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restless-mama · 17 days

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Sol Exposed

Back at it again! Encouraged by my beloved friends from the 14DWY Discord server (I love yall!), I decided to write Sol (from The Kid at the Back, visual novel) fic. Sol belongs to @fantasia-kitt and Christine belongs to me. Female pronouns and etc are used. THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS TO TKAB!

Summary wise, sometimes you just can't do what you want and think you can get away with it! Christine finds out what her crush has done to her and she wants to get even. She exposes him in at least three ways. His naughty deeds, his body, and his feelings.

Warnings: Stalking, Drugs, Handcuffs, subby Sol

Banner belongs to @arklayraven

It was late but as your typical college student, Christine was tapping and clicking on her laptop as she sits at her desk browsing the internet. A glass of orange juice sitting by her laptop. Her phone lights up with a notification. Her lamp on her nightstand was still on emitting light throughout the room. It was Sol, her current crush. He wishes her goodnight and that he’ll see her tomorrow. A high pitch giggle escapes her lips while she kicks her feet a little. If only she could confess her feelings to him. Yes, she had a crush on Crowe in the beginning. She felt it would be better off if Crowe and her remained friends. Grabbing her phone, she sends a reply biding him goodnight and reminding him to not stay up so late. She was aware of him staying up in wee hours of the night, doing God knows what.

She looks through some false nails to buy since Halloween was around the corner which is her favorite holiday. Christine orders a set of false nails from an Etsy seller of the name AnastasiasNails. The set of nails were in a coffin cut set with black lace and red small false rubies as designs.

Another thing she had to order was a costume for the Halloween party her school hosted. She decided to purchase a black gothic lolita dress. It was a halter dress with a bowknot on the halter neck which exposed the rib-shaped cutout on the back. The skirt part of the dress was laced tiered ruffle. After placing her orders, she looked out of her window. The lock was still broken, and it reminded her to look at the hidden cameras she had set up in her apartment. Some of her laundry has gone missing, like her favorite pair of panties. Also, items disappearing and reappearing around her house. Then there were a few mornings with some dried substance on her stomach. A few times she notices bruises on her neck and/or collar bone. However, she doesn’t remember a thing.

Christine pulls up the footage as her fingers wrapped around the cold glass of orange juice. She sip from the glass that consists of the fruity, tangy drink. Her finger clicking on the mouse to fast forward on the video. Suddenly she stops and watches to see someone climbing through her window with the broken lock. Her brown eyes widen and swallows hard. A surge of anxiety and fear coursed through her body as she continues to watch the hooded figure walked out of her room. Her eyes darts over to the camera recording that was in her kitchen.

Her brown eyes studied the figure and noticed how tall he was. He was most definitely taller than her which she was only 5’5”. She watches in horror as the figure opened her fridge door to take out her orange juice and twist open the top. Then they took out a pill that looked very familiar, opened the capsule and dropped the powdery medication into her juice. Christine drops the glass that she was drinking out of, onto the ground. She watches in silent horror as she realizes her drink has been spiked. No wonder why she has been sleeping so well lately.

“Son of a bitch!” Christine curses as she stands up. Her body was shaking a little from what she has watched. She was about to move to grab a nearby towel to dry the orange juice off the carpet, until the figure’s face caught her attention. The brunette stands there in shock and turns her head back to her laptop screen. Their eyes looks very familiar... They were orangey-red.

“No...” Christine whispers. She knew who those eyes belonged to. ‘He... he wouldn’t... would he?’ The brunette thought her herself.

The spilled juice was longed forgotten. The young college student sits back down and continues to go through the footage. He does leave her apartment but comes back late at night when she was in bed, asleep. Once again, he sneaks in through her window. She watches him pick up her arm and drop it, confirming that she was in a deep, drugged sleep. He pushed his hood down to reveal his black hair with green highlights and his mask was pushed down under his chin. It was indeed Sol. In the footage, he kisses her face close to her lips. He strokes her hair, tucking a strand of her messy dark brown and red hair behind her ear. She watches him suckling her neck, creating the mysterious bruises, which she realizes were hickies. Then the unthinkable happens. How could he...? He was so kind to her. So protective and caring.

