#i wanted to give him pretty powder blue lipstick

[trashmouth-richie]

prequel to Honey I’m Home

master list

summary: a peek into the lives of our love birds back in 1985

w/c: 4k

tw: no minors, underage drinking, drug use, party behavior. hinted at: rape

Engine roaring hot with the early dog days of summer, Eddie’s van skids to a stop sliding against black asphalt of Piney Wood Lane.

“Eddie! What the fuck?!” A church mouse voice that resembled nails on a chalkboard shrieks when the van halts to a stop. Peach colored lipstick is smeared in a wavy line across her pale skin, Chrissy glares icy blue daggers into the curly haired metal head.

Stoned and nearly asleep, Eddie forced his tired lips into a grin, pearly whites gleaming against the backdrop of the setting sun through the dirty windshield. “Oh babe you’re so pretty, here let me help.” Grabbing the tube of lipstick Eddie draws a matching line across her other cheek, “all better,” he yawns as she snatches the lipstick tube back and shoves the lid back on slamming it into her purse. Using a dirty t-shirt by her feet that she knew was used to wipe Eddie’s cum off her stomach some time last week after one of his shows, she rotates it to a cleanish spot and works the black cloth gently across her face, muttering to herself.

“Where are these little shits anyway?” She grumbles as she avoids Eddie’s lips on her neck, shoving him away with the heel of her hand.

“Fuck Chris, relax,” Eddie says, arms up in a surrender and lowering slightly to light a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the open warm air through his window, “little Tooty said they have to sneak out of the basement window.”

It had been a full year since Eyeball had left town and graduated without Eddie. His best friend was always smarter than he was, never having to repeat senior year, he left Eddie’s trailer park ass in the dust— never to be heard from again.

A scoff breaks from Chrissy’s pastel pink lips as she swipes more powder blue eyeshadow on her lids in the mirror. “I don’t know what my brother sees in her.”

The high encompassing Eddie falters for a split second. Chad Cunningham? What the fuck would Tooty want to do with him?

“Damn, tell me how you really feel,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and inhaling from his cigarette, “don’t hold back.”

Chrissy flips the visor up with a thud and crosses her arms, her lips twisted in a sneer, she opens her mouth to speak but Eddie shushes her when five moving figures run across the neatly mowed lawn of the Wheeler’s.

Opening the sliding door is a pimple-faced Mike Wheeler, accompanied by Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, and you.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Eddie says holding his hands up in protest, “watch the carpet yeah? Won’t be a shaggin’ wagon if the carpet is stomped all to hell you little gremlins.”

“Fuck dude,” Dustin speaks, sliding next to Mike on the floor, “you gonna give us upholstery lessons or are we going to this party?”

Mike and Lucas laugh as Eddie takes off before the door is even shut. Screaming into the night like a bat out of hell. Passing out cigarettes from a crumbled pack you kept in the breast pocket of the same ratty flannel you wore almost daily, everyone leans forward to catch the flame at the same time. Inhaling deep and choking back smoke against baby pink lungs.

Eddie wasn’t your favorite person but if he was one thing: it was reliable. He’d show up in his van, rolling up on the last remnants of weed whenever you called him. Day or night, rain or shine wherever you were— he’d drop whatever he was doing to pick you up.

Like the time Mike had left you at Benny’s after falling asleep in the red cracked booth following a late night movie premiere of Cujo. A quick dial to the Munson trailer, with a worried Benny behind you, after a couple of monotonous dial tones an out of breath Eddie answered grumpily reassuring you he’d be there soon.

Ten minutes later the blaring tunes of DIO were heard faintly as his van roared down the street, foregoing stop signs and swerving all over the place.

Benny raised an eyebrow and gave Eddie a pointed finger grunting: get her home safe.

Eddie greeted you with a stupid smile and deep dimples, threatening Mike’s life and his Hellfire spot for leaving you behind.

“Don’t make this a habit,” he scolded lightly, eyes red and higher than a kite, his boots were untied and his hair was sticking out in every direction, “Eyeball will skin me alive.”

You roll your eyes and put your feet on the dash, “Kev doesn’t even know I’m gone.”

Tapping the brakes Eddie laughs deep when you lunge forward, millimeters from almost smacking your head on your knees. “You know my rule, feet down little T.”

The night was young and you were filled with a naivety that coursed through your veins. With Eyeball at college your parents were rarely home, and you spent every waking minute you could with the boys, Max and El. A group of unruly teens, knobby knees and bad haircuts. The summer was barely at its peak, and you couldn’t wait to live it.

“Alright you little brats,” Eddie joked, pulling into Rick’s driveway, “no humping, no grinding, don’t take anything if you aren’t sure of what it is, and you all owe me $5 for the ride here and supplying you little degenerates with the best weed and warm beer in all of Hawkins.” He goads with a warm smile and jumps out of the van, leaving Chrissy to readjust her hair and makeup for the tenth time in the fifteen minute drive to get out to Lover’s Lake.

Filing out of the van one at a time, everyone slaps an Abe Lincoln into Eddie’s upturned palm. When it’s your turn he quickly closes his hand and you give him an annoyed look.

A look of concern colors his brow as he peers into your face, “Are you seriously dating Chrissy’s brother?”

Turning your lip up in defense, you scowl at the accusation, “so what if I was?” You gonna run and tell Kev about it?”

Eddie didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Eyeball’s fury, having seen for himself how Eyeball could fight the biggest of assholes at the Hideout, and he damn sure as hell didn’t want to see you on that end either. “Nah,” he chides, pocketing the bills into his chain wallet and standing with his hands on his hips, chest out, “what the hell do you think I am some shithead narc? I just didn’t think that you’re old enough to date.”

Snarling a grin and pushing his shoulder you answer sarcastically, “Are you my mother? Stop smoking Munson, you’re turning into a softie.” Traipsing past him you quickly run inside to find your friends, feet crunching on the gravel.

What the hell got into him?

—

The party is buzzing and so are you, two drinks in and a hit from Jonathan’s blunt and you’re dancing with Max, El and Will around the living room.

Tears flood Will’s eyes but he won’t say what’s wrong. Lately when he drank, he always seemed to get a little gloomy and dark. Whatever was bothering you he’d never tell, just going on about how it’s not fair. Only for the next day to claim he didn’t remember.

In a blurring spin from El’s outstretched hand, you can make out Steve Harrington. His tongue was wrapped around some blonde girl’s throat. Hands cupping her ass like she might float away. He wore his sunglasses in the house pretending like he really was fit to be “King”.

King Douche of Hairspray Island

Nancy and Jonathan are whispering close together slow dancing to a song no one can hear but them. Her stylish hair and clothes always fit her like she was straight from a Gap catalog.

Eyeing you, she waves and blows you a kiss. One you pocket and blow back. You’ve come to know Nancy quite well this last school year. Being one of your best friend's older sister’s she was cool and grown up.

Showing Max, El and yourself the proper way to wear makeup without looking like a cheap tramp.

“I don’t care if it is popular, blue is not a shade for anyone’s eyes.” Her makeup lessons earned an eye roll from Max, but you and El took special interest in it.

Collapsing onto the couch after Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ended; Will, Max and El all fall into a fit of giggles, you are breathless and your legs feel like freeze pops before they’re frozen. Being drunk and spinning around wasn’t the best of combinations but it was a blast.

A wayward glance towards the makeshift poker table in the small kitchen has Will wiping his eyes, rushing to the bathroom, excusing himself with a rushed “gotta pee.”

Finishing the last swallows of a lone beer sitting atop the barely standing coffee table, Max tosses the empty can behind her and leans forward, turning her head towards your direction, her eyes squinting into a serious glare, “you really gonna date that weasel dick Chad Cunningham?”

El’s face lights with devilish delight and you roll your eyes. Chad Cunningham was in your grade, and more popular than anyone you hung out with. Exceptionally good at sports and school, he was a dreamboat for any girl to set sail with. A future of wealth and riches lying at your feet. And he had been laying on his advances thick.

Plucking a cigarette from the crumbled pack in your shirt pocket, you offer the redhead a drag after taking a long inhale.

“Jesus,” you breathe through a cloud of smoke, “I swear I’m gonna kill Lucas.”

Max only laughs, poking your ribs with a slight jab of her unpainted fingernail, red from a picked stubborn hangnail, “Lucas couldn’t keep a secret if someone paid him too.”

Lucas and Chad played on the same baseball team, and it was he who said he would put in a good word to you for Chad. Apparently they were talking about more than just batting averages at practice.

Stealing the cigarette from your mouth, Max slots it between her own chapped lips, inhaling and blowing the smoke upwards as she falls back into the couch.

Lighting another cigarette, you listen to Max’s scoffing noises as Eddie runs through the living room, shirt off wearing cutoff denim shorts and boots, a screaming Chrissy over his shoulder as he trots towards the dock. Her high pitched whines are faint as there are two splashes into the lake, one after another.

“We’ve talked on the phone once, maybe twice,” you offer the small information as a gift, waiting for your two best friends to pull the pink satin bow and open it revealing the secret surprise. “Just lucky my mom didn’t get to the phone before I did.”

“No shit,” El hums around a can of Pabst, a wicked smile evident on her lips, “so what did he say?!”

The three of you dive into a giggly drunk conversation about boys, laughing at how awkward they were, how dumb they could be, ending the conversation still unsure whether or not you would give in to Chad’s charm. He was cute after all.

He wasn’t like you, while your family wasn’t poor, Chad’s family was extremely wealthy. They were all matching outfits for family pictures and lately your parents were gone more than they were home. Hushed whispers and teary eyes from your mother.

You didn’t know what was going on, maybe they would be getting a divorce? Maybe you’d be like Max and live in the trailer park after whichever parent decided to stay in Hawkins. Between the choice of living with your mom or dad, you’d rather sleep in a dog kennel.

Of all the girls in the school, Chad had chosen you. The sleepless nights on the phone were nothing but sweet talk. Telling you how pretty you were, calling you honey bun, how he couldn’t get you out of his head. Teasing him and telling him he was crazy, his flirting only deepened. Creating a pocket of desire and questions of what if? burrowed deep into your skin. Warming your heart with each peel of his words cozying inside of it.

He even left flowers on your window sill in the middle of the night so you could wake up to the smell of wildflowers drying in the growing sun of the dewy morning.

He was a charmer. And he’d charmed you right to a fit of heated cheeks and butterfly stomach aches.

When you saw Chrissy’s blonde hair in Eddie’s van you almost expected to see him in the back. Stomach sinking when he wasn’t stuffed into the grungy van.

Last night he made you promise to call when you were done hanging out with your friends. A promise you weren’t sure if you would keep or not.

El slinked from the couch and joined Mike and the rest of the boys playing their drunken hands at poker. Losing every cent of allowance and weeks worth of mowing yards in Hawkins to Steve and a piss drunk Tommy.

Max and Lucas were wrestling on the floor now, his deep skin turning a violent shade of purple only seen on plums from Max having him in a headlock, making him swear to stop calling her Pippy due to her choice of hairstyle.

The scent of murky lake water infused with green algae and harsh whiskey fogged your brain, tiny droplets of water slid down your cheeks, making you question how many beers you actually had. Putting your head on the cushion and looking back revealed Eddie, standing behind you in all his stupidity and brainless head banging to Heaven and Hell. One hand clutched around a bottle of Jack Daniels by the neck, his rings clacking loudly around the glass, the other pinched a fat joint. One wet boot on the back of the couch.

“Trailer Park run out of water again?” you spit, making a show of wiping your face with the back of your hand and sitting farther away from the metal head menace. Kev’s friend or not, Eddie was a special kind of jackass. Loud, ruthless, a real mother fucker, but come hell or high water, he was loyal to his friends. But shit, even an old porch dog is.

Eddie made a voice and chuckled deep, taking a large inhale from the joint, the paper crinkling against the orange burnt end. Blowing big O’s around your face, he merely grins, “you’re too kind to me little T,” he gathers his hair and wrings it out over your head, leaping over the back of the couch landing next to you with a sopping squelch sound of wet denim slapping against polyester, “better ease up on that sweetness or someone might think you’re not made of piss and vinegar.”

Kicking him away from you he only laughs harder ow stop you’re hurting me ow, he breaks out through choked laughs at your attempt to throw him off the couch.

When you have him pinned against the arm rest, your dirty white converse pressed into the slab of graffitied alabaster that makes up his back, he gently grabs your ankle and tosses your feet off of him in a swift throw.

Crossing your arms in a stubborn fashion you deliver one more kick into his side before retreating your legs in a pretzel beneath you, taking the joint from his outstretched hand as a peace offering. Hard to deliver kicks when your feet felt like they were stuck in brownie batter thick mud.

After a few hits, droopy eyes, and Eddie’s dripping curls down his back and onto the woven beige fabric of Rick’s couch, Eddie lets out a loud sigh, taking a pull from the whiskey bottle he still was nursing.

“Thought Eyeball was supposed to come home this summer?”

The question is more of a statement from Eddie as you lazily shrug your shoulders and find intense concentration on the frayed edges of your shorts. Fingers rolling the edges until the fabric is warm and sweaty.

“Dunno, precious Kev hasn’t said much since he went out East, nobody has.”

“Ohh c’mon,” Eddies velvet voice hums deep through his high, eyes barely open, “your rents aren’t that bad.”

Blowing hot breath through your lips you mimic a balloon, giggling at the way your lips feel with each wiggly vibration against your them. “Next. I’m not talking about my feelings with you when you’re higher than Willie fuckin’ Nelson.”

“Rocky Mountain High,” Eddie grins, tipping the neck or the Jack Daniel’s bottle to his lips.

Heckling him you correct, “That’s… John Denver …dumbass— ,” a yawn escapes your mouth, brain functioning on low as the high creeps into your brain, an unannounced nap knocking on your eyelids.

The couch dips with Eddie’s weight as he reaches for a blanket and tosses it to you, “Kid, I don’t know how you and Eyeball are related,” he presses, laughing at the way your eyes heavily blink back at him, “you can’t hang.”

The slowest fuck you rolls of your tongue, the living room fading in your vision you can almost taste the insult rolling around your mouth.

His idle smile falls into a frown, eyebrows pulled inward, eyes looking over your head you train your eyes to follow his gaze.

The noise of Chrissy’s bubbly giggle as she emerges from Rick’s bedroom, catches your attention. She’s wearing a pair of his boxers and a worn heather gray shirt, faded kelly green writing reading, Hawkins Athletic Dept 1980. Her eyes are twinkling with each murmur from Rick’s slack mouth, bent low to her ear, neither of them seeing Eddie sitting on the couch.

Stepping into the low hanging lights in the living room, Rick quickly gestures to Chrissy’s nose and she hastily wipes at it with the back of her hand.

You knew very little of Chrissy other than her family lived on the golf course in a lavish house with a perfectly manicured yard. One boy, one girl, perfect cookie cutter JC Penney catalog assholes.

Last year, you, Dustin and Mike threw three dozen perfectly shaped, white eggs at their front door on Halloween. While Will and Lucas rang the doorbell and Max lit the brown papered sack filled to the brim of Forest Hills Trailer Park’s finest dog shit.

There were wanted ads in the Hawkins Post for weeks about any known whereabouts of the “hoodlums” who defaced private property.

And Joyce Byers stood her ground on not knowing anything when Chief Hopper begrudgingly stomped his way from his police cruiser to the lonely woman’s door. Nevermind her receipt from Bradley’s Big Buys that was identical to what was used in the Halloween crimes of 1984.

It truly was a mystery.

Chrissy didn’t talk to you or any of your friends when you all hung out with Eddie and that was perfectly fine with you, she seemed on edge and would scowl anytime Eddie wasn’t paying her attention or waiting on her hand and foot. At the very least she looked to be in desperate need to fucking relax.

Her wide pupils scan the living room and stop on Eddie. The innocence of Bambi struck the blues in her eyes.

The couch shifts as Eddie stands on firm boots and makes his way to Rick and Chrissy. And before you can crane your neck to hear the conversation, Dustin throws himself down beside you, grabbing the blanket in a yank.

“Pretty sure I’ve figured out the physics of the beer bong,” he says as he flips your legs on his lap.

Before long your eyelids have taken the shape of sandbags and you’re fast asleep. Left on the couch after Dustin’s lengthy explanation of the correct number of breaths taken before the beer bong rendered you to a peaceful dream state.

When you wake by being lightly shaken by a sober-looking Eddie, his warm dark eyes swim with anger and look too wet, and his smile doesn’t match his eyes, “let’s go, kid,” he looks around wildly, on edge, “you’re drunker than a skunk— it’s time to go.”

You’re incoherent as you try to stand, a dizzy spell capturing you in a wave and you feel like you're underwater. Looking around you don’t recognize anyone but Eddie. Rick’s is packed with faces you don’t know.

Not wanting to be there for another second, Eddie grabs your wrist, squats low in front of you and throws your arms around his neck. He wraps the smooth crook of his elbows into the back of your knees, wearing you like a drunk backpack.

A piggy back ride that left your face in the curly, tangled tufts of his drying hair, the tang of weed and lake water stinging your nose as you bury your chin into his shoulder.

A cool blanket is on you when you open your eyes and become a little more alert. You’re in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van, a cigarette hangs limply from his lips as he’s muttering something to himself. It’s dark, and no music is playing. An odd thing for him.

A quick glance around and you see that no one else is with you. A street lamp shines through the windows and you can see Eddie’s knuckles are painted with a deepened glossy red substance.

“Eddie?”

He doesn’t hear you immediately so you repeat his name. His head turns sharp towards you and the blazed look of rage emits from his face. If it were a look from anyone else you’d be terrified. He quickly softens his eyes.

“Everyone’s at Steve’s,” he says quickly, “the kids, Nancy, Jonathan.. we’re heading there—that cool?”

Confused but unable to concentrate a single thought on why the fuck Eddie would be taking you to Steve mop head Harrington’s house, you nod in agreeance. Fighting sleep but losing.

“.. okay okay okay! Explain to me again what the hell happened, I was helping Lucas get Max in my car when it went down.”

“Ouch! Jesus Chr—“

“Sorry!”

“.. they were eyeing her man, all of them! — it was— fuck!”

*glass breaks against a wall*

“Who Chrissy?”

“No, Tooty!”

“Oh my God.. Munson. Who were they?!”

“I don’t know man, I’ve— I’ve never seen them before… fuck this I’m going back there— gonna snap their fucking necks!”

“Stop, this needs to get cleaned or it’ll get infected!”

“Henderson, weren't you sitting by her? Where the hell were you?!.”

“I was Steve! fuck— I just had take a piss, I was gone for like 2 minutes and then I heard the yelling…”

“Christ! Did they touch her?!”

“No,” a tearful voice warbles, “Eddie knocked out that big fucker and the rest of them backed off.”

“I fucking swear to God— Harrington, I will slit their throats if I see them again!”

“I know dude I know, me too.”

“She’s asleep. Max and El are staying with her in the guest room upstairs, I think we should all get some sleep it’s fucking 3 in the morning.”

“Nope, all due respect Wheeler— I can’t.”

“Ed—”

“Fuck! I won’t go back there, alright? But I can’t just lay down and go to bed— not after this..”

The weary eyed stubborn watchdog waits til dawn, aching back from the wall he’s propped up against and bruised knuckles sting with tightness. Flipping the steel end of an old pocket knife open and closed.

Steve stayed up with him for a while, a bat with nails protruding from every which way in a death grip in his fist.

Eddie didn’t think he actually was all that bad, underneath all that hairspray he could tell he’s a genuine person— lost on the surface of money, name brand clothes and expensive cologne.

The two of them made a pact that night that the kids would be protected at all costs, two guardians in the halls for them in high school in the fall. The jock dickheads who crashed Rick’s party amongst them, but the threat behind Eddie’s fist evident in the broken jaw of the football captain behemoth. No longer able to to take the Tigers to a state championship or try to have his way with a younger drunk girl at a party.

Both Eddie and Steve decide that in the morning if you didn’t remember what happened— it would die there, a protective secret amongst new friends.

🧡

see you in volume xi

[okkalo]

blue lock boys doing your makeup trend

characters: rin, yukimiya, shidou, isagi, chigiri

warnings: shidou 😟😟, cuss words

rin

- he’s trying.

- his focused face makes him look like he knows what he’s doing.

- he doesn’t.

- if you record he is literally glaring at the camera the whole time.

- names products by how they look. meaning u will NOT get the actual name out of him. (he knows blush and mascara though!!)

- “this is the brown liquid” (ur getting there!!)

- skips the primer.

- if u have multiple foundation colors he gets so confused why one doesn’t match 💀

- “the hell is this?” THE FACE HE MAKES TOO??

- puts on too much blush and just stares in wonder of what he did wrong.

- that or he applies the blush as lipstick

- he applies your lipstick (or i guess blush) weird?? makes you pucker your lips to do it LOL

- forces you to do your eyeliner and mascara because he doesn’t want to hurt you </3

- probably mumbles under his breath the whole time about how stuff isn’t working how it should

- giggle at him and he will give you a look and just leave.

- the finished look was a 6/10

isagi

- he’s trying but nicer.

- i can see him having no sense of color theory whatsoever so your eyeshadow and lipstick look HORRIBLE together

- probably this bright purple eyeshadow with a bright red lipstick

- he doesn’t forget anything though!!

- puts the concealer in all the wrong spots. he thinks it should go where the contour goes

- another guy to use blush as lipstick

- “that’s not right” at least he knows

- will do your eyeliner wing (which turned out to be horrible) but completely avoids your waterline

- avoids the mascara but watches in amazement as you curl your eyelashes

- gives you so many kisses throughout

- the finished look was a 3/10 😔

yukimiya

- he’s the best out of everyone because he actually knows what he’s doing.

- he might confuse the names at some point but is quick to fix his mistake.

- sososo gentle when applying products to your face too!

- he smiles so big once he sees you close your eyes at his light touch

- probably uses the wrong brushes </3

- goes down to your neck with your foundation!!

- does your eyeliner but doesn’t do your lashes (the wing is a 8/10)

- tries so hard on the eyeshadow but it just doesn’t work

- pretty colors but horrible with knowing where to stop (he went to your brows with it </3)

- he muttered a lot of soft “oops” during this time no doubt

- also gives a lot of kisses during this time

- actually so proud once he finishes it though

- compliment his abilities!!

- 9.1/10

shidou

- idk why u wanted him to do this.

- he’s literally making you look like a clown

- makes a mess of your makeup and does not care.

- probably super good at makeup too but just wants to be an asshole

- puts SO MUCH foundation on you. you are literally caked

- puts so much bronzer on too and swipes it in all the wrong directions

- a lot of product got in your nose because he gave that area a lot of attention

- absolutely went crazy with the blush. it is everywhere on your cheek.

- the same with highlighter.

- goes crazy with the setting powder as well. you both sneezed multiple times

- picks bright blue eyeshadow and goes way too far with it

- he was fr about to do your eyeliner and lashes (don’t let him. he will twitch during this time and i know it.)

- takes SO many pictures of you

- makes a video of you with the clown music in the background 💀

- 0/10. rethink ur decisions.

chigiri

- “stay still” x10.

- is good at makeup and knows what everything is but god forbid you move an inch. he literally told you to stop breathing once like??

- if you try to be funny and move your head to the side while he’s putting stuff on he will immediately stop and just give you a stare. no words to be said. he just stares. it’s not a nice stare either </3

- if you get distracted and look away while he’s getting a product he will yank your head back to the position he so desires.

- you’re actually kinda impressed with how well the makeup turns out.

- it’s a strong 8.5/10, he messed up the eyeliner and lipstick part (“maybe stay still next time”).

- will absolutely squish your cheeks and make you pucker your lips to kiss him at the end.

unedited thanks for reading!

[wexhappyxfew]

light up my lover's way

BLIND DATES FEST 2024

featuring: Florence 'Flo' Godfrey and Captain Bernard 'Benny' DeMarco + Meatball being the ultimate wingman Absolutely beyond excited to put this out. Florence has been living in my brain for some time, but Masters of the Air and @blind-dates-fest (thank you Merc for the fun!) offered the perfect opportunity to do some writing and recently, with the episodes we've gotten, I've become a big DeMarco fan and wanted to see what I could do. I tried to really nail down how I could write him since we don't have a whole lot of content from him, and I didn't feel the most comfortable writing in the MoTA universe yet just because I wanted to see all the episodes first, but I wanted to give it the old college try and really enjoyed how this piece and how Florence came out! She was a treat to write and considering her story, this was a night for her well deserved! I missed out last year because of school stress and this year, wanted to be kinder to myself and allow some time to test out the waters with writing in MoTA. Please enjoy Flo and her time with DeMarco! :)

The mirror stared back at her with a more than poignant look on her face, as she gazed at her rugged-looking hair that had surely seen better days.

Extensive time out in the sun on the tarmac, with plenty of harsh oils and chemicals meant for planes and not exactly hair would do the trick though. Self-assured, she reached back and ripped a brush through the caramel ends of her hair that were in need of cutting and sighed quietly to herself before glancing back at her reflection.

Lemmons had encouraged her to take the night off - you've been working hard, Godfrey, take the night to get a drink or better yet, a full night of sleep where you're not thinking entirely about all things plane-related. She'd been pretty hesitant, she'd even told him that he was the one who needed the night off, but he'd quickly brushed some dirt off her shoulder, helped her scrub out the paint stain from her OD jacket and then promptly shoved her off in the direction of the celebration in the nearby hall that a good portion of the men and pilots had gathered into. She'd taken the time to gather herself, clean herself up and look presentable, but she was left appearing hesitant to even leave her room.

Florence Godfrey felt more mechanic some days than woman, but on days like that, she usually found some of the Red Cross girls and spent nights trading cigarettes, telling stories and sharing coffee from the potbelly stove in the corner that worked to keep them all warm. Sometimes, she tried to work so stringently that when she got in, she'd lay down and reflect and cry.

But, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights, no, her hands weren't covered in grease, her hair wasn't matted with sweat and her boots weren't soaked with mud and ice-cold water.

No, she actually had washed up, powdered her face, pulled a bit of lipstick onto her slightly chapped lips, and smiled to herself, the dress that fell below her knees a beautiful baby-bird blue.

Lemmons had been right - finally do something for yourself, give yourself the wheel of life. She wanted to do that for herself, more than anything.

The celebration in the hall was dying down - she took a glance at her watch - it was past midnight and people were slowly pouring out, a few couples still slowly swaying in the middle of the floor, some others milling about or talking quietly with gentle smiles in corners outside of the main doors.

