see several men gathered around and talking. It doesn’t take me long to realize who they are. It’s BTS. They’re all gathered around the couches, obviously enjoying a small amount of downtime while something is being adjusted.

As I look at them, I see one of the members look up and point me out the the others. I take deep breaths and look back at the set again. I really *really* don’t want to bother them, no matter how much I want to talk to them. However, I’m not the one who starts the conversation. I’m watching the people ready the set for my part when I suddenly feel someone next to me. I turn my head towards them and my breath catches in my throat as I gasp. Jimin is standing right next to me, watching the set, as well. Slowly, he turns and smiles at me. “Hi, you must be, Y/N. We’ve heard them talking about you,” he says, sticking out his hand for a handshake. Taking a. Deep breath, I shake his hand and force a smile.

“Uh, yeah, I am. And you’re...Jimin,” I say, trying to be as calm as possible. He flashes me another sweet smile.

“I hope you don’t mind if I watch. I’d love to see you dance,” he says. I shake my head lightly.

“No, no, watch if you want to. I mean, it’s your video, anyway,” I say nervously.

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but I’m called over to the set. I send him an apologetic smile and hurry over to the man again. He gives me a few instructions, telling me what sort of mood they want from the music video. However, he leaves the dance movements up to me. “I’ve seen you dance before and I want to see what you come up with,” he says kindly. I nod my head and steady my breathing before everyone gets off the set. When I’m ready, I open my eyes and nod towards the men behind the camera. I hear the click of the camera as soon as it starts rolling.

Closing my eyes again, I block out everything around me. I block out the people and all the other sets. I block out all the intrusive and self conscious thoughts. I block out the thought that *Park. Jimin.* is watching me dance. I block everything out and I just let my body move the way that it wants. In my head, the small clip of music that they sent me plays through my mind on repeat. I choose movements that I think portray the feel of the music and then I hear someone yell “cut!”. I open my eyes again and get instructions from the director and cameramen.

For a while, this is how things go. Over and over, I retake the shot and remind myself of the small recommendations that they’re giving me. We eventually switch over to my pointe shoes and I do the same thing, blocking out anything that could bother me. When the cameras finish rolling, I step off the stage and dig down to take off my pointe shoes. Immediately, Jimin kneels down next to me. “That was gorgeous!” He compliments. I smile at him, chuckling lightly.

“Thanks! I’m just hoping it’s good enough for your video,” I tell him.

Suddenly, Jimin goes silent next to me. I look up at him and see that his eyes are trained on my ankle. Through the white tights, you can see the outline of my tattoo. “What’s...that?” He asks, pointing towards my tattoo.

“Oh, it’s my soulmate attachment,” I tell him calmly, pulling the soft shoes back on.

“Is that a ballerina doing a pirouette?” He asks, his voice slightly shaky. I look at him nervously, nodding my head.

“Y-Yeah? Is that important?” I ask nervously. Jimin’s eyes meet mine again and he takes a deep breath.

“Stay here. I need to go get someone,” he tells me. I nod my head and he immediately hurried off, running over to the other members of BTS.

I watch nervously as he has a very quick conversation with them. He keeps looking over his shoulders every few seconds to make sure that I’m still there. He says something and then suddenly several of the members jump off the couch. “You’re kidding!” I hear someone exclaim. My eyes go wide and my mouth goes dry. What is *hell* is going on? Immediately after this exclamation there’s more hurried conversation.

“Yes, I’m sure of it! Just come look!” Jimin defends himself, running off from the group and back to me. Several of the other members go chasing after him seconds later.

Jimin skids next to me and kneels down again, looking at my attachment. “What the hell is going on?!” I ask in shock, my mouth hanging open. Jimin’s bright and hopeful eyes look up at me again.

“I think we found your soulmate,” he says plainly. My breath hitches and I stare at him in shock.

“You’re kidding,” I say plainly, not wanting to believe it. Jimin shakes his head frantically at me and the other members kneel down around me. The other members make room and a member that I recognize as J-Hope sits down next to me.

“Can...Can I see your attachment?” He asks softly. I nod my head softly and shift my leg so that he can see my tattoo better.

For a few seconds he stares at it in shock. Then, very quickly, he yanks up the legs of his pants. On the same ankle as mine, in the exact same spot, is the exact. same. tattoo. I stare at his tattoo for several seconds, my mouth dry as I look at every little detail. Looking at this tattoo, there’s absolutely nothing that distinguishes it from the tattoo that I’ve spent my whole life looking at. Quickly, we both look up at each other break into huge smiles. “We’re soulmates!” I say excitedly, my heart beating wildly inside my chest.

“That’s...I honestly can’t even believe it,” he breathes, searching over my tattoo again.

“And to think...had I not taken this job, I might’ve never met you,” I say. He looks into my eyes again and flashes a bright smile.

“Hey, but you did take the job! And here we are, and we have matching tattoos, and we’re soulmates!” He says excitedly. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” I say, not able to force the smile from my face. He laughs lightly.

“Well, my name is Jung Hoseok, but everyone calls me Hobi,” he says.

Suddenly, I hear someone talking from the set in front of us. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s going on here?” The director asks, his eyes flirting over the group of people gathered around Hobi and I.

“We found his soulmate,” Jimin explains. The director looks down at the two of us, his eyes searching everywhere that an attachment could possibly be. Finally, he sees the small tattoo on Hoseok’s ankle. His eyes immediately shift over to my ankle and he can just see the tattoo through my tights. He looks around at everyone else on the set.

“Then I think we should call it a day, we can continue with this tomorrow,” he says.

Calmly, I stand up and walk back over the wall, looking back at them. Is there any place that I can change?” I ask. Immediately, at the members point over to where they were sitting. There is a door just beside the couch and I nod my head, thanking them. I walk over to the door and head inside once I get there. Inside is a dressing room with clothing and makeup chairs scattered around. I set my bag down on the ground and quickly change back into the outfit I came in. When I’m fully changed, I pick up a hanger and hang the costume dress on it. I open the door and step onto the stage again, taking the costume and my bag with me.

When I step out, almost everyone has already left the stage. Everything is fairly quiet and I can’t even see any of the members of BTS around. I pout sadly, wishing Hobi would have stuck around when someone speaks up. “No need to pout, I’m over here,” Hobi says. I jump in surprise and laugh loudly when I see him sitting on the couch, waiting for me.

“God, I didn’t even see you there,” I laugh.

“What? Did you think I was gonna leave while my soulmate was changing? No! It’s taken me 26 years to find you, I’m not leaving you,” he smiles sweetly. My heart flutters at his comment and I giggle, holding out my hand. He chuckles lightly and takes it into his, entwining our fingers.

Calmly, he leads us through the hallways of the BigHig building again. We pass quite a few people on the way, but he ignores them and I do the same. I honestly just want to spend time with him right now. “So, tell me about yourself. Obviously, you’re a professional dancer. What brought you to that?” He asks.

“Well...our attachment, honestly. When I was little, I used to ask my mom about it and I apparently asked for ballet lessons when I was 4. Ever since then, I’ve loved ballet and dance in general. I co-teach a beginner ballet class with my best friend when I don’t have any jobs around the world and I love it,” I say. He laughs lightly.

“Our attachment is what got me into dance, too. Obviously, not ballet, but dance. I thought it was really cool and I always really loved the movements that you would see street dancers doing and I started teaching myself,” he shrugs.

Hobi leads me out of the BigHit building and onto the street. As soon as we leave the building, all eyes are drawn to us. I can feel everyone staring and I slowly start to feel more self conscious. Hobi knits his eyebrows together and looks at me curiously. “Is something wrong?” He asks. I look up into his eyes, then around at the street again.

“Everyone is staring at us,” I say quietly, squeezing his hand lightly. He sighs and nods his head.

“Sadly, it comes with the job. I wish there was something I could do about it,” he sighs. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm down and look up at him again.

“It’s alright, I’ll get over it. I’m just excited that I get to spend the day with my soulmate,” I say excitedly. He flashes a bright smile again and starts looking up and down the street.

“So, is there anything you would like to do? We have a whole day,” he says, his eyes landing on me again.

For a second, I think about all the ideas. “Can we...take a picture together? My best friend insisted that I needed to get a picture with you guys and she says I need to send her lots of pictures,” I explain. A huge smile breaks across his face and he nods.

“Absolutely!” He laughs. We walk a little further, looking for a place where we can step aside to take a picture together. Finally, we find a little divot that leads into an alleyway and we stand at the mouth of the alleyway. Hobi takes my phone since he’s the taller of the two of us and we squish together. “Make a silly face!” He says. I immediately pull a silly face and he does the same, snapping the picture.

Giggling, I take my phone back from him and look at the picture. “Oh, that’s beautiful,” I laugh, looking at the goofy faces that we both pulled.

“I like it! Especially this one, she’s such a cutie,” he jokes, pointing to me in the picture. I giggle and click into my messaging app on my phone. I quickly send the photo to Melany and type in a quick message.

To Melany🤞🏻: I found my soulmate!

As soon as the message sends, I turn off my phone and put it in the pocket of my bag. Hobi gives me a confused look and I decide to explain.

“If I don’t put my phone down, Melany won’t leave me alone until I relay *every. detail.* of what happened. I’ll do that later tonight. Right now, I just wanna hang out with my soulmate,” I say. Hobi nods his head lightly, then something seems to catch his eye.

“Have you had lunch yet?” He asks, looking down at me. I shake my head lightly.

“Nope. I got breakfast at the airport earlier, but I haven’t eaten in *hours*,” I say. He scrunches you his nose at the mention of airport food.

“Well, we should get some decent food into your stomach, like, now. There’s a little food cart down the street that has awesome food,” he suggests. I lick my lips at the mention of food.

“Sounds good to me, I’m starving.” Hobi smiles and leads me down the street to the food cart.

When we get there, there’s a short line waiting for food. Since I’ve never been to Korea before, Hobi reads off the menu to me and describes what the food is. I think for a few seconds before deciding what to have. “I think I’ll try some tteokbokki,” I say, looking at the collection of rice cakes on the cart. Hobi nods his head lightly and orders our food. Not thinking anything of it, I start searching through my dance bag for my wallet. As soon as I pull it out, Hobi gives me a look.

“If you think I’m letting you pay, you’re insane,” he dates plainly. I look up at him in shock for a few seconds before slowly pushing my wallet back into my bag. He laughs at lightly at the action and we stand against the wall while we wait for our food.

When our food arrives, Hobi hands it to me and we walk down the street together. As we walk, he’s points out little attractions here and there, telling me what he knows about them. “So, is this your first time in Korea?” He asks, taking another bite of his tteokbokki. I nod my head lightly.

“Mhm, but I’ve been to a lot of other places. I’ve been to Russia a couple times. A few years ago, I was in England. I had a job in Australia when I first started professionally,” I list off a few of the places I’ve traveled to.

“Where’re you from?”

“America,” I say plainly, taking a bite of the food again. At my answer, he sighs softly.

“That’s pretty far away,” he says softly. I sigh, as well, and squeeze his hand.

“Yeah, it is, but we’ll figure it out. My work isn’t really set in one place, so I could easily move here and start teaching a few ballet classes here,” I say nonchalantly. He gives me a surprised look.

“You’d do that?” He asks in shock. I laugh lightly, looking up at him.

“Um, yeah? Absolutely? Your life is here, Hobi, and so is your work. You’re my soulmate and we’re *literally* made for each other, so moving would honestly be nothing,” I shrug. A huge smile flashes across his face and he wraps me in a big hug. I giggle lightly, hugging him back.

As we walk along, he hums softly under his breath. “It’s kinda crazy that we finally met. I honestly never expected to meet my soulmate through work,” he laughs, shaking his head in amazement.

“Well, I guess we just got lucky like that. I definitely didn’t expect to meet my soulmate on this trip either, but here we are,” I giggle, rubbing my thumb lightly over the back of his hand. Silently, I look up at him and just stare at him for a little bit. The sun is playing off of his black hair and he’s looking around for something that the two of us can do together. He has these beautiful brown eyes which just light up when he smiles and I’m in amazement of how someone could be so gorgeous.

Although I’m trying to be subtle about my staring, I don’t seem to be doing a very good job. Hobi laughs, bumping my arms slightly with his shoulder. “What are you thinking about? Why do you keep staring at me?” He laughs, finally looking down at me again. I squeeze his hand lightly before answering.

“I guess I’m just...taking in my soulmate. I never knew someone could be so perfect and then there’s you and I feel completely knocked off my feet,” I smile. He laughs lightly at me.

“I sure hope you mean that in a good way. But, I understand what you mean. I can’t even fully describe it, but there’s just...something about you that is so perfect,” he says.

“Exactly! Like, I don’t know how to say it, but there’s just this feeling of ‘hey. this is your person’,” I giggle.

For a little while longer, Hobi and I walk down the street and just talk. Around 2ish, I decide to ask him something. “Do you just wanna hang out at the hotel I’m staying at? We can just talk and watch movies and order room service tonight,” I suggest. He smiles brightly and nods his head.

“That sounds like a really good idea,” he smiles. Calmly, the two of us turn back around and start heading back towards the hotel I’m staying at. I tell him the name of the hotel and he nods his head, looking up directions so we can find our way there a little easier.

When we reach the hotel again, I take his hand and bring him into the hotel. Hobi ducks his head a little bit so the receptionist can’t see his face, but she doesn’t seem to be paying us much attention anyway. I way softly at her in greeting, but she’s not looking in my direction, so she doesn’t respond at all. I click on the button for the elevator and we wait for a few seconds before the soft ‘ding’ tells us that’s it’s arrived. When we get in, I press the button for my floor and we wait while it slowly makes its way up through the floors. Finally, the elevator reaches the correct floor For a little while longer, Hobi and I walk down the street and just talk. Around 2ish, I decide to ask him something. “Do you just wanna hang out at the hotel I’m staying at? We can just talk and watch movies and order room service tonight,” I suggest. He smiles brightly and nods his head.

“That sounds like a really good idea,” he smiles. Calmly, the two of us turn back around and start heading back towards the hotel I’m staying at. I tell him the name of the hotel and he nods his head, looking up directions so we can find our way there a little easier.

When we reach the hotel again, I take his hand and bring him into the hotel. Hobi ducks his head a little bit so the receptionist can’t see his face, but she doesn’t seem to be paying us much attention anyway. I way softly at her in greeting, but she’s not looking in my direction, so she doesn’t respond at all. I click on the button for the elevator and we wait for a few seconds before the soft ‘ding’ tells us that’s it’s arrived. When we get in, I press the button for my floor and we wait while it slowly makes its way up through the floors. When it reaches the right floor, it stops and gives another little ‘ding’ to alert us.

When the doors slide open, I step out and start searching through my dance bag for my keycard. When I finally find it, I slip the keycard into the slot and give it a few moments for it to process before the ‘clock’ signals that it’s opened. He pushes down the door handle and I step inside, setting my dance bag down on the floor near the bed. Calmly, Hobi and I sit down on the bed together. I smile softly and cuddle up close to him. At my actions, he lets out a snort of laughter and wraps his arm shoulder my shoulder.

Leaning over, I grab the controller off the top of the nightstand on turn on the tv, flipping through some random channels that I can’t even read. “Can you read these to me, Hope? I can’t read them,” I say plainly. For a few seconds, Hobi is silent and I look at him in confusion.

“Did you just call me ‘Hope’?” He asks, tilting his head a little. I stare at him in surprise.

“Did...Did I? I didn’t realize it. If you don’t want me to, I can try and not do that,” I say softly. He shakes his head immediately.

“No, no, I like it, it’s cute. My stage name is J-Hope, so Hope actually fits pretty nicely,” he chuckles. Calmly, he starts reading through the shows that are playing and the description of them. I lean my head on shoulder, listening intently and deciding.

“So, what do you think we should watch? I don’t mind reading subtitles, either,” I say.

“You don’t mind?” He asks curiously. I shake my head lightly.

“Like I said, I’ve been to different places around the world and not all of them spoke English, so I’ve gotten good at reading subtitles,” I explain.

“Then I think we should watch The King of the Mask Singer, it’s a pretty good show,” he says, clicking on the channel. As soon as the show comes on, Hobi turns on the English subtitles so that I can watch, too.

For a while, Hobi and I just cuddle together and watch some shows. It’s mostly reruns, but we don’t really care. When the show gets a bit boring or during commercials, we talk about different things. We even kind of start a game of 20 questions, but we don’t stick to the ‘20 questions’ rule. We’re just sitting and getting to know each other a little better. When one of us wants to know more about the other’s answer, we ask them to elaborate and they do. It’s actually a very nice way to spend time, getting to know him. I couldn’t ask for a better way to get to know my soulmate and I’m truly interested in his answers.

A little ways into the show, I must fall asleep because when I wake up, Hobi’s shaking my shoulder lightly. “We should probably think about ordering food soon, sweetheart,” he tells me. I nod my head and get out the room service menu, asking Hobi to translate again. He chuckles lightly, but does so with ease. Yawning softly, I cover my mouth, then speak up.

“I think I might try seolleongtang,” I hum, curling into his side. Hobi chuckles and picks up the phone to order and tells the receptionist the order for both of us. While we wait, I begin to fall asleep again, but Hobi just keeps chuckling and bouncing his shoulder to wake me up.

When the food comes, we eat in silence and go back to watching tv after we finish. Hobi chuckles lightly and kisses my hair. “Now you can get some sleep, sweetheart. It’s pretty obvious that you’re really tired,” he jokes. I nod my head sleepily.

“Jet lag sucks,” I mumble. Hobi laughs, pulling his fingers through my hair.

“I know exactly what you mean. Get some sleep, baby.” He kisses my head again and that’s how I fall asleep.

[crowdedimagines]

Babysitter - David Dobrik (2)

merry christmas to you because i’ve decided to make this a little series! happy holidays y’all, keep the feedback coming

PART ONE

I manage to get the girls fed and ready for the day without crossing David again. I think he’s taking a shower to get ready for the day. We have lots of things planned before going to the Streamys tonight.

“Wait, you’re kidding me, right?” Natalie huffs.

“What? Isn’t L.A going to be the best place to go shopping anyway?”

Natalie rolls her eyes, obviously upset that I put off buying a dress until the day of. I usually don’t procrastinate too much, but it was too hard to decipher between what was too dressy and too casual.

“Is there not a place we can go?”

“Yeah, I want to go shopping anyway.” Ester smiles. If I know that both of these girls are always down for shopping.

Natalie picks up her phone to move some things around and trying to figure out where to find a dress.

“Yeah, we can go right now. I’ll go check and see if David wants to come with. I know he needs to film soon.”