Christine watches in shock and....arousal? She couldn’t believe she was getting turned on by the sight of Sol doing this to her while she slept. This type of behavior wasn’t acceptable for normal standards, yet she could not deny the surge of pleasure course through her veins as she watched him. The tip of her tongue darts out and laps her top lip, imagine how he would taste. Perhaps she was just as crazy as him... Maybe... She should get even.

~*~

With little effort, it didn’t take much lure Sol back to her apartment. They both had an assignment to finish anyways. Christine, being such a lady, offered Sol something to drink. Once they finished their refreshments, they retreated to her bedroom. Christine sat down in her chair as the taller man sat down on her bed as he drew her. She could feel his red-orange eyes trace every bit of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she keeps it together as she suppresses the need to make him beg. It’s only a matter of time now.

Sol wipes the sweat off his brow as he notices he has gotten hotter than usual. A surge of lust rans through his veins. He forwards his brows as his eyes bore into his drawing of his beloved. He usually could control his urges when he’s near her. Something was wrong. His heart begins to beat faster, and his pants felt a little too tight against his body. His body is getting hotter by the minute.

“Sol...?” Christine’s voice could be heard, and the artist looks towards the direction of the voice. He jumps and gasps as he realizes she was inches away from him. His face becomes more flustered. Another surge of pleasure rushed through his body, especially his member. How did she get so close? When did she get so close? The brunette couldn't help but giggle, he noticed the tone of it was more... menacing.

The brunette moves in closer to him. Her lips inches from his lips. “Are you okay...? My little stalker?” Christine confronts him. His eyes widen in shock.

“Fuck...!” He whispers. Before he can explain himself, she presses her lips against his in a passionate kiss. His pencil and sketch book drops to the carpet floor as she pushes him down onto her bed. Her hips rolls against his member through the fabric of their pants. This earns a muffled groan from the taller man. Seizing the opportunity, she got a hold of his arms and handcuffs him to the bed frame.

Sol looks up in shock at his the woman above him. “Christine... let me-” A delicate finger pressed on his lips shushing him from explaining himself. Christine staddles his hips rubbing her groin against him earning a moan from the man below her. His skin was so sensitive and hot. Her scent on her bed was driving him insane more than usual. He wondered what was going on. Then it dawned on him that he didn’t get like this after he drank something she gave him. No... his own beloved couldn’t do this right? She wasn’t capable? Or was he wrong?

The woman on top of him breaks the kiss. "I added a little something to your drink... Just like you did mine but mine is an aphrodisiac.” Christine giggles. She looks down at him with her caramel eyes full of mischief. “I put hidden camera around my apartment Sol... I know everything... And now, it’s my turn to have my fun with you~” Her soft hands moves under his shirt, pushing it up as she touches his tone torso. As if her touch left a trail of fire in her wake. Her fingers reach to his pierced nipples and strokes them with her fingers.

“Ahhh! Christine!” Sol pants out with his face flushed with red, choking down his moans, trying to remain quiet. He was panting and sweat formed on his forehead. His eyes half-lidded and full of desire.

“Someone’s very sensitive, aren’t they?” Christine said seductively and playfully, “Tell me Sol...” She darts her tongue out and swirls her tongue around his pierced nipple causing him to squirm and whimper uncontrollably, “Is this what you wanted me to do to you? To take this big cock of yours?” Her hand undoes his pants and pulls out his thick, long member and strokes it very slowly. She had to admit... She was impressed by the length and size of his erection.

The green haired artist looks up at his beloved with a mixture of shock and desire. He hadn’t expected her to be so brazen and forward. “Yes.... Yes! This is what I wanted...” Sol whines out as his throbbing cock leaks precum onto her hand. His own obsession with her was bad enough but with the aphrodisiac running through his veins took it to the next level. Without any hesitation, she pulls off his pants and boxers off.

“You’re so hard for me...” Christine teases. She sits on her heels and lowers her head over his veiny member, which still leaking with precum. Her lips parted around his wide cock and sucks off his salty seed. She sticks her tongue out and traces the thick veins on his member. Sol’s eyes roll back into his head as he feels Christine’s wet tongue swirling around the over sensitive tip of his cock. He could feel shivers down his spine while his body becomes overloaded with pure pleasure.