Florence smiled quietly to herself - even just to get a drink that wasn't her inhaling water to keep herself from feeling parched. She'd never really allowed herself a freedom like this away from the planes, away from the other mechanics and ground crewmen. She'd always told herself to do her job, do what was needed of her and then bed out and wake the next time she was needed. She had always been like that though ever since working with Dad at the Navy Yard as a 9-year-old, learning all the bits and bobs that made things run and function.

Florence waded into the softly lit bar where only a few people were still at, finishing last minute drinks or basking in the quietly gleaming Billie Holiday singing 'If You Were Mine' over the speakers in the corners of the room. Florence walked up to the edge of the bar and offered a smile at the bartender who came towards her and offered a smile back and nodded.

"What can I interest you in tonight, Miss….?"

"Godfrey. Florence Godfrey," Florence said with a soft smile, "I'll take a French 75 if it's possible." The bartender smiled with a nod and turned away, whisking himself away to start prepping. Florence grinned to herself and then looked up towards the wooden ceiling, covered in pretty lights and patterned carvings.

Suddenly, she felt a presence at her….feet? Florence took a moment to think before looking down and seeing a beautiful, gray dog sniffing at her shoes, a brown harness around his soft fur and his puppy-dog eyes quickly looking up at her in excitement and glee.

"Awe, hello there!" Florence said, kneeling down in front of the mixed-husky dog, petting his face, her heart immediately softening at the sight as she laughed quietly to herself, "Aren't you the prettiest thing I've seen in months." The dog licked at her cheeks and she let out a laugh as she rubbed behind his ears, the dog's tongue hanging out as his whole body seemed to shake with excitement, tail in all directions.

"Hey, Meatball, don't go sneaking up on the ladies," a voice called from behind the dog.

Florence looked up from, if she caught the name correctly - Meatball, the dog - and found instead one of the pilots of the B-17s walking towards her, gentle eyes lingering on her, long enough for a crimson color to rush her cheeks, his hair dark and nicely cut and styled, and the small smile on his face suddenly making her think that this pilot was actually the prettiest thing she'd seen in months. Florence felt a warmth enter her body, a quiet calm overcoming her as she felt an uncontrollable smile cross her lips, as she slowly rose back to her feet and watched the pilot come closer, the thrum of a quiet Louis Armstrong song entering her ears.

"Italian or Swedish?" Florence couldn't help but say as the pilot neared, his eyes deep and dark, but soothing and welcoming all the same. The pilot let out a soft laugh, his eyes trailing down to Meatball, the dog - she'd never get over how adorable that was - before looking to her.

"Italian." he said, with a nod, "Why? Don't think he fits the part?" Florence let out a quiet laugh and kneeled down again to Meatball and scratched beside his little head and laughed.

"I think he's adorable," she said, "how'd you get a hold on him?" The pilot smiled at her and leaned against the bar.

"Boarded a B-17 with me back in Greenland, was a real good sport the whole flight," the pilot said and then shrugged a bit, "I think I convinced him that he'd make a good co-pilot." Florence laughed as she stood to her feet again and looked at him with soft eyes.

"I don't think it'd be proper of me to only think of you as Meatball's Dad," she said, watching the small smile on his face quickly grow, "gotta name?"

"DeMarco. Captain Bernard DeMarco, but you can just call me DeMarco, whatever suites your fancy." he said, before chuckling slightly, before imitating, "Some of the guys like to yell, DeMarcooooo!" Then he looked to her and smiled.

"You don't have to do all that though," he said, leaning closer slightly, "Benny'll do just fine. Special cases." Florence stared at him quietly for a moment and then grinned.

"Benny it is…..Captain," she said, before holding out a hand, "Godfrey. Florence Godfrey, but you can just call me Godfrey, whatever suites your fancy." She smirked slightly at his face as he reached out and shook her hand.

"Some of the guys I work with like to yell," and she woefully imitated Lemmons, "Godfreyyyyy!" She then leaned closer to him and smiled up into his beautiful, tender eyes.

"You don't have to do all that though," she whispered, "Flo'll do just fine…..special cases." Benny stared at her for a moment, before breaking out into a wide smile and gently holding her hand in between them like a sacred piece of life.

"Goddess of flowers," he whispered quietly, his voice a soft rumble, "Flo." She smiled up at him.

"Ma thought it was pretty." she offered to him. He smiled at her in the dimmed light of the bar, that Ella Fitzgerald song she was always forgetting the name of somewhere above their heads, eyes warm and simply, only on her.

"Your Ma was right." he said back to her, staring at her with genuineness and fullness in his eyes. She felt her face warm and let out a laugh at his words, covering her mouth as she did so. Looking back up at him, she watched him stare right back at her and smiled as her hand fell from her mouth.

"I've never seen you around in here before," he said softly, "couldn't help but introduce myself, or well, Meatball, for introducing us." Florence looked down to Meatball, sat patiently staring up between them with his ever-caring eyes that dogs always seemed to have.

"He likes you," Benny said, his hand, which evidently was larger than hers, still clasped around her own, with no sign of disconnecting soon, "he's a friendly fella, but he don't just go up to anyone." Florence's eyes softened as she rubbed her free hand on top of Meatball's soft little head and glanced to Benny again.

"Dogs are probably some of the best creatures to ever walk to Earth," she said with a smile, "Sometimes they know us better than ourselves. I like to think sometimes they're protecting us, or….just there to guide us, be with us, give us someone who unconditionally loves you, ya know?" Benny's smile on his face was something that engrained itself quickly in her mind and he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah," he said softly, "I like to think of it that way, too." For a moment, as Ella Fitzgerald sang her part, the gentle thrum of a bass and brass to follow, they watched each other as if taking in the very quiet moment they had there between one another that night. An unexpected chance for Florence to get out of her normal gear and into a dress, to have her hands free of grease for the first time in a while, and to be looked at by a man with the softest eyes she'd ever seen - with a dog named after an Italian meatball no less.

"I'd ask for your hand in a dance, but I'm afraid that French 75 is calling your name and Meatball would take offense," Benny said, his eyes seemingly nervously flitting to the drink that had appeared at her side before meeting hers again, "and I know you're one of the women who works with the ground crews….I'd hate to steal an evening away from a good drink." Florence watched him.

"You know I work with the ground crews?" Benny nodded with a smile.

"You hang around Lemmons a lot," Benny offered, "and you work hard. We all see that. Buck does, too. Mentioned you were the best of the best. Didn't want to be too forward when I heard you tell the bartender your name." Florence watched him, as he gave Meatball a smile and a pet on the head before he looked to her again.

"Ma didn't raise me to be impolite either," he said with a nod, "and you've earned an off night like this and a drink like that."

"And a night getting to talk to a man like you." Florence said quietly to him, her heart starting to pound as he watched her - no one ever really had mentioned her in the way he had, having noticed her before and even made the effort to talk to her like he had. Her palms felt sweaty, and her mouth felt dry. Benny watched her for a moment as she took a sip of her drink and then looked to him.

"I'd be more than happy to spend a night dancing with you," she whispered.

There was something unspoken behind her words - like the realization was still there, they just hadn't mentioned in. In war, moments like this were precious and sheltered and held close in the palms of their hands. A night with someone with tender eyes was worth more than enough money in the world to her, especially in wartime. The thought saddened her heart and her mind as she stared at Benny DeMarco, with that million-dollar smile and those eyes. Benny let out a shaky breath that he looked like he'd been holding in and reached forward to take her hands in his and leaned forward the slightest bit so the only things she could see and hear were him and his voice.

"With you? I'd consider it a privilege." he whispered and then pressed a soft kiss to her hands clasped in his and then gently pulled her towards the open dance floor where only a few couples were left and had made it this late in the night. Wrapped in each other's warm embraces there in the middle of the floor, Billie Holiday's voice singing in the eves, and the gentle sway of their bodies so intimately close there, Florence let herself dance softly that night with Benny DeMarco.

Florence let herself live a bit for once.

[naayewolf]

“There There, Kitty” Kokushibo x Muzan Daughter!Reader [Smut]

Summary:

You are Muzan’s Demon Daughter, and he has ordered the top 3 uppermoons To be your personal servants. You decide to turn them into your personal lap dogs. 

*Might make this a whole book with different context*

*Uppermoon/Muzan Jackson’s impressions of y/n

Akaza: Wants to be stronger than her, they spar all the time even though y/n always wins.

Douma: Finds her VERY entertaining. Basically her girlfriend [In the sister sense]

Kokushibo: Follows her EVERY command~

Muzan: Loves her, gives her secondhand control over the top 3 uppermoons as a gift.

TW: 

Dubcon, Dominant reader, size difference, Loss of virginity, abuse of power,  rough riding,, bondage [tentacles daki style],  blowjobs, milking, lipstick play [It’ll make sense] Sado/masochism, bedpress, master/servant[pet] dynamics, degradation

You sit with a makeup brush in your hands, your eyes colorful shades of yellow and pink, your lips are blood red. Your hands work on Douma’s face, spreading blue powder across his cheeks. “Blue really suits your skin tone Douma!” You smile, putting glue on a jewel to place it under his eye. 

He squeals with joy in a high pitch, glad for the compliment. “You're the makeup artist, y/n!” He uses his blood art to make an ice mirror to see himself. He squeals louder than before and hugs the air out of you. “It’s perfect! I wasn’t sure at first, but you truly work magic y/n!” 

You Give him a closed eye smile, opening them again when you catch the aura of your other pets Akaza and ... Kokushibo. 

They both enter the room, Akaza throwing the door open unknowing of your presence. “DOUMA WHERE IS MY- What the actual f u c k ..” His eyes go wide at Douma,  him uncaring of you being here. Kokushibo on the other hand bows to the ground as if you were your Dad.

“Forgive us Master, we were unaware you were- tending to our fellow moon, forgive us for intruding.” He shuts his middle and bottom pair of eyes, looking at you through the top pair. You let out a giggle pulling his head to a sitting position with a tendril from your back. 

“It’s quite fine. Akaza, please refrain from breaking Douma’s door from now on.” he doesn’t bow, only letting out a very unapologetic grumble. Koku gives him a quick glare and he apologizes a bit more believable. You stand motioning for them to move from the door.

“Kokushibo. If you’ll follow me, I have something I need you for.” He lets out an immediate ‘Yes, Master’ before standing to follow you out. The second you two step out Akaza punches through Douma’s head. 

“Akaza dono .. you ruined my makeup ..” He whines while sitting up. The yukata he wears barely covers his crotch, as it’s usually worn for a married couple’s first night together. [Honeymoon lingerie] He pouts bending forward, the cloth covering his groin falling forward almost exposingly “Don’t you think I’m pretty in this?”

Akaza’s pale face turns red from embarrassment. In truth, he’s jealous Douma had this much time with you instead of him. He would’ve spent it training his strength instead of playing dress up though.  Douma goes to lift the cloth covering him. He kicks Douma in the groin.“You Fucking Would!” 

*With Y/n and Kokushibo*

*Koku POV* 

Kokushibo is positively TERRIFIED. He remains stoic as always on the outside, but on the inside he’s screaming with a million questions. What did I do? Where is she taking me? Is she mad? Is she gonna kill me? Is she gonna get THAT MAN to kill me? 

You walk on, arms crossed in front of you, him behind you as a symbol of your superiority towards him. He realizes that you’re nearing your quarters. That brings even more questions.  

*Y/n Pov* 

You’ve liked this pet for a while, and seeing him so obedient at the moment he realized you were there made you feel special. You realize that he’s the type to follow orders without a second thought. The control you had over him made you feel- a certain way. You decided to see just how far he’d go to meet your demands.  

You lead him towards your room, bouncing at the excitement of the game you're about to play. When you get to your door you move aside ushering him in. Kokushibo turns to you again with all six eyes on you in confusion and concern. 

“Master-” He begins, shutting up when your small figure presses against his tall one. “What are you-” A black tendril shoots out your back going through his wrists pinning him to the wall and dripping blood onto the floor mat. 

You shush him, pushing your finger to his lips. “It’s okay, just .. go with it.” He knows he could easily overpower you, or at least push you off, but he’s afraid it’ll anger That Man. With swift roughness you have him against your futon straddling his body. His hands twitch around from the pain. He doesn’t know what else to do but beg, afterall he doesn’t even know what he did. “P-Please Master, stop.”

 You’re dumbfounded for a second before letting out a laugh. “Ah! The little demon is begging .. how cute.” You let out a breathy moan before rolling your hips into him.  He moans lightly which causes you to grin. You move down to line your face up with his crotch. 

He yelps when you kiss him through the cloth, effectively smearing your lipstick. You let out a chuckle lifting up to look him in his eyes. “It’s ok, there there, kitty. Just stay very still.~” You undo his obi making his kimono come loose. You swiftly pull it off of his shoulders. He whines with his hands being unable to cover himself, not that his hands would do any good to cover it. 

You gasp at the size of it. Koku must be half horse or something- It’s about 12 inches with considerable length. You move down, placing a kiss at the base. He stiffens but stays still, not wanting to anger you. If this was you when you were giving mercy, he’d hate to see you withdraw it. 

You trail up and down his length leaving marks of bright red all over his pale cock. You nip at his base before looking up to admire your work. His cock was dripping with precum and he was a mewling mess. You smirk moving down and putting his legs over your shoulders making him gasp. “Looks like l made a mess~” You move in leaving another trace of lipstick on his shaft. You inhale, enjoying the smell of him in such a sinful position. “Let me clean that for you …” You take your tongue and lick from base to tip taking him in your mouth relishing in the taste of his precum. 

You bob your head, closing your eyes to focus on task. He begins to moan out your name repeatedly like a broken record. His groans of protest long since died out, he moans louder than he really should have. “Ah!~ Master .. Y/n please s- ngh .. slow down.” His requests are met with deaf ears, as you only increase your speed. 

His release hits you both hard, as when he feels the blood in his body move to his cock all at once. He thrusts his hips up into your mouth making you take his full length. You gag and soften your throat, relaxing him deeper into your throat. 

You take him out of your mouth with a pop and move up to sit in his lap. You undo your yukata with a quick tug and pull one of his hands through your tendril, ripping his wrist open. You pull his hand up to your breast knowing the injury was nothing to him. “Here, play with them! See? squishy!”  He complies by pinching your nipples reluctantly before circling your breasts in his palms. 

You let out a light moan while lining yourself up with his tip. He panics, all of his eyes widening and trying to move himself away from your dripping sex. “Wait, Master dont!” He did want this, but his length was the size of your arm by itself and he didn’t want to hurt you. You smile, taking your hand up to grip his cheek. You take his moment of distraction to drop yourself onto his full shaft. You cry out and pain shoots through your whole body in the best way.

You use your tendrils to move yourself up and down on his length. He moans even louder than before, surely his colleagues had heard you two by now. He loses control and shoves you against the futon roughly. He becomes feral and bares his fangs pressing you into your sheets. 

He goes at unmatched speed making sure to pound deep into you with each thrust. You moan loud enough for everyone present to hear you, an orgasm hitting you into a heaven like state. He falls back keeping himself inside you. You move up, crashing your lips together. Kokushibo releases his seed deep inside your womb.

You both pant loudly holding each other for the little sanity you both have left. You let out a breathless laugh snuggling into his chest. “I’ll tell you one thing .. W-We are definitely doing that again Kitten.” You kiss his nape moving into him to fall asleep. 

He hugs you back being released from your tendrils. He closes his eyes and plants a kiss on your forehead. “As you wish, Master.”

[taeem]

peach prosecco | hyunjin & felix x fem!reader

summary: you ask hyunjin and felix to swing by your place after their photoshoot

↳ warnings: dom!felix, sub!femreader, sub!hyunjin, drug usage, threesome, breathplay, established relationship, oral sex (m receiving), mention of restrictive diet, intoxicated sex

You were already two glasses into the peach prosecco bottle Felix had gifted you before deciding to text the both of them. Your oversized and slightly transparent white t-shirt slipping off your shoulder as you typed.

after your photoshoot is done can you guys come by my place?

The message sent and you let your head fall back against your window frame, it was almost noon and the sky was a gradient shade of blue and yellow.

ding.

yes we can, do you want me to bring you a line or two?

Hyunjin replied, he knew how depressive you'd get when spring came around and would often "supply" you as a way to cheer you up or atleast distract you for 30 euphoric minutes. It was no surprise he'd even dabble with it, after all him and Felix were models and it helped give them the energy their restrictive diets couldn't.

You sent a sweet 'yes please' before letting your phone drop and emptied what was left in your wine glass. You liked how sweet the bubbly liquid was and how it left a sticky cast on your lips.

-

A hour had passed and Felix texted you that him and Hyunjin were on the way. A surge of excitement rolled in your stomach, even though meeting up at your place was nothing new. You always felt so alive on the days they'd come over, the cloud over your head slowly washing away as you fixed your hair up a bit and cheekily added on a dab of red tinted lipstick.

-

The sound of Felix's rhythmic knocks against your door sent you racing to answer. The warmth from both their smiles immediately greeting you as Hyunjin leaned in for a kiss. You took a moment to really look at them, both barefaced, Hyunjin with only a hint of pink tint on his lips. And Felix's pretty freckles cascading across his face always made your heart flutter, it seemed like no matter what they always looked their best.

"Did we take too long?" Felix asked playfully as you locked the door behind them, a smooth "of course not" slipped past your lips. You leaned against the door for a second, the wine you drunk earlier was still in your system and the floor almost felt like it was spinning in slow motion.

You plopped down on the floor leaning on your rectangular glass table, as Felix and Hyunjin took a seat on the beige couch across from you. Hyunjin hummed as he pulled a small bag of white powder out the inner pocket of his black jacket and poured it out on the glass table.

Your head rested heavily against your arm as you watched Felix pass him his black card so that he could evenly cut it for the three of you.

"We can't do this without music." Felix protests as he stands up, tugging his black jacket off in one smooth motion before connecting his phone to your bluetooth.

"Of course you'd choose something like this to set the mood." Hyunjin chuckled, brushing his jet black hair behind his ear before leaning down and snorting his line. A pained grunt escaped his chest as he threw his head back, pinching his nose to stop it from bleeding before slouching back into the couch, a crooked smile drawn across his lips.

"I'll never get tired of that face you make." Felix's sultry voice filled your ear as he leaned down next to you, a rolled up dollar in his hand to make it easier for him. You only smiled when he handed the bill to you, his warm hand gliding up and down your back as you snorted.

"Fuck" you mumbled, eyes clinched as you roughly wiped your nose with your hand. You knew a good friend wouldn't support these kinds of habits but you couldn't deny the warm feeling that coated your body everytime you did it.

Like it brought you guys closer in a dangerous way.

Your gaze met Felix's and you could see in his dark eyes, exactly what he wanted. It was like dancing, the way he leaned in with his lips just barely grazing yours. He could taste the peachy wine on your lips as he teasingly slid his tongue across your bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours. You could already feel your heart racing and the burning urge to just rip every article of clothing off of him and devour him whole.

Hyunjin watched from the couch, analyzing the way you both fought for dominance, pulling away and leaning back in. He watched the way Felix's hands slowly explored your body, one hand finding its way under your oversized t-shirt as the other possessively gripped your ass. Both of your moans being muffled out by the other until your lips were swollen and strings of saliva stretched with your distance.

"Let's take this to the bed." Felix said breathlessly, despite his calm face you could tell he was just as excited by the way his chest was heaving and the obvious boner growing in his jeans.

The three of you stumbled into your room, Hyunjin tugging off his black combat boots before flopping onto your bed. Followed by Felix who had you over his shoulder dropping you right next to him. Both of you giggling in a clouded daze as Hyunjin rolled himself onto you, tangling his legs with yours as he repeatedly kissed the side of your face and blew air in your ear.

"Ah- stop it" you whined, before adverting your attention to Felix who was still standing at the edge of the bed looming over the both of you. Playfully you stretched your foot out and pressed it against the tent in his jeans, getting a subtle reaction out of him before he grabbed your ankle.

"Strip now, both of you." He grumbled, the grip he had on you and his piercing gaze were enough to send electricity straight through you. You were sure Hyunjin felt it too by the way his lower lip was caught in his teeth and the darkened look in his eye. Neither of you wasted anytime, quickly beginning to undress each other once Felix let you go. You tugged off Hyunjins white button up (popping a few buttons in the process) and he followed by curling his fingers into the waist band of your panties. You lifted yourself up just enough to help slide them off and watched as he tossed them to the side before eyeballing your already wet pussy. You could swear his mouth was watering as you, him and Felix knew that he absolutely loved to eat pussy (especially yours.)

You teasingly spread your legs for a second, giving him a nice full view before sitting up and proceeding to undo his belt but Felix stopped you.

He swatted your hand away and made his way onto the bed, slithering right in between Hyunjin's legs before tapping your butt.

"Sit on his chest." You didn't question his orders, softly crawling on top of Hyunjin and watching the way his breath hitched as your wet pussy met with his skin.

"You're such a pillow princess." You mumbled as you ran your hands up his chest and then his face, cupping his cheeks gently as his eyes fluttered shut, completely melting into your loving touches.

"You guys are so cute."

Felix's compliment made you look back at him, he had tugged Hyunjin's boxers and jeans down to his ankles and was hovering over the whining boys fully erected dick. The sight alone made your walls clench with anticipation, which Hyunjin could also feel.

He responding by running his slender fingers up your waist and cupping your breast. The way his fingers sunk into your soft flesh made him rut his hips desperately against Felix's lips, hungry for any kind of friction.

"Someone's alittle excited." Felix sang, before wrapping his hand around Hyunjin's cock, slowly sinking his pretty lips down onto his leaking tip. His eyes hadn't left yours as he did this and you felt like your were overflowing onto Hyunjins pale stomach.

"God you're so hot" you mewled once you got a face full of the expression Hyunjin was making. Mouth parted with glossy eyes, each sound that escaped his lips went straight to your clit, you were practically throbbing for attention.

"You can use me." His words were airy as he moved his grip from your breasts to your hips, going out his way to start rocking you against his chest. The warm friction sent sweet streams of pleasure up your thighs and into your gut.

You caught on to his motion, riding him at the pace that pleased you the most. You loved this about Hyunjin, he knew how desirable he was, he knew exactly how to please and he knew what to say and do or even look to get you right where he wanted you.

Felix had fully engulfed him by now, his dick ramming right against his throat as he bobbed his head at a pace that had Hyunjin arching his back. His black hair was damp and a few strings were tangled against the ends of his mouth.

"P-please" he moaned, dropping his hands from your hips and grabbing your wrists. You watched as he shifted your hands to his throat, he was so close to cumming and was completely begging you with his eyes to choke him.

Sadistically, this was your favorite part about sex with him, everytime he needed that extra push to hit his peak. The way your hands fit perfectly around his slender throat and the way tears brimmed in his eyes as you tightened your grip. He was allowing himself to fully sink into the pleasure that the both of you were giving him.

Felix could also tell he was on the brink of cumming by the way the muscles in his legs twitched, he replaced his mouth with his hand. Pumping him at a similar pace while tracing hearts over his sensitive tip before ducking down just enough to twirl his wet tongue against Hyunjin's unsuspecting entrance.

A strained "fuck" barely escaped the overstimulated boys mouth as he held his hands tightly against yours, encouraging you to squeeze harder and watch as he completely let go.

White hot strands of cum spurted out onto his stomach and your backside as his eyes rolled back and his arms fell limp. He had passed out, this wasn't new to you or Felix, if anything it stroked your ego's.

You pressed soft kisses over the bruised imprint of your hands around his neck before Felix pulled you into him. Wrapping his hands around your waist and nibbling on your ear, "he's gonna be covering that one up for weeks" he joked. As you both knew concealer was his best friend "yeah with a scarf" you giggled.

-

Hyunjins eyes finally fluttered awake, he sniffed quietly as his sight adjusted. Satisfied to see the three of you were in a warm bubble bath together, the sweet smell of peaches and cream filled the air.

"Hey guys" his voice was quiet and a bit strained, "hey" you and Felix replied softly.

[trentaafcsblog]

Midnight Memories

Mason Mount

This isn’t like him at all. Trapped in a crowd of drunk and disorderly people who are staggering around to the beat of the music, sloshing their drinks all over one another when the pink and purple strobe lights descend upon their bodies and start flashing in a series of random patterns, enhancing their alcohol-induced illusions and perceptions of the world as they flail their limbs around and claim they’re flying or walking on clouds - a stage that Mason isn’t willing to reach tonight, or any night, for that matter. 

A sea of girls in overly tight dresses and heels that barely support them crowding around him and slurring things in his ear. Running their fingers up his bare arms and begging for another drink as he awkwardly shakes his head and tries to break away from them, only for another person to grip onto him from the other side and smear their cheap sticky lipgloss all over his neck in an attempt to add ‘I kissed a footballer’ to their CV. “Just kiss meee” they whine, pouting in his face and trying to pull him closer before giving up and making a move on the next available man, one who’s willing to explore their mouths and buy them endless rounds of multicoloured shots for the rest of the night without gently shoving them away or not-so-subtly avoiding their alcohol-coated lips.

This isn’t your type of place either, although you’re five cocktails deep into the stack of pornstars that your friends insisted on ordering. A stain down the front of your white bodycon dress thanks to an escapee half a passion fruit that decided to leave your triangular glass in order to explore the vomit-tainted floor. Your lips all patchy now that your lipgloss has migrated to decorate the rim of your empty glasses with sparkly nude smudges, although you’re slightly relieved because it means that your hair won’t get coated in it anymore, and it minimises the evidence if you end up kissing someone too, not that you came here to do that, or risk putting yourself in the same category as the girls that are now trying to climb into the VIP section with a bunch of semi-famous people, all because they want a drunk kissing video to plaster across their social media, hoping that it takes them to the front of the papers in the morning for being such-and-such’s ‘mystery girl’.

You’re looking up at the VIP area cordoned off by security guards in black puffer jackets and walkie talkies in their hands, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy for all of the people that have to tolerate that kind of behaviour. Your eyes start scanning across the section of the club that is far too expensive for just a few hours’ stay, wondering if you can recognise any famous faces, but it’s just the ‘I lasted one day in the Villa and still managed to secure a Pretty Little Thing brand deal’ Love Islanders and the friend of the friend of the friend of a semi-professional footballer that made one twelve minute appearance for Arsenal back in 2010 and thinks he’s God’s gift. All of them either eating each other’s faces or taking boomerangs of them cheers-ing their margaritas before having to retake the same video five times because they’ve lost several lime slices in the process and it’s ruining the aesthetic. Your focus sharpening on someone with their back to you and at least ten girls around them, taking it in turns to have a drunken selfie or begging him to buy them a bottle of champagne with one of those fancy sparkler things on the top that gets brought out by women wearing elaborate carnival-inspired feather headbands and very revealing dresses. And you can’t help but feel sorry for him because you can tell just from the back of his head that he’s incredibly uncomfortable, even more so when he gets offered a blowjob from a girl who’s now threatening to get her boobs out in exchange for a whole bottle of Don Julio, in a bucket of ice, just how she likes it.