She disappears to go ask him, I’m glad she didn’t make me do it. David and I almost kissed. I’ve wanted that on and off for years, but now that it’s almost happened, I’m scared. How am I supposed to act around him now? What is supposed to come out of this?

“David is going to drop us off.” Natalie announces.

“Great.” I smile.

Right after that we all leave, piling into the Tesla. I look out the window as I watch the palm trees pass by. It’s December and it’s easily twice the temperature outside of back home in Chicago. It’s nice and relaxing, no scraping ice off of your car.

“-Y/n!”

“What?” I ask, suddenly turning, I hadn’t realized anyone was trying to grab my attention.

“I asked, what kind of dress are you getting?” Sara repeats.

I smile and turn a little in my seat to look at her. I love that these girls are still young enough to care about what I like and that they give me opinions. When they grow up I’m going to be crushed.

“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t a clue!”

“You should wear something blue, with glitter!” Sara decides.

“No way, that sounds so ugly!” Ester turns to argue with her sister. I bite back a smile listening to them argue back and forth over what in their young opinion is a beautiful dress. They only have a year and a half age difference, but they’re night and day sometimes.

“Wear red.” David’s voice suddenly grabs all of our attention.

“Red?” I ask, looking to see him in his rearview mirror. It’s the first time we’ve really exchanged words since this morning.

“Yeah, your prom dress was red. You look best in red.”

“Thanks.”

Natalie, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the awkward tension. Normally, I wouldn’t be so quiet towards a compliment. I can tell she’s picking up on it by the way she’s watching David from her side eye.

Eventually we make it the mall, David drops us off. He’s going to be back soon, he just needs to film a bit with Josh Peck who doesn’t live far away and then he’ll be back to pick us up.

“So, what’s going on with you and David?” Natalie asks. We’re both following the girls, they’re a distance away so they can’t hear us.

“What do you mean?” I play coy, I know that I won’t be able to get much past her. I’ve never been able to. There’s something about her being like a big sister in that sense.

“Don’t even pretend. You guys slept together last night, plus I saw you guys this morning. If I had known what I was walking into, I wouldn’t have barged in.” She grins. I know she’s loving this moment too much, she’s been rooting for this since they were juniors.

“Y/n, can we go in here?” Ester asks, pointing at a store I know they like shopping at.

“Saved by the bell.”

The girls both have a very successful shopping trip. They both pick out lots of clothes, I’m not even sure it’ll fit in their suitcases to come home. I on the other hand, haven’t come across a single dress that’ll work for the occasion. Or if one is okay, one of the girls vetoes it.

“Alright, this is the last one. After this, I’m going in jeans.” I yell as the woman helps me into the black dress. This one is different from the others that I’ve tried on today. It’s tighter, hugging me where it’s most flattering. As soon as I look in the mirror on the wall, I grin.

“Get out here already!” Sara yells, getting impatient.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I laugh, opening the door and walking out to them.

All of them have stunned look on their face.

“Wow, that bad?” I tease.

All three of them jump in with a chorus of flattery. Each girl claiming to love it, stating it’s perfect.

“Would you like me to bag this dress up for you?” The saleswoman comes up to me, seeing that it’s been approved.

“Yeah, actually, I have one question though.”

She nods for me to continue, a small smile on her face.

“By any chance does this come in red?”

~

David picks us up shortly after that, it worked out in perfect timing that he had just finished filming when Natalie called.

“I’m guessing by the bags, it was a successful trip?” He asks as he pulls out of the parking lot and turns to head home.

“Yeah, you should see all of the stuff we got!” Sara yells excitedly, “You should see Y/n’s dress!”

“Shh, it’s a surprise!” I grin.

“Really?” David smiles, “So you found something good?”

I nod and we drive the rest of the way home. When we get there, there’s already a few members of the group just hanging out there. The awards aren’t for a few hours still. We all have lunch and David dives into editing.

“Is he always like this when he’s editing?” I ask, nodding to David whose been completely focused on his laptop for the past half hour.

“Oh, yeah.” Zane answers, “This isn’t even bad, he only needs to add what he filmed today to post. He edited like all of yesterday before you guys got here.”

“Wow.” I shake my head in disbelief.

Pretty quickly after that, David’s posts. He slams his laptop shut and cheers at being done before going to his room.

“Y/n, you made the vlog!” Todd cheers from the couch.

“What?” I look up.

He turns his phone so I can see the clip, David filmed his sisters and I when we showed up at the airport and there’s a few jokes I made last night when we were all hanging out. I didn’t even notice that he was filming last night.

“First vlog appearance.” I smile.

“No way!” Jason argues. “You’ve been around David since he started his channel.”

“Yeah, but usually I’m with his whole family and they don’t like being filmed.” I explain. “Plus, when David and I hang out back home it’s usually not anything too crazy. Not vlog worthy I guess.”

“Congratulations on the first vlog.” Erin jokes, “It gets old.”

We all hang out and chill a little while longer before the girls both ask me to curl their hair. I also let them wear mascara with the promise that they won’t tell their mom when we get home.

“Y/n, are you ready?” Natalie asks as she walks by the bedroom. I’ve managed to complete my makeup and do my hair between helping the girls.

“Almost. I just need to get dressed.” I leave the girls to put on their shoes, I go into Nat’s room where my dress is hanging. I slip it on and grin, something about this dress makes my confidence shoot through the roof.

“Nat!” I yell as loudly as I can, hoping to grab her attention over the loud music. I yell it a few more times with no success. I can’t reach my zipper all of the way, it’s stuck and I can’t reach the spot at all.

“Y/n?” David’s voice asks as he knocks softly on the door. “Did you need something? Nat’s taking pictures.”

“Ugh yeah.” I groan and let out a humorless laugh, “Can you help me?”

He lets himself in, his face goes blank once he’s taken in my appearance. Hopefully it’s a good surprise?

“Can you zip this?” I ask as I turn around, I don’t want him to catch the blush rising to my cheeks.

“Umm, yeah.” He clears his throat a couple of times. Suddenly I can feel his hand on my exposed shoulder as he holds me steady. His other hand goes to the zipper. His thumb brushes along my spine the whole way.

“Alright, you’re good.” David clears his throat one more time, I can tell he hasn’t taken a step back though.

“Thank you, Dave.”  I turn around finally.

It looks like he was as flustered by the situation as I was, his cheeks pink too.

“So, what do you think?” My voice is practically a whisper as I gesture to down to my dress, “I took your advice.”

Here we are, dancing along the line of friendship again.

“The red looks stunning.” His eyes scan over the dress, over my body, before he returns the eye contact, “You look stunning, Y/n.”

“Thank you.” I smile, leaning my head up towards him.

What am I doing?

David slowly, looking between my eyes and my lips, leans down to connect our lips. After all these years, we’re finally kissing. My hands thread through his curls, his hands grip down on my hips.

“Y/n?” Natalie asks, knocking loudly.

David and I both push away from each other just in time for her to open the door.

“I just wanted to see how it was going. We’re leaving in like ten.” She smiles and I silently thank her for not commenting on what she’s walked into. “David you have a little something.”

She gestures to his lips before pulling the door shut.

“We should probably get going?” David smiles, turning around to look at me.

I nod to agree, “Wait!” Natalie wasn’t kidding, he has gloss smeared on his lips. I make my best attempt to fix it. David runs his hand through his hair a few times trying to get it to settle.

“Y/n!” Sara cheers, seeing I’m finally ready and out in the living room with everyone else.

“Oh my god, Y/n! You look gorgeous!” Carly compliments.

“Hot!” Zane chants making me roll my eyes.

I make my way over to the girls sitting at the table, we still have a few minutes until we leave. I baske in their compliments, giving them both compliments back. I think the girls are more in awe of seeing me in formal wear for the first time.

“Smile!” I cheese, making the girls lean in to take a selfie with me.

“I wish my mom would let us have instagram.” Ester rolls her eyes seeing me post it to my story.

“You’re both too young still, trust me, you’ll be glad later when old pictures don’t end up on the internet. Especially when you have a famous brother.” I whisper the last part making both girls laugh. It’s crazy that they’re already thinking about social media. Both girls are still so little, Ester’s not even to the eighth yet.

“Alright, let’s head out!” Natalie leads, everyone in the house files out to all the cars we’re taking.

“Ready?” David asks, somehow we ended up being the last two to leave.

“Let’s go.” I grin

they finally kissed! ahhh

[s-c-r-i-p-s-i]

Candy is Dandy but Liquor is Quicker

[Dead by Baelight’s Kinktober // Day 8 and 18 : Outfit/Skin, Cornered]

🖤  🖤   🖤 “Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence. “Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair. “Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.” 🖤  🖤   🖤 Pairing: Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn) x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

CW: non-con/dub-con, bondage, drinking, smut, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4,927

Something… odd had been happening lately.

Not the cankerous growths and sickly orange flowers that were always so abundant this time of year - or whatever passed for a year in this everlasting hell. By no means was that unprecedented.

Ask anyone who’d been there long enough to know and they’d tell you; there was a certain… cyclicity to things. Recurring phenomenon - the red envelopes, the flowers, the mysterious gifts wrapped up like Christmas presents. Always sequential, always in order, like some crude imitation of seasons. (And for what? No one ever aged a day.)

No, this was something new.

And new, in the Entity’s realm, was never a good thing. But… You had to admit, this seemed mostly harmless.

Look - It’s not like you were ever really in control of what you wore here, anyway. Most of the time, you were just stuck with whatever clothes you were wearing when you rolled into the fog. Sometimes She (that omnipotent thing in the sky) threw you in something else. Nobody ever really paid it much mind. The Entity worked in mysterious ways. And people, frankly, had more important shit to worry about.

But then when the flowers started blooming this year, things got a little weird.

She -…

She started putting people in costumes.

Cheap polyester numbers, mostly - the kind you’d buy from a big-box store, straight from one of those awful clear vinyl bags.

…It was starting to look a lot like Halloween. Jack-o’-lanterns even began appearing, scattered around the campfire and adorning the generators.

And nobody knew what the fuck was going on. Hell, not everyone even knew what Halloween was. You had quite the diverse cast; some people weren’t even from the same world as you.

The general vibe around the campfire was just… mild amusement if anything. You had a chuckle, then moved on. That was just the way of things. Everyone had these… survivor blinders on. You guess it was hard to get phased by something so minor when you all got murdered on the daily, but…

But you weren’t content with that.

You always had trouble just accepting things at face value. You wanted to know why.

Like - was the Entity stroking out? Things always did get a little strange around this time. Almost as if She were sick.

It was rare, but there were these little… Well, Feng called them glitches, and it was apt a term as any. Just little things, here and there, like She couldn’t quite enforce the rules of her own game.

Almost everything in this world seemed to be harvested from people’s memories. So… Maybe she was starting to pull things at random. Spiraling.

Was this the synaptic failure of a dying god?

Probably not, but there was nothing to do besides let your mind wander, and it was the only theory you had.

And then….

Then She whisked you away to Frontierland in the gaudiest slutty sheriff costume known to man and pit you against the goddamn cowboy.

Yeah, no - that was about a step too far to have been a happy accident.

Maybe you were thinking too hard. Maybe She just had a fucked up sense of humor.

When the fog cleared, you found yourself in the saloon with the others. You half-heartedly laughed it off (“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Very funny.”) and then moved on. Business as usual.

But not before rolling your eyes and discreetly downing one of the liquor minis from the shitty novelty booze bandolier sewn to your costume behind everyone’s backs.

At least She had the decency to stock it.

You were finishing up cleansing a totem when you heard the telltale crack of a gunshot split the air from all the way across the map. Not anywhere close enough to be dangerous, but a dead giveaway as to who you were up against.

…And cold hard proof that your little outfit was far from coincidence. The literal and proverbial smoking gun.

The moment you heard it you deflated, head falling back.

Seriously? What the fuck was She playing at?

Why you?

It wasn’t much of a conscious decision; you found yourself plucking another bottle from your bandolier and knocking it back without a whole lot of thought. You were obviously going to need it. Staring blankly ahead, you incredulously shook your head as you thumbed the moisture from your lip.

Okay. Alright. That was it, for now, you decided.

The Entity gave you a fully loaded bandolier - seriously, you were armed to the teeth with the little mini bottles, to the point it was actually kind of heavy. But you already felt a little weak in the knees after just two shots. It had been a while, so your tolerance was understandably nil. You didn’t want to be useless to your team. More importantly, it now felt critical you get out of there without running into the killer.

The Deathslinger was one of those ones. Not overly talkative, like a couple of the killers were, but he definitely got a kick out of the whole thing. There was a stark difference between the two camps, so to speak - the ones who only seemed like they killed because they had to, and the ones who were completely in their element. And he was obviously one of the latter.

It was that goddamn laugh. Low and sultry. Chuckling whenever he hooked someone or when a survivor did something exceptionally dumb. Even when you weren’t the target of it, you’d come to associate it with pure humiliation.

And you just knew that he’d take one look at you, in your stupid sheriff costume, and… Oh. You were steaming mad only thinking about it.

So you made it your personal mission to avoid him this trial. And to do that, you had to actually get out. Which meant no more drinks for you!

You should have known She had other plans.

You did your best to keep a low profile, tried to make sure you were on the opposite side of the map from him at all times, while still being useful. A difficult balancing act.

But you couldn’t just leave your friends hanging.

When you saw Meg’s aura flare out in distress as she was lowered onto the hook, you began making your way over, quick and quiet and praying to every god you knew that he would be long gone by the time you got there.

And, lucky you, there was no sight of him. So you crept towards the hook, privately taking solace that at least you weren’t alone in the goof factor; Meg was all dressed up like Wendy - the fast-food icon. The Entity really outdid herself, the braids were right on the nose, and you were almost loosey-goosey enough to make some stupid quip. Almost. Maybe when she wasn’t dangling from a meat hook.

You pulled her off the hook with care, but just as her feet touched the ground, another gunshot rang out, this time much louder. A spear whizzed by so close that you could hear it shear through the air just before it embedded itself in the post, inches away from you both. No sooner had you whipped your head around to find the source than the sound of shoes pounding against the ground filled your ringing ears.

You looked back and Meg was gone. Peeled off like a bandaid.

You decided you better get the hell out of Dodge too.

First things first, you needed to get out of the open; that was just asking to get shot. So you made a mad dash for the saloon. You figured you had a good head start since it should have taken him a hot minute to retrieve the harpoon, dislodge it from the hook, shove it back in the gun… Sounded like a whole ass process.

Except, when you looked back behind you he was hot on your tail. Trail. Hot on your trail.

You made a snap judgment, deciding you’d try and lose him by running up to the second story. Was it cheap? Absolutely. He obviously had some kind of bum leg, unless that brace was some kind of bold fashion statement. Not that it had ever slowed him down, any. But you were desperate. And all’s fair in love and war, right?

Swiftly turning the corner, you galloped up the stairs and dove into the first room you saw, hopping through the window.

By the time your eyes adjusted to the indoors and you realized it was a dead-end, it was too late. The only other exit was boarded up, and you could hear his boots unhurriedly thumping up the creaky steps like he was in no rush at all. Step. Step. You rushed to the boarded-up door and gave it a good open-palmed slam to test its strength - you’d seen killers smash through these like they were cardboard, but it just wouldn’t budge. Shit.

He was getting closer. You could hear his spurs. Hissing, you banged your fist against the boards in frustration. What, impending injury wasn’t bad enough? She had to add insult, too?

The footsteps stopped, and so did everything else, it felt like. Holding your breath, you slowly began to turn around. There he was in the window, backlit and silhouette, dusty sunlight filtering through his ghostly white hair. You had to admit, he cut a striking figure, something cinematic. There was just the trouble of the gun. Aimed right at you.

Didn’t have to climb over the window if he just reeled you to him. Smart man.

Before you could think to dive for cover or something smart like that, he began lowering the gun. It was hard to tell what expression he was wearing, backlit as he was, but you could feel those spectral eyes looking you up and down. From your cheap western style boot covers, all the way up your legs to your fluffy petticoat and layered skirts, the ill-fitted booze bandolier slung around your shoulder… and finally, the gold, plastic 5 point sheriff star nestled between your tits.

Oh God. Here it comes…

He didn’t even have to say a word, hot embarrassment already surging to the surface before he even opened his mouth.

“Well. Pardon me.” You could make out the glint of dirty teeth in the dark as his grin spread. “Didn’t know you were an elected official.”

Why the hell was he exempt from this bullshit, anyway? You’d seen Ghostface in a devil costume, and Myers in a cat ear headband, so you knew they weren’t immune. Maybe the Entity thought he looked stupid and campy enough as is. But… she couldn’t have dressed him up as Woody from Toy Story or something? He probably wouldn’t have gotten it, but you would have found it funny. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so small and humiliated.

You hated this. You didn’t even know what to say until he started climbing over the window. Then you had a pretty clear idea.

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence.

“Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair.

“Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.”

And on that note, he finally tipped it back - you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it down. Shaking the empty bottle at you, he slipped it back into its holster on your belt. “Bit frivolous, you know.” He commented, curling his finger in and snapping it back. “A flask does just fine. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

“Right, well,” you huffed, and moved to squeeze past him - he was clearly in good humor, at least, so maybe he’d let you off easy. Wasn’t a little whiskey and a laugh good enough?

Apparently not.

You were immediately met with an arm shooting out, hand landing right beside your head, caging you in.

“Woah there, where d’ya think you’re going, sweetheart?” He smirked down at you, a crooked thing that flashed his teeth, scarred lip snagged over a canine. You’d never noticed before, but one of his incisors had a gold crown. Now that you’d noticed, you couldn’t stop looking at it, the alcohol still floating around in your bloodstream turning you into some sort of easily distracted magpie. He was missing one of his bottom teeth, too. It was… kind of a mess in there, huh? Smelled like whiskey and tobacco.

“You got me all the way up here, I’m not too keen on leaving already.” Sliding his hand from the door, he guided you away by the small of your waist, and you… you just kind of let him, stiltedly trying to follow his direction.

“So how about you…” You reached the bed and he grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you round to face him. “Just sit your pretty ass down.” Just a slight push and you were bouncing on the bedsprings, palms catching your fall.

In the back of your mind you were already fearing the worst, but much to your surprise he just sat down next to you on the edge of the mattress, looking almost comically large and out of place on the twin-size bed. All you could do was blink at him dumbly, unsure what was happening.

He took a long breath through his nose. It felt like forever before he finally released it and said, “Have a drink with me.”

“I…” You drew out the word dubiously, clearly meaning to decline. You were already too tipsy for comfort considering present company was a killer.

“Didn’t ask,” He said gruffly, pulling two bottles from your bandolier and offering you one. “Indulge an old man. Or we’ll do it the hard way.”