All he could think of was her. Her scent. Her touch. Those lustful yet mischievous, caramel eyes. His fantasies were becoming a reality, but this exceeded his expectations. “Oh fuck, Chris...” Sol gasps between labored breaths, his eyes hazy and burning with desire. “You make me feel so goddamn good...”

His needy words and pleas were music to her ears. The brunette could feel the surge of arousal shoot down her clit. Christine takes his cock into her mouth sucking him in and taking him deeper into her mouth. Her brown eyes shot up at him to meet his red-orange eyes, maintaining eye contact as she sucks his dick. Sol watches Christine takes his throbbing member deeper into her mouth, swallowing his erection with ease. He gasps loudly at the sight, like he was in a trace. He finds himself utterly captivated by her beauty and the way she seems to relish having power over him. His hips buck involuntarily, driven wild by her experienced oral skill. She takes him deeper in her mouth and into her throat, deep throating him. She swallows, causing her throat to squeeze around him, earning a straggled moan from Sol.

Suddenly, Christine pulls away. A mix of frustration and confusion could be seen in his eyes as he watches her pull away. “W-why did you stop?” He whines between heavy pants.

The corner of her lips tugs upward into a smirk as Christine gives Sol a seductive look. Her hand reaches down to the hem of her tight red shirt and slowly pulls it off revealing her breasts in a black lacy bra. She could hear him tug hard against the cuffs. Metal clashing metal. He lets out a long ragged, breath and looks at her hungrily, unable to contain the raw lust burning through his body. His mouthwatering. His eyes never leaving her body as she slowly undresses in front of him. She removes her bra, releasing her breasts from the confines which earns a breathy gasp from him. Her hand finds her hair tie on the end of her brain and removes it, letting her brown and red hair free from the messy braid.

“Oh God... Pumpkin..” Sol pants as watches her remove her black ripped jeans and panties. Just looking at her nude body, his face was burning from lust and desire. “You’re so beautiful... Please Christine. Take the cuffs off. Let me touch you. I need to touch you.” The green haired handsome man begged. His voice was hoarse. His eyes never left her nude body. They always reminded her of lava and she could feel the heat of his gaze burn onto her skin.

“No...” Christine denies him and straddles him, rubbing her wet cunt on the underside of his shalf. Sol trembles beneath her and whimpers out her name. She had to admit, her name coming out of his mouth sounded like music to her ears. “You been a very, very bad boy, Sol... I think I’m going to make you beg for forgiveness.” She rolls her hips slow against his throbbing member, earning a needy moan from him. “Or I won’t let you cum.”

“Fuucckkkk.....!” Sol cried out low as he pulled hard against the cuffs in desperation again. Metal raddles against one another. His body quivers in need. His aching cock was getting harder and hard to the point where it began to hurt as his body reaches to its limits. It needed a release. He HAVE to cum. He couldn’t even think to control himself any longer. His mind clouded by what his body needed. Their eyes met once again, and she could see his pupils blown wide with desire.

“I’m sorry Christine! Please...” Her stalker chokes out, “I’ll do anything! Anything! Just please, please! Make me come... Let me come!”

Christine giggles lowly. “So needy and desperate...” She teases him, “You look so cute when you’re at my mercy...”

Before he could respond, the brunette slips him inside of her warm cunt, earning a throaty groan from the man beneath her. A gasp escapes her lips as his wide cock stretches her pussy walls. Perhaps she may have underestimated his size. Christine forwards her brows and bites her lower lip as she takes all him inside her. Sol watched her intensely and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Guess I’m a lot more to handle than you thought, huh?” Sol pants out still flustered and desperate yet still able to give her a smug grin. Christine narrows her caramel eyes at him. She pulls herself up until his tip was barely in, she slams down hard in a fast motion taking all of him again.

“Fuck!” Sol lets out a surprised yelp as his soulmate slams down onto him with force. The cuffs rattle once again as he yanks against them again. His head is thrown back onto her pillows, inhaling her sweet floral scent. God... She smelled divine to him. Her walls tighten hard around him, giving him a hard squeeze before as she starts to move up and down his veiny cock. Suddenly she slams down onto him again and they both let out a moan. Her fingers find his pierced nipples and begin to stroke them as she rides him. She kept her pace unexpected and erratic, driving him into her cunt.