He’s turning around to face the rest of the club just as you go to look away at the menu that’s being wafted under your nose by one of your friends, and you can’t help but do a double take at his familiarity. Squinting your eyes so that you can get a better look at his features. ‘Nice drink’ you think when your eyes catch the glass of Diet Coke in his hand, quite obviously not accompanied by a swig of vodka going by his incredibly tense frame and stiff dance moves. Well, it’s not really dancing, it’s more of a ‘I’ll just copy what my friends are doing so I don’t look awkward’ move, aka a two-step shuffle from one side to the other. You can’t help but giggle as you watch him from across the room, your friends completely giving up on trying to entice you with a selection of expensive cocktails as they leave you to stare at some random man on the other side of the club, their need for a second stack of bright coloured drinks clearly overriding the want to look out for their friend.

You’re watching him for a bit longer. Becoming completely fixated on this familiar stranger who you can’t help but sit and giggle at. Part of you wanting to cringe with him at how hellish this night has become, but at the same time, it’s kind of funny watching someone who should be so used to having a large following blush and laugh awkwardly if anyone happens to recognise him. Okay, maybe it’s slightly uncomfortable to sit and watch a swarm of girls attack him with their overdrawn lips whilst he does everything in his will to not shove them into next week, especially when his friends start laughing and taking little videos of the awkward encounters, clearly ready to embarrass him at a later date. But regardless, it’s nice to know that fame hasn’t gone completely to his head, unlike an ex-reality TV star who’s screaming ‘do you know who I am?’ at one of the bouncers who won’t let her hang out with her ‘friends’ in the VIP section.

But you’re quickly forced out of your trance when you feel somebody shoving something into your hand. Looking down at your palm and clocking the ten pound note before your eyes are lifting to the hand that it’s been given from. “Go and get us those cocktails” your friend slurs before slumping back in her seat and falling to one side slightly, her pink lipstick slathered all over her chin from where she’d tried to apply it without a mirror when a man wearing an extremely tight fitting top happened to settle down in the booth next to you, obviously hoping that he’d look her way. “Hurry up, I’m thirstyyy” your other friend whines, making you sigh and mutter something under your breath in reference to them being lazy and ruining your evening, as you slide out of the row of pink arched seats and stand up. Having to grip onto the back of the chairs when your legs go all warm and fuzzy from the one too many cocktails you’d already consumed, pulling your dress down to a more appropriate length before heading off in the direction of the bar. Trying to catch a glimpse of Mason as you swerve in and out of the sea of dancing bodies, but you just end up feeling as though you’re going to fall to the floor when the strobe lights start spinning on the ceiling before dispersing their blue and green beams around the room at the most ridiculous speed. Everybody around you swaying from side to side and elbowing you in the ribs as you try your best to dodge them, kicking yourself for wearing the most stupid pair of heels as your toes crush into each other more and more with each step, cursing when you skid in a puddle of what looks like - or at least you hope is - vodka, and you have to grab onto a stranger’s arm to steady yourself, much to their dismay until they catch a glimpse of your apologetic face and suddenly want to make out with you.

You’re breathing a sigh of relief when you finally make it to the bar, setting your bag down on the counter and ordering what you think your friends want, although you probably should have double-checked with them first considering you were too busy having a nosy at someone across the club to pay any sort of interest to their alcohol preferences. “What?” you’re shouting at the barman when he tells you the total of the drinks, hoping that you’ve misheard him but ten pounds clearly isn’t going to cover the cost of sixteen cosmopolitans with added shots of vodka. Panicking when he repeats the price and turns his back to get started on making them, your hands now frantically searching your bag in the hope that you manage to find the extra money before he starts yelling at you for ordering things without being able to pay. “Fuck” you’re hissing as you turn the contents of your bag out onto the countertop, checking the inside of your phone case and a pressed powder incase they happen to house the remaining money. Your heartbeat pounding louder in your ears the closer it gets to having to admit that you’ve actually only got a quarter of what you need. 

“I’ll get it” someone’s saying, clearly sensing the tension between you and the barman as you shrug your shoulders in response to him sticking his hand out for the money. “I’m not a charity” you snap back, your slightly tipsy state giving you a rush of confidence as you continue to search your bag in the hope that the money has magically appeared just so that you can laugh it off and shut everyone up. “I know, but it’s on me” they’re saying again, leaning forward and tapping their card on the machine before you can even consider fighting back a second time. “Thank-” you’re starting before realising who it is that’s just saved you from an incredibly awkward situation. Surely not. Surely Mason Mount hasn’t just bought you, of all people, a load of cocktails for your mates.

“It’s okay” he laughs nervously, making your heart melt because clearly he’s just as awkward around you as he is everybody else in this club. “Prices have gone up, haven’t they?” he smiles as he takes a step closer to you, propping himself up on the countertop with his elbows before asking the barman for a lemonade, with ice, just so it isn’t too fizzy. “Yeah, I don’t normally come out so I underestimated it a bit” you laugh shyly before looking off in the other direction, simultaneously cursing and thanking your friends for leading you to believe that you could get sixteen cocktails for a tenner, because without their stupidity, you wouldn’t be talking to the boy that you’ve been watching all night. “Prefer to stay at home then?” he asks as you turn back and nod your head. “Me too” he’s saying, “I’m normally in bed by now” he giggles as his gaze rises to the clock above the bar, the time reading 00.04am. The slight dark glow under his eyes letting you know that he’s normally tucked up by 9pm in his pyjamas. “What are you doing here then?” you ask. Stupid question really. He’s here for the same reason that you, and probably half of the people here, are - he’s been dragged along and forced to pretend that he’s a right party animal whilst he sips his non-alcoholic drinks and fights off every woman in sight. “My mates made me tag along, I’m kind of glad they did now though” he’s telling you, the second part of his sentence almost becoming inaudible as his voice quietens just as the volume of the music rises with the chorus of ‘My Yé Is Different’, ironic since you’ve just spotted the twenty grand watch decorating his wrist whilst you’re stood there in a passion fruit stained dress. But you’re still managing to hear it, and you can’t work out whether that’s in reference to you, or the fact that he’s been able to drink fizzy drinks when he’d normally only have water. Except you’re not stupid. 

“Bet you say that to everyone” you tease, gaining his attention again as he laughs nervously and shakes his head. “Only the special ones” he replies, which is true, but now you can’t help but wonder if his drinks have been accompanied by a few shots of something or another because those words and the sincerity of his tone aren’t a reflection of the awkward man you spotted ten minutes ago, let alone the fact that he clearly considers you to be one of these ‘special ones.’ “Yeah, yeah” you’re saying back, flicking your hair over your shoulder before taking a sip of one of the cocktails that are sat before you, still waiting to be taken back to your friends. “Got quite a few drinks for somebody that doesn’t go out much, no wonder you needed me to pay” he winks as you roll your eyes and blush at the thought of somebody having to give you a helping hand with the price. “This is my last one, I’m off in a minute cose I can’t keep up with everyone else” you’re shouting over the music, watching him throw his head back and laugh because he thought he was the only one in that position. “I’ll join you” he’s replying, thanking the barman for his drink before taking a sip through the straw. “Not the sort of thing you say to a girl after only knowing her two minutes, Mason” you’re teasing, studying his face as his eyes blow wide slightly and he shakes his head, quickly swallowing his lemonade before stuttering on his words. Unsure whether he’s panicking about you jokingly misinterpreting his comment, or if he’s uncomfortable over the fact that yet another girl knows his name, but either way, he’s laughing awkwardly when you tell him that you’re only messing. 

“I wouldn’t mind though” you say smugly, causing another nervous giggle to escape his lips. Your alcohol-induced confidence only adding to the butterflies that are already batting their wings against his rib cage, something about your slight feistiness and sarcastic sense of humour attracting him to you, even more so when he takes in how beautiful you still look despite being on the verge of your alcohol limit.

“Where are you going afterwards?” he’s asking once the lights have swivelled around in the opposite direction and the blush on his cheeks isn’t so evident. “I’ll just go to the chippy down the road and then get a taxi home” you’re telling him, looking down into the fluorescent pink concoction in your glass and feeling your stomach churn at how rough it’s going to make you feel in the morning. “Mind if I join you?” he’s asking as you look across at him in disbelief, watching as he downs the last few sips of his drink and stands the glass back on the countertop. Is this a dream or something? “Sorry, that was a bit forward...again” he panics, feeling a surge of anxiety run through his body incase he’s greeted with newspaper headlines in the morning about him unintentionally trying to latch onto girls that aren’t interested in him, even if half of the club know his name. 

“No, it’s fine, of course you can” you laugh, your cocktail glass almost slipping out of your grip thanks to the layer of sweat that is now developing across your palm. “I’ll just take these over to the girls and then I’ll be ready” you smile, looping the strap of your bag over your shoulder and grabbing as many glasses as you can, which really isn’t a wise move since you’ve partially lost all sense of coordination thanks to Mason’s ability to wipe any drop of confidence out of your body and replace it with nervous butterflies. 

“I’m off” you’re announcing once you’ve made your third trip back to the booth your friends are sitting in, their drunken reactions to your words making you giggle as you reach over them to grab your jacket. “Where are you goinggg?” one of them whines, gripping onto your leg and pouting before another one is drawn to the verge of tears at your confession. “I’m just tired” you nod, blowing them all a kiss and ensuring that they text you when you’re home as you turn around and head off towards the exit, not wanting to keep Mase waiting any longer. Praying that he’s stood just around the corner outside as he’d promised as you stagger across the dance floor and dodge a sea of flailing limbs and slurred shouts of ‘can I get your number?’. A sigh of relief forcing itself out of your nostrils when the ‘exit’ sign hanging above one of the fire doors becomes within touching distance and the bouncer in charge anticipates your departure, pushing down the grey bar across the middle of the door and letting it swing open, enabling you to step out into the night.

“There you are” you smile as you approach the back of his figure, his head kept down and a cap adding a nice accessory to his outfit, although it’s definitely worn as some form of disguise. “Hi” he’s smiling nervously when he realises that it’s you, a swarm of butterflies invading his tummy again when you link your arm through his and gently rest your head on the top of his shoulder - a move that you’re aware might push you into the same category as the other girls that have been after him all night, but your crippled feet and wobbly legs are grateful for the extra stability, even if your motivation to make that move takes you both by surprise. 

“Let me get this” you’re saying once you’ve made your way into the kebab shop, your arm dropping away from his as you gesture towards the table up against the front window. “You sure?” he’s asking, dipping his hand into his back pocket ready to pull his wallet out just incase, but you’re nodding and confirming that you’re more than capable of paying four-pound-fifty for a kebab and a couple of drinks - just as well really after the events earlier this evening. Giving him a small smile as he turns and heads off towards the table in the corner, his celebrity instincts kicking when he takes the seat right in front of the glass, conveniently covered by a sticker of the menu, and some extra protection offered from the back of his body. 

You’re setting the gold foam kebab box down on your table for two, along with two plastic forks, a bottle of water and a Fruit Shoot because you noticed him eyeing them up in the fridge when you came in. And it turned out to be one of the hardest decisions of your life trying to work out what flavour he wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol that was messing with your brain, making you think that he was more of an citrus guy than a berry one. Or maybe it was the fact that you were buying a child’s drink for a fully grown adult, a famous one too, who probably hasn’t had one for ten years, which only added to the pressure. Or maybe it was because you liked him and you didn’t want to ruin your chances by getting him the wrong flavour. But after flicking your gaze between the stack of bright coloured bottles and his body cowering away in the corner, you settled for the blackcurrant one, just because he looks like the type of person to play it safe - well, he is the type of person to play it safe, going by his Diet Coke and lemonade choices tonight. 

“This for me?” he’s asking as he picks the purple bottle up, smiling when you nod to confirm his answer. “How did you know this was my favourite flavour?” he’s questioning, a smug look appearing on your face as you shrug your shoulders and reply with ‘only the ‘special ones’ know that kind of information’. A giggle escaping his mouth at your words before he’s pulling the plastic lid off the drink and taking a sip, humming at the familiarity despite not having one since his seventh birthday party. “Still as good as they used to be” he’s saying, something about the additional happiness that’s now surging through his body after a drop of blackcurrant juice making your tummy fill with butterflies because he really is just the cutest, biggest child.

You’re both sitting in a comfortable silence as you pick at your shared kebab, trying to eat from separate ends so that you don’t cross any boundaries or run the risk trying to stab your forks into the same piece of chicken. But the fuzzy filter that the alcohol has brought to your eyes and the slight delay that it’s caused between your thoughts and your actions means that you find yourself diving into the last piece of pitta bread just at the same time that Mason does. And from his side it’s a poor judgement call. The sugar from his Fruit Shoot clearly giving him an extra boost of energy and causing his arm to extend outwards towards the polystyrene box, clouding his mum’s reminder that ‘you need be a gentleman and let girls eat whatever’s left, even if you want it’. And truth be told, he doesn’t really want it, which is why the pang of anxiety as soon as his plastic fork clashes with yours is stronger than ever. His cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson as he quickly pulls his fork back, leaving just four little holes from where the prongs had been as you panic and do the same.

“Sorry, no you have it” he says quietly, nudging the box towards you in the hope that you get the hint. “No, you eat it” you smile, pushing it back towards him. The two of you just repeating the same movement as the box moves two centimetres one way, and then two centimetres back the other. “Mason, just eat it!” you whine as he sits opposite you and shakes his head. “I said you could have it” he smiles nervously, subtly wiping the sweat off his palms and onto the material of his jeans when he realises that you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Why are you getting all nervous for? Just eat ittt” you groan, a giggle escaping his lips because there’s no way you’re backing down on this one. “Fine” he huffs, stabbing his fork back into the little holes that it made earlier before slowly moving it towards his mouth. Your eyebrows raising more and more as you watch it edge closer to his lips. And then he’s doing the unthinkable and quickly changing the direction of his fork so that it starts heading towards your mouth instead. Involuntarily parting your lips whilst you wait for what’s just happened to register, and the next thing you know, you’re swallowing the piece of pitta bread. 

“What a fuss about nothing” he hums as you roll your eyes at him. “You’re quite romantic, aren’t you?” you tease as his eyebrows furrow in the middle, waiting for you to clarify your comment. “Is that all of the alcohol that’s made you so desperate to share the last piece of food with me?” you question, another layer of blush painting itself across the tops of his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, you didn’t have anything to drink, did you? Lightweight” you smirk, making him roll his eyes this time. “I’m just being a gent, plus you’ve been drinking so you need something to sober you up, maybe it’ll stop you being so rude next time I offer to buy you a drink” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. A wave of composure washing over him now that he’s left you slightly speechless and he’s matched your sense of humour. “Next time? You’ll be lucky” you sass as he scoffs at you. “You’re the one that needs to buy me a drink to apologise for snapping at me, so there will be a next time to call it quits, thank you” he smiles, his sudden burst of confidence talking to you allowing his real personality to shine through, and you can’t help but start to get lost in it. “Was I really that rude?” you ask, secretly dying as you think back to your ‘I’m not a charity’ comment at the bar. “No, I’m just messing” he laughs, eliciting the same response from you as you erase that memory out of your brain. “You’re just confident, I like it” he’s saying, the last part of his comment getting lost when a group of people come staggering through the door, drowning out his words for the second time tonight, but you’re ninety-nine percent certain you managed to catch it. And now you’re the nervous one.

You’re quickly moving the conversation on to something else when you feel your chest starting to heat up with anxious prickles. Mason going all funny inside because it’s clear that he has the same effect on you as you do him, but he’s trying to push that to the back of his mind as he listens to you rambling on about your favourite breed of dogs, and how you had a fish finger sandwich for tea before you came out tonight, and how you actually know quite a lot about football but you’re reluctant to bring it up because you don’t want to embarrass him, although your drunken state causes you to let a few football facts slip out, all of them relating to Mase but you’re too caught up in your fuzzy alcoholic state to even recognise. But he does, obviously. Finding it sweet how you know exactly how many appearances he’s made for Chelsea, and what minute he came on in his debut against Manchester United, and what colour boots he wore against last season’s match against Newcastle. Just sitting back and letting you talk in between the occasional swig of water, hardly being able to get a word in edgeways because the alcohol is well and truly running through your veins now, making you come out with all kinds of mismatched comments and slurs. But he doesn’t mind, which takes him by surprise a bit, especially as he’s secretly scared of drunk people and he can count the amount of times he’s felt a bit tipsy on one hand, but there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s your sense of humour and how you’ve got him in stitches, or how your drunken state leads you to be more concerned about the welfare of a stray cat outside than it does anything else on the planet, or maybe it’s how deep beneath that strong outer shell you’re protecting yourself with that he knows you’ve got a heart of gold, an inside of ‘pure mush’ as his mum would say. 

“What time is it?” you slur after knocking back your last swig of water. “Nearly one o’clock” Mason’s replying, glancing at his overly-expensive watch as you sit there and wonder how he actually knows what hour of the day it is when all of the numbers have been replaced by diamonds. “Better head off” you mumble, staring blankly into the empty kebab box and trying to process what move you need to make next in order to get yourself back home in one piece. “I’ll order you a cab if you want, or I’ll walk you back, I don’t know how far away you live” he’s saying, forcing you out of your trace as you look up at his tired, bloodshot eyes. Knowing full well that as soon as you’re gone he’ll be running home to bed with a glass of water to tone down the bubbles in his tummy from his fizzy drinks, paranoid incase they give him a fizzy version of a hangover. “I live about half an hour away and I can tell you’re ready for bed so I’ll go with the cab” you smile, making him giggle nervously at the fact that his tiredness has been uncovered, although it’s not difficult to pick up on the fact that the only other time he stays up this late is on New Years Eve, and even then he normally sets an alarm for 11.57pm so that he can wake up from his nap in time.

You’re letting him help you put all of your belongings back into your handbag after you insisted on showing him your favourite lipgloss midway through your earlier conversation. Linking your arm through his and stepping out into the coldness of the night, a breeze nipping across your legs and causing you to let out a little squeal as you start pulling your dress down to try and hide your goosebumps. “Here” Mason’s saying, taking his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. “Mase” you’re replying. Mase - he likes that, and he likes how naturally it’s left your mouth too. Trying to give it back to him but he’s adamant that you keep it. “Gives me another reason to see you in order to get it back” he winks, making you roll your eyes as you stand snuggled into his side on the edge of the pavement. 

“Did you want my number?” he’s asking, already taking his phone out of his pocket and holding it out in your direction before you even have chance to respond. “You’ve not really given me an option have you?” you laugh, making him giggle as he shuffles awkwardly from side to side, waiting for your digits to appear on the screen. “Only because I need to give your jacket back, there’s no other reason for this” you tell him, smiling as he nods his head but you both know that’s a little white lie. “There you go” you’re saying, passing his phone back to him as his eyes study the new contact in his hand. A new number written beneath Y/N. 

‘Shit’ he’s thinking. He didn’t even ask for your name before this. Awkward. 

“Pretty name” he smiles, trying to play it off cool, but you’re not drunk enough to not notice his mistake. “So pretty that you didn’t even know that’s what I was called until now” you reply, making him giggle and let out an awkward ‘oops’. “I’ll let you off this once” you’re saying as you look up at him stood beneath the lamppost that’s towering above the two of you. A golden glow adding a filter to his face and making him look even more gorgeous than he did when he was sipping his lemonade in the club and shoving lettuce and chicken into his mouth. And you’re desperate to just kiss him, especially since he’s got a bit of dried Fruit Shoot in the corner of his mouth and you know his lips will taste all sweet like they do in the movies. But considering he’s only just learnt your name you don’t think it’s the right time, and there’s also a bunch of Tottenham fans making their way up the street, not wanting to have to make him endure any teasing, especially when he’s already stayed up late in a part of town he wouldn’t usually be seen dead in to spend time with you. 

“Thanks for tonight” you whisper as you briefly rest your head on his shoulder, pulling it away when the taxi he’s ordered for you appears at the side of the curb. “My pleasure, thank you” he’s saying back, removing his protective hand from the small of your back and stepping forward to open the back door of the car for you. “Told you that you were a gent” you tease as he mumbles ‘shut up’ and pretends to shove you into the back seat with a giggle. “See you soon for that jacket, yeah?” he winks as you reply with ‘yeah yeah, whatever’, making him let out a little chuckle as he closes the door on you. Giving you an awkward little wave as you head off down the street, standing and waiting for your car to turn the corner before heading home himself. Leaving just a message of ‘thank you again, can’t wait to get my jacket back cose it’s freezing without it ;) x’ that’s just appeared on your screen connecting the two of you. And even if you have been slightly tipsy tonight and now can’t remember half of the things you spoke about, there genuinely doesn’t seem like a better person to sit in a kebab shop with in the early hours of the morning after stumbling across him by pure chance a club that neither of you particularly wanted to spend the night at. Thanking your lucky stars for allowing your paths to cross because you already know this is the start of something special. Very special.

[minshookie]

All Play, No Work.

Pairing | CEO!Yoongi x reader

Genre | yandere,angst

Summary | “your secret relationship with Yoongi is all smooth sailing,until Mrs Kim gets in the way.”

!warnings! | mature language, workplace bullying, gossip, and infidelity. Also some pretty steamy scenes, for readers 18+.

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

Requested [open for request] words: 2k.

A/N | “I’m so happy you enjoyed “meetings at midnight.” I never really expected over 100 notes that’s crazy! I may have gotten a little carried away with this one but I hope you don’t mind & enjoy it as well. I’ll probably be making a part 2, please take any mistakes as love ❤️”

The disturbing rattle of the air conditioner served as white noise while you toyed with the drooping noodles swimming in the savory sauce placed before you. A few of your coworkers droned on about their plans, their kids and undeserving husbands leaving you alone in the corner of the depressing break room to think about what to expect when getting back to your cubicle. Which was a little less depressing than the powder white painted room you resided in now.

“Y/L/N, Min is asking for you.” The conversations stopped and all three of us looked up into the door frame. Jimin,Yoongi's assistant stood with his hands buried in his stiffly pressed pants pockets. “I-I’m on lunch.” You slowly went back to your lukewarm meal, taking a few noodles into your mouth. Chewing, You waited for the heavy pitter patter of his polished leather loafers to exit, but You never get what you wish for.

“Y/N, please don’t make me have to run back up there just to run back down here and tell you the same thing….c’mon.” He came closing your tupperware, sighing as you pushed it into your lunch bag, embarrassment growing on your features as he stood over you. The stare of nosey coworkers followed as you stepped out of the bland break room. The clacking of Jimin’s shoes found your nerves rather quickly, closely he walked behind you like a school principal making sure you went where instructed.

Taking you past your cubicle to leave your lunch you could almost taste the jealousy being thrown at you like missiles. Disapproving and confused whispers and glares followed you out the area. Reaching the stairs, out of sight of your colleagues you out ran Jimin, the looks, noises and scoffs getting the best of you. You practically threw yourself through yoongi's door, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Hey! hey! Bunny, got here quickly didn’t you?” He walked over locking his loyal assistant out. Falling back on the couch struggling for your breath, closing your eyes, you heard him walk around you. “I told you I’d see you after work, we’d have all night together.” Sighing, he pulls you up by your arms. With a grunt he sat down and replaced your head on his lap. “I know what you said, but did you really think I was going to wait...why should i?” Opening your eyes you met his soft gaze. “Tell me you love me.” He whispers, almost ashamed in himself. Needy, needy,needy,always needy. “This can’t be why you called me in.”

“Why should I?” You laughed, obviously he didn’t share your sense of humor as he tugged harshly on a strand of your hair. “Well if I didn’t love you I’d quit Yoongi.” Rolling over you cuddled into his soft tummy inhaling his masculin scent, this here under him locked in his dim office was your safe place. “No you wouldn’t, I pay you too much.” He murmured petting your back with his large hands. “As if!” You giggled into his tummy, pulling back to look up at your lover. His signature smile displayed on his features, moving his hands from your back he places his limber fingers at the back of your knee. Locking eyes he slid skillfully under your skirt to massage your ass over your panties. “Who were you hiding from today hm?” Groaning you rolled your eyes, you hate how he knows you so well.

“Kim?” “Mrs Kim is the least of my worries now.” You grimaced playing with his buttons. “Mm good, can't be the new girl, maybe her boyfriend?” Your eyes shot open, “boyfriend?! Who?” He planted this topic in the conversation, knowing your interest in the drama of your workplace. “Yeah, she’s running around with the coffee boy.” Laughing, he cut himself off “Jungkook.” He laughed almost uncontrollably. “That’s so cute since when?!” He hums calming down, “uh since about last month, I’ve been watching them get all close and flirty jeon puts extra cream in her coffee, she blushes blah blah. And you know Jimin is the nosiest person in the population of this place.”

You chuckled Nodding in agreeance “learned that way before you did, he was my cubicle neighbor before he was your assistant.” Sitting up you go to his drink cart to grab a bottle of water. “Yeah they’re cute as long as they stay on task, Answer the question though, who’s bothering my baby hm? I hate seeing you that way.” He comes from behind gliding his hands around your front pulling you into his embrace “you have a whole cafeteria in the next wing, I made sure they served your favorite today, and yet you chose the shitty break closet.” His rambling turns into background noise as you look through the one way window. Watching as your coworkers attended their duties, Jungkook balanced coffees in his arms with skill the new girl watched in admiration...I wonder what he’s actually here for.

Yoongi’s breath fans your neck causing you to shiver against him. “I’m sorry what’d you say?” “You’re ok.” He turns you around swiftly kissing you passionately against the glass obviously you’ve missed something. Though unseen the act feels extremely dirty. Dropping your water you cling to his shoulders, legs around his Slender waist. “You're not paying me to make out with you I hope.” He pecks your nose, gnawing his bottom lip. “Huh looks like I am.” “Ah, as tempting as that sounds Yoongs-” “don’t ever call me that.” He nips at your neck in retaliation. “I have a stack of papers on my desk that Mr Jimin has been beating me over the head about.” Groaning he loosens his grip around you. Letting you gather yourself before going to his door.