Hard to argue with that! You didn’t know what the hard way was, but you didn’t want to find out. So you took the bottle, lips pulling together in a tight, awkward half-smile when he clinked his against yours.

This was weird. Awkward, and in a whole different way than you’d been preparing yourself for.

You actually found yourself glad for the burn that flooded your body as you downed the shot, heat loosening your tense limbs and taking the edge off this… incredibly odd situation, if only slightly.

Besides the obvious threat, it felt like maybe, despite everything… he was really just a lonely old man. In want of someone to drink with. A slice of normality. Isn’t that what you all wanted? You guessed it couldn’t hurt. It was keeping him away from the generators, anyway. Buying you all some extra time.

And… maybe this was what the Entity wanted. The reason she brought you here like this.

“Now, miss,” He spoke, and you turned your gaze up to him, blinking owlishly, your head swimming. There was a lot to take in at this distance. All these different textures. Scars and stubble and pockmarks. You found it all fascinating. “I’ve got to be frank with you.”

You know, you hadn’t really heard him speak at length before, but you were starting to realize that his whole aesthetic, he didn’t really sound straight out of a spaghetti western like you might expect. There was a trace of that, especially in his vocabulary, but his accent was much more reminiscent of… Canada, somehow. With a slightly Irish lilt.

It was ludicrously unexpected, and something about it just made a dopey smile float onto your face. You didn’t even realize you were doing it, until his eyes drifted down, and he huffed with almost fond incredulity.

“Think that’s funny, huh?”

You’re almost positive you missed something he said. You heard it, you just didn’t… process it right. This time when he spoke, you tried to pay attention.

“I don’t usually go taking what ain’t mine, but damn if you don’t look like a present addressed just to me.”

It was your turn to huff, bobbing with amusement. “Okay, cowboy, I know what it looks like, but…” It wasn’t like you chose this outfit.

“Honey,” he interrupted, “I think you’ve mistaken me for the wrong kinda wrangler. It’s not cows I’m after.” He paused, tipping his head as if reconsidering, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But if a heifer’s in need of a good driving…”

It took you a solid minute for your brain to catch up. He was content to watch the cogs turn until it did.

He just called you a cow!

A cow in need of a good dicking!

Your mouth hung open in shock and he - he just laughed.

“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t cha? Had a few already? How bout one more?” His hand began trailing up your leg, dirty fingers slowly dipping beneath your pure white petticoat.

Suddenly, one thing was very clear.

You had to get out of here.

Shaking your head, you tried to stand, but you were swiftly reeled back as soon as your feet hit the ground, pulled into a hard lap, all bones and brace and knobby knees and God knows what else.

“We’re gonna have one more,” his voice materialized right beside your ear, tone final as he pulled another mini from your belt. You shook your head, whimpering some protest between tightly closed lips as he pressed the bottle to your mouth. Behind you, you heard him sigh through his nose like a beleaguered bull. Then his other hand came round your face, pinching your nose shut.

You didn’t wait around for your lungs to give out. There wasn’t any point in that. You knew he wasn’t going to give in. But you did. Almost immediately. Your lips parted for air and got tequila instead, swallowing sloppily as you tried not to choke, rivulets of amber dripping down your chin while he murmured, “There you go… Nice and easy…”

His hand lowered to your throat to tip your head back, your world spinning as a wet sensation dragged across your chin, the man licking up the tequila in one broad and obscene lick. That rotten chuckle inundated your senses. “Awful cute when ya can’t even keep your eyes straight.” He tapped his fingers along the column of your throat, adding in afterthought. “Awful cute anyway, but I’m not really in the mood to fight just for a little company tonight. You gonna be good for me now, darling?”

“…Uh-huh.” You nearly sobbed out the sound, voice meek and pathetic. But you’d be lying if you weren’t starting to feel… sweaty under your skirts, inner thighs getting embarrassingly slick. That always happened when you were drunk, but never this bad.

And despite all the awfulness churning in your stomach, you still felt heat pool in your gut as he cooed, “Good girl. Not at dumb as you look, are you?”

You didn’t even realize he was actually expecting an answer until he probed again, “Are you?”

You quickly shook your head.

Humming, he seemed to accept that, because he was soon re-adjusting you on his lap and catching your lips with his in a messy kiss. He tasted strong and dry, your tongue prickling like your taste buds were trying to retract at the mere slide of his against yours; like salt on a slug. When his hand crept up your skirt this time, you didn’t try to stop him, even as his middle finger began tracing your sopping panties, dipping into the wet seam. You could scarcely think, devolved into a gooey pile of nerves and feelings that he was amusedly plucking at.

Peeling your panties aside, his fingers parted your folds, a pleased rumble emanating in his throat and vibrating in your mouth when his thumb brushed against your clit and your hips twitched in response.

You were gasping for breath by the time he finally pulled his mouth away, but he gave you no time to recover, already pressing two fingers past your resistance. In some attempt to ground yourself, you grasped at his arm as they began curling and pumping inside you, but your weak, drunk grip made it about as easy as catching clouds.

At some point, your barely-there vision drifted towards the window and you dimly realized you were facing it, completely exposed. That if anyone came up the stairs, they’d be able to see everything.

You’d just have to hope his heartbeat would be enough to keep them far away from the saloon. Eyes fluttering to the ceiling, you pushed the thought from your mind. It wasn’t hard. Not when the feeling in your stomach was reaching a fever pitch, nearing the point of no return.

In some ways, he was a lot gentler than you were expecting. Which was good, because you felt hopelessly vulnerable right now, helpless and disorientated in his lap, his looming over you making your mixed up brain feel protected even though some part of you knew that wasn’t right.

Everything felt numb except where he touched you; the heat of his breath on your neck, the kisses he pressed to your skin, the scrape of his beard, the brush of his long hair against your shoulder. All your wires were crossed, every little sensation going straight to your core.

Gasping out as your climax crashed over you, your hips lurched, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand. Unbothered, he just kept stroking you through it until your hips finally began to sink back down and your cunt stopped desperately trying to milk his fingers. Withdrawing slowly, he pressed them into your open mouth, the tang of your own juices spreading across your tongue. You didn’t know what it said about you that your blind instinct was to obediently suck, but that’s what you did, and he breathed out in a low, steady hiss.

“Careful, now. Fool me too good and I might have to keep you.”

Pulling away, he encouraged you to lay on the bed, settling between your legs. You watched the ceiling drift then snap back to place every time you blinked while he fiddled with something - you weren’t sure what until he was fixing your arms above your head and the apparently not-so-novelty handcuffs from your costume were being snapped around your wrists.

Then his hands were skating over you appreciatively, over your ribcage, the curvature of your waist almost reverently. “Guess the good Lord finally answered my prayers.” He murmured, flicking the plastic sheriff star between your bosom. “Not really how I woulda done it, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh? After all…” The man sighed, fingers curling into the top of your blouse and slowly dragging the gingham fabric down over your breasts until they were revealed to his eerie, quietly covetous eyes. “We don’t exactly have all the time in the world, do we?”

What was that even supposed to mean? It seemed to you as if you had nothing but time. Maybe not in this particular trial - and as if to punctuate that thought, you felt a generator kick to life, the familiar thrum of hope in your bones.

Did he know something you didn’t? Or were you just too foxed to follow?

Exhaling, he rolled his hands over your breasts, admiring the feel of them for just a moment. It seemed like he wanted to take his time with you, but the reminder that you were on a timer was the spur in his side that eventually pushed him to move on.

You heard him audibly fiddling with his belts and wondered if you were getting out of this alive. It was cold comfort, but at least you’d probably managed to save everyone else. Not very heroic when it wasn’t even really your decision. But it was something. Maybe. Something to cling to as you felt the heat of him slide across the mess he’d made of you.

Whimpering, you curled inwards from your core as he entered you, bound hands lifting up and both grasping at his chest at the feeling of being run through. By no means was it violent. It didn’t hurt, exactly. But it had been a long time, and he was unforgivingly long and solid and foreign. An intrusion on your body.

“That’s it. There you go, gorgeous. Hang onto me.”

You did, your hands abandoning his chest to loop over his neck, accidentally knocking the hat off his head in your bound fumbling. He didn’t seem to care, swooping down to take your lips again while you struggled to get used to the feeling of him moving inside you.

With how wet you already were, it didn’t take all that long before pleasure started to win out, every little bump and grind against your sweet spot pulling you closer to the edge again, his mouth muffling the pathetic stream of sounds trying to escape yours.

This time, the fall from the top was a slow one, liquid heat spilling out across your core - though you weren’t quite aware how literally until you felt it physically starting to pool beneath you, a wave of embarrassment flaring when you’d realized what just happened. Okay - you didn’t - that had never happened before, drunk or not.

Your hopes that he didn’t notice were dashed as he pulled away to chuckle heatedly in your ear. He wasn’t far behind though, laughter broken by a groan as his hips snapped against yours, burying himself deep as he could go. You felt the alien jerk of his cock inside you, radiating warmth.

Panting, he nuzzled at your neck as he came down, whiskers scratching at your skin. You felt… suspended in place, not sure what came next. But you guessed it wasn’t up to you. Hesitantly, you let your fingers slip into his sweaty white tresses, the texture thick and rough like the mane of a horse, dusty and… probably unwashed for God knows how long.

There was that awkward feeling again. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit no matter how you turned them, but you weren’t allowed to leave.

Eventually, he took a deep, centering breath and withdrew from you, guiding your hands back to the bed and clicking open the safety release of the handcuffs, setting you free and letting them fall wherever on the floor.

Rubbing your wrists, you groaned in discomfort as he dragged his fingers through the mess, pushing his cum back inside you. No. You just wanted to be done.

But then he pulled your panties back into place. Pulled your shirt back up. Smoothed your skirts down.

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he heaved a big sigh and finally dismounted.

Pulling you up by your arm so that you were sitting up, he grabbed his hat from the bed, and you felt him plop it onto your head and adjust it.

“Suits ya.” He said softly, and it was the first thing he’d said in a while. Part of you was waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure if he wanted a thank you, or…

He eyed you for another long moment, like there was something more he wanted to say, but… Instead, his gaze flicked down to the bandolier round your chest.

You swallowed hard as he plucked the last two bottles from your belt, the thought of taking another shot making your stomach churn and your gag reflex curl.

Patting your thigh, he bonelessly plopped himself in the nearby chair, rolling his eyes as you just stared at him. “Go on, get.” He snorted, uncapping one of the little bottles. “Don’t fall down the stairs on your way out.”

He was letting you go? Just like that?

You hesitated, something about this seemed… unfinished. You weren’t sure if you wanted to go.

But you didn’t want to wait around until he changed his mind, either.

So you uncertainly began heading towards the window, pausing when you remembered - “Your hat…” You reached for it, intending to give it back, but…

“Keep it, I don’t care.” That sounded unexpectedly crabby, and when you looked back, he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the wall, avoiding your gaze as he tipped back a shot. “Wear it if you want to see me again. Don’t if ya don’t. I can take a hint.”

You blinked, unable to believe he was sulking. Now. After everything.

Your fingers hovered over the brim of the hat. You needed to quash this now, while you still had the chance. Your conscience was screaming at you, leave it, don’t encourage him, don’t even give him hope.

Don’t bring it to the campfire. Don’t anything. Just… leave it on the windowsill, you told yourself. It shouldn’t have even required thought. Nothing about this was okay.

You didn’t even know his goddamn name.

And yet… You found your hand slowly lowering, falling back down to your side. You gave him one last, long look before grabbing the windowsill.

You could always decide later.

🖤  🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!!

🖤  🖤 🖤  

Notes:

Thank you Pugge for beta'ing most of this!

I do not know WHY this took me so long to write but I’m fairly happy with it. Sorta wasn’t the direction I originally had planned for this, but what can I say, I’m cursed. I got the Midas touch, except instead of gold, everything I touch turns to non-con.

This piece was written for Day 8 and 18 of the 🔞 Dead by Baelight 🔞 Discord server’s Kinktober. Anyone over 18 is welcome to join here.

[claraxbarton]

MCU Bucky Barnes

So here’s the thing.

I’m a costume designer by trade, and one thing that I actually really love about Captain America: The Winter Soldier (okay, among the things I love) is the costume design and the rhetorical value given to the clothes and, well, costumes in this movie. 

For example - when Sam and Steve have their heart to heart on the bridge that ends with Sam saying “but he doesn’t even know you” and Steve saying “he will” before going to steal his old uniform - the one Bucky last saw him in when he was Bucky. There are some other great costume points in this movie, actually a LOT of them (costumes, not wigs, don’t at me because I KNOW).

But one thing that has always stood out to me, and not in a good way, is the “I’m with you til the end of the line” flashback.

Now, here’s the thing, it’s not JUST about the clothes. We’re in MCU verse, so it’s MCU canon - obviously, the Steve and Bucky duo is drastically different in Marvel comics canon so - and Bucky starts this scene by saying his folks wanted to give Steve a ride to the cemetery.

Which is super cool and nice. So one, we know Bucky’s dad is still alive - and his mom, but two, we know they have a car.

So this is supposed to be when Steve is around 16? So it’s... 1936 (according to MCU wiki it totally is)

So cars.

Crazy popular ever since they started having closed bodies and all that. BUT, were they crazy popular in CITIES in 1936? Especially in the middle of the Great Depression?

There’s some evidence that actually no, that car ownership in a city like NYC was something like 1 car per every 43 people. Then again, looking at the NYC.gov 2015 Mobility Report we see that the population of NYC in 1936 is something like 7.2 million, and the number of registered vehicles in 764,000... or roughly one per every 9.4-ish persons. Which is a pretty drastically different number. This doesn't, of course, account for taxis or fleet cars being registered - so the number might seem inflated. I still think it’s probably something closer to 1 car per every 20 than every 43 but... I’m too lazy to dig that much deeper at the moment. Plus I'm sick, which is fueling this in the first place.

So, anyway you slice it, Bucky’s family was in 11%, 5% or 2.33% of New Yorkers who own cars in 1936. Which says something, I think, about Bucky Barnes that we don’t always - ever? - think of in fandom.

I’m not going to say that Bucky Barnes was loaded. Maybe his family owned a garage or a grocery store or a delivery service or a funeral home...?? or something. So, the vehicle could be occupational as opposed to private usage - but either way it’s a statement. Bucky’s family has money and/or Bucky’s family has steady employment.

I’ve been there. I’ve read the fics where Bucky works at the docks to put Steve through art school and get him his medicine. I love those fics. I love that head canon.

But I... don’t think it’s realistic in light of some evidence showing us that, actually, Bucky wasn’t doing too badly for himself.

Let’s now actually look at CLOTHING. Here’s the whole scene via youtube, if you want to follow along with what is about to get RIDICULOUS.

Actually, before I dive in, who is the costumer for this movie? And should I be like... reading into all this as much as I am?

Judianna Makovsky - fellow New Jersey..Ian?ite?no clue - 3 time Oscar nominee and designer of 5 MCU films and a lot of other big budget movies, including quite a few period pieces dealing with issues of race and class (The Legend of Bagger Vance, Seabiscuit, The Little Princess.. and also like Harry Potter and The Quick and the The Dead.) So, should I have some faith in Judianna Makovsky’s designs? I’m gonna go with yeah, yeah I should. 

So, back to the movie. The scene.

This is post funeral. We’re in 1936. As a general rule, the dress, colors and style of mourning wear was pretty much formalized in the early Victorian era. There was a great - read PHENOMENAL - exhibit at the MET a few years back on Mourning-wear and I’m still reeling from how lovely everything was - but the gist of it is this: you wore black when someone died. If you were a lady, and especially if you were a rich lady, you then went through a few different colors (dull black to SHINY black to purple/mauve and gray and white and then back to color within six months to one year). By the 1930s only the really rich were sticking to the actual rules of mourning - or like, really old people. And, of course, really old rich people. Really old rich WHITE people. Because it needs to be said: these are WHITE customs. I'm not saying people of other ethnicities didn’t follow them, but these are basically British Victorian practices that were assimilated into American culture.

I’m not going to go off on a huge sidebar about American fashion following in French dressmaking and British tailoring, but I need to say at least that much. Everyone who was anyone knew you got your dresses made in France or in the French style and you got your suits made in England - Savile Row in specific. I am NOT implying Bucky’s got himself an English suit, fyi. I just... have to be thorough.

BACK TO THE SCENE:

We’ve got our boy Steve. STEVE. Who just buried Sarah Rogers and what is he wearing...?

For starters, he’s wearing a windbreaker, check out the 1933 ad below, he’s the guy almost giving us the Fonz finger gesture, or maybe guy in the fedora on the end.

This thing isn’t falling apart at the seams, but it’s a very nondescript not really gray, not really blue - maybe was at one point. It also doesn’t FIT Steve. It also, in the ad above, would cost about $165.40 in today’s money.

My guess? It’s Bucky’s old windbreaker. Because it’s not cheap and because it’s just a bit too big on Steve. 

He’s also wearing a shirt that is maybe tan? And a brown tie and maybe - MAYBE black trousers. And if those trousers are black, it’s the only black thing he’s wearing. Not even a black tie, or a black arm band (which I’m pretty sure - but also pretty aggressively atheist so I don’t know - the Catholic Church would have provided for chief mourners and pall bearers right?). We also have our depressing as all shit Depression surroundings to clue us in: Steve Rogers ain’t loaded. Steve Rogers is poor as dirt. Side note: boys. Hiding a key under the ONE FUCKING BRICK on a walkway is not like... a smart idea???

So we can guess a few things here, we can guess that Steve and Sarah were really struggling - this checks out with the rest of MCU canon (wearing newspapers stuffed in his shoes, even when he had nothing he had Bucky, etc.) - and that all money probably went towards Steve’s numerous ailments, food and then the TB medication or treatment, as it was, that was available to Sarah.

We can maybe guess that Steve and Sarah weren’t very religious -but I don’t feel qualified to impart anything except my own agenda here so I’m not taking that stance. But like, real talk, not even an arm band?? 

But, well, let’s move on to the point of this whole long ass thing anyway?

--

Then we go to Mr. Barnes, looking dapper AF. Also, hey, check out this ad from 1933 featuring... pretty much exactly what Bucky is wearing down to the god-damn two-tone shoes:

If you’re curious, yeah $24.98 in 1936 is $475.44. I'm not suggesting Bucky Barnes went out and bought a brand new suit for Steve’s mother’s funeral - for one thing, this ad is from 1933. BUT, that suit fits Bucky. Quite well, and it’s in good shape. He’s also sporting that super stylish mid-late 30s into 40s deeply angled collar shirt - as is our dude up in the ad - and so we know these clothes are at least new-ish. We also can see that the suit is definitely of the mid-30s moving into the boxy silhouette of the later 30s and early 40s and NOT the look of the 20s and early 30s, which has an almost bell-bottom fullness to the legs instead of our straight-leg here (though we can debate nuance if you want to hit up my DMs.)