“Ohhhh fuck...! Pumpkin... You feel so fucking good..” Sol rasped out with his eyes hazy, his face still red, and his mouth slightly agape, drool starting to hang out from the corner of his lips. Christine couldn’t help but moan as his thick girth rubs her sensitive walls in the right places. He was the thickest she had ever taken.

“Ahhh...” She pants, “You know... You could have asked. I might have said yes... Instead of drugging me...” She whispers as she slams her cunt up and down his cock. She begins to increase her pace, bouncing wildly on him. It was pushing him towards the edge.

“I know... Ahhh...” Sol moans as his eyes roll to the back of his head, “I’m sorry, Christine...” He sounds sincere even though he sounds so fucked out of his mind. He could feel her warm juices which are mixed with his pre-cum flow down his cock and balls. His balls tighten as he draws near his climax. It didn’t help that she was near her own peak and her walls became tighter and tighter than before.

“Ahhhh... Fuuuccckkkk...” He groans lowly. His eyes find her face and a surge of pleasure shoots down his hard cock. Before him was his beloved with her face contorted in bliss with her puffy lips parted. Her eyes half lid as she rides him in abandonment. That sight alone threw him over the edge. “Christine...! I’m going to cum!” Sol bucks his hips up wildly to meet her pace, trying to catch his high. They began to move in sync causing both parties to cry out in pleasure. His balls tighten. He could feel the intense pleasure coursing through his veins. His back arches as he releases a torrent of his pent-up seed inside her tight walls. Christine was not far behind him. She moans out sweetly as she cums hard against him member. Her walls gripping him like a vise, milking every drop of his seed. His name leaves her lips as a whisper.

“I love you, Christine! I love you so much...” Sol whimpers out his confession as he rides out his orgasm. He could feel the heat leaving him a little. It seems that the aphroditic was wearing out. Just a little.

“Y-you love me?” The brunette breaths out, trying to catch her breath. Her warm caramel eyes looks down to catch his hazy gaze. It was time for Christine to become flushed. Her heart pounding against her chest. “Why didn’t you just say so...?”

Sol sighs and looks at the woman on top of him, “Shit I don’t know... You looked like you have a crush on Crowe.” He said Crowe’s name with such venom. Was he jealous all along?

“I had a crush on Crowe.” Christine corrected him and crossed her arms, squeezing her tits together. “Past tense, Sol... Besides, I have a crush on you.”

“Wait... What?” Sol couldn’t believe his ears. She then slowly pulls herself off him which makes him whimper out in disappointment.

“You heard me... Now let me uncuff you.” Christine said as she moved to take the key from under her other pillow and uncuffs him. She assumed that he was done and the aphrodisiac had wore off. However, once the cuffs were off, Sol’s large hands were on her waist, and he gently pushes her down onto her bed. A gasp escapes the woman’s lips as the green haired man pins her down by her wrist. Her brown and red hair scattered on her bed. A blush forms on her shocked face. Sol growls lowly at the sight of her. He could feel his blood rushes down to loins, making his member erect once again.

Her caramel brown eyes meets his red-orange ones which are filled with so much burning desire. She could just simply melt in his gaze. She can’t deny her own desire, especially being held down by him. Sol leans in, their lips just inches from one another. She could feel his hot breath against her cheek. His short green hair tickling her skin. "What happened? You were so bold earlier...” He teases and whispers lowly, “Or you like being held down do you?”

Before Christine could answer, Sol crushes his lips against her roughly. His cold lip piercings rubbing against her soft lips. She parts her lips, allowing his tongue in as they both kissed passionately. Then she felt the cold metal of her own hand cuffs being applied on her wrist. All she could do was just submit to his power. They continue their heated, passionate kiss until they both break away to breathe. They both pants and gazed into each other's eyes. Sol then pulls away to sit on his heel and removes his two shirts, along with the long black key necklace he had on. After tossing them aside, he lowers his head down to one of her nipples and suckles it into his mouth.

A sharp gasp was heard followed by a moan as he swirls his tongue around the bulb. Her body arches back. She felt his hand slip down between her legs, his index finger rubbing against her entrance, teasing her and smearing his cum around. Christine moans and squirms beneath him. Sol releases her nipple with a loud “pop” then parts her thighs with his large hands. He growls in delight as he admires his own cum leaking out of her cunt. His member growing harder at such a delectable sight.