“I’ll see you tonight yeah?” Pouting,he came kissing your lips once more. “I’ll be waiting.” He opened the door and watched you strut down the stairs.

Getting back to your respectful area, you notice something was off...where’d your lunch go? You could’ve sworn you threw it on your desk. Pulling out the rolling chair to take a seat, “I’ll find it later.” You whispered to yourself,taking a seat, directly in the cold remains of your lunch. “What the fuck!” A wave of laughter was given with your ill response. Noodles dangled from your backside as you turned to look at the mess on your office chair.

“Okay! What are we a bunch of middle school virgins?” Jimin shouted, his face turning a dark shade of peach. “I’m sorry y/n.” Rolling your eyes you tried to keep back tears of utter embarrassment turning away from you colleagues. “Uhm...it’s pretty bad, do you have anything to change into?” He takes off his styled coat and hands it to you. You can’t process over the harsh giggles and whispers, “yeah like I have a closet in my car, Jimin I don’t have shit to put on!” You hiss making him pull an offended expression.

“I could give you something.” Your head snapped in the direction of the quiet new girl in the far corner. “I have a few dresses in car I-I I’m in the process of…” she scans the room unsure of her words “moving.” You offer a smile to cover how distraught you are, unable to respond correctly. “Thank you luci, we appreciate it.” Nodding she smiles softly grabbing her bag going to retrieve the clothes. “Go to the restroom, please.”

Tying the coat around your waist you rushed with your head down to the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself roughly. Taking off the grey coat Turing to examine your soup covered ass. You brushed the cold noodles letting them splat onto the tiled floor. Pulling coat off the conjoined sinks you found the spacious stall at the end of the row, stripping off your soiled skirt. Nothing better to do, but to sit on the cold stool and wait.

The creaking door of the bathroom cut your silent thoughts short, isn’t Luci a quick one? You chuckled to yourself getting up, about to tell her of your whereabouts…“maybe if the bitch didn’t have her head so far up Min’s ass she woulda saw it coming.” The unknown voice stopped you in your tracks. Her friend snickers. “Shh she could be in here.” “As if I give a fuck, she needs to know!” Peeking through the side of the stall you could see them in the mirror touching up their makeup. “Min’s probably got his head up hers too!” The quieter of the two spoke up.

“Ha that would explain my recent hours, I heard they fuck in the office, I wonder if the sluts any good.” She cleaned the edges of her lipstick, “I’ve fucked him, I know he’s good, really into all the rough shit, he’s crazy.” She tossed her makeup into her bag fixing her hair, “why’d you guys stop?” You felt your chest ache, yoongi never told you about him and Mrs Kim, what kind of fucked story is this? “Little miss pasta booty got the job, and Joon finally proposed...guess he didn’t want me any-” “y/n are you in here?!” Luci’s softened voice searched for you.

“I’m in here.” Responding slightly above a whisper, the soft steps of her pumps were trampled by the clicking steps of the two mud slingers who quickly bursted from the restroom. “I didn’t know what you would like, I have this blue one, it’s a cute summer dress.” She hung it on the door of the stall for me to see. “Or this white one, it’s a bit tighter but I think it’ll look great on you.” Randomly choosing you stripped of your top pulling the dress over yourself. “Thanks Luci, I owe you one.” Collecting your clothes and Jimin’s coat, you left the stall. “No no, I’m sorry Kim did that to you...I should’ve stopped her.” She coyly hangs her head, “not your fault...thanks Luci.” She smiles politely, leaving me alone in the bathroom.

Eunji That jealous bitch, yoongi has much explaining to do. You smooth out your dress bracing yourself for the environment behind the door. only to be pushed back. A deep blush pink shade covering his face, yoongi brings you back in, “you can’t be in here, this is the ladies.” He scans your body before looking at the dirty laundry in your arms. “This is my building. I can be anywhere in any room I want.” Scoffing you attempt to leave, grabbing your forearm he pulls you back. “What’s going on with you I’m here to check and see if you’re alright and here you are acting like an ass y/n” his face held a concerned stare.

“Yoongi the last thing we should be doing is huddling in the bathroom, we’ve drawn enough attention to ‘us’ already.” Unable to look him in the eyes you examine his posture, he propped your chin on his pointer finger bringing your face up. “And since when did you care?” “Ever since your ex painted my ass with my lunch.” He giggled darkly, “what?” Again you attempted escape, only to be overpowered and lifted with ease. “Okay sit the fuck down.” Placing you down in the sink like a child he took your skirt looking at the back. “And this just had to be the one I bought?.” He shook his head like a disappointed father. “What are you acting so mad towards me for, who’s supposedly my ex huh?” He took the skirt under the faucet scrubbing it harshly together with soap.

Why can’t he ever just leave you alone, drawing attention to your relationship was the last thing you needed today. It’s not like nobody knew, it was hard not to. But you hated the unwanted attention the favoritism brought you. “Who lied to you?” “You did.” He stopped the water, “y/n now you know I’d never.” He folded the cleaned wet skirt along with your shirt. “Yoongi, I heard Kim Eunji talking about it. She told her little follower about it while I hid in the stall.” You answered blandly, ready to be freed from the bathroom. His face shifted shades, “what? I’ve never fucked that bitch, all she does is lie and get into shit she has no concern for.” He gripped the sink roughly.

Like a switch, when the right buttons were pushed Yoongi’s temper was quick to strike….though never thrown at you. It can have harsh outcomes and you've seen it first hand. “She runs her mouth about you too much, I’ll have to help her out.” Aggressively released the marble counter, “Yoongi w-what, calm down.” He walked to the door, unsure of what to do. Naive of his wrath you followed behind. “She wants to get fucked? I’ll give her something that’ll fuck her up, something that’ll make her piss off for good this time.”

Not my image

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 3

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support you've been giving to this fanfic!

CHAPTER THREE

It was a day of sunlight and cold smoke in New York. The clouds split above towering buildings, the sun shining in its full glory. You left the apartment earlier, scared to wake Bucky up, only for him to wake up to his stepbrother's roommate creeping up on him in the morning. You pushed Bucky's face at the back of your mind. Perhaps he just looked like someone you've seen before or you've bumped into. Who knows? New York is a pretty big city.

With your airpods plugged in, and your phone in your hand, you started running on the streets, greeting some people with a smile on the way, ignoring the pain on your head. There was Millie from the flower shop, Bob from the woodshop, Rex from the coffee shop, and Colin the friendly street beggar. After five blocks, you didn't know anyone anymore. Just some strangers on the street you see from time to time but never interact with.

Already nearing highway streets, you slowed down your pace, careful not to crash into some bikers or worse, these honking cars rushing to get to their 8-5 jobs. There was a pang of relief that rushed over me as you stood on the other end of the street, waiting for the walk sign to turn green. It was one of the things you loved working in a bar and handling your own photography gig. You weren't answering to no one and rushing to work like these angry hooligans. You both worked in the evening and on your own time. Steve wasn't a bossy boss who yells at his staff. He was just like one of you guys, but unlike you, he had a sense of leadership.

And you get to run every morning -- even though there was still a throbbing pain on your forehead. Peter will never be able to persuade you to go work in their company or in any company for that matter. But you must commend him for his unwavering determination.

You stopped at a convenience store after rounding a few more blocks and bought a bottle of water which you've finished right in front of the cashier who found her phone more interesting -- or perhaps she was just used to some girl finishing a bottle of water in mere seconds.

"Hey, where's the trash?" You asked. The trash can beside the counter wasn't there. She just shrugged and popped her bubblegum.

You walked away from the store, knowing all too well that she wouldn't say or do anything past chewing and popping her gum.

Right across from where you were standing was a tall, elegant white hotel adorned with golden flecks of some kind of shiny paint, which you remembered was Bucky's. It stood twenty something stories tall and wedged between a coffee shop and a pizzeria. On Sundays, whenever you and Peter would walk past it, he'd never forget to remind you that it was Bucky's "empire." It was no Chuck Bass empire but you must admit, that was one fine hotel.

You crossed the street and stood in front of it, a way of slowing down your heart rate just a few beats low. You were just about to cool down, anyway.

You admired the engrossed name of the hotel on the archway that led to the lobby: WHITE WOLF with a wolf headstone right between it, like the one in The Arcadian. A memory of Peter telling you how Bucky renamed it came across your mind. Before it was White Wolf, it was the Golden something. Apparently, Bucky was in a safari somewhere north or south? Maybe west. You honestly can't keep up with some of the stories. Somewhere in the face of the earth -- he was on a safari and came across a gorgeous white wolf with fur as white as snow, eyes as blue as the seas and skies. Bucky swore the wolf looked right into his soul. That was implausible but it did give him a good name for his hotel. He repainted the whole beige building white, standing out from the other buildings around.

A woman with no shoes made you tear your eyes away from the beautiful wolf headstone, screaming Bucky's name. You stepped aside and leaned in on one of the archway posts. There was a muffled noise coming from her. You removed your airpods to listen.

"...the hell is Bucky? You! Have you seen that son of a bitch?" She approached the valet boy. He shook his head no. Then she went to the uniformed man on his post or was it a podium?

"I haven't seen Mr. Barnes, madam."

You could tell by the sly look on the man's face that he saw his boss probably running down the street and taking a cab, but before even stepping foot on the streets, Bucky probably told not to tell.

The woman's lips were smeared with red lipstick, hair disheveled and was wearing a man's clothing, probably Bucky's.

Was this the thing that happened at his penthouse?

"Okay, I'm just gonna wait for him in his penthouse. If you ever see your boss, tell him I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, madam."

She went back in, hips swaying along with her blonde hair, not giving a damn at the strangers staring at her as she walked towards the elevators.

The uniformed man caught your eye and you gave him a small wave and a smile. "Crazy morning, huh? Okay, bye."

You chuckled nervously and walked away as fast as you could back to the apartment.

When you got back, Bucky was already up, eating something out of a bowl while watching something on the television. You ignored the memory of you staring at him as he slept safe and sound earlier.

Without looking up, he spoke: "Weren't you supposed to rest?"

You grinned as you walked towards the kitchen, and prepared a protein shake. Suddenly forgetting the wound on your forehead. It didn't hurt as much now.

"I don't listen to Parker." You answered. "I never do."

You set your airpods on the kitchen island then grabbed a shaker, poured in some water and dunked a scoop of protein powder inside. You shook the whole damn thing while approaching Bucky.

You stood beside the couch and faced television. It turned out he was watching some old cartoon.

The image of his hotel flashed before your eyes. "I ran past your hotel today. There was a woman looking for you."

He almost choked on his cereal. You could feel his head look towards in your direction but you ignored him, enjoying the chase between Tom and Jerry on the tv screen. "Can't believe this is still on tv." You commented.

"D-did she say something?"

"Kept shouting your name and stuff. Called you son of a bitch and all that." You stopped shaking the shaker then took a big gulp. "I hear she's planning to burn down the White Wolf into the ground." You stifled a smile, letting the liquid stay in your mouth for a little while. "Then find you and take all your money away."

He groaned, picking up on your tone. "Not funny."

"All of that was true except the last part, though." You finally let out a laugh then looked at him who now had his eyes back on the screen. "So, you leave your girlfriend alone up there? Then come here?" You would've said it was pretty low of him but this was Bucky. You knew he'd done worse.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She's a girlfriend?"

"She's nothing but a one night stand. Don't have a girlfriend." He sighed, putting down the bowl. It turned out it was cereal he was eating. Cartoons and cereal. Wow. He really did act like an eight-year old. "Then after we... well, you know, she suddenly told me she loved me. I was drunk! Then I felt this rush, like a panic, then when she was fast asleep, I didn't know what else to do so I came here."

You knitted your brows and kept your gaze on him. Last night, he told you guys it was a long story. A thing came up. "That wasn't a long story."

"I was hammered and real sleepy. For me it was a long story." He replied.

You just laughed in response, then walked towards your bedroom. Before you could even finish your drink, Bucky shouted for your name. You yelled for him back.

"Will you come with me to the hotel?" Bucky's voice was loud but small. Like a child asking to go to the playground. It felt more like it with the muffled cartoon noises in the background.

You stepped out of your room, finishing the rest of your drink. A big gulp. Then you pouted at him. "Want me to drive away the scary woman?"

Instead of responding with a simple yes or a slight nod, Bucky shot you a wide smile with his shoulders up, making an accidental flex with his lean tricep muscles on both of his arms, and squeezing his chest muscles while he was at it. He held it for too long that veins were starting to show.

You diverted your attention from his muscles to his face. He tried to look cute as a button but in your view, he looked strained. Yet his smile never wavered. You finally agreed to go with him as long as he took a shower first, telling him he reeked of alcohol.

"Are you always this mean?" Bucky said, but his voice was light and not at all heavy or dark.

"Pretty much." You snickered before going back inside your room.

You were sitting on your yoga mat -- just finished some few stretches -- and watching some tv show on the HBO channel when Bucky came out of the bathroom. A towel hung low on his waist -- you didn't even bother to look at his toned details so as to not freak him out with all the staring since you've been doing that a lot since he'd arrived. You focused your attention back on the screen.

"Were you just working out?" He asked, ruffling his hair.

"Just some yoga." You shrugged.

You let him borrow an oversized shirt of yours. The entire time, he was behind your in your room. Bucky attempted to make some small conversation while you were rummaging through your stuff. "Cool space you got here. You photograph?"

"Yeah." You replied. "It's probably not convenient having a studio space inside my room but Parker and I couldn't afford a three-space bedroom, so yeah."

"It's still pretty cool." His response remained.

Your room was bigger than Peter's since you had to have your studio corner. He wasn't a space hogger or anything so he let you get the bigger room. You had little decorations in your room except for a few photos of college friends, old roommates, and you and Peter, a clock on the wall, some band posters from the 70's like Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith, and the lights you needed for your studio corner. On that side, on the other hand, had more things to offer. Products from previous projects and all the stuff you needed for taking photos like lights, backdrops, tables, a bunch of chairs, and whatnots. Then the walls were just plain white. Yet Bucky still managed to explore around until you found him an oversized shirt.

You threw the shirt towards him. He managed to catch it on the air without looking at it. A quick reflex.

"Do you have some of your photos here?"

"They're in the bar downstairs." You replied. He looked at me with both eyebrows raised, asking a question with his face. "I work there as a bartender and my boss lets me put up my photos on the wall."

"Well, I'd love to see them."

"Actually, there's a shipment coming this afternoon. There will be no people. You can come with me then." You paused. "Unless you have other plans?" There was a part of you that wanted Bucky to have no plans this afternoon. You had a feeling he didn't. You wanted to trust your instincts.

"I have nothing going on." Oh good. "I can show you how I make a mean drink while we're there." Bucky smirked then put on the shirt which had a Rolling Stones logo on the front. He looked down on it and shot me a smile. The shirt still fit him, hugging all his muscles but it was better than Peter's clothes who wear the tightest fits on earth.

"What do you think?" He asked, showing you his fit while still having the towel draped around his waist.

"You look like a rockstar." You blatantly replied. "And hey, I can also make a mean drink. Really mean."

"Please I make the best ones, doll."

"I'll be the judge of that."

[honeydew-mel0n]

A Very Pink Revenge

Dante has been pretty rude to his S/O, so, the reader takes things into their own hands. Well, theirs and Patty's. (Also on AO3)

Anime Dante x reader (Heaven in a Devil's Palm)

You have the luxury of knowing your boyfriends sleep schedule (or lack there of), as well as how deep of a sleeper he is. That information is dangerous. Especially after Dante decided to get on your nerves during your last job. Also equally as dangerous, you have access to a certain little girl who loves to give pink, frilly makeovers.

Sneaking Patty into the office wasnt the hard part, she somehow finds her way back in any time she wants, convincing her to let you do everything by her direction was. As someone who's had to endure her makeovers, you know she can be quite aggressive with putting in hair clips and aggressively rubbing makeup brushes all over your face. Dispite Dantes deep sleeping, you know it would wake him up instantly.

Patty leans against your side, holding into your sleeve with a vice grip. "Okay, blue eye shadow now." She whispers as you get a liberal amount of light blue powder on the brush, lightly sweeping it over his eyelids. You almost scream as his mouth opens, expecting one of his snarky comments to indicate the deep shit you'd be in. But instead your ears were greated with a light snore.

The two of you look at each other with a sigh of relief. Well, this will make it easier to apply lip stick. You finish up the eyeshadow, placing it back into your makeup back you grab a stunning red. It was your favorite, and for good reason. Cherry's in the Snow applied smoothly to this lightly chapped lips, thank god for its pigment.

A giggle is heard from below you and you cover her mouth, shooting her a scolding look. Patty nods and gestures to the black liquid liner in your bag. You nod back grabbing it and going to work. Kat Von D sucks as a person, but boy are you glad you were gifted this liner. Have fun getting this off babe.

You look back down and Patty puts her hand under her chin, nodding in approval. You lean down to her height, whispering. "Do you think we can get lashes on him, or just move onto your hair clips?" Her face lights up with a profound joy. "Lashes!" She whispers back.

You blow on the glue, waiting for it to get tacky. These were no weak thin lashes, absolutely not, okay this is a punishment. You place the thick, wing like lashes on your boyfriends eyelid then repeat. You take a step back to look at his beat face. The box of hair clips are inserted into your hands. You look at the obnoxiously pink clips and follow her directions once again.

You take a few photos before running to the couches, looking them over, the two of you giggling to yourselves. looking up, your boyfriend stirring in his chair, yeah, he's gonna be pissed.

Apon waking, Dantes face felt itchy. It usually does. Nothing to worry about. The entire shop was lit up in oranges as the sunset shown through the windows. A smile spreads on his face at the sight of you, with Patty against your chest. Both in a deep sleep. You've always been so good with her, with kids. He felt odd watching the two of you together, it made him long for something he didnt know.

You looked so sweet, the way the orange light made you glow.

Yeah, that's his angel.

He stands from his desk, stretching then walks to the bathroom, shutting the door before turning the light on. Both your and Pattys eyes shoot open, having been faking sleep, as a angry yell echos echoes throughout Devil May Cry. You grab her by the back of her dress and haul her out the door. "Go! I'll take the blame!" You slam the door shut and when you turn around he's already out of the bathroom. Storming your way.

"No I wont!" You throw back open the door only to have the back of your shirt grabbed. As you're yanked back, the door slams shut. You look up at him, those ice blue eyes holding only rage. You clear your throat, hoping to clear the air. "Hey baby, you look nice."

____

You sit, trembling, on his desk. Dante has never once put his hands on you, and never will. But you've seen what he's capable of, god he's kinda terrifying. The two of you sit, holding tense and uncomfortable eye contact. His tense shoulders slump with a sigh. "How do you get this shit off?" You let out a laugh, after all, that's all you can do when you're nervous. "Well, you can start by unclipping the hairpins."

He reaches up, tugging them through his hair, cringing at them as they pass through the tangles. "Oh my God, you know what?" You shove his hands away and start unclipped them yourself. "It wouldnt hurt as much if you brushed your hair more often." You mumble, which earns you a huff in response.

"Now whatever these heavy things on my eyes are." You cock an eyebrow. "You mean the lashes? Just pulled them off." He scoffs. "Sure babe, like I'm dumb enough to believe that." "You are dumb though." You say, grabbing one of the eyelashes and yanking it off. He flinches, obviously expecting his entire eyelid to come off with it.

"Its... that easy?" As you nod, he pulls the other one off. Noting how the glue still sticks to his gloves, Dante sticks it to your exposed thigh. You roll your eyes and reach for your makeup wipes. "Come here." Is whispered as you cup his jaw and wipe the makeup from his face. Lipstick, foundation, then the eyes. "Close them for me." He does letting you scrub off the pigmented shadow and annoyingly stubborn eyeliner.

You go over his face once more, making sure everything is off. "Better?" You say his face still in your hand. He nods, leaning against your hand. "You arent mad anymore?" "No, I'm still mad."

[jodfics]

Educating Bucky

Female Reader x Bucky Barnes

Timeline: 1930′s Rating: NSFW Prompt: Reader offers to teach a young Bucky Barnes a new kind of dance. A/N: I’m really proud of this one.

MasterList

James Barnes had always been an attractive boy; even as a baby, he was cooed at and adored by women who would squeeze his cheeks and admire his pouty pink lips. He would get compliments on his steely blue eyes and his manners when he got a little older. The older Bucky got, the more attention girls would give him and the more interested he became in them. He liked sports, liked art, and loved dancing; Bucky would go as often as he could and soon, he was being pulled this way and that by pretty girls who all wanted a piece of him. He liked the girls that would let him kiss them; kissing was his most favourite thing in the world. Other than maybe being allowed to touch a breast or two.

At eighteen, he met a girl who wanted him to do more than kiss her and cop a feel. She wasn't a floozy, and nor did she have a reputation of sleeping around, but she was no blushing virgin either – not like Bucky was. Y/N was two years older than him, she knew she was pretty, and she knew she could have him dancing in circles around her all night with just a wink of her eye. He always walked her home from the dance hall, her arm linked in his as they strolled toward her tiny apartment – he still lived with his family. 'Do you want to come in?'

'…In there?' Bucky stared through her open door as if it led to another dimension.

She laughed at his expression, "Where else, silly?"

"That's your place…you live alone, and anyone looking would think we're…ya know…" he was making an odd movement with his body, like a half-shrug that she found hilarious.

That's what I was hoping for, Bucky." Y/N smiled gently this time and offered him her hand, "You were saying the other week that you worried you wouldn't live up to expectations from any girls that wanted more than a kiss. I'll tell you what to do – no strings attached." He didn't have to come with her, she hoped he would, and she would make sure he had a good time, but she also knew that losing your virginity could be a big deal for some people. She knew that Bucky didn't want to wait until he got married, she also knew that everyone expected him to be good at everything he did, and this charming boy was so eager to please, "We can stop whenever you like."

Bucky looked up and down the dark street, expecting his mother to start lecturing him out of nowhere or even his father to clip him round the ear. No one was around, and he steeled himself before jogging up the stairs and taking her hand; Y/N took him straight to her little bedroom and left him there whilst she fetched them drinks. He looked around the room with interest. He'd been in a girl's room plenty of time, but Y/N was twenty one now, old enough to buy liquor, and her parents had brought her this swell little place – on the condition she hurried up and got married. The orange light of the bedroom lamp gave the room a warm kind of glow, it was a tidy room with a few personal items scattered about, but pride of place was her dressing table. Sitting on the little stool and poked at some of the things, tubes of lipsticks ranging from soft pinks to deep reds, face powder and something that looked like it would hurt if Bucky didn't know his mother had one – an eyelash curler. He picked up a pair of earrings on the polished surface and admired how they glinted in the dull light, 'Those are my favourite.' Her voice made him jolt, and he almost dropped the earrings onto the floor. He put them back into the dish he'd found them in and made to get up, "Relax, fella, here get this down you."

Bucky took the little shot glass and threw it back, his expression souring as it burned down his throat, "Holy cow! What the hell is this?!" It was awful, and he could feel it all the way down to his stomach, warm in his belly, but the heat kept spreading all the ways to his fingertips. He unfastened the first two buttons of his white shirt and shifted on the stool, his palms were sweaty, and he discreetly rubbed them on the knees of his dark trousers. "Whisky. Hurts, don't it!" She laughed whilst taking her shoes off and the shrug she had been wearing to keep warm, "I'm going to change," she told him, and Bucky licked his lips nervously – he had no idea what that did to her and so many others. She stepped toward him, forcing him to part his knees to let her stand closer, and as he tilted his head up to look at her, she couldn't help but wonder how he was so beautiful. Her fingers traced around his jaw, he wasn't a boy, but she knew he had a little more growing to do, he was already broad-shouldered, and his shirts always hugged his strong arms; she'd had her hands on them enough to know he was solid. "You're so handsome, James… it's like you got carved by one of those art guys."

He smiled up at her, a slight blush colouring his cheeks as she complimented him, and he kissed her thumb as it traced over his lips, "Which art guy?" He asked with a bit of a smirk.

"Michael Vinci or something," Bucky stared up at her, pursing his lips and then sucking in his cheeks in an effort not to laugh. He failed. Miserably. The brunette burst into peels of laughter, throwing his head back and almost falling off the stool if not for her grabbing hold of his shoulders and pulling him back. He seemed to find that even funnier, "No more giggle water for you… it's not funny… what did I say?!" He couldn't stop laughing at her, his face buried now in her stomach with his arms wrapped around her middle.

It took a few minutes to compose himself, wiping his eyes of joy and taking a deep breath. He explained what he'd found so funny, "Michael Angelo and Leonardo Da Vinci, doll, are two different people." He knew she was paying him a genuine compliment though, and thanked her. She was good at putting him at ease, even if it were a complete accident. "You're my favourite dame, Y/N… Kinda nervous though."

"You'll do fine," She gave his chin a little squeeze and lifted her foot to rest on his thigh, the skirt of her dress lifting to reveal more of her to his eyes; Bucky's eyes drifted up along her thigh, "You ever get your hand up a girl's skirt?"

"…No. Not yet …sort of." His hand skimmed up her calf, fingertips circling her knee and then rested it on her lower thigh, "Got my hand this far and," his other hand cupped the curve of her backside, "Here too." His bottom lip disappeared behind his teeth as his blue eyes kept trained on her skirt, the tantalising little gap.

Y/N combed her fingers through his perfectly styled hair, tugging gently at the base of his hair to bring his gaze up, "Don't act so thirsty, you're a cool fella – act like it. A girl likes when you look at her face, in her eyes. She already knows what you want, but you gotta make her feel more valuable than what's under her dress." Her hand landed atop his on her thigh and guided it upward, smiling as he was torn between watching his hand and keeping his eyes on her, "That look in your eyes right now, that's good…like you want to eat me alive."

"I do." Bucky didn't recognise the sound of his voice. It had become quiet and deep, and he didn't know where the confident answer had come from, but he liked the way her eyes widened. And he liked how her breath caught, "I wanna watch your stockings come down, I wanna see my fingers sliding along your legs as I remove them…" Already he was tracing the edge of her stocking, unclipping the suspenders keeping them up. When she nodded silently, he used both hands to fold the hose down and smiling to himself as he managed to get it to roll. Once it was mid-thigh, Bucky held his breath as bare skin was revealed; he'd seen bare legs before but not like this. He dragged his fingers over her naked flesh, and too soon, he had reached her ankle.