I should note, Bucky’s shirt is not bright and pristine white - it’s kind of grayish? And I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be an old-timey sepia thing or an indication that Bucky can’t afford to... bleach a white shirt? So that’s an odd choice for sure because we’re still in an age when a crisp, white collar shirt means something (Hey, if you want to hear me go on about the democratization of men’s fashion via shirt collars and 19th century Victorian suits, let me know because I am READY).

All this is to say: I don’t think Bucky Barnes is a poor dock worker. I think Bucky Barnes of MCU canon. Okay, so the MCU wiki on Bucky/The Winter Soldier is an actual mess (because it tells us that Sarah died in 1936 and that’s FINE but I’m not going back to change my math because I’m SICK so just... I went back and changed it. She died in 1936. Fine. The damn wiki also says that “a year later, during their art class, Barnes and Rogers found out that the United States of America had joined World War II. Which, like, I’m sick, but there are a few years between 1936 and December 8 1941... just... I’m no rocket doctor but...

ANYWAY. Bucky is a three time YMCA welterweight boxing champion by this “year later”/ 1941-1942. He and Steve are also in an ART CLASS together. Bucky also trained Steve in boxing at Goldie’s gym before the two of them went to enlist - Steve rejected and Bucky, again quoting MCU wiki, “drafted” (which I'm gonna take to mean he didn’t try to enlist when Steve got rejected, they went home and Bucky got called up later but... hey, who knows?!).

So, I can’t easily find the prices of gym memberships in NYC in the 1930s right now because I don’t feel like wading through all of the articles complaining about Equinox pricing in 2019. But I do know that part of Roosevelt’s WPA (Works Progress Administration) building projects included building more public gyms - as well as libraries, auditoriums, pools, parks etc. Check out your local public buildings - if they are WPA projects they will have a cool plaque like my local NJ library does! All that is to say, there were free or very cheap PUBLIC options where Bucky could have trained Steve.

Bucky trained Steve in a private gym. Do I like to think that this is the same gym Steve and America’s ass are working out in in The Avengers? Yes, Yes I do. Do I like to think that Steve likes to box because it reminds him of Bucky? Yes, yes I do.

But moving on: it’s another sign of wealth.

So is this “art class.” Whether we are in 1937 or 1941 - we’re still in the Depression. Steve still has all of his health issues and presumably accompanying “medication” (wanna talk 1930s medicine? Again, slide into my DMs or shoot me an ask). So Steve either has a side job making enough to cover all of that, rent? and enrollment in an art class.

OR maybe Steve is teaching the art class and Bucky is his model for life drawing instruction (yeah, it’s a fic bunny I’m sharing with the world).

OR maybe... Bucky is paying the rent and other things or Steve is living with Bucky and can afford the class and meds... somehow or...

OR I'm not saying that Steve is Bucky’s kept man because Steve Rogers would punch anyone who dared to say such a thing.

All I’m saying is, Bucky Barnes was not a poor dude. Bucky Barnes... had some money.

And also I’m about to be late for my doctor’s appointment so I gotta run.

At me with your thoughts!

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Teeth Marks, Empty Nest, Picking Ritual | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

It’s been a hot minute since I last wrote a Moth Work writing update, and so here we are again for the final countdown! Today’s post will be covering everything related to chapter 12, 13, and 14. Let’s start with Teeth Marks, which I wrote probably sometime in February.

Teeth Marks marks the third part of Moth Work, called Wings, and the first chapter back in Harrison’s POV. I honestly can’t remember much of the writing process as it’s been a while, so let’s dive straight into the scene breakdown!

Scene A: 

We start in the doorway of Eliza’s apartment where Harrison stands shook because a) his boi Lonan has answered it (scandal) and his mother, who he has been estranged from for the last four years, is also in this apartment (EXTRA scandal). Eliza ushers Harrison inside (and this is probably the only *nice* interaction they ever have, spoiler alert!)

Harrison is very shook, and also a little angry, and also a little confused! He doesn’t know why his mother is here, and doesn't understand why Lonan wouldn’t contact him to tell him she is here.

Him and Eliza get into a bit of a scuffle where Eliza is protective of Lonan and is like “who are you mate” and Harrison’s like hahahHA pardON. This leads to Lonan kicking them both out even tho this ain’t even his house!

Scene B:

We now move to the stairwell right outside Eliza’s apartment where she and Harrison have been sitting in awkward silence! Harrison notices she’s wearing his guardian angel necklace (which Lonan mistakenly took back in chapter 6).

This scene is instrumental in setting up how these two interact, which in short, is not! fun! for! either! They try to be civil but can’t help but be protective over Lonan for different reasons. Eliza because they are now sort of in a relationship, and Harrison because hahaha he’s been there, and also because Eliza is Lonan’s father’s ex! Why!

Lonan interrupts this conversation and him and Harrison have a lil private moment even tho Eliza is standing right there aahaha. Eliza leaves which prompts Lonan to go after her, and we end with Harrison all alone in the stairwell like a proper sad boi.

Excerpts:

I previously wrote some mean things about this chapter and am editing it out cuz we tryna be positive! Here’s some tender romance because why not! For context, Harrison has asked Eliza how much she knows about the nature of the boys’ relationship (she knows nothing!!)

He could tell her the truth. About the polaroids left back in Boston. What it felt like to kiss him underwater. What it felt like to dance with him, his clumsy instep. What it felt like to trace each notch of his ribs in the off moments he’d sleep and how wonderful it was, to touch the places his hunger would go. 

Some more romance because yesss:

He pretends they’re alone at the cabin, somewhere on the water, sharing a sleeve of crackers, looking at the moon like it’s the other’s iris, somewhere where constellations read less like hieroglyphics and more like sonnets. 

Let us move onto chapter 13, Empty Nest!

Scene A:

Harrison sits alone at the dinner table watching a TV show in a language he doesn’t speak. His mother interrupts this *chillin* and they get into a heated conversation.

This ends badly for Harrison, to which Lonan (who is presumably arguing with Eliza in her bedroom) comforts him and yeets the two of them outta that apartment! Knight in shining armour babyyyy

Scene B:

Lonan takes Harrison to chapter nine’s beautiful place (the cove).

They chat about their (fallen) relationship and Lonan + Eliza’s relationship that is apparently now flourishing (hahah it actually isn’t)

This turns romantical very fast!!! I am guilty of self-indulgence!!

Excerpts:

EDIT: I originally had an edit in here saying I didn’t have the mental spoons to edit this chapter which is why I wouldn’t share a lot of excerpts! This was very true haha, as I was amidst the worst mental health week I’ve had in years, but guess! who! tried! to! edit! anyway! This obviously was not the best idea and I pushed myself too hard. This led to me doing some crying and beyond that, a decision to take a few days off of writing (despite the fact that I didn’t want to). I’m feeling great now which I’m so grateful for, but just a note! Anyhow!!

This excerpt makes me laugh because it gives me “lonely man sitting on his porch in the prairies” vibe:

No one eats together. Lonan and Suzanna have already taken their pick, and Eliza eats in her room. Harrison hasn’t seen Lonan since he followed Eliza’s empty trail back into the apartment, and he hears him now, between the drone of infomercials and advertisements on the Spanish TV station he doesn’t even understand. Coming from her room, he can picture him, the way Lonan argues, competitive like he’s trying to win something. Suzanna sits on the balcony, maybe hiding a smoke, or something more ridiculous, new age, like an essential oil pen. Ribbons of grey luminescing in the neon lights. Maybe it’s more accurate to say Harrison eats alone. 

This is the excerpt that I had a breakdown editing lmaooo I think it’s cute tho!!

Somewhere better is a beach. Hidden in a cove, the stones arched over seafoam. In the moonlight, sand glitters, water trills, a night owl in the distance wails. Lonan leads him to the cove’s heart, a bullet of clearing that reveals constellations neither recognize. Lonan’s brought a basket with him, unfolds the checked blanket across the shore. Harrison sits first, and observes as Lonan travels the cove’s perimeter, collecting driftwood as he goes. He stacks them into a pyramid at the shore’s lip, pulls out a lighter.

He starts the fire easily, cups the flame like it’s a jittering organism, coaxes it until it expands. The flame tints his jaw gold, glares in his eyes so they look like blue fire. The night halos around ­Lonan, burnishes the cove walls, turns the sand into a mirage. As Lonan nurses the fire, Harrison traces his face, the violet impasto around his eye. Lonan has always looked like a masterpiece to him, damp black hair that almost looks navy blue, a smile so subtle, it’s almost acquired. He holds the fire so it toasts his chin, his focus a delicate, paternal thing.

Picking Ritual is chapter 14 of the book! I wrote this during reading break, and it’s one of my faves a) because of the title and b) because Harrison and Eliza FIGHT (I’m here for the tea).

Scene A:

Lonan and Harrison get back from their self-care-gone-romantical escapade to drunk Eliza creepily sitting in the dark!! Harrison’s mother has left, which Eliza uses as cruel ammo (don’t we love her)!

This is where we really get to see Eliza’s other side as she gets gaslighty as a response to Harrison’s very true callouts

Scene B:

Later, Eliza may or may not purposefully leave her bedroom door open while mildly unholy matters occur that’s all I’m gonna say about that!!!

Scene C:

Eliza leaves her room to “get some orange juice” (she’s trying to get a rise out of Harrison, which works). They roast each other endlessly until Harrison asks her to play a game with him.

Scene D:

This game is a game of cards, which is actually Harrison choosing four cards (king of spades = Lonan’s father, queen of hearts = Eliza, the joker = Lonan, and a jack = Harrison) so he can learn more about each one he chooses for her.

This is where the chapter title comes from!

Excerpts:

The following is a self-roast because my house does all the following (besides magnets on ALL four corners of dishcloths, there’s currently just one. ;) Lonan in this scene is Fiona in that scene in Shrek 2 where Shrek and King Harold are arguing over dinner (CW: there’s a description here that could be potentially triggering for self-harm!).

Suzanna is gone when they get back to Eliza’s apartment. No jacket on the coat hook. No shoes on Eliza’s straw-woven welcome mat. The kitchen has been picked over, each plate, fork, back in its strangely correct place. Eliza keeps her cutlery in jars, and her pans in the oven, her dish cloths magnetted to the fridge by all four corners, a pristineness that feels chemical.

Just as he’s about to comment on it, a light from the living area flicks on, and underneath sits Eliza, paging through a book in the dark. Spots like wine stains on her cheeks shine glassy under the harsh lightbulb.

“She has a place twenty minutes from here. By the public gardens,” she says, running her fingernail against the ribbed spine of the hardcover. Harrison can’t make out the title. When he stares blankly at her, examining the patches on her skin until he’s memorized of their surface area, she clears her throat and shuts the book. “Your mother?”

“I know,” he says.

“That your mother has a place twenty minutes from here?”

“That you were referring to my mother.”

“So you didn’t know?”

ugh I love Harrison and Eliza arguing it’s my fave dynamic:

Eliza stands, and smooths the silk of her night dress, though one crease continues to bunch. She folds her hand into a fist, and brings it to her mouth, biting on her knuckles as she paces. Harrison and Lonan watch her, and Lonan’s about to step toward her when she nods and directs her gaze straight at Harrison. “Did that upset you?” she asks, peeling a sliver of skin up between her teeth, letting it snap back. “The way I spoke of your mother.”

“I don’t care about anything you have to say.”

Oof oof tensions be RISING:

Lonan knocks on Eliza’s door a half hour later and doesn’t come back out. Harrison watches the shut door like he can break through it from the couch, how heavy it sits in its frame like they’ve taken turns smearing caulking in its seams.

The nightglow decolours his chin, his eyes, and he stares at the stars as he did an hour ago with Lonan. He touches his lips, hoping something divine will reappear on his fingers, something divine enough to anoint himself with. Nothing does, of course, but he tries, dappling each groove of his mouth. 

Here’s some Eliza being Eliza :)

He should tell her to buy some curtains. The sliding door’s glass opens to her balcony where his mother stood, pouring onto the busy street below her apartment complex. He can almost perfectly replicate the image of his mother with just his fingertip, a familiarity of her unknown, but unconsciously memorized by him. Suzanna has traded her only pair of shoes—a dingy set of floral flip-flops—for boots with silver zippers, steel toes, heels perfected by a designer she has a connection to. He thinks of his mother with sour precision, a sugary glumness that makes his mouth heavy.

He still wears the angel Lonan re-fastened around his neck and examines it against the belly of the two-seater Lonan once slept on.

She’s lost a stone from where he threw it, almost unnoticeably in the corner where her wings meet her back. He runs his finger over the empty spot, a nearly undetectable groove, and wonders how difficult it would be to find it in the tooth of Eliza’s hardwood.

Just as he’s prepared to get up and find out, the heavy door jars open. Wider than he’s expecting, so he can see Lonan from the couch. Arranged against a pillow, his hair disappearing into the dark wood of Eliza’s bedhead. His eyes closed, a tremor that rocks through his forehead every few seconds. And then quickly, Eliza shuffling through the opening. She wears a kimono patterned with koi fish, the fabric rustling against her bare thighs as she enters the kitchen.

Harrison watches her through his eyelashes, her half-up hairdo falling toward her face, the flash of skin pale, like the peel of the moon.

She grabs a glass he washed and fills it from the sink. Once a bulb forms across the surface, she tips it to her lips, and swallows deliberately.

Harrison watches as she checks the sink for unwashed dishes she knows aren’t there. As she adjusts a placement on her table that doesn’t need adjusting. As she spins herself on her toes around the kitchen island, her kimono splaying so he sees flashes of her thighs again. She dances like this back to her bedroom, where she sets her water glass on the dresser, and keeps the door wide open. 

I can’t not share this part I apologize there is some spice but also Harrison’s iconic Gay (TM) takedown at the end brings me so much joy:

Eliza exits the room a half hour later, except this time, doesn’t dance. Still, she steps carefully, her toes taut as she patters against the floorboards. Harrison watches her with his arms crossed, and stays like that, even when they make eye contact.

She startles and re-adjusts her kimono, so the clip of her skin disappears. She’s combed her hair since she and Lonan finished, and it sits gauzy over her forehead.

“Have you ever thought of buying a deadbolt?” he says, watching carefully as she turns and grabs a glass from a cabinet.

The refrigerator thrills when she opens it, a wash of gaudy tungsten yellowing her face. She sucks on her lip as she pulls out a bottle of orange juice, glugging a cupful into her mouth first, and then into a glass. 

“A deadbolt,” she says, a lightness in her voice—false innocence. “Why?”

“I’ve heard good things. Security. Privacy. You live alone, don’t you?”

She juts the orange juice to her lip fast, her chin bucking like she’s taking a shot. “I do.”

“You’re planning on keeping it that way?”

Eliza drains the last of the orange juice and rests the glass in the sink. She flicks on the tap so a stream splashes into its mouth like somersaults, diluting the juice until the glass cleans.

“There must be someone,” Harrison elaborates. He shifts, so his legs hang off the couch’s edge. The hardwood is cold, and for a moment, he feels like he’s stepping on water. “You’re seeing people, aren’t you? You live in Las Vegas. Good job. Decent apartment.”

Eliza shakes off the wet glass and sets it on the drying rack. “Are you interested?”

“I’m gay, but thanks. How does that work, anyway? Dating you. Would I send in an application? Self-addressed stamped envelope and all? Email?”

ugh more iconic Harrison I love him:

Harrison’s eyes focus on the lip balm and he imagines Lonan putting it there, his finger moving across her mouth and then down, like an anointment. “Isn’t that such a coincidence, then? You’re so selective, yet you manage to date two members of the same family.”

Her smile fades. Eliza clucks her tongue and wipes her mouth quickly with the back of her hand. Thoughtlessly, she refills the clean glass with more orange juice, and only realizes her mistake after the liquid sits precisely at the rim of the cup.

“Shit,” she says, wringing her hand out. “Shit.”

“I’ll drink it,” he says, and is already up and at the kitchen island before she puts another hand on the glass. Eliza almost scowls, but chews on her gums when she catches herself. She slides the glass across the granite, and a blip of orange juice jitters onto the surface. Harrison dabs his pinky in it and sucks it into his mouth. “I want to ask you a favour.”

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

He puts a hand against the fridge before she can move past him, and Eliza sighs, weaves her arms haughtily over her chest. “Cards.” The fridge rumbles to life under his fingertips, and Eliza jumps. “Play a game with me,” he says.

Sharing because of Harrison’s roast at the end, it’s really just one of those days:

Eliza’s a good shuffler. Easily, she dices the cards, the hard split of their edges when he usually shuffles almost non-existent. He’s only ever met one other person who can shuffle like her—his mother.

Harrison sips the orange juice as she shuffles the deck. In all truth, he doesn’t need the cards to be shuffled—he knows exactly which ones he needs. But her ease intrigues him, and he can’t help but feel mesmerized with each flitter of the deck.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asks after another long pull of juice.

She cuts the deck and continues. “My father.”

“I didn’t know you had parents.”

“I didn’t know your mother had children.”  

“I don’t think she knows either.”

Eliza rests the shuffled deck onto the countertop and nudges it toward him. He hasn’t told her what game they’re going to play, and as Harrison searches for his necessary cards, the prickle of her gaze deadens. He keeps at task, combing each card and pulling out the needed.             

“I would’ve liked to know.” Eliza says this nimbly. “You look like her.”        

Another pick. “Every son wants to look like their mother. What a dream.”      

“I meant that as a good thing.”

“And I meant what I said as a bad thing.” 

What a way to end this update lol! 

I’ll be back soon with an update for the final chapter in this book! I hope y’all have been okay in these times, I know it’s not easy. Let me know what you’re working on!

--Rachel

[honeymoonjin]

Wouldst Thou Like to Live Deliciously? - jimin x reader

A/N: Jimin is sick of being a virgin, and the pressure of the first time with a girl, so he decides to summon a sex demon to get it over with. 4.2k. Warnings for sexual content: male receiving anal, male receiving overstimulation, male receiving multiple orgasms, sub!Jimin obviously

Generally, you were the seeker and not the sought. Sex demons weren’t exactly the most coveted of the demons when it came to humans. You were used to residing on Earth and spending your time in grimy dive bars and alleyways, preying on the spineless men and women that inhabited them. As a succubus, you were sustained by the sexual energy of a human’s orgasm, and when humans wanted to summon a demon, normally they wanted to take rather than give.