“Fuck... You look so cute when you’re filled up with my cum...” He groans lowly as he rather his own seed with his own fingers and pushes them into her pussy making Christine cry out in pleasure.

“Sol!” Christine cries out. She could feel her falls stretch to accommodate his thick fingers. His fingers begin to stroke her sensitive walls making her throw her head back in pleasure. Her hips roll to meet his thrusts until he pulls his digits out of her and brings them to her puffy lips. She obediently parts her lips, letting him push his fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around the digits to lick and then suck off the cum off his fingers. Once they were licked clean, he pulls them out of her mouth as a string of saliva was still attached from her tongue and his wet fingers.

The green haired men then push his fingers back into her wet cunt and curls his fingers repeatedly, searching her sensitive spot. A sharp inhaled gasp was heard from the brunette. She was never able to find her own g-spot with her own fingers, but it seems Sol’s fingers were far better. They were longer and able to reach the right spot in her cunt. Her body trembled in delight. Her back arched and she began to moan uncontrollably.

“Oh my GOD!” Christine cries out in pleasure as her tight walls tighten around. Suddenly, she cums and squirts all over his hand and forearm. Sol doesn’t let up, he continues to drive his digits into her franticly, making her soak her bed sheets beneath her. His name continues to leave her mouth in such debauch manner as she cums and squirts repeatedly.

“Ahhhh! It feels too good!” The woman whimpered and moaned wildly, uncontrollably. Her walls spasm and contract against his fingers.

“I just got started and you’re already falling apart.” Sol said lowly, a playful smirk tugged on his pierced lips as he teased her. He then lowers his mouth and stroke his tongue against her clit making Christine roll her hips. A straggled moan escapes her lips. The sounds she made were like music to Sol’s ears. He pulls out his own fingers and replaces them with his tongue, sucking and lapping up her liquid gold. She tasted so divine. She sounded like an angel to him. Just like how he imagine she would.

Christine feels his then laps up to her clit once more and suck gently onto the swollen clit. She could feel electricity courses through her body from his administrations. Shivers shooting down her spine. She gazes at him, watching him with her half-lidded lazy eyes. He could hear her pants for air. His pierced lips brush away from her clit and onto her thigh. She could feel the coolness of the small metal. Teeth gazing over the flesh, he bites down softly and sucks forming a soon to be small bruise on her thigh.

“This is how I will make you feel every night.” Sol pulls back and gazes at his mark in admiration. “That’s what you will get for being mine.” He pushes her legs up until her knees meet her chest and parts her legs with his large hands. Christine moans as she felt him rub himself over her clits and wet folds, teasing her. She makes a rasped out a desperate moan, “Please... Don’t tease me...” begged Christine. Her eyes pleading him. Her face flushed red, and her eyes barely opened.

Sol chuckles softly and slowly pushes himself in, inch by inch. He could feel her slick and wet pussy envelop him, wrapping around his thick member. Christine moans softly as she involuntarily contracts her walls around him, pulling him in deeper.

“S-shit... you’re so tight...” Sol growls lowly as his cock is swallowed by her warmth. Unable to contain his desire, he quickly pulls back until his tip only remained and drives his thick member deep inside of her wet folds with one forceful thrust. The brunette cries out in bliss as he filled her completely. His hips begin to move rhythmically, thrusting himself into her tight walls again and again, fucking her hard and making her scream in pleasure. “And you’re all mine. Mine to take. Mine to fuck.”

“Yes.. Yes! I’m yours... Only yours! Please don’t stop! Harder. Sol.... Harder!” Christine moans out loudly as he obeys her command and buries himself into her in an unrelenting tempo. His name leaves her lips repeatedly like a prayer, making his heart swell with emotion. She gazes up at his face and her heart flusters at such a delectable sight. His face was contorted in pleasure. Sweat drips down from his brow. Some of the ends of his green hair wet from sweat, sticking against his cheek. A blush was formed on his face. His mouth a gape as he pants. His eyes sadly shut. She wanted to see those beautiful, lust filled red-orange eyes of his.

Her hand shot up and placed on his cheek, stroking it. He snaps his eyes open at the sudden touch, recalling that he did cuff her. Apparently, she quietly uncuffed herself earlier. “Keep your eyes open Sol... Let me see those beautiful eyes of yours. I want you to remember how I look while you fuck me...” She purrs.