Y/N could see the almost disappointed look on his face and didn't take it to heart, "Too quick for you?" He gave a half shrug that was a definite yes. She put her leg down, bringing the other up and taking his hands, "So, this can come up," they lifted her skirt up higher, and Bucky made a sound in his throat at the glimpse of her underwear, "Unsnap these, one and two, and then you get your thumbs under the stocking – see how much you can touch now?" His palms were flush against her thigh, the fingers of his right hand almost brushing against her most intimate part, and it took every inch of self-control for the brunette not to stare – he was cool… he had to be cool. "Now you can run those big, strong hands down my leg any way you like."

"Can I use my mouth?" He wanted to kiss her skin, wanted to run his lips down the path his hands were making.

"Oh god, please." She all but whimpered, and Bucky leaned in to kiss the side of her knee as the material slid past it, "A little higher…" His perfect lips pressed higher, and when she sighed, he placed several more open mouth kisses higher and higher, his hand curling around her thigh and caressing her smooth skin. Bucky kept going until his nose was almost pressed between her legs; he paused, unsure of what to do, but suddenly the room was too hot, and his mouth felt dry. Y/N pulled him away, "Come on, fella… We got a little more to do." Y/N turned her back to him and glanced over her shoulder, "Unzip me?" He got up so fast that the stool fell over in his haste. He swore and righted it, once more wiping sweaty palms on his trousers, "You alright?"

Bucky nodded and pulled the zip of her dress down; his hands slid under the material and pushed it down over her shoulders, stroking her arms and nuzzling into her neck, "You always smell so damn good," her dress dropped to the floor. Bucky moaned into her skin and softly turned her around; he pulled her against him and kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers and sighing contentedly. He was good at kissing, he was a master of it, and he needed to feel good at something, needed to get some of his cool back. Hands grasped her backside, squeezing and kneading as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until her arms wrapped around his neck and her hands buried into his hair. He was so aware of her against him though, her naked skin and lack of clothing playing on his mind, Bucky's lips left her reluctantly, moving down to her throat, sucking a mark into her skin whilst she unfastened his shirt and pulled it loose from his trousers, and then her hands were on his bare chest.

Y/N walked him toward her bed and made him sit on the edge, "Let's see what I'm working with here." He took the hint and removed his shirt, "Very nice. Lay back for me, Bucky." He leaned back onto his elbows, watching her eagerly, taking in the ivory coloured underwear she wore, enjoying how much skin he could see and itching to get his hands on it. She shimmied her suspender belt down over her hips, and he raised to watch it fall, "Bucky…" her tone was gently scolding as if he were reaching into the cookie jar.

"I know, I know… you're just so beautiful, doll, how can I not be thirsty for you?" He took a deep breath and leaned back again, keenly watching her get onto the bed and crawl up to his side; she moved like a cat – graceful and lean. Y/N laid out on her side, leaning her head on her hand whilst her other hand rested on his belly. He jolted as if she'd electrocuted him and she laughed as he blushed. "Not fair…"

"Don't sulk, Bucky. I want to see what I'm working with, and if you're a good boy, I'll give you a treat." Her index finger danced along the grooves of his stomach, tracing the lean abs with a slight grin, "How did you even get this good looking?" Nails dragged down his stomach and Bucky dropped onto the bed as his elbows gave out, "It's all that sport, all the dancing and hard work you do about the place – saw you carrying all those boxes the other day. Big, strong, arms bulging as you helped the grocer out." She squeezed his bicep and floated her fingers along his shoulder to circle one of his pebbled nipples, "You always help everyone out." He panted lightly as her fingertip got closer to his nipple, whining when she giggled and pulled her hand away, "Your turn, Bu- whoa!"

Bucky was up like lightning. Grabbing around her waist and pulling the woman onto his lap, his mouth attacked hers with enthusiasm. All whilst his fingers fumbled with the back of her brassiere in a manner far too eager to be effective. No matter how he pulled or fiddled, he couldn't get the damn thing off, and he released her mouth with a frustrated growl. Bucky looked over her shoulder at his hands and frowned; why was it so complicated? He just wanted to see what she was hiding, and the piece of clothing was literally from hell, "I swear to god, Y/N!" He huffed and puffed, slamming his hands down on the bed with pouted lips and red cheeks. How was he supposed to do anything when girls wore such stupid things?!

"Oooh, look at this face," Y/N cupped his cheeks and cooed at him playfully, "Do you always sulk when you can't get to a girl's boobs?" He wasn't looking her in the eyes anymore. His blue eyes were glaring directly at her chest, he wanted to make her feel good, but he couldn't even get her clothes off, "Alright, I'll help you this time," She reached behind her back and, in one simple move unclipped the bra, she watched his expression soften. His eyes got bigger as the piece of clothing began to fall.

"…H-holy cow…!" Bucky's mouth was dry, and there was a tremor noticeable in his hands as he reached up to mould his palms over her breasts. He'd never seen a pair in the flesh, he'd felt plenty through a dress, but this was something else. They were soft and pliable, warm in his hands, and he grinned like a kid when she moaned just because his thumbs brushed over her nipples. "Can…I kiss you here?" He gave them a soft squeeze, "I wanna get my mouth back on you." Once she nodded her consent, a soft smile on her lips at his eagerness, Bucky's head rushed forward, and his mouth covered her left nipple, rubbing his tongue against the erect nub and groaning into her skin. The sound she made went straight to his cock, and again he groaned; it gave him the same reaction, "Sensitive?"

Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, ruining it entirely from his original style, "A little. I get a little thrill when you moan against me like that; vibrates." She felt him place kisses along her chest, breathing in deeply as he was hit by her perfume again, and she smiled when he mumbled his praise into her cleavage. His hands had pressed her breasts together, pushing them up and nuzzling against them.

"I love these, oh god, I love these so much!" His teeth grazed her right nipple at the same time his thumb and index rolled and pinched her left; he swore he'd be happy just with this – he was already getting far more than he'd ever expected. Bucky could feel the pressure in his trousers increase when she began to move on his lap. Already he was overheated and more desperate than he'd ever been and with the sudden realisation that he was one touch away from embarrassing himself.

"You doing okay?" She asked all of a sudden as she noticed his touches were a little less enthusiastic, "You're turning redder than a tomato," he was more flushed than she was. His eyes were darting around almost nervously, tongue licking his bottom lip over and over. It took her a moment to realise what might be the problem – Bucky was a virgin, and she would bet all of her rent money that he was desperate for release, "How long does it take you to get it up again? If we uncork you am I gonna be waiting a long time?" He looked at her so hopefully, his eyes shining brightly in the dim room whilst he chewed his lip indecisively, she stroked his hair, "It's okay, you know, this is your first time and I am attractive -"

"Beautiful."

His interruption made her smile, "Charmer. What I'm saying is if you need a little relief, I don't mind – you'll last longer the second time around." That had his attention, and slowly he nodded his consent, but then she was climbing off his lap to take a seat on her dressing room stool; she was comfortable sat there in just her knickers and watching him. Bucky furrowed his brows, confusion all over his face as she sat there, "Well," she prompted, "Get to it."

"…You…" The brunette's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, "You want me to…?" He pointed to the tent in his trousers and she nodded quite seriously, "Hell, doll… that's…alright. I can do that… yeah – sure." He stood up from the bed and undid his belt. Taking a steadying breath, Bucky pushed everything down in one smooth movement, standing back up straight and pursing his lips to hide his anxiousness; it took everything in him not to cover his erection from her gaze.

"Wow…you are going to be a very popular boy when word gets out about that." He was glorious, tanned and strong and handsome and… gifted. She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands, "Show me how you do it, Buck." He shifted from one foot to the other and finally sat on the edge of the bed with his thighs parted. He wrapped his hand around his length and gave a firm stroke upward, rolling his palm over his tip with a deep sigh and spreading precum across the head. His face was a picture with his eyes half hooded, and his mouth parted, "Look at me." Tilting his head back and to the side, he locked eyes with her – almost burning her with his intensity. His hand moved a little faster; he figured he was so close already that there was little point holding off; after this, he could have her back in his arms.

Bucky panted lightly, dropping her gaze to rake his down her bare chest and to her thighs, watching how she subtly rubbed them together and closing his eyes to block out the thoughts of what was between them. He couldn't see Y/N stand up, but he heard her creep toward him, jolted when her hands stroked up his thighs and looked down at her heatedly as she knelt in front of him; her eyes were glued to his cock, watching him pleasure himself and then he felt her walking her fingers toward him, higher and higher – Bucky's breath came shorter the closer she got, and the moment she took hold of him, it was all over. He had fallen back onto the bed, moaning low and milking himself of every last drop. Hearing Y/N praise him made the embarrassment bearable, the relief was euphoric, and Bucky lay there satisfied and becoming drowsy. "Don't you dare go sleeping on me, James Barnes!"

Y/N pinched his chest and the brunette yelped, "I'm not sleeping!" He sat up and immediately grimaced, his hand and stomach covered in seed, "Help me out, doll…" She shook her head fondly and handed him an embroidered handkerchief from her dressing table.

"How about you help me out, Bucky?" His steely blue eyes shot away from the mess he'd made of himself, and he cursed at himself for being so selfish – what must she have been thinking of him? He wasn't there just for himself; Bucky wanted to be able to please a woman, he wanted to please her mostly, he didn't want to be one of those guys that got off and left a girl unsatisfied. "Give me your hand." He obeyed quick as lightning and Y/N smothered a giggle; now that he was a little less tense, she could get his mind focussed on more fun activities, standing up, she guided his hand past the band of her panties, down until she had his palm cupping her and he swallowed so hard she thought he'd choke, "You like that?"

The young Bucky couldn't even form words, couldn't fully comprehend what was going on as his brain shut down and blood wasn't sure whether to go south or set his skin flaming. She was hot in his hand, and he wasn't sure, but he thought maybe... experimentally, he moved his fingers, adding a little pressure until "-Y-you're…was…did I… Are you all wet for me, Y/N?" He pressed a little further and she gasped so suddenly that he tore his hand away in panic, "Did I hurt you?!"

"That was a good noise… you really don't know much about girls, do you, Bucky." The statement made him pout, and Y/N took both his hands in hers, placing them on her hips to drop a hint that he should remove the last piece of clothing between them. Bucky guided her closer until his face level with her belly button. The young man's expression, suddenly very serious at recalling what she had said earlier, made sure to look up at her face. Watching him watch her, licking his lips once, Bucky leaned forward to plant a kiss on her belly and then one on each hip whilst keeping her gaze – though ignoring her breasts was the hardest thing.

Her skin burst into thousands of tiny goosebumps, and he felt a shiver go through her. Her hands stroked through his hair and rested on his broad shoulders as she let out a contented sigh. At an agonising pace, he began to drag her panties down, training his eyes on hers only and blindly kissing each new inch of skin revealed. "You smell so fucking good." Internally he groaned at what he'd just said, part of him feeling bad for swearing in front of a lady and the other that he'd said something so stupid. He didn't know it, but his voice had become huskier in his newly found desire, his second wind already coming up fast, literally, he didn't know what that did to Y/N, and she bit down a whimper as his words caressed her skin. It came as a shock to him when she told him to keep speaking. "I'm drunk on you, doll. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, the way you sound so breathless right now. I wanna touch every damn part of you, I wanna make you stutter, and I wanna make you speechless too… It's so fucking heady I'm going crazy!" Her underwear fluttered to the floor once they'd passed her knees and Bucky kissed her thighs, licking and sucking into her flesh like he couldn't get enough, she squealed when he delivered a sharp little bite to her hip and her nails dug into his shoulders in retaliation. "God! I just wanna fucking eat you up!"

He looked up at her then, pupils blown and eyes pleading, his face the very picture of begging, "Can I do that, doll?" He asked in genuine curiosity. He looked excited at the prospect, "Can I put my mouth on you here? Is that wrong?" A pained moan forced its way past his plump lips, and he again licked them, pleading, "I don't even care if it is – say yes, Y/N, please, doll, let me get my mouth on you, you smell so good." Bucky got down on his knees, perfectly level with what he wanted, he wouldn't move until she told him he could, but it didn't stop his palms stroking up and down her legs, gripping the plush skin of her thighs whilst he murmured against them.

Y/N could feel herself shaking, he wanted it so bad, and his unrestrained yearning was contagious. She'd never had a guy who wanted to do what Bucky was begging for, and she didn't know if it was unusual. She really couldn't care less as he continued to touch her, "I-it's your night, Buck." it would have been a lie if she'd said she was comfortable with it; she worried what she would taste like or if he would be disappointed and what if he hated it – what if she hated it?

All those thoughts were going through Y/N's head as his hands brushed against her inner thighs and gently parted them, it was a little awkward with her standing, but he wasn't particularly thinking about that as his eyes centred on what was between them with trepidation. "Kinda worried I'll hurt you…" Even now, when he was getting his way, he was concerned for her well being.

"You're a real gem," she smiled and pet his hair, "You won't hurt me…I might get a little loud, but it won't be because you're hurting me." Y/N held herself steady on his shoulder as she raised her leg and hooked it over his left; it brought them closer and opened her further for him to see. Bucky's jaw went slack, and he inhaled so deeply she thought he'd steal all the air. His eyes were glued to her, 'I'm not gonna help you here because I know you'll be a natural.' She was losing all ability to think, he'd had his fun, and she was getting desperate for a bit of relief of her own. He held her hip to help her balance as his other hand wrapped around the thigh on his shoulder. Bucky could see she was wet, and once more, he was hit with the desire to run his tongue along her most intimate place – so he did. Their moans mixed into one at the first swipe of his tongue, the flat of it licking a path from her entrance to her clit; Y/N nearly fell against him as shock waves tore through every nerve in her body with a burning intensity. He held her there, keeping her right where she was whilst he buried his mouth into her, moaning so loudly she thought the neighbours would hear, his tongue was lapping her up, running along every little nook and cranny in search of more of her.

Her entire world rocked as suddenly his hands gripped her backside and he was lifting her with him, her hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders as he stood up, his mouth still exploring her whilst he turned, his hands and arms cradling her back so she wouldn't fall as he lowered her to her bed. He parted her thighs further and settled himself back on the floor at the end of the bed, perfectly content to eat her up. "J-Jesus! Y-you could of just told me to move!" Her back arched off the bed as he shook his head from side to side, meaning to tell her 'no' but discovering a new way to make her wail. His brute strength and determination not to stop for anything had her heart hammering against her ribcage. The tip of his tongue brushed her clit again and she twisted her fingers into his hair to keep him from moving. "There! Right there, Buck… Just – oh god!" Bucky felt the slight bump with his tongue, circling it like he had done with her nipples earlier, and very gently, he scraped his teeth over the tiny bump. Her hips bucked so violently he was nearly thrown off.

"Holy cow…" He looked like a stunned child as he looked up her body, watching her sink back onto the sheets after she'd jolted; it was like she'd been struck by lightning. "You alright, doll?"

Nodding dazedly, Y/N managed to look at him, biting her lip when she saw him licking his, his thumb capturing her wetness on his chin and sucking it off like it was candy. "I…I need – are you hard yet? I need you in me – right now!"

"Oh, I'm ready…" the way his lips split into a mischievous grin made her heart both soar and sink, "But I'm not finished here." His index finger traced along the delicate skin of her sex, circling and stroking the source of delicious nectar he was so eagerly lapping up, cautiously he applied pressure and watched in wonder as his finger sank into her to his third knuckle. He could feel her quivering around the digit, and it was so hot and wet that he could feel his balls tighten in anticipation. Y/N murmured something so incoherent he had to sit up to hear her, "What was that?"

"Another one…I need you to put another finger in me and your mouth where it was. Please, I'm not gonna last much longer." Her pleading didn't fall on deaf ears as the brunette ducked his head; his mouth plastered over her as his tongue made slow, barely-there passes over her bundle of nerves, and he tentatively pushed his middle finger in alongside his index. She was snug around them, and he didn't know how he was supposed to fit his cock inside, but the way she felt was heavenly, and he groaned at the thought of it – accidentally making her writhe on the sheets and cry out his name for anyone to hear. Bucky had shifted on his knees, the movement causing his fingers to trip over something soft and, apparently, very sensitive inside, and she begged him to curl his fingers. He'd barely done as commanded when her entire body tensed and her thighs closed around his head. Bucky pried them open, spreading her legs and lowering his mouth to lap up the new wave of wetness as she came. She was pulling on his hair, mewling and moaning above him, calling his name over and over, it took him a moment, but he realised what he had done and grinned against her, sucking and kissing until she was trying to wriggle up the bed and away from his insistent mouth.

Bucky followed her up, refusing to stop for even a second, especially now that he knew it was driving her utterly insane. He was going to do this every chance he got; his oral fixation had never been so damn satisfied in his life. She struggled to push his head away, whining at him, and finally, he relented and let her shove his head away. Y/N snapped her legs shut and pointed at him as firmly as she could, "No…s-stay!" He looked ready to pounce on her again, licking around his wet mouth where her taste lingered, "…Wait…" She was breathless, boneless on the sheets as his chest heaved and her limbs shook. He was ruining her bit by bit, and she was already exhausted. She hadn't expected charming, young Bucky to be such a force of nature, and she pitied any inexperienced girls that would fall into his bed after this. He was going to spoil them for any man after… he'd spoiled her for anyone else too!

He waited impatiently, sidling up to her and kissing her shoulder, pulling her closer and slanting his lips over hers, forcing her to taste herself as his tongue caressed hers. She could feel him hot and heavy on her hip and almost clumsily rolled him onto his back to straddle him. Her skin was still flushed, and her small panting breaths had barely calmed, but she wanted him, wanted to be the girl who could claim she created this sexual pest and that she'd always be his first. "Don't move, Bucky, not a single inch. Not till I say." He nodded eagerly but gasped and bucked when she took hold of his cock, "You don't wanna hurt me, right? Don't move."

Bucky let out a frustrated sound but steeled himself, planted himself and nodded with a determined glint in his eyes. He inhaled sharply as she wrapped her hand around him, and he could feel the heat of her even before his tip was caressed by warm, wet lips, "Y/N…fuck. Fuck…!" He screwed the bedsheets up in his fists as she slowly sank onto him. The way she felt knocked the breath out of his lungs, and he felt like he'd blow his top there and then if he hadn't earlier – what a clever minx she was. He could feel her open up around him, hot and wet and perfect walls stretched around his cock, and he could feel every inch being swallowed as she slowly lowered her hips to his. His eyes were closed, eyes already rolled back when she settled, her hands fisting on his stomach as she took him all in and struggled for breath from being so full. Her hips rolled on his and Bucky yelled an expletive as his fingers found her hips with bruising force, stilling her before forcing his eyes open to see her expression – she looked as wrecked as he felt. Her lipstick had long faded to light pink, and her hair was a tousled mess from its previous perfection. Her skin was flushed, and her expression told him just how much she liked this. She nodded at him once to tell him he could move and Bucky took the floor more than enthusiastically.

He lifted her hips until he was barely inside, watching in fascination as his cock slowly disappeared back into her as he let her sink down; each slow movement, every time her greedy little hole swallowed him made him more desperate, and it wasn't long before he was grinding his himself against her. The pace grew, as did his confidence; soon, she was bouncing off his hips with every one of his thrusts, calling his name with increasing fervour. James, Buck, Bucky, Baby – they tumbled from her lips like a prayer. Her head had fallen back, and Bucky whined, he wanted to see her, needed to know he was making her feel good, and he sat up to wrap his arms around her – glad she owned a double bed than a single – he again supported her as he reversed the position. He had more control, but he missed how much deeper he'd been able to reach; he could kiss her now. He could touch and explore whilst she had nowhere to go as he sheathed himself over and over again. He pulled her up along his thighs, her legs wrapping around his waist with no encouragement; her right hand snaked down between them and rubbed at her clit whilst he watched. "Let me, doll, I got this." He took over from her and was rewarded by her walls squeezing around him, massaging his length in a hypnotising rhythm.

Bucky leaned down toward her and trailed messy, open-mouthed kisses across her skin, his free hand groping her breast whilst his mouth covered her taut, aching nipple and sucked. He felt her nails scoring up and down his back, her fingers raking through his hair as she bucked against him with growing eagerness – she was so close.

They both were.

Y/N was first, already so sensitive from having his mouth on her earlier, her thighs tightened around his waist, and she clamped around his cock, making it difficult for the brunette to move at all, but he could hardly care with the way she felt around him. She made it impossible for him not to follow, and with all the strength he had left, he hoisted her up into his arms – wrapping himself around her as if he were frightened she would vanish. It hit him so hard that he couldn't breathe; it was like he'd been caught in a hurricane. Bucky wasn't sure how to cope with all of the overwhelming feelings at once. Somehow he survived, and he dragged them both down onto the bed. He panted into Y/N's chest, hiding his face there as he huffed and puffed, shaking like a leaf in the circle of her arms and wondering how he was supposed to pull himself together again. Y/N seemed to recover first, kissing the crown of his head and stroking his arm and back, soothing him as he fought the lethargic urge to close his eyes and sleep.

When Bucky regained his facilities, he realised that Y/N was fast asleep and that several hours had passed – he'd fallen asleep. With a crooked smile, he kissed her sleeping lips and smoothly untangled himself from her, his legs felt weak, and he struggled not to make a sound as he crept around the room in search of his clothes. He paused to pull the covers over Y/N's body before starting to button up his shirt and find his shoes. "You going?" Came her sleep heavy voice in the dim light as he saw her sit up a little and hold her hand out for him.

"Yeah…My Ma's gonna kill me for coming home so late." Bucky took her hand and kissed it as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Your Daddy's gonna be real proud though"' She could practically see him blushing in the dark and pulled him in for a chaste, lingering kiss. "You're a natural, Buck. Gonna kill all the ladies – don't you worry about if you're not good enough for any of the dames out there."

"Thanks…for everything." Gently he pushed her back into her pillows and tucked her in, "You'll still let me take you dancing, right?"

She let him kiss her forehead before answering, "Course I will – you just hold me a little closer from now on." He grinned at her and gave a shy wave before letting himself out into the brisk Brooklyn air and jogging home with a definite spring in his step.

[dynyamight]

“Quit looking at me with that ugly mug” for the ask prompt!

send me an interaction ask bonus + action

“Quit looking at me with that ugly mug. “

“I told you to hold still!” A shrill voice echoes.

“Don’t yell so loud, onee-san!”

“I’m not yelling!”

Under his bed covers, Bakugou winces. It’s worse that he’s overslept, but now he’s already dreading going downstairs to the loud, living room.

The morning has barely started, and it sounds like the damn rascal twins are causing trouble.

More or less, Mahoro, than Katsuma. But, Bakugou still considers him an accomplice, regardless.

After a long, needed yawn, Bakugou rolls his way out of his bed, bare footed against the tiled floor. The cool surface sends chills through his spine, and definitely helps to awake his senses. With the ends of his sweats dragging, he trudges out of his bedroom; the safe, beloved confines from parenthood.

He knows when the kids hear his heavy footsteps, when he hears Mahoro let out a loud, dramatic gasp. “Oh no! The oni ogre from upstairs is awake!”

Popping his head from the rail, Bakugou growls, “The hell you just called me?”

The kids immediately shriek, faces painted in panic from his sudden appearance. Bakugou can’t help, but puff out an airy laugh, as he eyes at their frightful expressions. Like two little deers in the headlights.

However, it is short lived. Blinking, Bakugou notices the kids are standing around Midoriya, seated with legs crossed on the floor, and back facing away.

He does find it weird that his usually affectionate husband has yet to greet him. But, after looking even closer, the floor had several makeup products scattered, open and ready for use.

When he looks back at the kids, brushes in hand, Bakugou can only suspect what is happening. “Izuku, what the actual-.”

And, just like that, Midoriya twists around, face blown with the most hideous combination of bright colors and wobbly line work.

At first, there’s a warm, bright smile, but it quickly falls. A frown replaces it. “Put on a shirt, Kacchan. The kids are here.”

“You wipe that ugly shit off your face, first!” Bakugou yells.

Immediately, Mahoro’s arms defensively hug around Midoriya’s neck. “No! We are not done with the painting!” She pouts.

“I ain’t letting you finish!” Bakugou quickly descends down the last stairs, swatting his hands in the air. “Go! Gather up everything, now!”

Midoriya holds Mahoro in one arm, and Katsuma in the other. “C’mon Kacchan, we’re having a family bonding experience. Let the kids finish, real quick.” He says softly, looking up at Bakugou.

Now, despite their plenty of years together, Bakugou’s absolutely weak to those wide eyes. They string him along to their every request, no matter how resilient, or stubborn he may be. All Midoriya had to do was look up, pleadingly.

And, his damn husband knew it worked like a charm, always.

“Thirty minutes.” Bakugou huffs, walking past them and towards the kitchen. “Breakfast should be ready by then.”

Mahoro awes, “How did you know we haven’t eaten yet?”

Of course they hadn’t. Bakugou rolls his eyes, “Because your dumbass father never eats breakfast, unless I cook. Don’t be like him.”

He hears Midoriya whine from behind, calling him out for being too mean in the morning. No matter, obviously he isn’t mean, if he’s going to cook their starving family a good, warm meal.

Tuning out the shouting and laughing from across the room, Bakugou swiftly made grilled shiozake, tomago, and warmed up last night’s rice. But, even after the thirty minutes ran out, Bakugou decided to not end their weird fun, right away.

Especially after he turned around, and saw the bright smiles from his two kids and Midoriya.

So, with an added half an hour, Bakugou made a simple miso soup. Nothing too fancy or big. Just enough to make the kid’s eyes boggle at how much food was on the table.

And, that’s exactly the reaction they give, when he finally calls them out, a little over an hour later.

Now, usually, after a family meal, the kids are in charge of washing the dishes. But instead, Midoriya chooses to help with the empty plates, ushering the kids to clean the living room.

When it’s finally just them, standing beside each other by the sink, Midoriya lets out a short laugh. “We didn’t mean to wake you up, Kacchan. I know you had a hard shift last night, so I had the kids try to whisper.”

Staring down at the running water over his hands, Bakugou scoffs as he tilts the last dirty plate. “It didn’t sound like it.”

“Well, maybe Mahoro meant to wake you.” Midoriya chuckles, “She was wanting to do your makeup, next.”

“Fat chance. If it ain’t liner, I won’t wear it.”

“If Katsuma was the one to ask you, I do think you would.”