Crossroads demons were in high demand; your friend Namjoon had just hit ten thousand souls last month from all the pitiful people on the planet who made deals with him. Even more popular, but much rarer, were demons like your ex Yoongi, who could tell the future for the right price. Never wrong, you had got the feeling that he always knew exactly what was going to happen in your relationship. When you had called it quits almost two years ago, he had already packed his bag and called an Uber before you even got home from work.

Truth be told, regardless of your job, you hadn’t had a good fuck since. Nobody could do it like the man who could predict your every nerve. Though you knew the two of you would never work out, your mouth watered at the memory of one night where he kept you on the edge of an orgasm for three hours, only to walk away and leave you tied up. When he finally returned and fucked you stupid, it was the best climax of your life.

Since then, you had been left with the plentiful scum of the Earth, letting yourself starve so that even the shittiest of lays would at least satisfy you for a while. It was while you were in a suburban neighborhood, ready to take a pathetic cheater of a husband after posing as the babysitter for a month, that you felt the unmistakable pull in your gut. You were being summoned.

You swore, got up off your knees and dropped the innocent act. Mr. Brooks cried out in disappointment and confusion as you ran out the hallway, but you had no choice. Summoning never took longer than twenty or so seconds for you since the recitation was so short, and letting a human see you vanish into thin air wasn’t wise.

Locking yourself in his bathroom and opening the window to fake an escape, you hear the echo of a sweet voice chime in your ears and feel a heat on your skin as the room tilts and shifts and morphs around you.

You end up in a room far different from the white tile bathroom with a seaside theme. This place was clearly a bedroom of sorts, but it was far messier than the bedroom of the suburban father you had just left in the middle of a blowjob. The sheets were all rumpled, the desk and bookshelves covered in scattered academic memorabilia, and you could smell burning incense; aniseed and cinnamon.

There was a young human cowering across from you, arms thrown across its face to shield itself from the burst of flames that had erupted upon your arrival. He probably hadn’t expected the salt circle on his carpet to light up, but he needn’t worry. Hellfire, as dramatic as it sounded, was in reality nothing more than an accessory. Only condemned souls could feel it or interact with it at all. If this human had bothered to look closely before it wicked away, it would have seen the way it floated a centimeter above the salt, never touching it.

Finally, the arms were lowered, and you could see it was a boy who had summoned you. You frowned at how innocent he looked, standing there in blue overalls and a yellow sweater. Surely this wasn’t a child? No, upon closer inspection of his face you could tell he was in his twenties, simply with a youthful face and eyes wide with apprehension.

“Mortal,” you declare lazily, having repeated this particular line far too many times to be bothered with enforcing any real drama or power behind it, “for what purpose do you summon me?”

“Oh, uh, right to it, I guess,” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sweater paw. “I really didn’t think this would actually work! Um, I’m Jimin, nice to meet you.”

Now it’s your turn to feel awkward at his apparent unpreparedness, but you keep a cool façade. “You are aware I am a succubus, no? I will not repeat myself again; for what purpose do you summon me? I cannot broker deals or tell fortunes like my brethren.”

“No! No, I don’t want a deal or whatever. I read somewhere that succubae need sex to stay alive, and that it doesn’t kill the victim.”

You shrug. “Correct. And so?”

He laughs nervously. “Well, I wasn’t going to do this, but I got desperate. You see, I’ve kind of always had trouble talking to girls, and all of my friends have alr-”

“I tire of your digressions, mortal. Either answer my question or release me. I have better things to do.”

Jimin shakes his mop of bleached blonde hair out of his face with a blush, avoiding your harsh gaze. “I just want you to have sex with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You summoned a demon purely to have sexual relations with it? I believe many would consider that inadvisable. There are currently over seven billion humans on this planet. Why not turn to one of your own kind to satisfy your needs?”

His cheeks are bright red at this point, and it pleases you to see. He clears his throat. “I haven’t lost my virginity yet, okay? I’m too nervous to ask a girl out, but I figure if I just get it out of the way then I won’t be so freaked out. Do you want it or not?”

You grin salaciously. “Do I want your virginity?”

“Yes!”

You hum, stretching out one foot to delicately push at some salt and break the circle, knowing without looking that his heart is racing in fear. “You are aware that virginity does not exist as anything more than a social construct of human beings? There is no biological difference between you and any other.”

Finally, he looks up at you with a frustrated pout. “Look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just banish you or whatever. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” you purr, stepping out of the broken ring, prowling towards him slowly as he backs up to the wall, “I never said I didn’t want it. Virginity means nothing for you humans, but for me? An untouched soul is the most delicious of all.” His back thumps softly against his bedroom wall, and you reach your hands up on either side of his face to cage him in. You stare at him intensely. “Have you ever masturbated before?”

He splutters and jerks his head down. “Uh, woah, I… Yes, of course I have. Why do you…?”

“A shame,” you sigh, “but still, I’ll enjoy taking you.”

You notice his gaze is still half-lowered, and when he speaks, his voice is light with confusion. “Um, excuse me for asking, but why are you wearing a school uniform?”

You blink and look down at yourself. Over the past five or so minutes you had completely forgotten about your attire, but Jimin is right. You had always gone over to the Brooks family home in a short plaid skirt and white blouse with shiny black shoes. One gift all succubae were given was the insight into any human’s sexual desires and fantasies, and this particular man had a thing for schoolgirls, so you indulged in order to get closer to him fast.

“Never mind that,” you growl, “it won’t be on for much longer.”

Enjoying the desperate way he gasps and swallows hard, you try to distract yourself from the irritating stirring in your stomach. Thinking back to Mr. Brooks just reminded you of the fact that you had put in all that work and never gotten your reward, as he hadn’t made it to an orgasm before you were pulled away. You would certainly get your fill from this boy tonight.

And speaking of him, you leant forward and slanted your mouth across his, pulling him into a deceptively sweet kiss as your body ran on autopilot. Jimin would get caught up in the kiss, lulled into a false sense of security while you dove into his mind, teasing out all the deepest sexual wants he had that he would never dream of telling anyone. Your victims always tasted so much better when their orgasms were fueled by genuine desire and satisfaction, so it was better to let them drown in their fantasies, rather than simply jerking them off to completion.

As Jimin trembled and whimpered into your mouth, you ran your tongue along his wet muscle, sucking and biting and nibbling as you had done for millennia. You could tell by most of his fantasies that he was unexperienced and a romantic soul; cheesy porn fantasies of getting spanked in detention mingled with dreams of making love under the moonlight. Most of it was sickening and boring to you, but as you deepened the kiss and felt him harden against you, his hands rising up tentatively to bury themselves in your hair, more interesting things came up too. You took note and decided to put them into use tonight. Maybe if you ruined him for all future lovers, he’d become a repeat customer. You could certainly get used to it.

You pulled away once you were done, licking your swollen lips and grinning at his whine as his eyes blinked back open. “Are you ready for me, baby boy?”

He nods feverishly, panting slightly. “Wait, I… I don’t know your name.”

“You can call me whatever you want, but I won’t be giving you my name. Names have power; it’s the only way to choose exactly which demon will come when you summon one.”

He frowns as you reach a hand up and brush his hair away from his face but leans into your touch. “I thought I called for you.”

“You called for a succubus, and I just so happened to be the one that got the call. If you say that incantation again as it is, you’ll most likely get a different demon each time. There are legions of us, baby boy. I’m just your lucky draw.”

He sighs in bliss as you intertwine your hands and lead him to his messy bed, pushing him down onto it so he bounces a little and blinks up at you lustfully. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” you warn, “we haven’t even started yet.”

“Please, noona,” he whines, “I need you.”

You straddle him languidly, pulling one of his hands up and sucking on his pointer finger, flicking your tongue over the pad teasingly. He chokes out a moan and bites down hard on his lip, shifting his hips in the hopes that his painfully hard erection will gain some friction against your core.

You pull your lips off of him with a pop, breaking the chain of saliva that connects you with your tongue, grinning as he shudders at the sight. “I need you to be very honest with me, Jimin. Can you do that?”

He nods obediently. “Anything.”

“I have two questions. Question one: what sexual activities have you done before? Be specific.”

He clears his throat but answers you anyway, looking sinfully submissive splayed out underneath you, hair forming a small halo around his angelic face. What a divine specimen, you can’t help but think. “I’ve kissed before; with tongue once, too. Uh, I’ve masturbated before. That’s really it.”

You nod and brush your hand against his cheek with a warm smile, relishing in the way he nuzzles against it. “Good job, my sweet boy. My last question:” you lean forward on him, ignoring the groan he lets out as you brush against his crotch, and nibble gently on his earlobe as you continue petting the other side of his face. “What do you want me to do to you?”

He whines. “Please, I… Anything, noona. I’ll let you do anything.”

Your core lights up at the thought, but you tug a little rougher on the lobe of his ear. “Use your words, Jiminie. Be more specific.”

When you sit up enough to be able to see the lust in his eyes, you grin salaciously at him and await his answer. He swallows hard. “I want you to use me. I want you to…fuck me.”

“You want me to ride you?” you ask, although you’re well aware it’s not what he means.

He shakes his head, whimpering slightly. “No, I want you to really fuck me.”

You give him a sweet peck as a reward, licking over the seam of his full lips. “But I don’t have a cock, Jimin. How am I supposed to fuck you?”

He swears lowly his in his throat. “Fuck, I don’t…With your fingers. Anything.” He licks his lips, voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Please.”

You hum in satisfaction and stand up off of him, hearing him sigh in disappointment, his pelvis shifting on the mattress in dissatisfaction. He lifts his head up off the bed to watch you as you keep talking, slowly undressing yourself in front of him. Of course, you could dematerialize your clothes and be naked in an instant considering they were an illusion you manifested for Mr. Brooks anyway, but there’s no fun in that. “Come on, then, honey,” you say sultrily, “I can’t fuck you with your clothes on.”

He jumps up and frantically strips his socks, then wiggles out of his overalls. He’s so focused on obeying your orders that by the time he stops, completely naked with his member smearing pre-cum on his abdomen, he’s missed your little strip-tease.

Now both showing nothing but skin, you can see how his mind is starting to overheat with the pressure of it finally happening. You sigh and step forward to get onto the bed, cross-legged and leaning back on your hands so that you’re fully bare to him. He follows you with his hot gaze, eyes blown with lust. “You aren’t getting cold feet, are you, baby boy?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No, noona. I want this.”

You crook a finger at him. “C’mere.”

He exhales shakily, but he’s harder than ever, the tip almost purple with the amount of blood that has rushed to it.

“Lie back.” He does as you say, and you straddle him again. “Now, I’m going to give you what you want since you asked so nicely, but I think I deserve a little pleasure too, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jimin whines his agreement.

You grin at him, raising your hips so that your folds just touch the underside of his cock, causing him to give a violent shudder and swear slightly under his breath. “So I’m going to fuck myself on your cock while I fuck you. Is that fair?” He nods, eyes fixated on the sight of your pussy just barely touching him. “So, do you have lube?”

He blinks, breaking his heavy stare, and looks up at you. “Sorry, what? Uh, no.”

You frown in fake disappointment. “Well, I can’t fuck you with my fingers if you’ve got no lube.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s face crumples slightly and he bites his lip as he glances around the room. “We could use…uh…”

You reach down and pat his dick a couple times teasingly, feeling his thighs tense up underneath you. “Just kidding, baby boy. It wouldn’t be very professional of me if I didn’t come prepared.”

Waiting until he’s watching you again, you plunge two fingers into your pussy, collecting enough of your juices to coat your fingers. A perk of the job is that your body is always ready to go.

“Oh, god Fuck, that’s hot.” His head tips back but his eyes stay on you as you readjust yourself, sitting flush against his left thigh as you lift his right leg. He licks his lips at the feeling of your wetness against his thigh and clenches his muscles experimentally. The flood of pleasure catches you off-guard and you curl up, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest.

For the first time in the evening, you see a hint of some dominating tendencies with the evil grin he sends you as he relaxes, only to do it again, pairing it with a push up. You moan at the feeling and laugh shakily. “Kitty’s got some claws, after all. Alright, if you enjoy it so much, I’ll just stay here instead of sitting on your cock. Hm?”

“No,” he whines in frustration, pouting and dropping his teasing demeanor.

“Sorry, Jiminie. You had your chance. It’s too late now.” Your slip your fingers, still sticky and glossy with your arousal, down to massage his tight rim. He jumps and the muscles tighten, but you keep working at it with a firm touch, distracting him with the weakest, laziest of hand jobs as you go. Not like he’d know any better, and you didn’t want him cumming too soon. Finally, you manage to get finger in, and once it passes that initial grip, it plunges down, tearing a surprised groan from the boy.

You slowly begin to shallowly thrust, twisting and wriggling your digit until he jerks underneath you and cries out. You grin, and continue to press against his prostate, relishing the beautiful sounds it pulls from him.

“Oh, oh, it’s so good, oh my god,” he chants sweet nothings over and over, eyes clenched shut and completely overcome. Once you slightly tighten your grip around his cock and introduce your second finger into him, he begins panting noisily, whimpering every time you twist your wrist around his sensitive head.

Normally the build-up bores you when it came to most sexual acts, these included, but you find yourself getting drunk on the bliss on his face, wanting nothing more than to lean down and kiss him. No, you tell yourself, at least get him to cum first. It’s why you’re both here, after all.

It takes barely ten minutes to get him consistently crying out at every thrust. You speed up your pace on both fronts and Jimin writhes uncontrollably beneath you.

“Oh, I’m gonna�� ah, ah…”

You let out a sadistic laugh. “You know what, baby boy?” He’s too far gone to answer you, but you hold him on the edge as he’s overtaken by sensation. “I’ve changed my mind; I do want to sit on your cock. Will you let me ride you, Jimin?”

You slow down enough to keep his orgasm at bay and he growls in frustration. “Fuck! Yes, okay, just make me cum. Please, noonaaaa.”

You grin salaciously and speed up. Soon enough, his movements still completely for a moment and then he falls over the edge, spurting cum all up his chest and neck. You grin at the sight, and work him through it, only slowing down once he’s spent.

He looks up at you in a hazy bliss, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you said…”

His cock isn’t soft yet, and you straddle him fully again, wasting no time before you spear yourself on his cock, immediately riding him like your life depended on it.

“Ah!” He screams and bats his hands at you weakly, trying to cringe away from the assault. “No, it’s too much! I can’t take it!”

“You will take it,” you command gruffly, feeling his cock remain reluctantly hard, dragging deliciously inside of you. “I’m still hungry.”

“Fu-uck,” he whines, “please, no, I’ll do anything.”

You sigh contentedly at the sounds of his cries as you work yourself to the edge. It was rare that a man had a fetish for receiving overstimulation; the trait was much more common in women, you found. So, when you had kissed him before and felt that desire, you knew you had to take your chance. It was occasional that people had fetishes for things they actually didn’t like in practice, but as Jimin’s teary cries turned to shocked moans, like he couldn’t believe it was feeling good again, you knew he really did want it.

“Come on, baby boy,” you pant out, “I want another.”

He sobs, hair sticking to his temples, and his hands gripping tightly on your hips in an effort to stop you. “No, I can’t, I’m going to pass out, it’s too much.”

“Pass out, then,” you taunt, I’m not getting off this sweet little cock of yours until I cum on it.”

He whines, but clearly deep inside he still has some brainpower left, for one of his hands leaves its bruising grip on your hipbone and reaches down, swiping at the front of your pussy until he finds your clit, rubbing feverishly at the sensitive bud until you’re almost at the edge.

At this point, though you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, his hips have begun rutting up against you, so you hold your climax back long enough that he returns again to the brink of orgasm, Jimin letting out an overwhelmed cry with every unconscious thrust.

He screams when he cums, and the delightful sound pushes you over the edge finally. You bat his hand away and work your clit until your finished, having mercy on his oversensitive dick.

You pull yourself off of him, feeling him fall out of you, his cock softening almost instantly on his stomach. The two of you are covered in the mess of it all, so you take the time while he’s in subspace to make your way around his small apartment, still naked, in the search of a towel or at least several tissues.

Returning with some baby wipes you found in a bathroom, you clean yourself and then him, being careful to avoid his sensitive cock as much as possible, and then you get dressed, finally sitting cross legged on the bed beside him.

You run a hand through his hair. “Are you still with me, Jiminie? Can you hear me?”

He blinks out of his daze and focuses on you above him, licking his lips and nodding slowly. After a few moments of your gentle coaxing, he sits up and drinks the glass of water you also prepared for him and then gets dressed himself, in a pair of sweatpants and a shirt instead of the clothes he originally had on.

He finishes his glass and runs a hand through his hair, staring at you in confusion. “Why… why are you being so nice to me?” he finally asks.

“I may be a demon, but I’m not an asshole,” you joke.

He sighs out blissfully. “God, that was incredible,” he confesses, “way better than I imagined it could be.”

You smile proudly and go to reply, but a sneeze stops you in your tracks. You were staring right at Jimin so you know the noise didn’t come from either of you.

Jimin isn’t as confused as you, he just huffs out angrily and stands up, walking over to his closet and throwing the door open. “What the fuck, Jungkook?”

You blink. In the closet, with a sweaty face and a lazy grin, is another boy, around the same age as Jimin, sitting on the floor amongst a pile of clothes. You try not to look at the pile of wet tissues scrunched up in his hands. You could’ve used that, you think, feeling the same disappointment a human feels when someone else enjoys the last slice of pizza instead of them. What a waste.

“What?” the boy defends, not a hint of remorse on his face. “I found the ritual online, I figured you owed me.”

“By watching me lose my virginity?” Jimin screeches.

“If you think I gave a shit what you were doing, you’d be wrong, bro.” He turns to you with a cheesy bow. “Ma’am, if I may say so, you have beautiful tits.”

You stare at him for a moment, then laugh contentedly. Just like humans, sex demons tended to get a little hangry, and you were pleased to finally be enjoying the satisfaction of a decent meal to raise your mood.

You glance back at Jimin, looking between the two boys. “My name is Y/n,” you reveal, “next time either of you are in the mood, replace the last line of the incantation with my name, and I’ll come. Hopefully in both meanings of the word.”

The boy called Jungkook sighs dreamily. “I think I’m in love.”

[writing-essence]

It Ate My Cat

Chapter Two: “King Steve”

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Warnings: language, underage drinking/smoking

Summary: You’ve known Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington since your first days moving to Hawkins. What happens when you get wrapped up in his interdimensional babysitting adventure with your younger brother?