Her words cause a surge a desire to run through his veins as it adds more fuel to need to please her. Sol places on of his large hands on her shoulder and one on waist. HE holds her in place as he slams into her wet folds in pure reckless abandonment, giving into his primal instincts. Christine's eyes rolls to the back of her head and cries out his name. Her hand slips off his cheek and onto his shoulder, digging her nails in. The sounds of skin colliding, along with lust filled noises from the couple could be heard throughout the room.

“I’m cumming!” Christine moans out, her walls tighten hard around him earning a low growl from Sol. Her cunt gripped him like a vise and then she squirts all over his member and his groin.

“Fuck!” Sol chokes out as his pace becomes brutally fast as he chases after his own orgasm. The scent from her sticky fluids overwhelmed his senses. Her tight walls tighten around his thick cock, driving him to the edge. He thrusts into her once more until he unleashes a torrent of his seed into the warm, wet pussy and sending himself in a lust filled Eupora. “I love you Christine! You’re mine... All mine!”

They both gasp and pants to catch their own breath, trying to normal their breathing. Sol then buries his face into her neck, nuzzling her. “Mine...” He breaths.

“Yours... just like you’re mine...” Christine whispers in his ear as she runs her fingers in his green hair.

~Later~

Christine runs her fingers through her wet hair, applying her hair product into her hair in front of the bathroom mirror. Her black towel wrapped securely around her torso. Sol was still taking a shower. At first he didn’t want to take a shower, stating that he wanted her dried fluids to remain on him which earned a look from Christine. He eventually relented and agreed to a shower. Christine went first and once she was done, Sol have already put on new bed sheets after removing the ones that were stained with their fluids. She felt so embarrassed but Sol reassured her that he just simply wanted to take care of her.

The sound of water being cut off could be heard, indicating that Sol was done taking a shower. He steps out and dries himself off with one of Christine’s extra towels. He steps in in view of the mirror and dries his green hair. Christine’s brown caramel eyes traced his naked form in the reflecting surface. His body was slim but toned. His tight muscle flexing in his arms. She also notices a good number of old bruises that have faded to yellow.

“Enjoying the view, pumpkin?” Sol said playful, shooting a smirk at the mirror as he dries the side of his head. Christine blushes and drops her gaze. She grabs her perfume to spray on her wrist, as he chuckles behind her. As she rubs fragrance on her wrist and neck, Sol wraps his arms around her from behind and bends down slightly to rest his on her shoulder to nuzzle her neck. She could feel his bare chest on her back, his hot breath on her neck.

“Hmm...” He inhales her scent, rubbing her nose against her tender flesh. “No wonder why you always smelled so good...”

Christine could feel him getting semi-hard and she elbows him gently. “Behave yourself. Sol.”

A low chuckle emits from his throat, and he kisses her temple. “For now... But I’m pretty sure you’re hungry. What does my soulmate wanna eat?”

“Soulmate, huh?” Christine giggling and turns around to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him close, “Surprise me. I always enjoy your cooking. Just don’t spike my orange juice again...”

Sol laughs and picks her up to kiss her lips. He knows that she’s not going to let him hear the end of it.

#the kid at the back vn #tkatb vn #tkatb sol #tkatb oc #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back #tkatb

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mingigoo · 2 years

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Halloween 🍂 k.hj (m)

based on Halloween by phoebe bridgers

🍂 pairing ⇢ roommate! Hongjoong x medical student! (fem) reader

🍂 summary ⇢ life is the same, no matter a holiday. You wake up, hear the sirens from the hospital down the street, go to work, and come back home to your beautiful roommate, Hongjoong. It’s an endless cycle, but this Halloween, you could be anything—do anything. You decide to give into your infatuation, causing life to take a turn for you both. Happy Halloween, I guess.

🍂genre/au ⇢ Halloween au, roommate au, friends to lovers

🍂 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors dni, mental illness (anxiety attacks), unprotected sex, hongjoong is a literal chef and certified sweetheart, literally the best roommate you could ever have, dreary, sad vibes, hongjoong has a cat, spooky season vibes, mention of death, oral sex (female recieving), best friends that dont know how to express their feelings, halloween party, yunho makes an appearance, hongjoong makes music, roommates to lovers, plz let me know if I missed anything.