Bakugou offers up his plate, for Midoriya to dry with a dish towel. When Midoriya takes it, he huffs. “Let me guess. It was Katsuma who got you caught up in that shit.”

Midoriya whines, “He’s just too cute, when he asks.”

Like father, like son. “I keep telling you, he’s an accomplice.”

“He’s a younger sibling.“ Midoriya corrects, offhandedly setting the plate on the drying rack. “Obviously, whatever Mahoro says, he wants to follow.”

“Tch. Same thing.”

“They just want to have fun, Kacchan! Besides, I think I look very kissable, and pretty.”

Quirking a brow, Bakugou side-eyes his husband. He meets Midoriya’s gaze, face powdered with blush all over, streaked with magenta and blue on his lids, and black liner squiggly lines on his forehead. Not to mention the red lipstick that circles all over his lips.

Looking away, Bakugou snorts, “Yeah, pretty stupid.”

Midoriya lands a good punch on his bare shoulder. It only makes Bakugou cackle even louder.

Bakugou doesn’t realize Midoriya’s leaning close, until he’s stopped laughing. He grimaces, getting an unfortunate, close look to the makeup. “Quit looking at me with that ugly mug, Izuku.”

Rolling his eyes, Midoriya slides his arms over Bakugou’s shoulders. “Kiss me, first.”

“No.”

Midoriya’s teasing smile falls. “Why?”

“You have that ugly shit still on your face. I ain’t kissing you with it.”

“Kacchan, are you-” Midoriya’s lower lip trembles, “Are you calling me ugly?”

“What- No, not you!” Bakugou growls, “I’m talking about the fucking-”

Midoriya throws his head back, letting out a sad sigh. “My husband no longer finds me attractive! My world is collapsing right in front of-!”

Immediately, Bakugou lifts up Midoriya’s chin, and brings his lips over his. With his eyes closed, Bakugou graciously blinded from the shit disaster on his husband’s face. Other than it feeling a bit sticky, the kiss still felt fluttery and sweet.

When they pull away, Midoriya’s already smirking. “You look good with a nice red lip.”

Fuming hot, Bakugou shoves away his husband, stomping out of the kitchen. And, like salt to his wounds, Mahoro and Katsuma giggle, pointing out his red lips.

He’s going back to bed.

[timelordthirteen]

Desperate Souls 4/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn’t long before they both realize they’ve made a deal they didn’t understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: The second meeting goes unexpectedly, once again, as Gold reveals more than he intends.

Notes: Thank you so much for all the comments on this fic. I honestly thought it wouldn't be that well received as this Gold is sort of hard to like in places. I'm really enjoying writing this darker version of him, even if it's hard at times to get into his headspace. Enjoy the first of many Skin Deep references, and a slight tick up towards the ultimate rating of this fic. ;) This is the nightie Belle is wearing. Also omg this is unbeta'd and a hot mess, sorry.

[AO3]

If Belle thought that seeing Mr. Gold in the week leading up to her first evening at his house was awkward, then the week after it was excruciating.

All she could think every time she so much as saw him walking by on the street was he’s seen me in my underwear! It made for several days of fierce blushes and unfinished lunches. Her mind kept replaying the moment when she’d turned around to face him again, and he’d let the softest, quietest lovely slip out. She still hadn’t figured out if he’d even meant to say it out loud. It was hard to believe that seeing her in a glorified nightgown had rendered Gold that speechless, especially given how well known he was for having a sharp tongue. She’d witnessed him giving Keith Nottingham a dressing down last summer, right outside the mechanics shop where Keith worked. Even though Keith was well over six feet tall and clearly worked out, Gold made him seem tiny, almost insignificant.

She grinned at the memory.

Keith was a jerk in every sense of the word, and Gold verbally tearing him a new asshole was the least that he deserved. But that was the kind of presence Gold had in the town; the mayor, the sheriff, the district attorney, they all acquiesced to him. Rumors said he had dirt on everyone, that nothing happened within thirty miles of the town line that he didn’t know about. She wondered sometimes whether that was part of why he’d made this deal with her, so that he would know something about her as well, so that he could have that control.

The thought was not comforting, but it was confusing. In theory, she had as much on Gold as he did on her in this situation. In fact, her position would seem far more sympathetic, if embarrassing, and if anyone did find out - god fucking forbid - she highly doubted they would take Gold’s side. It wasn’t the same as whatever he knew about Albert Spencer or Regina Mills, that made them go white as a ghost whenever Gold hinted at it under his breath.

So what the hell was his motivation?

Belle sighed, and regarded herself in the mirror. She’d left the library right on time, and decided that tonight she wouldn’t shower before going to Gold’s. It was a waste of time if every Thursday evening she was going to come home feeling the need to do it again. Instead she sat down to touch up her makeup and hair out of some odd desire to look as nice as possible. It was another one of the things that confused her. She should have said the hell with it, and not cared if her hair needed a good brushing, or if her lipstick had worn off. Yet she did. She cared how she looked, and for as much as Gold was paying her, she figured he might care too.

Last night she’d even put polish on her toenails, a light, shimmery pink, and gave herself a mini pedicure. If she was going to be barefoot again, then that was part of the package too. She’d look as pretty as she could, head to toe - literally, and that way if Gold let anything else slip out, then perhaps he might have reason to mean it.

Belle arrived at Mr. Gold’s house perfectly on time.

Her knock sounded at exactly one minute till seven, she’d checked her phone as she came up the front sidewalk to make sure, and the door opened right as the grandfather clock in the living room chimed the top of the hour.

“Miss French.” Gold’s mouth curved as he gave her a brief, appraising look before stepping back to allow her inside. “Right on time tonight.”

The first thing that she noticed was the bold, pink dress shirt beneath his pinstripe suit. She had noticed a while ago that he preferred a splash of color in his wardrobe, which was usually done through a striking tie or pocket square, but everyone once in a while there was something unexpected; last week it had been his checkered shirt, this week it was a brilliant pink. There was an eccentricity to his style that she appreciated. He appeared very reserved in his manner and dress, yet these little touches reflected something else entirely, something that kept people guessing.

Once again she caught a hint of something from the kitchen, tomatoes and garlic and something spicy. Spaghetti sauce, she assumed, and she made a happy noise, inhaling the mouthwatering scent as Gold once again took her coat and hung it up.

“Well, now I’m even hungrier,” she said. “Does it always smell delicious in here?”

He frowned. “You haven’t eaten?”

Bell shrugged. “Didn’t want to eat and then try on clothes, you know?”

He let out a gumbling hum and motioned for her to go ahead of him. “I assume you know where things are?”

She nodded and stopped by the door to the powder room. “Yup.”

“I need to finish cleaning up,” he said, moving past her and into the short hallway to the kitchen. “Will be just a moment.”

As soon as he turned his back, she opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Her stomach was a mess, unable to decide between hunger pangs and the same vaguely nauseous feeling as last week. She set her purse in the same place on the set of shelves set beside the sink, and slipped off her shoes. She was more than halfway undressed, trousers off and blouse completely unbuttoned, before she thought to look at what Gold had put out for her, and stopped.

The nightie hung on the same padded hanger on the back of the door, looking delicate and pretty and oddly foreboding. It was a light, rosy pink and made of a stretchy cotton blend that was more practical than it was sexy, as was the little robe that went with it, but what her eyes were fixed on was the plunging neckline covered in lace. She swallowed and turned away, letting her blouse fall over her shoulders to catch at her wrists. The chemise from last week was the most unrevealing and basic thing she had, she’d known that, but knowing what else there was to be worn and seeing it hanging in front of her were two different things.

Reaching back, she unhooked her bra and then drew it down before hanging it over one of the posts framing the shelves along with her blouse. Turning back to the door, she took the nightie off the hanger and blanched when she saw the panties beneath it, dangling from one of those metal clips made to hold skirts or pants in place. Her eyes closed and she took a slow breath.

A beat later, she slipped the nightie over her head.

The skirt of it fell just to the tops of her thighs, barely covering her in the front and back, much shorter than what she’d worn last week which was as long as some of her dresses. This was undeniably sexual, meant to tease, and suddenly she was glad there was matching underwear to put on beneath it. She shoved her navy blue pair down and then took them off to lay folded on her trousers. The sensation was strange, so she quickly pulled on the matching panties, and then faced herself in the mirror.

The nightie clipped in the back like a bra, just under where the straps criss-crossed, and it took her a moment to adjust everything to where it needed to be. The cups were soft and lined, giving her breasts a little more coverage than the black silk did, for which she was grateful, although the deep dip in the front showed off just how much cleavage she didn’t have. The panties were the same soft cotton blend as the rest of it, with matching lace at the waist that stretched without digging into anything.

On the whole, now that she had it all on, it didn’t feel so bad. She had a sundress with the same sort of straps and clasp in the back, and aside from the length of the skirt it wasn’t that different. All in all it was actually comfortable enough to sleep in during the summer, she thought, which was sort of why she’d bought it in the first place. It made her wonder if Gold was going in some kind of order, working his way up to what he thought was the most risque and scandalous.

The robe was still on the hanger and she eyed it for a few seconds, trying to decide if she should put it on or not. It was part of what she’d purchased, and Gold had put it out with the nightie, but donning another layer meant she’d probably have to take it off. It was going to be a bit difficult to model the nightie if it was covered up with something else, but given how chilled she’d been last time, she thought she could get away with wearing it at least for a few minutes.

Sighing, she tied the sash of the robe at her waist and then eased open the door to peek into the hallway. Gold was still in the kitchen, if the clang of a pot being set in the sink was anything to go by, so she stepped out and hurried into the study. The doors were closed again, the fire roaring even bigger than last time, and she started to smile. It seemed he might have noticed that she was cold and made accommodations. It was strangely thoughtful, much as his invite to have dinner was, and she struggled to know what to make of all of it.

There was another noise from the kitchen, so she closed the doors quietly, and gave the room a more thorough going over. She’d been so nervous last time that all she’d noticed was the general layout of the room. Assuming she had a few minutes until Gold joined her, she took a leisurely stroll around the space, her eyes scanning all the shelves and walls filled with pieces from Gold’s various collections.

The china cabinet opposite Gold’s chair was lit up this time with two small lights mounted above the top shelf. Belle came to stand in front of it, attracted by the light glinting unusually off of something inside. Her eyes went wide when she saw each shelf was full. Two vases sat on the bottom with an ornate oil lamp between them, dishes painted with landscape scenes, a silver tray beside an array of delicate crystal figurines, and on the top shelf, just at her eye level was the strangest tea set she’d ever seen.

Thin white porcelain had been adorned with flowers, painted in such great detail and outlined in such a way that they looked three dimensional, as though they had been plucked out of a garden. They looked so delicate that the petals might fall free if they were touched, but each cup and saucer as well as the pot and the tray it sat on looked as if they had been broken into a hundred pieces and glued back together with liquid gold.

“Kintsugi.”

Gold’s voice startled Belle, and she backed away from the cabinet as if she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“What?”

His lips curved as he took a leisurely step towards her. “Kintsugi,” he repeated. “That’s what they call it.”

She looked from him to the tea set and back again, until he was standing next to her. “Kint - kintsu-gi?”

He nodded. “It means golden repair in Japanese, the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer and gold dust.”

Her eyes widened. “Gold dust? Like actual gold?” He gave another nod, and she shook her head, shifting her gaze back to the cabinet, following one of the lines of gold as it trailed from the rim of a cup down through a red rose and over to meet another line that encircled the handle. “Sounds expensive.”

“But beautiful,” added Gold.

Their eyes met in the mirrored back of the cabinet, and Belle held her breath until he looked away and went on to explain how he came to find the set. It had been packed in newspaper in a cardboard box, set inside a bigger box marked FREE at an estate sale in Vermont. Most of the pieces were already broken or chipped in some way, but there were a few books he was interested in at the very bottom so he bought the entire lot. Months later, he came across the box again in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and had the idea to try his hand at repairing it in this way.

“So, you made this?” she asked, unable to suppress the surprise and wonder in her voice.

“Aye,” he said. His voice was low and very close to her ear, and she gripped the knot of the robe tightly. “I fixed all the bits that were already broken, filled in missing pieces with things I had laying around, and smoothed all the jagged edges with extra lacquer.”

Belle shook her head slowly. She couldn’t imagine the patience and care it must have taken to create something so unique and beautiful, particularly when it was incomplete. It was - pleasing, wonderful even, and once again she was struck by the strange dichotomy that was Storybrooke’s Mr. Gold.

“Is it - I mean can you actually, um, use it? Once it’s like this?”

He nodded, smiling crookedly. “The lacquer is made from the sap of a very specific tree, and the gold is dusted over it while it’s still wet and sealed inside, and once it’s all done and hardened, it’s perfectly safe to drink from. I’ve personally used that cup there.”

He pointed to the very cup Belle had been admiring, the one with the fine line splitting the red rose in two, and she smiled. “You made so much beauty out of something so broken.”

“Even chipped cups have some use, don’t they?”

His question surprised her, and she looked over to find him watching her, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I think,” she said, “that in this case the best teacup is chipped.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and abruptly, he turned and crossed the room to the same chair he’d taken before. Belle blew out a slow breath, her mind spinning and struggling to wrap itself around the sudden shift from their conversation to the purpose of her being here. It was as if her reply had struck a nerve, but she wasn’t sure how.

She heard the creak of the leather as he sat, and after a long moment, she turned away from the china cabinet and its precious contents, and walked to the end of the ottoman. She licked her lips as her hands went to the knot of her robe, and lifted her eyes to his. The end of the sash pulled free easily, the pressure on her waist releasing as the two sides of the robe slid open. She swore she heard his breath hitch, the slight little hiccup and inhale of air, but he otherwise remained completely still as she shrugged her shoulders, sending the robe shimmying down her arms.

It landed on the ottoman behind her with a muted wisp, and she took another step forward. The edge of the nightie brushed her thighs, reminding her of how short it was, and she felt a heat that wasn’t from the fire creep up her neck. She bit her lip as her hands came up to her stomach and then dropped to her sides, unsure of what to do with them.

Gold meanwhile was just staring dazedly at her. His head lolled slightly to one side and then straightened, as one might when observing the way the light illuminated a work of fine art. The thought was absurd, and she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against the lace.

“Mr. Gold?” she asked softly. “Would you - would you like a drink?”

The question brought him out of the odd trance he’d been in, and he shifted in his seat before meeting her eyes. “Yes, a scotch please, Miss French.”

She turned and made her way around the end of the ottoman, crossing between it and the fireplace, feeling his eyes on her all the way to the bar. She was so grateful to be out of the heat for a minute that even the cold floor felt nice on her feet. For some reason the room was much warmer tonight than it had been last night, and she thought maybe she should say something about finding a happy medium.

Drink in hand, she walked back to stand closer to his chair, and held it out for him. He lifted his hand from where it was resting to take the glass by the bottom, keeping a sliver of a distance between where her fingers were around the rim and his. In doing so, he caught the hem of the nightie, and when he pulled the glass away and raised it to his lips, the hem went with it. It lifted slightly, just enough to feel a light flutter of air against her legs when it settled back into place. She stepped back immediately, conscious of the fact that it may have been enough for him to glimpse the matching panties underneath.

A shiver washed over her despite the flushing of her face, and she crossed her arms over her middle, her upper arms pushing her breasts together. Gold’s eyes dipped down, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip, just before he touched the glass to his mouth. She caught herself pressing her thighs together unconsciously as he sipped and swallowed, and took another step back until a blast of warmth from the fire made her stop.

“Thank you,” Gold said simply.

His expression was blank, as if nothing had occurred between them at all, and she knew that she was once again dismissed. Once again the abrupt change in his demeanor unsettled her, but she couldn’t give voice to any of the questions in her head. Instead, she gave him a short nod, and moved to leave, pausing to snatch up the robe before she all but ran from the study.

The bathroom was like an odd little oasis when Belle returned to it. She sighed at the cool air wrapping around her, calming her heated skin, and leaned back against the closed door, breathing slowly. The kintsugi, the conversation, the way he looked at her, she could make no sense of it. Whatever this was about for him, she couldn’t keep letting it affect her. She had to think of this weird arrangement as a job, nothing more. It was something she was doing for money - a lot of money, mind - but a paycheck all the same.

She blew out a breath and changed back into her clothes, deciding to leave the lingerie on the hanger again. If he wanted her to keep the items, then he could say so. She was tired of guessing his reasons and desires for any of this.

Gold was waiting for her when she opened the powder room door. He was standing with his cane, leaning a bit to the side as if he had to put most of his weight on it to keep himself upright, and holding a glass storage container with a plastic lid. She frowned at it as she lifted her purse strap onto her shoulder, and then looked up at him.

“For you,” he said, holding the container out for her to take.

Her eyes darted down to the offering as she reached for it hesitantly. “Okay...?”

“It’s lasagna. That’s - that’s what I made for dinner. I thought since you hadn’t eaten...” He shrugged.

“Oh.” Belle took the container from his hand and stared down at the lid. She could see a large square of something inside, with hints of red and creamy white. The scent of food still lingered in the air, and her stomach rumbled loudly.

Gold let out a soft, short laugh, and shook his head. “It’s still warm, sort of, but I recommend putting the container in the oven and letting it come up to 350. That should heat it through.” He folded his hands over the handle of his cane, and then added, “With the lid off, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated. Confused as to why he was giving her food, but pleased she wouldn’t have to make anything when she got home, she lifted her eyes to him. “Um, thanks.”

“No matter.”

He followed her to the door, holding her coat for her once more, and then bid her good night.

The walk home was comfortably cool, but smelling of fresh lasagna the entire way.

By the time Belle reached the door of her apartment, she was starving and had determined that this time the vague feeling of nauseous indigestion was from lack of food rather than anything that had transpired with Gold. He had been a gentleman about nearly everything, except for whatever those accidental brushes had been, and he cooked like he should have his own restaurant. The small touches were clearly accidental, and the odd sensation that came over this evening was easily ignored. If he did it again, she might consider saying something or changing her tactic of fetching his drink, but for now it was certainly more tolerable than half of the dates she’d had.

Garrett would have had his hand up her skirt in minutes, which was a thought that made her entire body cringe now that their relationship has ended so spectacularly.

As strange as it might seem, she was more intrigued by Gold than disturbed or repulsed. The story of the tea set was charming, and the fact that the person who could remake some useless, broken bits into something so pretty was the same as the person who offered her a deal to parade around his study in lingerie, left her head spinning. She wanted to know how that was possible, and thought that perhaps over the next few weeks she might find out.

He seemed perfectly willing to talk to her, revealing small clues here and there, but once he realized he had, he tried to close up again. She supposed some of that was part of how he maintained his enigmatic personality within the town, yet there was also the possibility that no one had ever bothered to take an interest in him before. Maybe he had no idea how to deal with that, maybe he had some of the same anxieties about social situations as she did, though in her case it had somehow turned into a peculiar ability to make friends easily. In his case it kept people at arm's length, much the same as his prim, fitted suits and colorful shirts portrayed a baffling combination.

She put the container of lasagna, sans lid, in the oven as instructed, and left it to warm up while she took a shower. This evening she didn’t feel dirty or uncomfortable, it was just the end of a long day and she was more than ready for a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. The lasagna was, as expected, fantastic. The cheese wasn’t too thick or stringy, and the mozzarella had been mixed with something else that gave it a sharper, more aged flavor. In place of plain ground beef he’d used some kind of sausage that was just spicy enough to leave a lingering heat behind, but not too much that it burned, and the notes of fennel blended well the spice. He had been heavy on the fresh garlic and basil as well, which were probably her favorite parts. She was prone to using a bit too much of them herself, and she smiled as she shoved the last forkful in her mouth.

She contemplated asking him to add dinner to the deal, but that would make the whole arrangement feel like something it wasn’t. They weren’t dating, they weren’t friends; it was just a weird business transaction, needs and wants.

She needed money, and he was providing. Though what Gold wanted from any of it would likely remain a mystery.

Gold leaned back in his chair as he savored the last bit of his second glass of scotch.

Belle had been less nervous this time, perhaps because he’d spoken to her about the tea set. He hadn’t intended to do so, but the way she was looking at it was - indescribable, like the way she might look at a painting or sculpture by one of the old masters, with a kind of curious awe. What she’d said about the chipped cup was incidental, he knew it was not some kind of metaphor or anything, even if restoring the set had been far more personal for him than he’d let on. She seemed quite pleased with his story, and he wondered idly what she might say if he put it up for sale in his shop. Would she want to buy it? Would she use the money he’d paid her to have it?

If he closed his eyes, he knew he would be able to recall the moment perfectly, the soft flutter of the rosy fabric as it fell from her arms, exposing more beneath it. The brief brush of those fingers against her, the hint of the lacy panties hiding under the skirt, the same precious pink as the rest of it, made him shiver. He didn’t think she’d noticed, or if she had maybe she had assumed it was an accident. It was, partially, but instead of pulling away when he’d realized what he’d done, he’d continued, waiting to see if she would move first. She hadn’t; he didn’t know what that meant.

The nightie had a teasing, innocent look to it, but it bared more than it covered. He’d gotten an eyeful of her skin, so creamy and soft looking, supple if it were pressed, and flushed the prettiest pink in the warmth of the room. He wondered how else he might make her blush like that, and shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs as his own skin prickled with heat. He raised his hand, touching the fingertips that had touched her so briefly to his lips as his other hand moved to his waist, adjusting the pressure of his trousers and belt.

She had looked so beautiful tonight. Truthfully, she always did, but there was something about having her here, in his sanctuary, that made so much keener. A tingling throb twitched between his legs, and he gave in and pressed his palm to the front of his trousers, running the heel of it up and down his rapidly hardening cock. He couldn’t touch her again like that, couldn’t cross that line, no matter how much the image of her bare thighs tormented him.

Sighing, he forced his hand back to the arm of the chair and breathed slowly until his body calmed. As much as he wanted to take himself in hand and call to mind one of any number of fantasies, that was another line he couldn’t let himself cross. He was the monster they all said he was, in every way but that.

After a few minutes, Gold pushed to his feet, ignoring the lingering flush that crept up his neck and the ache low in his belly as he headed upstairs for another chilling shower.

( This is kintsugi. It's one of my favorite things and someday I too will have a tea set like in this fic. )

[mourntheantagonist]

Billy Hargrove’s Exploration Of Beauty

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 |

Part 7: When Blue Met Pink

chapter one: joyce

also on ao3

Billy pulled into the parking space outside of Melvald’s with a screech of the tires. The body of the car slightly jerked forward once he finally came to a complete stop just before he would hit the yellow parking block. The right tire sat just outside the white line, a rookie looking parking job to say the least.

With his wallet in one hand, and his keys twirled around the index finder of his other, as he heard the metal pieces clank, he walked through the glass doors into the store. He heard the chime of the opening door ring through the mostly empty space.There were only a few people. An old lady who was carefully inspecting the soup aisle, and a middle aged woman with her toddler son who were walking past the ice cream. The little kid with his hand up in the air, his finger pointed to the tub of rocky road that was barely visible through fogged over glass. He noticed the exhausted eyes of the woman masked by heavy mascara and shadow. “I already said no Daniel.” she sighed. Joyce Byers was at the counter, her elbows resting by the cash register, head propped up in her hands as she stared blankly in front of her with her head tilted in a way that indicated she was thinking about something that the rest of the world just couldn’t comprehend.

He ignored the total three figures that roamed the aisles of the small little corner store, offered a wave and a smile to Mrs. Byers that went completely unnoticed, and got to the task at hand. Not there to pick up some milk or butter like Neil always had him do whenever they ran out, as if he was the one sneaking spoonfuls of butter at two in the morning. No, that was all Max, the fucking weirdo. He also wasn’t there to pick up a pack of cigarettes, though he probably would once he got to the counter, considering the phrase “pack of reds” served as his default greeting to every cashier. He was there, at Melvald’s, at three in the afternoon, like a fucking sap, because he was buying little treats for the boyfriend he had waiting for him at the big house off of 3rd avenue, a movie and hopefully more as their evening plans.

He knew what Steve liked. He hated what Steve liked. But despite his utter disgust over strawberry fruit snacks tainting delicious cheddar cheese popcorn, the smile on Steve’s face whenever he tossed a new box of Sunkist Fun Fruits at him was worth the effort of sifting through the bowl. He located the snack aisle and picked out the familiar yellow and red box, along with some Orville Redenbacher. The time on the clock overhead read only a quarter after three, and Steve wouldn’t be home from dealing with the nerd herd until at least a quarter ‘til, so with his extra time, he continued to browse.

He picked up a couple of other things. A box of Twinkies so he could make some of his favorite jokes, some Ho Hos so Steve could make some of his. The basket was slowly filled to the brim with junk food, indicative of a truly wild night ahead of him.

On his way to the refrigerated section to scope out the drinks, the glimpse of a carefully assorted rainbow of colors stopped him in his tracks. It’s a small section, no more than two and a half feet in diameter, but at almost the instant he recognized the familiarly shaped bottles on display, he went on complete pause. There was nobody anywhere around him, no sound of nearing footsteps, so he let himself stand there and ponder. Let himself imagine just reaching out and touching something on display as he kept his eyes averted, locked straightforwardly toward the cases of beer behind translucent refrigerator doors. He just stared blankly, with an inner attempt to form some reasonable excuse to be a man who was looking at makeup.

“Oh, Max asked me to pick it up for her.”

He settled on that one.

And turned his head.

He was just going to look. That was all.

There held a whole magnitude of various beauty products, from polishes, to moisturizers, to lipsticks…

That rosy pink stared right back at him like it was screaming at him to pick it up. To look. To swatch. To taste. To feel that velvety cream cover his lips. A tint similar to that of his own lips but just more… pretty. Smooth and elegant and airbrushed. “Soft matte look,” it read.

He wanted it.

He wanted to add it into the basket of goodies he’s already collected as another treat for himself. Maybe a treat for Steve if he decides he likes it.

They discussed it in the past in a very, tip-toed around the subject kind of way. Steve gently held his hand in his as he applied a light pink varnish, similar to that of the lipstick shade, onto his nails. Steady hands perfectly coated the area without any sign of streaks or rough edges. They’d reached a point where that was routine, a little thing Billy could have of himself while they were alone together. Another thing they could add onto the list. It was something Billy felt just a little bit of safety around taking with him that one time. When the night had gone so perfectly with hot cocoa by the furnace, and the added bonus that Neil wouldn’t be home to inspect his appearance, he said no to the cotton balls and acetone and the clear coat replacement and instead let color coated nails remain under the cloak of his jacket pockets. He was on cloud nine as he walked through the door of his own house with concealed hands and no questions asked. He locked the door to his room and allowed himself to stare down at his hands. Fingers splayed against his bedding looking at how the pink contrasted with the blue of his sheets, and he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment and a little dash of pride.