Author’s Note: A cute filler chapter expanding on the reader’s and Steve’s previous encounters. Also, let me know if you wanna be tagged! -Milla

Ch. 1: Sheet Faced

Word Count: 1,636

September 21st, 1982

Steve Harrington’s big back to school bash was the talk of Hawkins High. You couldn’t get through half of a class without whisperings of what antics were being propositioned. Your neighbor, Amber, seemed especially enthusiastic, claiming that his parties were that of the century. You had gotten closer to Amber over the summer, and after a few nights of giggles and pranking your little brother, the older girl had decided to take you under her wing. Her first order of business was accompanying you to your first high school party, and if it had been any other week, you would have been thrilled. But you decided to shove your baggage under your bed for the night, and hopefully partying with the king of Hawkins High would be just the pick-me-up you needed.

Music blared through the house, traveling out into the fresh midnight air. Teens swirled around each other, mimicking the liquid in their plastic cups. Others opted for slashing cans and dribbling beer down their chins. The scent of cigarettes and desperation muddled around the crowd. They were acting as if this were their last night on earth, all sense was left for the trees surrounding them. It all felt like a dream. You were dizzy. People were stripping down to their underwear and diving into the pool. A commotion and splash of water pulled you from the haze.

“Hey, quit standin’ there, jump in!” A girl with copper hair insisted. She was clung to the side of a freckled boy. He smirked at your bewildered expression. You didn’t know these people, not really. Most were a year older than you at the least, and you had only heard of them. You weren’t comfortable with these people, not yet. It all seemed too sudden, and you muttered a polite decline.

“What was that freshy I didn’t hear you?” The boy let go of the giggling girl in his arms to swim closer to the edge of the pool. He pushed himself back to standing on the chilled wooden floor. “C’mon the water’s fiiiine,” he slurred, stalking closer to you.

“Hey, man, knock it off.” You heard another boy speak up, but you were too stunned to lose focus on the boy in front of you chuckling.

Before you could decline again, he lunged forward, a wicked grin on his face. You yelped as he threw you over his shoulder and jumped into the water, putting you both under. Seconds felt like minutes. You could here the muddied cheers and laughs of the other teens. Your lungs were burning, and your heart was pounding in your ears. You gasped when you reached the surface flailing to find the edge of the pool and clambering your way up the side.

The temperate September night suddenly felt freezing. You wiped the chlorine out of your eyes to be met with a stumbling Amber trying to help you up. As you got to your feet, you were better able to evaluate the girl next to you. Her rosy cheeks twinged to green as her body heaved down towards your wet shoes. Silence blanketed over the backyard. The tips of your ears felt warm as you couldn’t bear to glance down at your feet. The redheaded girl, back in her boyfriend’s arms, broke the silence with a guffaw.

“Holy shit! She jus-”

“Shut up Carol! Cool it,” it was the boy’s voice from earlier. Before the situation could escalate you managed to kick off your tainted sneakers and slipped back into the house.

You managed to find a sparsely populated corner to compose yourself. Your body shook, unclear of it was from the dripping clothes draping your body or sheer embarrassment. The laughter of the crowd still echoed in your head. This wasn’t supposed to go like this tonight. You wished you could’ve gone back in time and jumped in the pool out of your own free will. Why couldn’t you just let loose for once? You wanted to, but too many thoughts were racing laps through your head today and now you had more to add to the marathon.

“Hey uh, sorry about them,” a voice soothed. You looked up at the familiar tone from earlier outside to be met with none other than the king himself.

“I’m fine,” you squeaked, “they were just -”

“Assholes?” He cut you off, arms crossed in concern. You let out a breathy laugh feeling at ease, knowing the host was on your side. “Seriously you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded in response. “I’m uh, I guess,” you were acutely away of the shivers dancing their way up your body, “a little cold.”

Steve chuckled in response, “Henderson Right?” You nodded. “Uh-”

“Y/N,” you finished for him, a gentle smile flitted on his face.

“Y/N, c’mon,” he motioned for you to follow him out of the kitchen. You were at the entryway of his house when he started up the stairs. You hesitated, knowing his reputation. He sensed your halt as he turned back to you, apparent apprehension on your face. “I’m not gonna try anything, just offering some dry clothes,” he mused insistently. Feeling the wet denim cling to your legs less than comfortably was enough to push you up the stairs.

Down the upstairs hall, he waltzed into what you assumed to be his bedroom judging from the posters and sports trophies. You stopped outside the door feeling the comfort of the hallway. After watching him rifle through his dresser, he presented you with a pair of gray sweat pants and a navy blue sweatshirt. “Here, there’s a bathroom down the hall. When you’re decent I’ll throw your stuff in the dryer.”

Gingerly, you took the clothes exchanging a small smile. The material felt soft in your hands. You went into the bathroom, switching on the light and shutting the door behind you. Stripping off your damp clothes was no small feat. Your sweater suctioned itself to your shoulders while attempting to pull it over your head. Slipping on the dry clothes felt like heaven, you could feel warmth regaining in your fingers and toes. It wasn’t until then you glanced in the mirror to look at yourself and what reflected back was atrocious. Your hair was in disarray, tangled from your fight out of the water. Mascara trailed down your cheeks, flecks of black spotting across your face. Your face looked sunken from stress. You looked down at your outfit. Who would’ve thought you’d be standing in Steve Harrington’s clothes looking like this. You couldn’t help but laugh. You were exhausted. As the giggles continued, the bounces in your chest turned to sadness. Tears burned your chlorine tainted eyes.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Steve knocked on the door, “I got you some water.” You tried to control your ragged breathing and hoped the tears would roll back into your eyes. Before you could lock the door Steve had it open ajar glimpsing at your worse for wear state. “Shit if Tommy and Carol got to you, just ignore them they-”

“It’s not them,” you snapped wishing to forget the incident. In his hands were a plastic cup and metallic can, he gave you the former. You stood there in silence sipping the water. He tilted his head insistently. “You know when I first moved here?”

He nodded.

“My parents had split, and dad was a deadbeat. I couldn’t care less what the asshole chose to do,” a dry laugh tickled your chest, “but after years of no birthday or Christmas cards, you know what came in the mail yesterday?

“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell me,” he urged.

“A fucking wedding invitation,” a breathe choked out of your lungs. You shook your head, setting the cup on the counter, jumping up to sit next to it, “and you know? the worst part was seeing my little brother ecstatic to finally get mail from dad just to get his heart ripped out because he found a different family to actually give a shit about.”

“Shit, um,” the boy ran a hand through his mountain of brunette hair. He had obviously never been in this situation before. Not that you expected him to have weekly therapy sessions with girls crying in his bathroom. He had different kinds of sessions. He leaned back on the counter next to you deflated, “if it makes you feel any better, my dad’s an asshole too.”

“At least he’s still around,” you looked down toying at the lint on his sweatpants.

“Barely,” he scoffed. His lips pressed together and his knuckles turned white, grabbing the edge of the counter. “A year ago I saw him cheating on my mom. Before I got the balls to tell her, she’d already found out. And so all the getaway vacations so they can work on their marriage or some shit. Not that he’s great to be around when he’s home either,” he admitted.

You hardly recognized the boy next to you. Usually full of charm and charisma, his shoulders were now slumped and his head hung to the floor. He let the party boy next door facade slip away. It wasn’t easy sitting on the throne, entertaining your subjects. While it didn’t excuse Steve of sometimes being as much of an asshole as Tommy and Carol. Maybe he was more than that. You could tell he was angry but too exhausted to care anymore. You understood.

“I’m sorry,” you softly placed a hand on his.

“Me too,” he responded, looking up at you through the hair that had flopped in his face. You broke eye contact, clearing your throat.

“Well then,” you turned to your side, taking your water a smirk playing upon your lips. “Here’s to shit fathers.”

“I’ll drink to that, Henderson.”

Tags

@stiles24ever​

[lilsum4]

Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind - Chapter 9

You did it, you won. You made me sit down and write and update. Every time I thought “no one cares anymore,” one of your comments would come in and remind me that this story exists. Your kudos, comments, well-wishes and dogged perseverance won. So here is an update, 4 years later.

Special thanks to @davidtennantstrainers​, who always chimed in with a “still waiting! you okay?” when I least expected one.

Read on AO3 if you prefer.

Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind - Chapter 9

She had forgotten that gravity's a right bitch.

Donna stumbles, quite literally, out of the TARDIS doors with as much grace as a newborn fawn. Or as though she's single-handedly imbibed a pub's stock of lager. Nerys' center of gravity feels horribly off and inhabiting these foreign limbs takes practice.

To add insult to injury, Nerys is also wearing truly uncomfortable wedding shoes, and she can already feel a pinch in her toes developing.

Once out the doors she uses the TARDIS to re-balance and keep from falling flat on her face. With hands upon warm wood, she realizes that, for the first time ever, she has an opportunity to examine the TARDIS from the outside. She's never had a chance before. So now she runs her fingertips over the aged, blue paint -- tottering around it in a full circle, in awe at the machine. "Look at you!" she breathes, inspecting the details, from the message on the door to the actual working telephone. "You're amazing!"

Donna throws her arms wide against the police box in a hug, squeezing tight, relishing the rough texture of it under her hands, real skin pressing against solidness. It's perfect. "Thank you," she whispers now, her own little secret message, "For taking me in. Giving me a home. I won't get to hug you for real again -- so thank you."

The TARDIS feels somehow content under her touch, so Donna thinks the TARDIS appreciates it.

She finally pulls back and turns, finding the Doctor standing a few feet away, watching her with a warm, secret gaze.

"What!" she demands in her brassiest tone. Well, Nerys' brassiest tone.

"Nothing," he grins. He extends a hand to her. "Come on. Aren't we supposed to be getting your friend to her wedding?"

She reaches forward and takes his hand and that feels perfect, too.

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

Several things happen rapid-fire after that:

She screams at the Doctor for not thinking about bringing money with him. She's the ghost along for the ride; it really should be up to the living to think about details like that, and it's not like he's green at this whole "unforeseen adventure" shtick. He says, one too many times, "Don't get too comfortable in that body," like she can forget, christ on a cracker, that this is temporary! And so then she accidentally-on-purpose leaves him behind when he's not paying attention, because he's being a git about this whole unintended possession thing and by god, she's allowed a bit of fun, ain't she - just for the little time before Nerys gets her skinny body back?

In the taxi, Donna bounces delightedly on the seat, actually enjoying London traffic for once. She doesn't get to enjoy if for long, as the driver turns out to be a Santa robot, and then Donna puts Nerys' body in mortal danger by diving out of a moving car, into the Doctor's waiting arms.

It's an awkward leap that's more flailing limbs, a hope, and a prayer, than anything else. She doesn't think the Doctor quite understands how utterly foreign this body feels -- how any body would feel after all this time -- and it's really a miracle that she doesn't land with a splat on the busy motorway.

When she does, against all odds, land with the Doctor's surprisingly solid body beneath hers, it takes her a moment to stop relishing the sensation of someone pressed against her. It's been soooo long.

But she does, in fact, remember that this is not her body. So in that moment when the Doctor and her are face to face and shocked into stillness, it strikes her that it's not Donna he's looking at, watching out for, holding hands with. It's Nerys.

She commands trembling limbs to lever herself to sit, in a pool of white skirts, on the floor. Excitement and adrenaline subside so that all that's left is an unwelcome pang in her chest. A deep, watery breath doesn't help the bite of realization that, as wrapped in giddy excitement as she is to take part in an adventure, none of this is truly happening to Donna. None of this is about her. It never is.

The Doctor has scrambled off to right the bucking TARDIS, consumed in flipping levers and pulling switches and dealing with a growing plume of smoke.

Donna watches him for a moment, then tells herself she really should get up. She's wrinkling Nerys' dress. The dress that should have been Donna's.

The sentence slips from her mouth without actual thought: "I looked better in it, you know."

"Hm?" the Doctor queries, distracted, more concerned with landing them safely.

"The dress. I looked better in it."

The Doctor finally looks up to find Donna slowly standing, smoothing down layers of tulle, looking down at her friend's form.

The Doctor recalls Donna only as an amorphous grey mass with terrifying pits for eyes, but looking at her in that borrowed body now, with a cocked hip, radiating attitude, he can imagine she must have been a force to be reckoned with. And for a moment that niggle of memory hits him again -- of gold-nebulae eyes, staring into his, and hair red as the fields of Gallifrey. He shakes it off, as he always does, as a fancy of regeneration sickness.

The TARDIS pauses its bucking as he finishes banging a button into submission, but flies smoothly enough - despite the growing smoke - for him to step away from the console and towards her. "You keep saying it's your dress. I don't recall you mentioning you were engaged?"

Donna keeps her gaze lowered, one hand going to a tiny rip in the beading along the side.

"No, I wasn't. It was just, you know, hopeful thinking. Picking out your future dress so your mates don't end up filching your style. One of those silly things. But I really did love this dress, ever since we saw it once when we were window shopping. And then she goes and takes it!"

The Doctor is grinning, but as the seconds beat by and she continues to look down, he begins to suspect that her sassy pose and ire are all an act.

"Donna?" he asks carefully.

"I tried it on at the shop and everything. Even Nerys agreed it looked good, and getting a compliment out of her was a fucking miracle."

He reaches out a tentative hand and places it on her shoulder.

She looks up finally, trying to smile through a trembling chin, her eyes suspiciously wet. "I ripped it. She's gonna be so angry."

"You saved her life. She'll get over it."

For a moment he thinks she'll say more, thinks that gravity will win the battle with the tears he sees in dishwater blue eyes. But instead Donna squares her friend's shoulders and lifts her chin, all traces of vulnerability wiped from Nerys' face as if they'd never been there. "Damn straight! Now, where did you land us?" she sails out the door, leaving the Doctor looking after her.

He has to wonder now how many times he's missed that vulnerability, invisible to everyone, any nuance lost under the loud voice and funny quips that only he gets to hear but never see.

The light is bright, the wind whipping Nery's careful blonde chignon out of shape, as the Doctor follows Donna out onto the rooftop.

Donna sighs. "Forget the dress; I've gone and messed up her wedding."

"No you haven't. It's not your fault she got pulled into the TARDIS. Obviously, something's after Nerys."

"But who would want to be after Nerys?" asks Donna. "It must be some sort of mix up."

She shivers as she sits on the roof's edge, and he finds a long-dormant impulse kicking in. He takes of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders.

Donna smirks -- the Doctor has to wonder what that smirk would look like on her real face -- and gives him a little eye-roll. "Of course this sad excuse for a jacket fits Nerys. You both are skinny as rats."

"Oi, I'm trying to be a gentleman here. Doesn't happen often, you know!"

She bumps his shoulder playfully. "Right, right." She burrows deeper into his jacket, and he watches her fingers play over the pinstriped material as if memorizing the texture. He sees it again, that flash of sorrow quickly buried. He has the strangest impulse to wrap an arm around her, to somehow comfort her into getting that well-hidden dejection cleansed from her gaze.

"Don't really even know what we were trying to accomplish, really. I mean, so if we'd gotten her back to the wedding, then what? I'd still be stuck in her," she muses, looking off at the cityscape.

"Maybe she'd force you out, not wanting to miss her own wedding. Moot point, now. We have to figure out why she's being hunted, and fix it."

"Poor Nerys. Chased around on her wedding day," Donna sighs and shivers again.

The Doctor shifts at her side, the urge to hug her almost overwhelming now, but he resists and instead digs in his trouser pockets until his fingers touch metal. He pulls out a ring, and offers it to Donna, palm up.

She gapes at his hand for a second, before carefully asking, "What's that for?" There's a catch in her voice.

"Biodamper. It will hide Nerys' biological signature from the robots. Should buy us some time." He offers it again but her hands stay resolutely on her lap, until he takes one in his own and slides the ring on her finger. Her hands are trembling. From the cold, perhaps?

"With this ring, I thee biodamp," he teases.

Her fingers curl in his. This time Donna can't hide her feelings fast enough, and Nerys’ face shifts into an expression of sadness and longing.

"For better or for worse," whispers Donna.

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

Donna knows Nerys better than anyone, and has been hearing of her fairytale wedding plans since they were 15 and sneaking out of school. She gets it in one when she guesses where the reception would have been held.

"You had the reception without Ner- uh - me?!" Donna asks, appalled, upon entering the ballroom.

"Why not? You decided to pull that prank, so why waste all this?" begins Beatrice, attired in an appallingly ugly orange bridesmaid dress. Donna never much had liked Beatrice.

"Wasn't anyone worried?" Donna exclaims. "What kind of friends are you?!"

Lance -- LANCE! -- comes up to her. "Now, sweetheart. Don't fret so. We all knew you'd turn up. No case of cold feet would keep you away for long, right?"

"Lance?" she wonders, befuddled. Why was he even here?

He hugs her (and oh man, he was fit!), and a niggling suspicion has her pulling back just far enough to peruse his well-fitted tux and the expensive flower at his lapel. Donna stumbles back. Nerys...that absolute man-stealing cow!

It unfolds then, between friends and bridesmaids trying to placate her with glasses of wine, how she shouldn't be too angry. How lucky she is that Lance took her prank in a stride. How of course they were soulmates; it was fate that they'd meet at her friend's funeral who'd--

Wait, hold up! Donna reaches out and snatches the cocktail the Doctor had been nursing right out of his hand, to down in one gulp. Donna's funeral. They'd met at her own damn funeral! Now she really is fuming, and doesn't feel one whit guilty when the music strikes back up and Lance drags her onto the dance floor.

She's tearing up the dance floor, because...well, because she can. This, all of this, should have bloody well been Donna's, and so if anyone has the right to be dancing with Lance right now, it's her!

The Doctor hangs back, indulgent, letting her have her moment of fun. She winks at him over Lance's shoulder and the Doctor raises a new, fruity drink to her in reply. A conga line forms and she snags him into joining as they pass by, and then they're making a joyous circle around the room and she spins to laugh at some wry comment the Doctor makes about how conga lines are so much more fun when done on a planet with zero gravity, and it's all so wonderful that she forgets, for a little while, that this isn't hers and it isn't her future they're celebrating and then...

Then, she spies the quiet couple seated at a table on the fringes, and reality rears its head once more. Her feet cement themselves to the floor so that the Doctor crashes into her before pulling her out of the way as the conga line reforms without them.

"What is it?" the Doctor asks, scanning for danger as the blood has drained from her wine-flushed face.

"My parents," whispers Donna. Sylvia and Geoff, looking a little older, a little more tired. The smiles they aim in her direction, however, are as familiar as always.