🍂word count ⇢ 13.5k

🍂taglist ⇢ @atinywhore@meowmeowminnie @roe-sinning @yeritheloml @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @sanshineeeeee @8tinytings @yukine-smx @jjhmk @yesv01 @halesandy @ch0isa99ie @y00nzin0 @spiderrenjunfics

Halloween. The time to dress up and act like someone you’re not. To have that insatiable feeling to be someone new—to put on a mask. To be absolutely anything you desire…

But the thing is, it’s not just you. You're not the only one feeling this way, and it's ever so apparent on one singular day, when everyone has a chance to hide their flaws behind comical masks or tedious costume designs. It's all out of fun, people say. It's the trend, it's the reason for the occasion. But, out of everything, you are becoming whatever you want—the same way Cinderella became a princess overnight, only to get it taken away from her the minute the hour of the next day struck.

To you, Halloween was your excuse to become a different person. To gain a new strength you never had. To free your mind into an alternate reality and explore those deep feelings you've been keeping away from spilling over the surface.

And this halloween, you were going to find your way out of that dark room you called a mind.

—

You sat in your cozy nook of the townhouse you shared, a mug of steaming coffee next to you while you read. Slow, gentle rain drops fell down the glass of the window, the soft pitter-patter creating an intimate environment. Your roommate’s cat added to the feeling, as she was curled up in a ball at your feet, dusty fur matching your fluffy socks.

It's finally october—your favorite time of the year, although there was no reason for it other than the tasty coffee flavors and the colorful scenery. Your roommate also adored the season, as it reflected in his peculiar food concoctions and outfit choices. Sometimes you would just sit and watch his eyes sparkle as he would do his favorite things, keeping your admiration in check.

Of course, he was on your mind way more than a roommate should be. Even now, as your eyes move from word to word across the smooth pages, you begin to think of his smile.

It was a Saturday afternoon. Your shift at the hospital ended the night before, three hours later than normal. It's gotten to the point that you would shiver whenever you hear sirens—and you were blessed with not only hearing the sirens at work, but also at home.

The hospital was only down the street; the closest one on this side of town. You had to keep those intrusive thoughts away, telling yourself someone better be dying just because the sirens are getting out of hand is a bit of a stretch, someone should slap you for thinking that way. In all honesty, you didn't actually mean it. The sounds were just so overwhelming, it felt like death was looming above you no matter where you turned.

Hongjoong hasn't returned from his morning classes yet. Luckily for you, you were doing your hospital internship and didn't have to take a bunch of classes this semester. Although basically living at a hospital isn't exactly any better.

You sighed as you watched the man of the hour walk through the lifeless leaves on the pavement through the window, keeping your heartbeat steady as you admired him. He had headphones on, hiding his cute little ear piercings and pieces of his faded rusty hair.

God, he made you sick.

The crimson door of the townhouse swung open, revealing the man you were just daydreaming about. He stood in the doorway, looking down at his damp, beaten up converse before bending down to untie them. He got impatient, and just pulled them off of his feet, leaving him only in his cute little pumpkin socks.

“y/n, I brought you a croissant,” he called out to you, not realizing you were only a glance away. He set his bag down on the table and took off his headphones, shaking his head to fix his hair. “You better get over here before I eat it.”

“Is it chocolate filled?” you asked him quietly from your nook, to which he whipped his head to look at you.

The minute he laid his eyes on you, he broke out in a huge smile, his gums showing. “Well, yeah. That's your favorite.”

You stared at him intently, setting down your book on your lap and sitting up a bit. This caused the kitty to meow, which had an immediate effect on your roommate.

His eyes widened. “Oh!” he gasped, running over to the cat to pay attention to her. “Look, baby, we’re twins,” he pointed to his pumpkin socks, smiling proudly. You knew that he only got those socks because of the pumpkins—and because his cat was named pumpkin. “My sweet little pumpkin.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” you scoffed, sliding out of your blanket and setting the book down. You made your way over to the table, which was where he set the croissant bag. “Anyway, thank you, joong.”

He looked over at you and smiled as a response, but it wasn't enough. You wanted him to come over to you and hold you tight, kiss you on the forehead, and let his soft breaths hit you as he would breathe for you.