That same night, while his nails were going from bland to bold, Steve popped the question like it held no weight at all. Like it was just a casual sort of thing used to fill the silent gaps.

“Have you thought about wearing makeup at all?”

He didn’t even look at him when he said it, completely enthralled in the way the bristles contacted the nail, so he didn’t see Billy's eyes widen like saucers. However, he did notice as the hand in his hold began trembling.

Steve ever so slightly tightened his grip to help reduce the shaking, his eyes angled up at Billy finally, the painting temporarily discontinued. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

No. Yes? The thing was, with Steve’s first question, the answer was yes. He had thought about it. All the damn time. Like a woodpecker pecking away at his skull, he thought about it. Every time he saw a woman with a shimmer on her eyes, black in her waterline, a shine to her lips, a rosy tint to her cheeks… he felt unbridled envy. He wanted to feel the way they felt. Billy wanted powder to clog his pores and give his face a uniform color. Become a blank slate. He envied that soft and smooth and gentle and pretty appearance.

He found himself on more than one occasion sneaking into the master bathroom where Susan had kept all of her make up. Too scared to touch it, he would just look at it. Try to psyche himself up to reach for that little tube of Mary Kay mascara and shove it into his pocket before the rumble of the truck outside would shake the house.

Instead he would slam the drawer shut and rush back to his room and forget it even happened as he bit away at his clear coated nails. He’d fall back onto his pillow and let his eyes fall shut. He would let the darkness consume him into a dream where he didn’t have to be afraid to add volume to his already long lashes or add a tinted gloss to his lips. He’d enjoy the free feeling for as long as it would last.

So yeah. He thought about wearing makeup.

He didn’t tell Steve that though. Instead he chose to only respond to the second question. Because some things were just a little too hard to say out loud. Some things were a little too foreign.

As much as Billy wanted to bridge that gap between femininity and masculinity, he also had every desire to keep them separate. To push away all of those urges to wear lacy lingerie and silk panties. Keep his hair short, face and nails bare and unkempt. Smell of sweat and hard work like a man. “I’m fine.” he said in lieu of the complete truth. It didn’t feel or sound like a lie when he said it. But later on he figures out that it definitely was.

They had that conversation already, but it didn’t keep those thoughts from lingering. His mind was boggled with confusion about who he was and what he liked and the additional bafflement over how simple it all was to Steve.

So simple in fact that he said the most perfect thing as if it was just another instinctual flick of the tongue.

“Well I can bet you’d look real pretty with lipstick.”

It was said like he wants it. Not just for Billy’s sake, but his own, and that right there felt amazing.

That was the first night he finally let his hands sift through that drawer of Susan’s and sneak away a couple of items. Susan and Neil had yet to arrive home from their trip into the city so Billy was safe. He had painted nails that felt like a shield. When he held the tube of mascara, the nude bullet lipstick, and the only bottle of polish he could find in his own hands, he felt completely untouchable.

He locked himself in his own room and stood in front of his makeshift vanity. Tossed the stolen objects into the mess of cologne, hairspray, and cigarette ash. He just studied himself for a moment. Hunched over taking deep and shaky breaths, in and out. Every logical thought in his mind was shouting at him to go put it back. To put it somewhere other than his room. That dreadful thought that just its temporary occupancy in his room would be easily detected by Neil, even if he chucked it out of his window right then, scared him. It was all too risky to be doing in his own house, yet he still twisted open the cap of the mascara and pulled out the wand.

It was in that moment that Billy had no fucking clue what he was doing. Didn’t even know where to begin.

He just closed it right back up, slipped it underneath a stack of records, and moved on. He twisted open the lipstick only to be met with a very light shade. Lighter than his own skin color. Applied to his lips it just looked absolutely ridiculous. It didn’t give him that pop of vibrancy he envied in the women he saw. It made his lips feel more sunken in and lifeless, rather than big and beautiful.

And he already knew he hated the nail polish. He didn’t even have to apply it. It was a rust color, like a dirty orange. Billy hated the color orange, and mixing it with brown didn’t fucking improve it.

It was all a total bust. A complete waste of his energy. With his sleeve he wiped the lipstick from his lips and stowed away the rest of the contraband. He went to bed feeling extra shitty, the despair of empty darkness was the only thing included in his night.

He stopped letting himself think about makeup since that night. All it achieved was making him feel disappointed and just... bad. No other way to describe it.

But it all came flooding back when he saw the display. Not the bad feelings, the good ones, the ones he had in his dreams. The feeling of completion that couldn’t be realized with the makeup Susan guilt purchased off of a friend’s “growing small business.” There was a little hope growing in the pit of his stomach as he let himself peruse the many options at his disposal. A little bit of hope that maybe he just didn’t have the right stuff.

He just held the pink lipstick in his hand. He debated between dropping it into the basket or hanging it back up on the hook. Twiddling it in between his fingers, he let his mind race to many different places. Emotions of fear and joy clashed in his mind, like he couldn’t have one without facing the other.

But fear wasn’t dependent on joy. Because a small woman cleared her throat next to him and, surely enough, the only thing he was feeling at that moment was complete terror. Not an ounce of happiness to be seen.

It was Joyce Byers.

Well shit.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, neck craned to the left to make out what he had tightly clasped between his fingers.

“It’s for Max.” he said, too assuredly. Like it was clearly a prepared statement, the lie obvious in the pitch of his voice.

“Really? Max doesn’t strike me as a makeup girl.” It’s not really accusatory, not necessarily. But he could hear it. That ever so slight undertone in her voice that had disbelief written all over it. Her head was cocked just like it was when he first walked into the store, and it felt like she was reading him like a goddamn open book.

Billy couldn’t seem to find the words, unsure how to defend himself in the situation he was completely unprepared for. Stood there in silence as he let the words filter through his brain, waiting for the right ones to pop up in front of him, but they never did. He never really knew how to talk to older women other than through excessive and overdone flirtation.

“What shade did you pick?”

With no other choice in his immediate thoughts, he handed the lipstick tube over. She slowly took it away from his slightly too tight of a grip. She had a slight smile when she pulled off the cap to see the rose colored tip slowly rise out as she twists the bottom of the silver tube.

“This is pretty, though I think a shade like this would complement a skin tone more like your own. Wouldn’t you agree?”

That was the invitation, right there in that subtle little nod. She made eye contact with him before she quickly turned her eyes downward at his hands. the same hands that were nervously chipping away at dried, hideous, rust colored nail polish that he painted just before he left as a little surprise for Steve. Even though he hated the color, even though his right hand looked much better than his left. Ambidexterity was not something in his wheelhouse. He immediately stuffed his one free hand into his pocket, and tossed the other one that was currently holding his basket of groceries behind his back. As if she hadn’t already seen. She’d figured him out like some elementary math problem. The lipstick and the nail polish was just a 2 + 2 = 4 kind of situation.

“I don’t - this isn’t…” He couldn’t get a full sentence out because he really had no clue as to how to deny it, and there’s also a weird feeling that he loathes where he’s not sure he even wants to. She was just Joyce Byers. His only connection to the woman had a pretty long chain. Steve’s ex’s boyfriend’s Mom. Or Max’s friend’s Mom. Nothing direct. Nothing so close that he had to truly fear. Additionally, she was being nice? She wasn’t doing the things he’d always expected people to do. She wasn’t spewing slurs or making fun. There was a genuine motherly interest in the way she asked for the color that wasn’t completely foreign, but it was something so far away in his past that it might as well have been.

His face got red from just his own natural blush. His heart was racing, beating out of his chest until he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He felt like he’s being submerged under water until there was a small, cold hand pulling at his own.

“Come with me.” she says, her voice soft and planned. Billy just let her guide him, giving up and giving in to the little temptation to let someone else inside of the little sanctuary he built for himself. Even if all it was was just a small little glimpse into Billy’s secret world he’d only just begun exploring. He had so many things left to discover, things he wouldn’t find if he let his fear and shame dictate everything.

Joyce led him into the compact supply closet in the back of the store. They’re surrounded by shelves filled with boxes and various miscellany. He felt slightly suffocated in the small enclosure, but simultaneously a weird feeling of warmth in the way Joyce smiled at him. A soft upturn of the corners of her mouth, lips still sealed but the sincerity clear in the brightness of her eyes and the slight rise of her brows.

“What were you looking to get?” she asks. Unspecific yet specific. She left a name unattached to the end of the question on purpose to give Billy the opportunity for an out, if he wanted to deny the thing they both knew to be true.

“Lipstick? Gloss maybe? I don’t - I’m not sure I…”

After taking the full basket from his hands and setting it onto the floor, Joyce took his hands into her own again.

“It’s okay, y’know, if it’s not for Max.”

She was so straightforward. She just got right to the point without it feeling like an attack. Just strode right in with unwavering acceptance and affirmation. Letting him know that it was okay.

He looked at Joyce and saw his mom. Not the mom who abandoned him with Neil, but the mom who did things like this. The one who would cradle him after a nightmare and who told him he was destined for greatness. The one who encouraged him to be himself even when his father had other ideas.

“You know who you are. Nobody else gets to say differently.” she’d tell him when his father forced him into baseball and threw out his stuffed animals. Neil would go on to replace the keepsakes that represented softness with model cars and legos. It was just an act of toughening him up and preparing him to become a man at the ripe old age of seven. He was reminded daily of his role as a man in society with little tests just to make sure he stayed in line.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red.” he’d say, when he wanted to say purple.

He’d get berated when he cried when he got hurt.

“If you want to cry I’ll give you something to cry about,” Neil would say, as he stuck a hydrogen peroxide saturated cotton ball into the open wound.

Billy’s Mom never did that. Always warned him about the sting and rubbed his arm the whole way through. Preaching the opposite of everything his Dad would say. “It’s okay to cry, honey. Just let it out.”

His Mom was beautiful. He loved to sit in the bathroom and watch her as she put on her makeup. He’d seen the way her mouth dropped open when she applied mascara to her eyes, the way she smacked her lips together after she swiped on her favorite red lipstick... he wanted to be just like her.

He’d stolen from her once, and it didn’t end well. It was just a red lipstick. He was caught, almost literally, red handed. When his father had barged into his bedroom without so much as a knock, the red on his lips turned into red elsewhere. It was a mistake he learned never to repeat.

After all that, there he was, in a store where he listened to a woman tell him that all of the things he was raised to believe were far from okay, were perfectly okay. With Steve’s voice in his head echoing that of his Mom’s and Joyce’s, he let himself actually believe it this time.

“Thanks.” Billy said. It’s the closest thing he’ll get to an admission. He can’t outright say it, but in the way her smile widened before she turned around, he knew she understood.

“So,” she said, “–I have some product we can’t sell because the seals were broken. They’re still perfectly fine if you would like them.” She pulled a couple of things from the box on the lower shelf. The same lipstick he’d held out in the store along with a clear gloss, a small eyeshadow palette, some face powder and mascara. A full face worth of makeup moved from the palms of her hands into his own, accepting them with a nod of his head and the sniffle of someone trying to hold back tears.

“Are you sure?” he asked. A question with multiple meanings. All of which Joyce seems to pick up on. She pulled him into a tight hug. A warmth encompassed him all around that made him feel so overcome and just… good. Joyful and free like a painful growth was painlessly removed along with the truth’s reveal.

“Yes. I’m sure Billy. It’s okay.” An answer with multiple meanings.

They both exit the small closet, it felt like a metaphor for something. He headed up to the counter to buy his items, and Joyce began scanning his things when she got another smile on her face.

“Special occasion tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah. I got a hot date.” Not a lie.

She laughed a little before she punched the keys on the register.

“Anything else I can get for you Billy?”

Billy smiled.

“A pack of Reds.”

- : -

When Billy pulled into the driveway of Steve’s house he barged right in through the front door. He held the paper bag close to his chest and he shouted an “I have arrived!” that echoed up the stairs and all the way up to Steve’s room. Billy could hear the springs of Steve’s bed before he got up and rushed down the stairs to greet him with a little peck on the lips, immediately taking the bag from Billy’s hands to begin the formal review of his selections.

Steve set the bag onto the coffee table and began to sift through all of the things Billy bought. He tossed the cigarette pack at Billy with aggressive force before going right back into the bag.

The real surprise laid close to the bottom of the bag, hidden beneath the Twinkies and the popcorn and all the other junk food that had Steve beaming. Food was truly the easiest way to Steve’s heart.

Billy stood there tapping his foot and grabbing at his hands behind his back as he waited for Steve to see all the other things he got, to give him that little reaction he always knew would be positive, no matter the voices in his head that told him otherwise.

He seemed to have reached the bottom of the bag when he stalled. He just stared into the bottom of the brown paper bag, the table already covered in scattered candy and snacks, the only things left in the bag were the gifts from Joyce.

“Please tell me you’re going to put this on tonight.” Steve finally turned to look at him with an absolute ridiculous smile on his face. His mouth and eyes couldn’t possibly get any wider than they were right then. He seemed so fucking excited and it all radiated straight into Billy, and all he could do was walk up to him and kiss him. Billy pulled Steve’s face with both hands and practically consumed him like he was one of those Hostess desserts. Two untameable smiles pressed up against each other.

Billy reached for the tube of lipstick out of the bag and held it in between the two of them, he asked, “Are you going to help me put it on?”

Billy was wrong. Steve’s smile could get wider. Steve took Billy by the hand and sat him down on the couch, taking the bag with him as he straddled Billy’s lap.

“You know what you’re doing pretty boy?” Billy asked. He pushed Steve’s hair behind his ears as he looked up at him in awe. He relished in Steve’s excitement that was perfectly matching his own. It was all he could ever ask for.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve seen Nancy do it enough times.” Billy rolls his eyes at the mention of her name. Steve poked him in the face, causing Billy's face to scrunch. “Oh get over it Billy, I am.”

Billy was already shaking with anticipation and just wanted to get on with it without the mention of Steve’s former girlfriend. “Just shut up. Make me the prettier one.”

“Oh you already are, gorgeous.”

Steve twisted open the lipstick and carefully held Billy’s chin up so he was looking directly at him. With a steady hand and a soft touch, the smooth cream brushed against his lips and coated them to perfection. No overdrawn lines or transferring to his teeth, the color suited him so well, just a soft pink just slightly darker and more vibrant than the color of his own. It made his lips look bolder and fuller than they already were.

“Now look straight forward for me,” Steve said before he reached into the bag for another piece of product. “–and raise your eyebrows.” Steve twisted and pulled the wand from the metallic gold tube, the black bristles looked like spider legs. “Okay, hold still.”

“I swear to God Steve, if you poke me in the fucking eye–”

“Have some faith in me, damn!”

Fortunately for both Billy and Steve, none of the black goopy liquid found its way into Billy’s eyes. There was only a minor sting that, with time, he could easily see himself get used to. The sensation was followed by the feeling of soft bristles going in circles around his cheeks. Steve had asked him to smile for the application, but that wasn’t the reason he was doing it. The look of focus in Steve’s eyes along with the slight exposure of the tip of his tongue through his mostly sealed lips had sent Billy reeling.

Steve leaned back to get a complete view of his work. “Wow, I’m good.”

“Okay, hot shot,” Billy said with a nudge to his shoulder, “show me then.”

In a moment of surprising strength, Steve hoisted Billy up and over his shoulder by the grab of his ass. Billy’s stomach had come to rest right on the point of Steve’s shoulder, which sent him into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. His voice fluctuated and bounced with each step Steve took down the hall toward the bathroom. Billy clung to Steve’s shirt, hiking it up past the midpoint of his as he did so.

“Oh my god! Put me down!” he laughed.

Billy’s legs flailed, with the result of a knocked over a lamp and a bruised ankle from the abrupt contact with the doorframe.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

Steve sat Billy on the edge of the sink, his face still faced away from the mirror. They were still coming down from their laughter when Billy, seemingly having forgotten about the makeover that he had just been given not even a full minute ago, leant down in an attempt to lay one right onto Steve.

“Hey, don’t ruin it before you even see it!” Steve pushed him back away from him and then helped him down from the sink and with a comforting grip of Billy’s biceps, he turned him around. “See? it looks so good on you!” Steve stood behind Billy with his hands trailing down to his waist, head over his shoulder, looking at him like he was his brilliant creation. Steve Harrington’s masterpiece, his most prized possession. “Wait right here, I got you something.”

Left alone in the bathroom, Billy was able to just let himself stare. Let himself lean in close to the mirror, his nose nearly touched the glass as he studied the tint to his lips, the definition to his lashes, the slight pink to his cheeks... It was the first time he ever looked at himself, like really looked at himself, and saw someone pretty. He truly believed it this time.

Steve came back with a bag of his own. It was a small bag with a French name on the side of it Black, and elegant, and Billy already had an idea of what’s inside. The day just kept on getting better. Billy tore the tissue out of the bag, and pulled the pieces of fabric out. It was a dust rose garter belt with stockings, panties, and a bralette, a perfect match for his lips. The lace was so sheer and the baroque floral patterns were so elegant he wanted nothing more than to just put it on right there. Strip himself down to the bare essentials and allow the openwork to protect him.

“You think you wanna give me a fashion show?” Steve asked, pulling the sleeves of Billy’s jacket down over his shoulders. Billy smiled and pushed Steve gently out the bathroom door and shut it right in his face.

He wasted no time putting it on. The way the fabric sat on his hips and his chest felt almost like it was tailored specifically to him. Enough room in the crotch area while also perfectly hugging his hips. The stockings squeezing his thighs just the perfect amount. There was no uncomfortable overhang in the bralette. He had never felt more comfortable wearing anything before. The pink on tan skin, the emphasis on every curve of his. He felt so soft and pretty and almost totally complete. He was just missing one thing.

Billy strutted out of the bathroom with a genuine conviction he’d never had before. There was no fear this time, no tears. Just pure elation at the prospect of Steve seeing him like this. Loving the way he looks in lingerie and makeup. Loving him for who he is and thinking he’s still hot. Still sexy and attractive.

“Holy shit you look fucking amazing baby.” Steve slowly walked toward him. He took in the whole view, committing the entire sight to memory because it was absolutely glorious. “I hope you aren’t mad,” he began, his hands finding Billy’s hips. “but I had my Mom pick it up while she was in Paris. I found out they make men’s lingerie there and I wanted you to have something special. She doesn’t know who it was for, but she knows I’m dating a guy now.”

They had never really discussed the topic of coming out. It felt like something that didn’t need to be said. Telling people was something so far off the radar of possibility that Billy felt a creeping sensation of absolute dread before he was finally able to open up his mouth to speak.

“And she was okay with it?”

Steve smiled and bowed his head just slightly. “Surprisingly, yeah. She was the one who wanted to pick something up for you. So I jumped on the chance.”

“Does your Dad know?” Steve laughed and shook his head.

“God I hope not. His brain would probably explode.” Billy pulled Steve in by the hold of his cheeks, and let their foreheads touch while they stared deep into each other’s eyes. Steve’s hands traced up and down the curves of Billy’s body, fingers dragged against the lace and their smiles were uncontrollable. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you first.”

“Hey,” Billy’s voice was soft, “I’m happy for you.” Steve's sigh of relief was hot against Billy’s mouth. “And thank you, for this.” he said before the distance between them was finally closed and lips were pressed to lips, pink color smeared all over each other’s faces.

The only thing better than wearing that lipstick was having Steve ruin it.

next part

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 62

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I kicked my feet up and I watched the striper dance before me. I took a long draw on my packed pipe and since Aurum was doing it, I tossed some bills on the striper. Why the fuck not?

She bent down low in front of me in pretty white bottoms. She had pretty blue eyes besides and a frilly matching white top. She danced in front of Aurum and I and he poured me a drink.

I took it from him with grace and sipped on the alcohol slowly, though faster than I might normally.

"No word on your mustached man," he told me. "I've been keeping an ear to the ground about it and I haven't heard a thing. If only you'd seen his weapon, man. Then we'd have something to go off of."

I grunted and nodded. I took a swig of drink.

"Can I get something sugary up here for Neo? Girliest, sugariest drink you have in the house. All the better if it has ice-cream in it."

Neo hit me in the side but smiled. She didn't disagree.

"One fuzzy navel coming right up," Aurum called out to a wait staff member who was passing by on the second floor of his club. The man nodded and took the order. Like all of Aurum's waitstaff the man was good looking. Stand out in a crowd good looking. Almost hunter angel-like good looking.

Aurum owed me. For killing Tyrian. Neither of us said it but mass murderers are bad for business, they brought the wrong kind of attention. He was paying me off with drink and women a little. Or trying to. I was hard to buy off with such trivial things. I wasn't saying I couldn't be bought with it. That seemed like a bit much. And the dancer was beautiful with those baby-blues. She reminded me of my first crush a little.

I was good for his business because I was so dangerous. Keeping me happy was good for his business because I was so dangerous. It was a razor that might cut one of us but for now he was happy and I was happy so why not drink with one another and party while I waited for my information to come in?

I'd already paid for it by murdering some of his enemies and he'd probably tell me about it as soon as he knew something because Cinder Fall was another murderer who wasn't interested in the drug game or playing the game like I was.

"Cloud, I still don't have any news on the others you asked me to watch out for. Cinder Fall or Hazel Rainart."

"Cinder Fall is probably not her real name anyways. Plus she could be working through some other associates. Emerald Sustrai or Mercury Black."

"I'll keep an eye out for them all the same. Did you learn what you needed from Avalanche?"

"I did. The General's project wasn't so secret after all. Hard to keep everyone in on something that large quiet."

"Fair enough." He said without asking me more about the project. He probably didn't care to know the details so long as it didn't affect his business ventures. "Come with me. Try some hyper," he said. He was trying to buy me off with drugs as well. He'd hooked me up with more greens. I'd paid a little but it was discounted.

"I don't know that I should. I already have some psychosis. That's what the weed is for."

"Oh it's not so bad. Just an intense rush."

"Isn't it a pro-psychotic?"

"Maybe a little. I'm not a doctor. Try some, you'll be fine."

I shrugged my shoulders. Fuck it. Why not? What was the worst thing that could happen if I did? I'd become a murderer? That ship had sailed, thanks. I'd become involved in the drug game? A bit late, thank you. An alien goddess would seize control over my mind, again? Maybe. But I couldn't live in fear of Mother all the time.

He cut out a line of the stuff and showed me how to inhale it.

I did. I pulled deeply into my nostrils and up into my sinuses.

I leaned back as the powder filled my nose and dripped down my esophagus a little. It hit my brain fast and hard. Aurum had been right. It was intense.

And it was a rush. I was zooming. My brain strummed like it was endlessly hitting a high wiry note on an electric guitar with an amplifier. Volts coursed through my veins in my skull. My arteries seemed to be full of odd amps. Like I'd been shot in the head by some kind of electric gun.

Bugs wiggled their way around behind my eyes more intensely than ever. I just didn't care as I leaned back into my seat once more.

I swear I could almost hear mother's voice over the din of the music in The Den. But only just. It wasn't bad now that I thought about it. Just a dull whisper. Just some bitch talking to me like she owned me.

What else was new?

My leg was moving restlessly. I felt like I was about to jump out of my skin.

Neo sucked on a long blue bendy straw next to me and on impulse I nearly took it from her hands and threw it across the room. I reigned myself in, though. There was no reason to do that. I just needed to sit back and relax… relax… relax.

My brain seemed stuck in a loop and I repeated that over and over in my head like a mantra. Relax… relax… relax… why wasn't I relaxing?

I drank and smoked some more. I drank like I was thirsty and I smoked like my personal stash wasn't running a bit low before I'd bought some more.

It felt damn good to over indulge and crossfade myself as thoroughly as I could.

"Well you're handling it well," Aurum said. "That was your first time, no?"

"It is. Was. Whatever." My heart beat fast and my leg bounced. "I want to kill something. Is that normal?"

"Depends. For you, probably. You're a killer."

I nodded. That made sense. It was hot in all my clothes so I stripped my armor off and set it beside Neo and I on one of the long couches.

I sat back and watched the dancer before me work as my vision came in and out. Blackening and refocusing.

It beat a steady tide in rhythm with my heart.

"Though there is one man in town who I thought you should know about." Aurum told me. I wasn't sure how he was staying so fucking calm.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Name's Adam Taurus. Old White Fang member. He's another killer. Caused the SDC problems for years."

"Want me to kill him?" My voice was much more calm than I felt. My heart was racing. My head throbbed in time with the music in a pleasant way. My eyes felt like they were going to pop from their sockets.

"Maybe. He's the sort who is also bad for my business. Idealistic. Unwilling to compromise. And he paints the town red wherever he goes."

"I could go for a fight right about now. Not sure it's a good idea. Neo, your thoughts?" She shrugged at me, then she shook her head to the negative. Thank you for that contribution Neo. Enlightening. "We'll probably end up passing. I'll kill him for a favor if you change your mind."

"I just might take you up on that." Aurum took a long swig of his favorite amber drink.

I followed suit and found my glass empty. It was quickly refilled by a gorgeous young redhead with a staff shirt on and long legs.

I stared after her for a long time.

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I came down with a headache. "Neo would you get me a glass of water." I bemoaned from my bed in our shared motel space.

She obliged. Fetching the water, then she poured it right on my face.

"Ack! Neo. Gods damn it." I was awake now if nothing else.

I sat up in the bed. I spat water from my mouth. I stood up and got my own drink of water. Neo could be so unreliable.

"You're such a bitch, Neo." I told her over my throbbing headache. I palmed my forehead and over one of my eyes.

"Why I oughta," I said it like a complete sentence with no real heat.

She blinked at me innocently and her eyes switched colors. She fooled nobody with that.

She had a cigarette in her mouth, the smoke from it was filling our shady apartment.

I wasn't sure which drug that I had partaken in the night before that was killing me. It could have just been alcohol. It could have been hyper. Either way I was thirsty enough that when I downed a glass, I followed it up with two more.

I could scarcely remember the night prior. Other than a soft warm feeling that followed my memories about it. Too much drink. Too much weed. Too much of everything. I probably wasn't going to try hyper again. I crossfaded myself hardcore. I rubbed my eyes firmly.

I looked over at Neo and really took her in for the first time. She wasn't wearing a shirt and was just in her brassiere and a pair of pink panties. I took her milky cleavage in for a moment before I looked down at myself. I was totally naked.