It takes her several uncertain steps to make it to them, and the well wishes and hugs she receives pass in a blur. A quick impression of warm hands and Sylvia's favorite perfume, Geoff's hearty laugh. Donna has no memory, later, of what she said or how she forced Nerys' lips into a smile. Of how she was able to nod when Donna's own name was brought up and how much they wished she could be there to celebrate with her dear friend.

The Doctor is waiting, hands ready to grip her cold fingers, when she staggers back to him and begs, "Please, get me out of here." And right on time, the baubles on the decorative Christmas tree begins to explode.

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

Donna can confirm that after being kidnapped from your wedding, finding out your rubbish friends held the reception without you, and then finding out you’re being poisoned, a great distraction from your troubles is to barrel down maintenance tunnels in a Segway. It is so ridiculous that the laughter bubbles up without warning, until she and the Doctor are hooting and giggling and altogether having a swell time. Unfortunately, Lance is an utter killjoy.

Well of course he is, the two-timing arse - turns out he was cheating on Nerys with a spider.

"Is it always like this when you go adventuring," whispers Donna, much later, back on the TARDIS and watching the world being born. "The bits of chaos and the danger and the wonder?"

"Yep. 'S great, isn't it?" grins the Doctor, before noting that a wayward tear is further smudging Nerys' makeup

"I'm sorry about your friend's fiancee," offers the Doctor.

"Hmm," nods Donna. . She presses a cold hand to her chest. "She's so shocked inside. Oh, poor Nerys. What an absolute wanker Lance is. But this," she takes a deep breath now, staring at the kaleidoscope of colors outside the door as dust coalesces into her planet, "this puts it all in perspective, doesn't it. I hope it helps her."

It doesn't, not really. Or at least not right this moment, as she continues to sense Nerys aching in betrayal. But maybe one day in the future, Nerys will think back to this vista no other human has seen before, and heal.

The moment of calm is shattered as they’re pulled back to earth, and Donna heartily wishes her friend hadn’t chosen these horrible shoes for the wedding as she finds herself sprinting to keep up with the Doctor once more.

"So these Huon particles," Donna wheezes once the Doctor brings them to a stop at a maintenance door. "I still don't understand. What are they for?"

"They're an ancient form of energy, energy that's necessary for the Racnoss to rise. They need a living host to catalyze, and Nerys is it."

"You think maybe that's what's making me stick to her? Cuz it feels like how the TARDIS can keep me anchored" she ponders, watching him take out a stethoscope. She's pretty sure he's just fucking around at this point, he's such a drama queen.

He pauses suddenly, eyes going wide before whirling at her. Excited, happy hands gesticulate wildly. "Yes! Oh, yes! I'd forgotten entirely that you're stuck. Aren't you clever! The Huon particles, they're so old that the only other surviving particles power the heart of the TARDIS. They're like the little plus sides to your minus--"

"Oi, watch it."

"--an ancient magnet, keeping you in place!"

"Well gold star for me! Does that mean when you get them out of her I can finally leave?"

"Yep," enthuses the Doctor, back to inspecting the door he's so hell-bent on opening. "We'll sort that out back in the TARDIS, and then 'poof!', you're back to your role as resident ghost and Nerys is back to her boring life, probably knee-deep in wedding bills. Really, the wedding industry is a scam, I don't understand why--"

It occurs to him that he can't hear Donna’s labored breathing hovering over his shoulder any longer. He whirls back around and, of course, she's gone.

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

"I fucking hate you. To think, it could have been me!" spits Donna, now suspended in a web beside Wanker!Lance.

He sneers, and Donna wonders that she ever found him attractive.

The Racnoss Queen forces the Huon particles out of the both of them, and Donna's ire for her friend is derailed as she begins to feel the tendrils holding her in place begin to dissipate. Goddammit, why did she have to be right this time! If she's forced out here, she's going to be lost!

She digs in tight, trying to keep within this borrowed body. The Huon particles want to take her with them, but she's not going to go without a fight! She calls out furiously to Nerys within her mind. "Help me stay!"

Nerys continues to cower in a tiny corner of her mind, nursing hurt and horror and disbelief. Donna is grasping tight with a strength she didn't know she had, seeking out the cells within Nerys' body that contain the tiniest footprints of Huon energy still, ingrained after 6 months of being dosed. But she's not going to be able to hold on for long by herself. "For god's sake, Nerys, be useful for once! What, you want this cheating bastard and his spider mistress to win?! You end up as spider food and Beatrice gets first dibs at any eligible bachelors at your funeral this time around?”

That does it. She feels Nerys psyche uncurl, ponder, and finally lash out a mental hand, clawing back at Donna, gripping at her with Nerys' signature bitchy stubbornness. A final, mighty heave from Nerys has Donna settling back into Nerys' body with a palpable jerk. "You better fucking get me out of here alive, Donna!" she hears Nerys say to her. "It's your fault I even met him!"

And isn't that classic Nerys.

The Doctor, thankfully, arrives right on time. He doesn’t catch her, the dunce, but at least Nerys is not spider food, so that’s a win. She’s sure she’ll remember Lance’s fall for a long time, though. Is even more sure she’ll remember the Racnoss Queen’s frenzied sobbing and screams of “My babies” for much longer.

Which leaves Donna now standing in ankle deep water, staring at a stranger.

The Doctor, a silent and grim executioner, is perhaps the scariest thing she's seen today, or ever.

The water is rising rapidly, the screams of dying Racnoss long faded. "Doctor, you can stop now!"

He looks down at her with burning eyes, this stranger wearing the Doctor's face, and it's almost scary how well she can read him right now. How unfair it is that the Racnoss survived and his people didn't. How horrible it is to be the last. How easy it would be to just watch the water rise. The relief it would be to let go and finally, finally rest.

"What's death like, Donna?" he whispers to her and she hears it just fine, even over the rushing water.

She gulps, terrified. But she forces her borrowed voice to be strong. "Boring. Endless. Pointless. Is that what you want? Because it's not what Nerys wants." It's not what I want for you.

He closes his eyes, finally, and when he reopens them it's the Spaceman she's used to looking back at her. "Let's get her out of here, then."

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

The Doctor has made it snow for her.

"It's time, Donna," he says to her quietly.

"I know," she sighs. She shuffles her feet a little, enjoying the solidity of dirt underfoot. Even the ache in her arches and pinching in her toes is welcome. She rubs her hands over cold arms. Skin and bone and a voice and will and action. She's about to let go of all of it.

"You need somebody, you know," she says abruptly, using hands that aren't hers to reach for the Doctor's grasp. "Out here with you, a companion. You should find someone else, someone new. Like I told you before."

"I don't need anyone," he denies gruffly, though he grips her fingers tight.

"Yes you do. You need someone to share in the adventures and because... sometimes you need someone to stop you," she replies, kindly. Somebody to live for. And it can't be me.

He blinks rapidly at her. Wayward tears or snow in his eyes? She can't tell because she is blinking just as hard.

“Not Nerys, though!"

He chokes out a laugh, scrubbing one hand over his face. “No, not Nerys. Not now that you’re finally going to be free of her.”

She grins, trying to be strong, and nervously smooths her hands over her ruined dress. "Okay, well, here goes nothing. You know she's going to freak the holy hell out as soon as I leave her, right?" she begins. She wants to ask for a hug again, because she needs it, but she feels stupid asking.

Though she does quickly remember something else. "Wait! Oh here, save this for me." She slides the biodamper off Nerys’ finger.

The Doctor takes it from her with a confused look. "It's useless now, you know. No harm in it for her."

"But it's mine," she confesses in a rush. "Not Nerys'. You gave it to me and it's ...it's the closest I ever..." her throat clogs up, "closest I got to getting a ring from someone. Even when I was alive I..."

The Doctor's sympathetic eyes do her in, utterly, and she finds herself suddenly shouting, "Why did I have to die!"

To her horror, she feels tears sliding down Nerys’ pale cheeks. Her bottom lip is trembling, her chest aching, breaths staggering. She’d forgotten how much it physically hurt being so sad.

Then she is being enfolded in the Doctor's arms, his hug wonderfully tight as he shushes her and rocks her. And she didn't even have to ask.

She reaches around him, fists clutching his coat. She'd forgotten, too, how it felt to be comforted.

She is the one who finally pulls back, because it's too tempting to cling to him longer. She looks away and scrubs her eyes. The Doctor continues to gaze at her with soft understanding, slipping the ring into a pocket before reaching for her hands once more. "Donna..." he begins.

But she is embarrassed enough already, crying and snotty, and Nerys is not a pretty crier. She abruptly uses the Doctor's grip on her to pull herself out of this borrowed body. This time, Nerys is more than happy to let her go, and it's almost like a cork popping out of a champagne. The force of it throws Nerys back and Donna is left a ghost once more, with a firm grip on the Doctor to keep her tethered.

Nerys catches her footing, stares, smacks the Doctor hard across the face, and turns tail to run away, screaming, "HELP! Martians are real!"

"What the hell was that for!" exclaims the Doctor. He shakes his head at the retreating form of the woman, and heads back through the TARDIS doors. He ensures that Donna's hand is firm in his before closing the door, because she remains silent. Nerys is still screaming and scrambling towards her front door when the TARDIS disappears.

It's only after the TARDIS is in the vortex that he realizes he can feel Donna's hand in his as if she were solid.

[donotexterminateupgradepudding]

Why I’m absolutely obsessed with Wilson from “House MD” (part 1)

Seriously, I am obsessed with Wilson. I started watching ‘House MD’, since ‘Hey, I have amazon prime.’ and I was looking for a long series.  I had recalled people mentioning the series in passing over the years, and they seemed to love it.  But it was on air during my great period of no TV and little pop culture knowledge (2003-2014), where I either owned no TV, no internet at home or limited internet at home.   

So into the pop culture TV fandom of ‘House MD’ did I go. . . . and for the most part I overall enjoyed it up through season 6.  My personal feelings are that they should have ended it there, 7 got disjointed and 8 was well, only going through the motions of the previous 7.

What did I get out of this the most? That I absolutely love - Wilson who is House’s best friend from some point after his arrival to the staff of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.  Which happened at some point in the mid-90s. 

But really, who wouldn’t love this?

Really, it is that soft smile that gets me every time and his classic professional look. 

The House timeline is a bit slippy between all the writers and the length of the series, so, I will not drive my anal retentive self to construct a more accurate timeline.  It is clear that yes, they became friends sometime in the 90s, likely early 90s, but that House suggested Wilson apply for his position at some point which he accepted in part, to search for his missing brother.

I quickly became interested in Wilson in the show early on.  The first indication was in the pilot episode when House determined that Wilson lied to him to take the case, even though most of his actions indicated that he appeared to be the ‘model’ compassionate and caring doctor.  

What really got me interested in him though was S1E5 when it is near Christmas and starts out with Wilson and House at the central desk discussing Dante’s Inferno and charting hell.  This is the first episode that Wilson really gets pushy with House and his response to the case as the viewer gets to see a character who tries to understand events though the more emotional response.

The scene is very well shot.  Wilson approaches House alone at the desk, again playing around with a piece of paper, two coffees (or some other hot beverage in hand).

I even like the difference in their outfits, Wilson with warm browns while House is wearing all black.  Their body language here is interesting.  House the normally “I’m right!” is a bit hunched over, while Wilson is the one with his feet up on the desk as he leans back (he’s right this time).  We also get an interesting angle where Wilson appears very closed off to the viewer.

Wilson even asks House what he is doing for Christmas while not even making eye contact with him.  Wilson’s expression is one of trying to convince House to join him at the holiday dinner at his home with his wife and implied other people. Due to House’s immediate rejection of the offer, Wilson has a brief moment of odd facial expressions ending here before he responds.

That perhaps he’ll come over to House’s place.  Which is such a loaded statement.  Unable to get House to join him, he pretty much immediately invites himself over to House’s place.  This indicates several things that we learn about him, i.) House calls him out on leaving his wife alone ii.) Wilson is likely concerned about House being alone.

Which ends their conversation with Wilson clearly stating that he does not want to talk about his wife who is used to being alone.  Highlighted with this expression, a clear, ‘that’s all you get’ House.

He’s obviously not happy with the situation, but even at the cost of it, he’s going to hang out with House instead.  After Cuddy wishes both of them a “Merry Christmas!” it leaves House oddly speechless and Wilson is the one to make the remark that it was “sweet” of her.

The action then shifts to Wilson at House’s apartment (oh yes, that never to be seen after season 1, third (?) floor apartment) where they are clearly enjoying Chinese take out, beer and each other’s company with lots of smiles.

These two scenes were the ones which really caught my attention in regards to Wilson.  It establishes that he must have more in common with House than the show has revealed to date, and that his relationship with him important enough that he’s risking his marriage (or at least putting a major strain on it) to continue his relationship with House.  It also shows that even though Wilson was really keeping House in check during the past few days, that it doesn’t matter once they are away from PPTH.

This also shows us that Wilson is not just this friendly, compassionate character to serve as an exact foil to House as his best friend.  No, Wilson’s character is also going to develop as a character who is just as nuanced and flawed as House, but that they complement each other.

The plot moves this quickly forward with S1E7, “Fidelity” about a patient who cheated on her husband.  The Diagnostics team show their personalities more in this episode in how they respond to the drama surrounding the patient, while Wilson’s image as ‘Mr. Perfect’ continues to be deconstructed.

House calls Wilson out on his new tie, the green polka dot tie.  Apparently, Wilson is as much of a creature of habit as House and he has a preset tie rotation which is his status quo.  House notices that this green tie is not a present from his wife (since he somehow knows she doesn’t like green) and that Wilson wants to look pretty.  At first, he’s simply listening to House.

But as the evidence begins to pile up, Wilson admits defeat with his eyes long before says anything here.  Specifically, this is whenever Wilson doesn’t want to say something or explain further due to the fact that he knows he’s been caught.  He always looks away.

I have to commend RSL as an actor, he’s seriously underrated, but incredibly talented.  The way that he looks like a teenager caught in a lie here is so good as he has no choice but to smirk at House’s line of reasoning.

Even better yet, is how it is so clear that Wilson thinks he looks handsome in this tie.  Cuddy approaches the two of them and House is responding to her.  What is Wilson doing? He’s smiling slightly while he adjusts his freakkin’ tie!  The tie of seduction.

To keep balance in the conversation, they change to a camera angle where Cuddy is facing the camera and Wilson and House have their back/side to the camera.  Clearly, the shots were done in two different takes since it catches Wilson saying something while adjusting his tie again. 

I think that they just wanted one shot of RSL doing the tie adjustment, but he likely did it for both takes on the scene at different points in time.  Either way, I love the shot above where House is too busy speaking with Cuddy to notice Wilson be like “Hey Cuddy, nice tie eh?”.  I think this is pretty clear confirmation that Wilson as early as season 1 shows potential interest in Cuddy, but he can’t do anything about it yet, so he just tests the water by being like “Oh hey.  I look handsome.” [touches tie for emphasis]

The episode continues with House attempting to determine who Wilson is looking good for at PPTH.  He tries to guess someone in accounting just to rile and bait Wilson after seeing his stylish outfit of the day.  I’m personally a fan of Wilson’s stylish outfit which shows again that he’s in a confident mood based on his casual lean into the door frame (if you could call it that, since the glass really isn’t a real door frame).

House insists that his lips may say no, but his shoes say yes.  Yet, Wilson continues to banter back with the idea that French shoes can’t be trusted, and as predicted most of his reply is based on him avoiding direct eye contact with House.

House continues his hypothesis and Wilson at first smiles back at him (first image in this post) as he’s just maintaining his status quo look.  However, he can’t keep it up and he laughs as he looks down.

What is so interesting is how House continues to push him with who it could be, he continues to laugh and look away from House while keeping his hands in his pockets.  Interesting, when Wilson is very emotional, he’ll make strong gestures with his hands.  The fact that he’s keeping his hands in his pockets implies to me that he’s trying to be cool with things.

What gets him in trouble is his admission that he “wouldn’t date a patient’s daughter.”

House points out that most married men don’t discuss dating at all, pushing Wilson to finally retort back that there was no date.

He finally admits that he went out to lunch with one of the nurses in his department.  The interesting part is how honest and sincere he is and adds on that it was to help her through the tough aspect of the position, emotionally.  Which House makes it very clear to the viewer that Wilson has an issue with being nice and implies it gets him into trouble with the ladies.

Wilson makes it clear that he wanted to be nice.

And House points out that his desire to be nice is part of his ‘charm’.  This is such an informative statement as it lets the viewer know that this isn’t some sort of ‘one off’, he has a track record of involving himself with women at the hospital with whom he is not in a committed relationship with.  This also shows us that House is getting amusement out of the situation that Wilson has placed himself in.  It this House being jealous of Wilson’s ability to pretty much pick up anyone?  Or that it makes him feel better to tease him?

The conversation is interrupted by Cuddy and they leave things hanging.  However, this episode is not done with the deep dive into Wilson’s personal life.  Wilson starts off on the offensive about the treatment for the patient who House is certain that cheated on her husband.  Wilson believes that people can be ‘good’ in relationships.

This quickly backfires on him, as House uses his own past and current behaviours to discredit Wilson’s own argument. With House’s own line of “you need to tell me that” again gets that soft giggle/laugh from Wilson.

Of course, Wilson is not making eye contact with House as he smugly looks at Wilson for his reaction. This obviously makes Wilson upset as the right hand is waved quite predominately for emphasis and he even punctuates his statement with a wave of the chart in his left hand.

This entire conversation happens as House has a perpetually smug expression.  I also find it interesting that they are having this rather morally ‘damming’ conversation in the middle of a busy hallway, which also implies that neither of them care about their public images that much.  Or the fact that Wilson is denying his infidelities means it is okay to verbalize it in public.

House is willing to admit that he knows that Wilson loves his wife as he just laughs and sighs back as neither of them can look at each other.

But, the kid gloves come off as House continues the statement that he knows Wilson loves his wife, just like he loved his other wives, providing critical character development and background information.  That Wilson has been married and divorced at least two other times.  If he had only one ex, House would have said something along the lines of ‘your previous wife’.  House pushes it even further to be that Wilson loves all of the women he’s ever loved just like his ex-wives.  I love how this line of dialogue tells us so much about his character, he’s a very compassionate person. He also clearly cares about others and he has always approached romantic relationships in such a way that he was very emotionally involved with the person he was seeing.

But Wilson takes great offense to that and it begins the moral argument between them.  I love how his body language shifts from loose and smiling to a serious furrowed brow.

Wilson is hurt by House mocking him and the fact that he’s cared about the people he’s been romantically involved with and this makes 100% sense - of course he’d love every person he was intimate with.  It is the only way he could connect with them.

However, with Wilson now upset, his entire body language shifts as he tells House that can really be a jerk sometimes. This is interesting as it means that Wilson doesn’t see House as much of a jerk as others do.