"Did we…?"

She rolled her eyes at me. A smirk on her face as she did. She reached over with her cigarette and put it out on my chest, nice and slow. She grinned at my pain. Her breathing rushed a little as I hissed. The tips of her breasts hardened and I noticed that the burn she left there was not alone. It had company.

"Neo, I'm damn well serious." I tasted my own lips with my tongue a little. It tasted funny. Was that someone else's lipstick or was my mouth just fucked from drinks and hyper? It tasted like lipstick. Neo was wearing pink lipstick.

"Did we or didn't we?" She just turned and began putting the rest of her clothes on. She spun and twisted a curtain into place between our two sections of room and beds as she clothed herself.

"Neo!"

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She refused to answer me. In any capacity. She just left it as it was which was well within her personality but was more than a little obnoxious from my end. Fuck her.

Sex with a demoness or not, and I was trying hard not to think about that, I still had other business to attend to. Like heading over to Avalanche headquarters.

We rolled up on the bar with Neo's arms wrapped around my waist. She held herself nice and tight to me for the ride. The absolute… I mean honestly...

"Neo you little devil," I said to her, looking forward. Neither of us were wearing helmets. Little point when we were both hunters.

It was on me for getting black out drunk and giving her the opportunity to hold it over me. Forever.

Plus if I really did do it I had a lot to feel guilty about. Wherever little Ruby Rose was she wasn't enjoying another's company like that. She was probably shattered to pieces.

She was probably in a lot of pain over me. I had caused that. I didn't deserve to cause her pain. But I had anyway. It made my chest ache to think about. It made me feel worthless. More worthless, that is.

Guilt rose up in my mouth like bile and it whipped at me like a switch. I didn't much like to think about that. But by all accounts we were broken up. I had no idea when I would even see her again. We were shattered, me and her. So what did it matter if I did have sex with Neo? Evidently it mattered to me. I didn't want it to have happened. I regretted that I didn't know.

It meant that Yang was right about me. One way or another her older sister instincts had been on point. She'd been right to keep me away. For more than one reason, probably. That made me feel like shit.

It also meant disappointing Weiss. I had long wanted her approval for one reason or another. That hadn't exactly changed. Her affectionate dawn smile with her hair down reflected in my mind for a moment before I imagined her looking at me with a cold hard apathy like she had so many times before. And I grimaced at so many memories of asking her out.

Besides, I should feel guilty about what I had done to Ruby. She was probably off saving lives while I was taking them like some common criminal or something. We couldn't be more different. She was an angel and I was a demon.

And I wasn't about to talk to Neo about that. Or have a one way conversation with her, at any rate. As much as you could have a conversation with Neo. About all of this.

I walked up to the bar and opened the door with a jingle of bells. I tried to roll my shoulders and undo a kink in them I'd worked into the muscle the night before.

Jasper was up behind the bar, washing the counter down with a cloth.

"Oh, Cloud… you're back!"

"I promised to train you guys a little. Where's the others?"

"They're out for a minute. There's a big player in town. Adam Taurus. He's causing problems for the union and with the miner leaders like Dyne."

"Dyne?"

"Just Dyne. No last name. He's one of the old miner leaders. Been around since the old days of the White Fang. He was always outspoken about union action over taking up arms. Or at least he used to be. He hates the Schnee name, now. His daughter was injured in a mining accident recently. Bisque is worried about what he and Adam will get up to."

"This is the second time I'm hearing about Taurus."

"He's problems. At least for us. They're working up strikes, which is a good thing. But they also have the potential to get violent. People could get hurt. Bisque is trying to stop things from escalating."

"Yeah but you guys are fairly militant. Shouldn't you be on board with Taurus?"

"We always plan our operations around not killing people. People always die with Taurus on the job. Always. He's got a red streak a mile wide."

"Guess that's why Aurum might want me to kill him. Not willing to play ball. And Wenge?"

"Leading a strike. Avalanche needs to stay involved in all of this if we want to be a player at all. I'm just holding down the fort because somebody needs to be looking after the bar. People might come by and have questions for us about the strike. We have to stay on top of information."

"Need me to kill Taurus?" I asked.

"You think you can pull it off? I know you're good but Taurus is also a badass. He's got some real power," Jasper said.

I thought of Tyrian. He was one of Salem's guard and I'd killed him. He was probably about as dangerous as hunters came. Barring people like Cinder who were also maidens and had some extra kick.

"I might be able to manage it. Difficult to say before I lay into him but it's a possibility. Aurum talked to me about maybe taking him down. I remember that from last night at least."

"What happened last night?" Jasper asked. She leaned forward on one hand which rested with her elbow on the counter.

"Drank too much. That's all. Nothing else happened."

Neo nudged me. I looked way down at her short ass. A calm smirk was on her face looking back up at me. One end of her lips turned up.

Shut up, Neo.

"You up for some training?" I asked.

"I can't." Jasper sighed. "I've got to man the fort. Think you can come by again later? Wenge should be by then too."

I nodded.

"Probably. I'm just waiting for some information to come in. Not much else is going on in my life at the moment. Running favors for my 'friends.' That sort of thing."

The door jingled again. I turned to look. It was the crossbow girl from before.

"Oh. It's you," she said with some derision at me. I could live with that. At least I was being remembered.

"Me." I agreed. Like it was a curse. Which it was in a lot of respects. Boy was it.

"I'm not here to talk to you." She looked away towards Jasper. "I'm here to talk about the strikes. You kicked this off by bombing the mind and shutting work down."

"Maybe we did, as far as Avalanche is concerned the strikes are a good thing."

"Not this close to the elections. It's too much unrest."

"You're just upset because the strike leaders aren't paying homage to Robyn. They don't care about another election cycle where nothing gets done to improve their conditions. Especially when Schnee himself is running."

"This isn't about that. If martial law gets declared it will push elections back."

"I know you're concerned about Hill's chances of winning. Maybe you should be out leading them instead of hiding away or whatever the Happy Huntresses are doing," Jasper told her. Crossing her arms over her chest.

"The Happy Huntresses are always fighting for Mantle."

"Yeah, on your time table. Not on Mantle's. The people want change and they want it now."

"You stirred them up. Your bombing caused this. The people were content to wait!"

"We didn't cause the strikes. You're looking for Dyne and Adam Taurus."

"Adam Taurus?!" Fiona was incredulous.

"Oh you haven't heard? Maybe the Happy Huntresses are out of touch."

"Don't be petulant just because I wouldn't help you with your bombing. Look at what you've done! Now Adam Taurus is involved."

"If you're scared of him-" Jasper began she was cut off.

"Only a fool wouldn't be," Fiona said. "Call off the strikes."

"No can do," Jasper said. "Wouldn't want to even if we could. Take it up with Dyne."

"Dyne is unreachable. He wants revenge against the SDC at all costs. We're hoping Avalanche is more agreeable. You have a network. You can shut this down."

"I told you we want the strikes." Jasper leaned forward into her words. "Live with them. Or don't. Better yet."

"All this because I wouldn't bomb them with you! It was a bad idea. Look at all the unrest it's causing. Ironwood might declare martial law. Who will win then? Not the miners. The military always backs the SDC to break up the strikes. People get hurt every time. Please. This has to stop. Only through elections will real change get affected."

"I disagree. I think we can get real change done by collective action."

"It never works. It'll end with them opening fire on the mob. It always ends that way. Dust mining is too important to stay shut down. The military will back the SDC because they need the dust."

"There's an oversupply with the embargo. There's enough dust to last months. The strike won't last that long anyways. Old man Schnee will have to give in and improve the working conditions."

"He never does. And the negativity too, it's drawing the Grimm."

"So what? That's exactly why they can't open fire on a crowd of protestors." Jasper refuted.

"So what? So what?" Fiona repeated sounding shocked. "So people will die. And what about people who want more than improved conditions? What about the levelers who want wealth and property abolished? You're giving them a platform."

"What if the levelers are right? What if wealth and property should be abolished. Look at the pain it causes."

"It's the foundation of our society with the Grimm at the gates!"

"Cloud, what do you think, are the Grimm that big of a threat? We've got the largest military in the world for a reason."

I had been watching the two with rapt attention as they ran down Mantle politics. To be honest I was learning a lot. Particularly about these levelers. They sounded a lot like the Anti-capitalists of back home in Vale.

"I think the Grimm are always a threat. More than the layman knows," I murmured.

"See, even the murderer agrees. All this negativity can't go on. If you don't shut down the strikes, then the military will."

Fiona turned at the door.

"Please," she begged. "Shut it down."

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: XV

Description: It’s almost been a year since Fred Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: Fluff

MASTERLIST

***

Seven months later Hannah was staring at herself in the mirror, taking deep, calming breaths as she shook with excitement. Four women were rushing around the room behind her, panic pulling them back and forth as they struggled to get ready in time, but Hannah could only daydream, still wearing nothing but the satin robe Caroline had handed her that morning.

She had been dreaming about this day since George knelt down on one knee, and it would have been here much sooner had the combined forces of Mrs. Weasley and her own mother not demanded the celebration be grand. They had whispered about eloping as they laid in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, but the idea had always vanished at the thought of their mothers’ wrath.

Now the day was finally here.

“Hannah, my god, do you even want to get married?” Sloane cried out when she finally noticed the daydreaming girl. Hannah giggled as she was yanked away from the mirror and to her feet by her maid of honor. They twirled around the room, laughing as they bumped into the edges of furniture. Sloane pulled Caroline into their little dance, and when the two mothers returned, they found a pile of giggling girls rolling among the bedsheets.

“It’s almost one,” Mrs. Weasley gasped, staring at the three girls, including the bride, who were the furthest thing from ready.

“I thought that was what magic was for, waiting until the last minute,” Caroline quipped from the sheets.

“It is, but last time I checked you don’t have any,” Sloane replied, tapping the younger girl’s nose before pulling her towards the wardrobe where their dresses were hanging.

When Hannah was younger, she had wanted nothing more than yellow bridesmaids’ dresses. When her mother took her to the shops, she took great pride in running her fingers over the yellow section of the store, determining exactly what dresses they would wear as they began the wedding procession. Today, that was a dream that would not be coming true. After a great many hours of fighting between what she had dreamed of for years and what present her secretly wanted. Sloane had finally stepped in and chastised her for her loyalty to nostalgia and that was all that was needed for the yellow dresses that refused to be any other color became powder blue. The color Ginny had informed her was Fred’s favorite color.

While her childhood bridesmaid dresses had been forgotten, her dress certainly hadn’t. The skirt was layers and layers of tulle that floated about her legs. The bodice was beaded into patterns of flowers, and the shimmer contrasted the stark white of the skirt. She let Sloane magic diamonds into the curls of her hair until she looked like the fairy queens she had read about in fairytales as a child. As she transformed, she stared out the window to the real fairytale, George.

He was waving his wand across the courtyard, summoning things beneath a silver tent. She craned her neck to see what appeared, but the angle was too harsh to ease her curiosity. So, instead she watched George. He wasn’t in his suit yet, opting instead for his sleep shirt and a pair of plaid pants she had bought him for Christmas. His feet were bare against the morning dew that hadn’t yet evaporated in the July sun. If she had been within earshot, she would have chastised him, worried he was going to catch a cold. Instead, because she wasn’t, she merely watched him, not entirely sure she could believe by the end of the day she would be Mrs. Hannah Weasley.

The last time she had dreamed about getting married had been Year 5 when Donald O’Donoghue had asked to hold her hand during recess. It was the only moment she had deviated from her yellow dress obsession, when he told her his favorite color was lime green; however, after realizing his hands were very sweaty (and viewing the dress options in his choice color) she realized they were not a compatible match. She had had other boyfriends of course, but she never was able to imagine them at the end of the aisle. She hadn’t even been able to imagine George, and now that the day was here, she kept pinching herself. He was so perfect, and so wonderful, and so incomparable that the fact he had chosen her was a miracle in itself.

Suddenly, he looked up and smiled as he caught her smile through the glass. She smiled back, heart still fluttering at the little grin he seemed to save just for her. She waved and tragically caught the others’ attention, who gasped before collectively yanking the curtains closed.

“You can’t let him see you,” her mother scolded, and she rolled her eyes, raising her fingers to peak out once more, disappointed to find he had disappeared from view.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispered, smiling when she caught a butterfly escape the confines of the tent and traipsed through her open window. It landed on the skirt of her dress and somehow, she knew it was all his doing, a small message that the butterflies were real. She felt herself tearing up, laughing softly to herself at the possibility that it might not even be him, but a simple butterfly.

“Oh dear, Hannah, are you alright?” Molly asked, taking her hand as she crouched down beside the teary-eyed girl.

“I just love him, y’know,” she whispered and suddenly Molly was crying along with her. They laughed as they wiped away their tears, muttering nonsense about eyeliner they both knew would be long gone by the end of the ceremony. “I’m glad you’re okay with me,” she whispered, and Molly instantly dried her tears, replacing profound joy with confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m not like you, our children might not, and I’ll never understand everything,” she rambled, tears gathering again, and Molly pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

“Don’t you ever think that. I love you like my own, and it doesn’t matter as long my son is happy, and you make him happy,” she replied and then they were both sobbing quietly amidst the chaos of the morning.

A knock at the door startled them, and they both quickly dried their eyes as Caroline answered the door. A blond boy poked his head in and any worries that were left about the day melted away at the sight of her best friend.

“Can you give us a second?” she asked, and the woman filed out of the room, only Sloane pausing to kiss him hard enough his lips were printed with the lipstick she was wearing. When the door shut, she stood, and they stared at one another in comfortable silence.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said, and she laughed, brushing away a tear that threatened to fall. “I’m not kidding, and I’m glad it’s George. I never thought I’d say it, but if the first person who decided to care about me has to marry anyone, I’m glad it’s him.”

“My, my, when did you get so sappy?” she teased, if only to stop herself from shedding more tears and he rolled his eyes.

“Leave it to you to make fun of me for being heartfelt for once,” he replied with the same deadpan expression he always used in response to her teasing. She rolled her eyes and in two steps she was hugging him. He hugged her back and she smiled; it was all she needed to know that everything was going to be perfect. “Listen, this isn’t totally why I’m here,” he said, pulling out of the hug with a mischievous grin.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m the distraction.”

“The distraction?”

“For this,” he said before spinning her around to a freshly apparated George, wearing a suit and a blindfold. She giggled, stepping forward, barely aware of Draco leaving the room as she took George’s hands in her own.

“Hi George,” she whispered, and she could practically feel him shaking with excitement. She reached up to touch the fabric covering his eyes. “I like the blindfold, very kinky.”

“It’s the only way he would distract them,” he replied, “These people and their traditions.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Doesn’t matter of course, I don’t need to see you to know you look beautiful.” She could only blush, sure if she opened her mouth, he would know how choked up she really was. Even with the blindfold he was entirely too handsome. “And it doesn’t matter how pretty your dress is, because by the end of the night of the night I’m going to rip it off you.”

“I think you mean gently unlace it.”

“Are you marrying someone else today?”

“No.”

“Then when have you ever known me to unwrap something gently?” Now she was glad for the blindfold, that way he couldn’t see how brightly she was blushing. The sound of storming up the stairs caught her off guard and she suddenly felt like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“I can’t wait any longer, kiss me,” she gasped, panicking as the footsteps got closer. While she wanted to admire the little lopsided grin, he gave her, she took his silence as a moment to kiss him before shoving him back as he apparated back to his part of the house. When the door swung open, she was alone once more, only her guilty smile suggesting he had been there.

George landed in his room and ripped off the blindfold. Ron and Draco looked at him and he grinned. Bloody hell, he was lucky. Just as he had said to her, he didn’t need to see her to know that she was the most radiant thing he had ever seen. He just knew, he could sense it by the way her skin touched his and the way she felt when she kissed him. He adjusted his cufflinks, admiring the newest addition to the clock before making his way outside to the tent he had spent all morning.

It had been a task, convincing Hannah to let him decide the decorations, but once she had agreed it had been a breeze. It was easy pleasing the love of his life, especially when he had the best interrogators working in his favor. Sloane had pressed her for details about everything she wanted and then some, finding out all the creative workings of her mind before passing every bit of knowledge over to him. Now, butterflies that left gold trails drifted around the room and vines of orchids twisted into pillars that held up the tent. The white benches held their friends and family, some (his dad) already crying. He made his way around the room, checking to make sure everyone was seated, too nervous to sit around and wait for the ceremony to begin.

At the front, beside his teary father was an empty seat. He stepped forward, wondering who the seat could be saved for when his heart jolted. Emblazoned in gold across the back was the name that had once haunted him, and then a small table card caught his eye. He lifted it up with shaking fingers and almost began to cry in front of the entire congregation. In Hannah’s terrible handwriting were the words, “Wouldn’t want him to miss it.” He looked up, searching for whoever had placed it there and was only met with a wink from Malfoy. He offered him a grateful smile before placing the card down once more and taking his spot at the altar. He hadn’t chosen a best man, knowing that no one could replace who it should have been and having Malfoy as the other groomsman was the last thing he would have expected, but nothing could have been more perfect. No one had protested when the choice was made, and the confused boy had even been invited to family dinner for the rest of eternity.

Suddenly, the music began, and the crowds stood to watch as Caroline and Sloane made their way down the aisle in powder blue dresses. He lovingly shook his head at his soon to be wife. She never failed to surprise and replacing the yellow she never seemed to stop raving about with powder blue was certainly one for the books.

And then there she was, smiling at him like an angel. His eyes filled with tears to match hers, and he let them slide down his face without shame, because there she was, the beginning of profound joy and the end of the tunnel.

The End

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 14

Buster caught it good from Natalie at breakfast the following morning. As soon as Connie collected the kids to wash them up and the room was empty, she let him have it.

He was made to understand that just before he reappeared inside the house after seeing off Nelly, Louise Brooks had exited the rear loggia, hair and dress rumpled and a nipple exposed, and dashed toward the bathroom. Natalie saw the whole spectacle and saw Buster too, strolling through the front door a minute later with a telltale smear of lipstick on his face. There wasn’t anything he could do to defend himself when she snapped, “I suppose you weren’t thinking about me at all when you went off with Louise last night? What everyone there would think?”

Oh, actually it wasn’t Louise, Nate, that was a crazy coincidence. It was this other girl, you see. Yeah, that’d go over like a lead balloon. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, after giving his answer some thought. “I really am. I had too much to drink. I didn’t know what I was doing.” There was nothing else he could say. Whoever had been out there with Louise, whether George or another lucky man, had either slipped back in unnoticed or left unnoticed, leaving good old Buster to take the fall. He wasn’t convinced that anyone had put two and two together concerning Louise and him, but that hardly mattered to Nate. All the elements to humiliate her had been in place.

“You say you care about me, but that isn’t true at all. Otherwise you wouldn’t be two-timing me every time my back is turned,” she said. Her beautiful eyes were shimmering with unshed tears and he did feel terrible looking at her. He wanted to comfort her, this woman he’d loved since the day he’d stepped off that train in New York and gone to seal their engagement, but he knew it wouldn’t do a lick of good, even if she had allowed him to gather her into his arms and hold her close, which he knew she wouldn’t. 

“You know about the two-timing,” he said. “I never lied about it.” He felt the futility of the argument as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“Yes, but you said it wouldn’t be public,” she said, breaking into a sob.

“Nate, I fucked up, alright!” he said. “I don’t know what you want. What do you want me to do, put on the hair shirt and get out the cat o’ nine tails? Jesus, I’m sorry.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Now he was angry and couldn’t quite grasp why. Something to do with his stupidity and carelessness but also Natalie’s long-standing refusal to engage in the normal rules of marriage as he understood them. He was angry at everything. He shoved the chair so the arms struck the edge of the table, hoping they’d dented the table’s pristine finish, and stormed out. Eleanor was mopping the checkerboard floor and he ignored her meek hello as he jogged up the stairs and stalked into his bedroom. 

He yanked open his closet, pulled out a jacket, shrugged it on, and laced up his shoes. Before leaving, he collected his fishing poles and tackle box. 

He ended up driving out to Franklin Canyon Lake where he could be alone with his thoughts. He found an isolated spot and parked the Duesenberg, then set up. The absurdity of it didn’t escape him, sitting on the grassy edge of the lake getting the seat of his pants wet and dirtying up a $200 pair of leather shoes with a $9,500 car behind him.

He had been pretty drunk last night, but not so drunk he hadn’t known what he was doing when Nelly kissed him. She’d made the first move, but he’d been getting ready to beat her there. His thoughts had been returning to her all morning. He’d grown to like her and there wasn’t much question as to why. She was pretty for starters and she had a backbone, which he’d always liked in a girl. He was amused by her sense of pride. Her stakes also seemed very low. She didn’t want to be the leading lady in a romance or even the leading lady in one of his comedies, for that matter. No, it was fusty old Shakespeare she had her hopes pinned on. His first thought upon waking up, apart from lamenting how ferociously his head hurt, was that he wanted to see her again.

Nate’s sad, pretty little face at the breakfast table rose up in his mind and guilt gnawed. She deserved a husband who would be faithful to her; he did believe that with his whole heart, even though he couldn’t (Couldn’t or wouldn’t? hissed a part of him) make that sacrifice. It wasn’t fair of him to treat her the way he did, to be thinking of Nelly and how much he’d wanted her last night. Still, the selfish part of him objected stridently. He had needs too and didn’t he deserve to get them met? Hadn’t he tried his best to make things better before going outside of his marriage? Didn’t he still do his damndest to make Nate happy, what with the Villa and parties and letting her control the purse-strings?

The fishing was good as morning wore into afternoon and afternoon wore into evening, but he threw everything back. Gone were the days in Muskegon where Myra cooked everything he caught, frying the fish up in butter and cornmeal. Caruthers bought the fish and other meat fresh every day and it was usually exotic, skate fillets and swordfish and the like, not the humble trout and largemouth bass his line was currently fetching. When he tired of fishing, he got back in the car and drove home. He would miss dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. He parked in the garage and headed to the east wing, where he climbed the stairs to his balcony and let himself into his room, not wanting to come through the main entrance and risk encountering Natalie. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket and trousers on the floor, and crawled into bed. The hangover had caught up to him and he fell fast asleep. 

When he woke up, he had no idea where he was or what time it was. It took him a few seconds to remember the fishing trip, the fight, and the party. He grabbed the alarm clock on his bedside table and brought it up to his face. Almost nine o’clock. He’d slept for over two hours. He sat up, feeling groggy and hungry, and pulled his trousers back on. He padded into the hall. The house was dim, Caruthers having turned down the lights for the evening, and no trace of the previous evening’s festivities remained. He wondered if Nate had decided to go ahead with the barbecue tomorrow in spite of the fight. Even though he would have rather inspected the kitchen for leftovers, he passed the stairs and went on to the west wing. The door to Natalie’s bedroom was closed and he tapped on the door to announce himself before pushing quietly inside. 

Natalie was sitting up in bed in a blue satin nightgown and a matching translucent wrap reading an issue of Colliers. She didn’t look at him as he sat at the foot of the bed. “Hi,” he said, giving her toe beneath the covers a friendly tweak. She withdrew her foot and turned the page of her magazine. The cover advertised the new Zane Grey novel and was subtitled A Story of Love and Adventure in Arizona. 

He knit his hands in his lap. “I know you’re angry.”

No response. 

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“I love you.”

Only then did Natalie put down the magazine and look at him. “A fine way you’ve got of showing it.” The expression on her face was cold.

He stood up and climbed into the bed with her, making himself comfortable against the mound of pillows on the vacant side. It was a risky move, but she didn’t object. “I wanna make things work.”

Natalie scoffed. 

Her king bed felt as big as a steamliner compared to his double. Even if he had been permitted to sleep in the same bed with her, with its size there would have been no danger of them ever touching.

“You know I still care for you. I’ve never stopped.” Cautiously, he stroked her arm.

“You humiliated me,” she said, not looking at him. 

“I know. I deserve to be castrated.” He didn’t think he deserved any such thing, but she was letting him stroke her arm, so he went on.

“Does the whole world know you’re stepping out on me? That I’m not enough for you?” Her voice was trembly. 

He sighed. “I don’t think anyone noticed last night. We came from opposite ends of the house.”

“Yes,” she said tearily. “It was very clever of you. But I noticed.”

“Because you’re my wife. My wife who I love very much.” He threw caution to the wind and moved into her space, putting his arms around her and laying his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you.” She was rigid, but didn’t attempt to pull away.

“What will it take for you to treat me with respect then?” she said, reaching up to dash away a tear. 

Buster sighed again and nuzzled her shoulder. She smelled of flowers and baby powder. “I do respect you. You know what the problem is.”

The silence between them was heavy. After a while, Natalie said, “I could try again to like it, I guess.” She sniffled.

He looked at her, surprised. “Do you really mean that?”

She nodded. “I want us to be happy. I want Bobby and Jimmy to have a mother and a father. Under the same roof, that is.”

Apparently he hadn’t been the only one with the D word on his mind. “Okay,” he said, not quite believing she’d just said what she had. “Well, you know that would make me very happy.”

Natalie laid her hand on his forearm. “And you’d stay faithful to me, if …” She was so delicate, she trailed off instead of naming the unseemly act to which they both referred.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

“I don’t want to tonight,” she said, sounding almost frightened.

“I don’t expect you to.” He leaned up and kissed her cheek. “We can take things at your pace.”

“Okay,” she said. He felt her relax in his arms.

She permitted him to linger cuddling her a while longer, and when she kicked him out so she could sleep it was with a kiss.

Standing in the kitchen eating a shaved-beef sandwich a few minutes later, he felt like the tide was turning just a little. The cutting of Steamboat was going well. The barbecue was still on for tomorrow and those always cheered him up. Natalie had done better than just forgiven him for his indiscretion, she told him she was willing to resume their marital relations. Even so, once he’d taken a bath and was lying between his sheets in his silk pajamas, he couldn’t sleep. He was thinking about the night before and the girl who had attended in her rented dress and had thrown away his flask of whiskey. He remembered too that she’d cried when he filmed the facade scene Notes: Thank you for your patience, Buster kittens, as I adjusted to some big life changes the past week. My therapy is this story, though, so I’m back at it again! A couple notes: Buster and Natalie had servants called Connie and Eleanor, which is a little confusing given that Natalie’s sister Constance was sometimes called Connie and Buster found his happily ever after with an Eleanor. According to Myra Keaton, Buster never stopped loving Natalie, and I do think that he genuinely wanted their marriage to work. What do you think?