Wilson’s argument is that he tries his best to be good so that is what matters and that allows him to ‘get away’ with imperfect behavior in relationships.  he isn’t excusing his behaviours, he’s just rationalizing that at his core, he tries his best.  Of course, House doesn’t think he has the right to claim to be better.

The flip side is the House viewpoint, since he doesn’t care about anyone, he can say whatever he wants to. But Wilson calls him out that he tries to get away with being an ass since he doesn’t even try to care.  House argues back that as long as they both exist it is okay; with Wilson trying to be good, but failing with the right intent and House not giving a damn, but pointing out the truth they could combine their powers.

This joke unfortunately is too much for Wilson and he scoffs at House, sighs loudly and sulks off.

These two episodes are important for establishing the core House-Wilson dynamic as well as their opposing and overlapping parts of their philosophies.  Already, the viewer knows that House doesn’t give a damn for social conventions and pleasantries and that Wilson does his best to follow them most of the time.  As the show continues, it is clear that Wilson follows many societal norms not because he agrees with them, but because he understands the value that they bring and that they make his own life easier. 

The first time House goes to court to fight a patient in S1E9. The only other person who is there to support him is Wilson.  Wilson sits behind the defense and points out to House that his personal passion may get him in trouble with the law.  It will become a reoccurring theme for Wilson to be the only character in the background to support House.  Sure, Cuddy also has his back but Wilson is the constant.

Whenever House digs himself into a deep hole or is at risk of failing at office politics, Wilson is the one to warn him.

The first example of this is with the arrival of Vogler as the new chairman of the board in S1E14.  Again, the way this scene was shot lets us know very quickly that we are to pay attention to Vogler and Wilson.  Specifically, how rapidly Wilson gets a read and feel for the man.  During the opening credits he’s listening to Vogler attentively.

This is a serious neutral expression for him.  As Vogler begins his personal story, Wilson is almost frowning before he switches to what could be described as a customer service smile after this scene below.

The way that he goes from a serious look to a friendly, “Oh haha, I’m smiling with you” is uncanny.  Once Vogler begins to define his vision for PPTH we get several contemplative and concerned expressions from him.  He quickly goes from neutral here:

To a deeper thought of, “hrm, this isn’t sounding too great.”

The shot pans out to the board beginning to applaud the remarks.  Interestingly, he isn’t one of the first members to clap nor is he exactly the last, but he lingers on his decision and claps rather politely but not enthusiastically as he looks at Vogler.

What is more telling is his rapid glance away, and towards Cuddy to his right.  I wish we knew if Cuddy made eye contact with him or not. The best shot though is the final one, his reaction to Vogler’s announcement that there will be ‘big’ changes.  And this is a classic “OH FUCK!”, response from him as he fake smiles as he already knows that it will mean for him, the Oncology Department Head and . . .

. . . more importantly, his best friend, House, is royally fucked with this guy in charge.  Since it is already obvious that House blows at office politics.  This again establishes the push and pull of their friendship as both men have strengths and weaknesses that compliment each other.

Now, before going on any further, I want to stop and pause about how I think the writers were more interesting with this House-Wilson dynamic. 

If “House MD” suffered from lazy writing to meet many of the criteria/elements of a 90s-2000s show, I know exactly what they would have done.  They would have made Wilson a female character.  House’s overly analytical, caustic attitude would have been balanced by a friendly, in touch with her emotions type of character, a Jane Wilson instead.  She’d be outwardly modest, cute, but not sexy.  Her emotional state would be reflected in her dating woes with men, who she’d fall hard and fast for and would be unable to keep them because she’s too attached to House as a friend.  She would be the trope of the ‘saving female who can’t save herself’. 

Thankfully, the creative team did not follow this predictable trope and instead, gave us the Wilson that we see, the sensitive male character who based on sweeping societal norms and generalizations would be seen as a female character.  Furthermore, if you are one of those people who is into the MBTI personality classification, he types out as the rarest of the male types - the INFJ male; both when you look at the 16 personalities website and the writer’s guide to the MBTI.

Links to both here: https://www.16personalities.com/infj-personality

https://mbtifiction.com/2015/09/14/dr-james-wilson/

A subtle nod to the fact that Wilson is ‘filling in’ for a female character is shown in S1E15 when House is ‘gifted’ with the ‘65 Corvette by the New Jersey mafia.  It shows that both of them are morally bankrupt enough to make use of the car with House at the wheel and Wilson giving him a hard time about his driving skills in the passenger seat.

Even more so, House tries to get Wilson to shut up while Wilson is laughing next to him, as his backseat driving is still appreciated by House as we see his subtle smile at the same time.

Again, it leads us to ask why is Wilson enjoying a fun car ride with House, when he could be at home spending time with his current spouse.  No, it isn’t like Wilson is actively avoid marital conflict to hang out with House. . . .

Lastly, Wilson even asks House if he’d be willing to lend him the Corvette with a very excited facial expression that it directed at the back of House’s head as they walk in the hallway.

Wilson may try to do the best that he can, but when something is in proxy to House, he forgets the moral and emotional response and choose the analytical and rational response.  ‘Cause my best friend is the one who gained this car illegally.  So sure, I can rationalize wanting to borrow it, I mean I didn’t get this ‘gift’.

 S1E17 has the introduction of our Barack Obama stand in character.  Wilson is the only person on staff who questions House’s change of opinion on the man’s HIV test results.  This leads to Wilson’s awesome statement that House didn’t just believe him, he believed in him. With the fist pump to match.  House hangs his head in shame since he knows he’s about to get a good teasing from Wilson.

I loved how Wilson realizes it has to do with House’s current team.  The show makes a point that the Diagnostics team of Chase, Cameron and Foreman are unusual in the fact that they complete the full terms of their fellowships.  Chase even seemed to have a longer one since he got fired, but was the most senior of the team members. Sure Cameron quit in protest, but it also is implied to have done at least the full amount of her term.  Wilson knows that this team is important to House.

He knows that they influence him more than other teams as they actually have gotten closer to him than any over team to date.  In this instance, he specifically thinks it is Cameron’s influence which House tries to shrug off.  I love his line of inviting House to come over tonight to watch old movies with him and cry.  Since we know Wilson totally cries when watching movies.  But what unsettles House is the Cameron bit, Wilson states that he may have already put the moves on her and House tries to shrug it off.  This is the dead give away that House likes Cameron on some level and Wilson has won the lotto.  House has some sort of interest in Cameron.  On some level.

He’s too amused that House does have some sort of crush.  Or maybe a “House-crush” as in the type of crush House has.  Either way, Wilson is giggling in delight at a very awkward House escaping into the elevator.

The next great Wilson scene is his reaction to House pissing Volger off by defeating the spirit of the law with the letter of the law.  He gave a speech.  A terrible speech.  First off, Wilson looks at House with curiosity while Cuddy is concerned.  While Cuddy has potential shock, Wilson has bit of awe that House is being, well House.

The best part is when House seals his fate.  Cuddy looks like she could murder him if she could while Wilson is hiding his face in his hand, which if you watch the scene really closely, he’s trying hard to not laugh and smirking.  Sure, he can be like *sigh* House . . . but Wilson is keeping himself professional.  Despite, likely not being too surprised.

Cuddy has a feeling of exasperation while Wilson is smirking as he tries to hold it together.  Yeah, I saw that smirking Wilson.  You are both amazed and concerned that your best friend dug himself into an even deeper hole.

But hey, it was hilarious!

Of course, House’s reckless behavior does catch up to him by S1E18, “Babies and Bathwater”.  The first time Wilson appears he looks worried, pulling House out of the Diagnostics common room with messy hair.  This isn’t his usual cute swoopy/swishy hair, this is true concerned fluff.  This means he’s likely been ruffling his hair in concern with his left hand, since he is left handed (RSL is left handed).  Either way, I like the way that his appearance is just subtly off, but enough to tell us that he’s worried about something.

His concerned face, in combination with the fluffy hair tells us several things.  First off, Wilson knows that Volger will make a move that will be smart.  House blows it off stating that he’s survived all the previous changes in the hospital and since Wilson is on the board, Volger can’t get rid of House. 

Second, unlike House who is banking on Wilson protecting him, Wilson is really worried as he senses this won’t be as easy as House expects.

This then plays out with the emergency board meeting where House is the only item on the agenda.  At first, it looks like everything will be okay.  Wilson is prepared and points out the issue with the vote on House’s dismissal.  I would like to note that in the show itself, Volger does not follow proper protocol, as he brings the item of House to the table and no one actually seconds his motion.  Technically, I’d expect Wilson to point out there was no second to Volger’s motion. He seems like the type of character to know his Robert’s Rules of Order inside and out.  Either way, the way that he fidgets and pretends to not care about Volger’s mini-speech about how PPTH should be a business drives him nuts.  His body language is clear that Wilson does not like him.

After the vote fails, Wilson points out that according to the bylaws there is a 24 hour period before they can bring any issue before the board again.  Several other members of the board are smirking, as they likely support Wilson, but aren’t as confident as he is in his defiance of Volger.  I also wonder if Cuddy and Wilson had an agreement to have Wilson be the one to play interference.  We know that Cuddy bet with House to not take Vicodin for a week was Wilson’s idea, not hers.  He looks a bit confident as he points out that Volger just can’t ask him to leave and have the vote without him.

And even though Wilson is a fairly pragmatic guy and an expert at office politics, he is totally outmaneuvered by Volger.  This shows us that Wilson may be very good at these sorts of things, he lacks the ruthless attitude that Volger has.  This makes sense, Wilson became a doctor because he’s a caring person.  He wouldn’t be as cutthroat as Volger is, willing to remove Wilson (House’s biggest advocate) even though he’s arguably one of the best department heads at PPTH.

He switches from a look here where he’s putting everything together.

To a complete look of sadness, knowing that despite being an excellent doctor and colleague, his friendship with House just cost him his position on the board.  He also knows that not everyone in that room is going to support him and he likely feels betrayed by other members of the board.

The scene has Wilson leave the room and we don’t know what happens until the next day when he is packing up his office.  House isn’t quite sure what is going on as he is emotionally is tossing things in boxes, with an angry pen/pencil toss into a box. 

And we get here, after the pen toss the angry Wilson face.

Which is interesting, since angry Wilson doesn’t look very angry.  His anger towards House isn’t normal; he looks sad and disappointed that he was the target of Volger’s wrath, collateral damage in the quest to fire House.  His sad puppy face shows that he wanted House to do more for him.  We learn that at this point in his life two things matter to him; i.) his job at PPTH and ii.) his friendship with House.  Yet, when he was faced with taking the fall with House, he accepted the chance to resign from PPTH as he was too emotional over things.  Wilson usually is in touch with his emotions and understands them, but when all alone and feeling it, he makes the rash decision to leave.

House confirms to him that Wilson’s actions meant something to him, even though Wilson knows he’d still do what he did regardless of the present outcome.  That’s how well they know each other.

Wilson shows his dark side when he smiles telling House that he’ll be joining him soon enough.

Of course, House wants to still know if there are any clinical trials and asks Wilson if he can still help him out. 

After having his back turned to House he turns around halfway to look at him with a taught facial expression.  The body language here is clear, ever since House walked into Wilson’s office, Wilson has been the one in charge, House has been hunched forward a bit and looks up towards Wilson or even talks to his back.

Now, he’s got his hands on his hips while House asks, but again looking up at Wilson.   You honestly have to give it to Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard, they nail the body language between these two characters, even if he doesn’t verbally say it, House will submit to Wilson and shows it through his more meek postures, letting Wilson know that he’s in charge and the better one at that moment. 

Of course, Wilson will look into things for House.  Because that is the type of person Wilson is.  And their body language in this scene shows that Wilson knows that House is going to want to save his patient.  And Wilson is doing his own job even if it is his last day.

However, Cuddy saves the day and the boys are able to celebrate in House’s office.  Wilson is sitting in House’s chair, while House leans against his side furniture.  Foreman and Chase are sitting at the two chairs opposite of Wilson.  Everything about this shows so much about the Wilson-House friendship.  House has difficulty standing and being comfortable, yet Wilson is sitting in his chair.

I wish we could know if Wilson took the chair knowing that House owed him for almost leaving PPTH or if House let Wilson take the chair for the same reason.  Either way, Wilson has House’s blessing to sit in his chair.

This also allows for an excellent angle of Wilson watching Cuddy chug her drink as he’s the character who makes an audible swallow.  You can tell he’s definitely reminding himself to never piss Cuddy off.

I’d also hazard a guess that he’s still checking out and in awe of Cuddy.  Sure, he’s still married, but Wilson is always looking.  And, I’d like to point out that since the beginning of the season the item that has been absent from Wilson’s hand is a wedding ring.  Not entirely sure if he doesn’t see the need to wear one on marriage number 3 or if he’s just not that kind of guy, or if it keeps him open to other possibilities. 

What are you thinking Wilson?  I’m old enough to know that when I meet new people if there is an interesting guy, to look at his hands.  Again, not all people wear wedding bands, but it is a very obvious signal to people who don’t know you.  It sends a clear signal to people, and Wilson is a character who does not take this easy step to signal that he’s married.

This episode was critical as it really lays down the foundations for the parameters of the friendship between House and Wilson.  It makes it clear that these two men care about each other; I would safely say that they love each other. 

Now, the nature of the love between them is very debatable.  I confidently feel that they at least love each other as close friends do.  That the friend in question is a main part of your life and that you care for and worry about the other person.  That person also lets you show your less than flattering side, which is a really important part of Wilson’s friendship with House.  He doesn’t have to play nice with House.  He can be more open and relaxed without fear for venting his feelings to him.  This comes out in the numerous comments that Wilson will utter over the years during banter with House.  If he were to be as sarcastic as he is with House alone, he’d be in trouble, but he keeps that side separate.

This indicates that as much as House needs Wilson to keep him from getting too crazy, Wilson needs to have House to not explode from staying calm all the time.

But, this is not a meta to deconstruct the House-Wilson relationship, this is just me gushing over how much I like Wilson and how he tries to support House in his own Wilson way.

This happens Wilson figures out that Cameron is coming back due to her date with House. He has such a look of excitement when he figures out the House gave into Cameron’s request.  This means that his observation that House at least finds Cameron attractive has him stoked.  He hops off of the table and turns to face House to confirm things and he’s far to giddy.  Then again, he knows his best friend hasn’t been on a date in over 5 years so he’s rooting for anything.

He knows House well enough that House is attempting to rationalize that he was forced into the date.  It is also interesting to note that the random patient tries to mock House with the ‘old’ if you don’t sleep with a hot girl you must be gay, which clearly doesn’t work on House or Wilson who both roll their eyes, ignoring the comment.  He may give House a hard time about goofing off, but he comes back to steal the portable TV to continue watching the game even though House left feeling embarrassed.  House doesn’t even try to fight back to keep his TV.

He emerges a bit later, starting off by telling House that the ballgame is over, before he sniffs House to determine what was spilled on him.  These guys really are best friends if you are not even bothered by your best friend of any gender getting this up close and personal with you.  Instead, Wilson just tells him to calm down that it is just apple juice.

With the putative Cameron-House date, Wilson springs into action as the overly-protective best friend.  He manages to find Cameron alone and asks her if she is sure about the date with House as he wants to make sure no one gets hurt.  Cameron doesn’t see his expression here, when she says she’ll be fine; Wilson’s look of concern is about how things will go down for House.

Wilson doesn’t want to see House hurt again, since he thinks if he is hurt again, House will give up on dating altogether.  A mindset that I myself have embraced from time to time.  I think at this point, Wilson knows that Cameron is House’s ‘type’ and he wants to make sure that House has a shot at a relationship.

To make sure things will go as smoothly as possible, he is at House’s apartment as House gets dressed and is freaking out in a “House” way about the date.  Wilson’s facial expression here is somewhat annoyed as he knows that House does understand some human interactions.  As House did date Stacy for 5 years though he can’t help but give him shit by saying the last time House dated disco had just died.

Again, instead of being at home, Wilson is laying on House’s couch, skimming the newspaper to give him the moral support he needs for his date.  This leads to his infamous declaration that he has known moves that are guaranteed ‘panty peelers’.  This facial expression says it all, I’m proud of my skills and I have it down to a science; compliment her random items of clothing and move onto the DHA:  dreams-hopes-aspirations.  God, I love this bit, Wilson has things so well thought out that he’s able to distill things down to a quick abbreviation.

This also tells us that Wilson thrives on the ‘possibility’ of a relationship.  That he gets some sort of rush from trying to get a woman into bed. If Wilson had been fired by Volger, he really should have started a career for dating and relationship advice.  Not as one of those sexist male pick-up experts, but as how to pick-up chicks as a respectful dude.  He’d honestly make tons more money, though his lack of House interactions would likely bore him to death.  He also goes onto mention that he has condoms in case House needs him.  This is such a funny statement, as it implies that Wilson has them to be prepared and by extension as a married man should not have them.  Or that Wilson is officially acting like House’s dad in this instance like “Okay, son, we’ve had the talk about the prom tonight.  You’ve got the corsage for the girl, and make sure to use condoms.”  Which is totally how Wilson looks in this scene here.

Hands on hips, big smile, he literally looks like he’s encouraging his teenage son to be a good man for his date.  This is a case where Wilson is the experienced adult in this situation.  Based on his body language, he’s also really rooting for House.  Wilson wants the date with Cameron to go well.  He wants House to get laid and learn how to move on in a relationship.  He wants House to try to be happy.  And Cameron is not a bad starting point.  We know that House likes intelligent women and Wilson seems to suck at not messing around or dating within the workplace so he isn’t going to be against this.

Plus, this really establishes House’s ‘type’ brunettes, he isn’t too picky about the rest of the woman, but he likes brown hair.  Again, one could argue that Wilson is also House’s type.  Or the fact that as the show progresses he makes comments about men who are attractive (but again, not a part of this meta).

It does show that both Wilson and House are romantics at heart, since House went for cheesy knowing that Cameron would like cheesy.  Really, after watching their date scene for a third time, I’d say that House goes for the rejection Cameron approach because he was afraid of what would happen if he did start dating her.  He knows he’s attracted to her, the fact that Wilson knows that he’s attracted to her is really the verification that he needed. 

That’s why the next day, Wilson is so keen to know how the date went.  He has to hope that House gives it a try.  Since Wilson wants House to try to be happy or in this case maybe just content.  He’s tired of watching his friend recoil from social connections and he likely grows tired of being the only link that House has to humanity.

And I’ll have to stop here and pick up with another part since I haven’t even gotten through Season 1 yet.