Now, you weren't always like this. He’s been your roommate since freshman year, all the way back when you used to live on campus. You’ve been in three different living situations with him, but for some reason, living alone with him in a townhouse with a cat and a cute garden in the back just made your mind live in delululand. Dear god, you felt like a married couple at times, as he would spare no second to cook you dinner or help you with your laundry.

There was just something about him that was so domestic—the same thing you craved every chance you got. But yet, here you were, still daydreaming about it all and never getting it to happen.

And you know exactly when it started. On that halloween, three years ago, when he held you tight in his embrace after finding out your grandmother had passed. It was one of the worst panic attacks in your history. He takes care of you when they happen now, but back then, it was all new to him.

It wasn't supposed to be the type of moment you think about how his hair smelled, or the way his dainty hands caressed the tears away. It wasn't supposed to play out that way. But yet, it did, and you were still stuck with the feelings years later.

Halloween is less than a month away now—this year, it was a chance for you to hide away, or show your true colors.

— —

It was midnight and cold and all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball in your bed. Being in the emergency room was even harder than you imagined, and you knew you had a night of tossing and turning ahead of you. Luckily tomorrow was a rest day, and you would be back on campus for a seminar. You needed a break from the hustle and bustle of life versus death, and you started to think that maybe you just weren't cut out for it. It was far too late for your indecisiveness to kick in, as it seemed to jump up and surprise you every now and again. Hey! This isn't what you want to do, right? What about this? Ah, no, that's not what I want….

A never ending cycle of your life. Wake up, think about hongjoong. Drink coffee made by hongjoong. Have your shoes tied by hongjoong. Go to work and nearly die. Come home from your commute and see hongjoong. Hongjoong makes food for you. Hongjoong smiles for you. Hongjoong…..

Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong……

He’s everywhere; Is everything. You know you wouldn't survive without the helpful, caring hands of the man you called a roommate, but you also don't know what will happen when you graduate and part ways. Knowing that he has no mental ties to you quite in the way you have him tied around every morsel of your psyche, it nearly breaks your heart just thinking about it.

Would you crumble right there? Like an old painting or a sculpture, would you cave in without that constant attention? That constant affection for just your existence?

Giving up on your existential thoughts for the night, you slowly glided up the few steps of the brick townhouse, nearly tripping on the last step. You've already done that one too many times, as there is a permanent mark left on your favorite pair of shoes.

Finally opening the door, you entered your humble abode with a grimace, chucking off your shoes to reach the kitchen table. You sat down grumpily, putting your elbows up onto the table when the sweet smell of baking filled your senses.

“Joong? Whatcha makin?” you playfully spoke. He was leaning against the counter across from you, his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised.

“What does it smell like?” he asked you.

You shrugged, breaking your stare to rest your head on the cold table. “I guess like cookies.”

Joong took a second to respond to you, and ran a hand through his rusty hair. It used to be a vibrant red—just like the leaves of the trees.

“Are you feeling alright?” he spoke softly, moving from his distant position to come a little closer, now leaning against the table. His arms held him up, and from your line of vision, you were able to see a few of his fingertips painted black. “Was it a bad day at the hospital?”

Sirens bellowed loudly from the street, as if on cue of the topic. You groaned and nodded. “God, yeah. There was so much….death. I mean, I thought I knew it was going to be bad but I never thought it was this bad.”

Hongjoong sighed, backing up to get the cookies out of the oven. ��I have a question,” he said, his voice strained as he reached into the heat.

“Shoot.”

He set the tray down onto the stove, turning off the oven.

“Are you happy?”

His words made you raise your head, meeting his worry-filled gaze. You always hated the way he looked at you, it wasn't in the way you wanted. He always seemed so worried—like he was pitying you. He knew your whole life story, from how you were only raised by a grandmother that lived her life for you, to how you deal with the anxiety that breaks through you like a sickness. It hinders you to the point where you hide it from others, but joong—he knows everything.

You smiled at him, hiding your true colors because he always seemed to break down your walls. In truth, you were feeling anxiety all day—maybe it was the woman who reminded you of your grandmother today. The same woman you witnessed flatline with her granddaughter gripping her pale hand. You watched the young girl’s tears smack onto the linoleum, your heart aching and letting your own tears well up.

Your grandmother was all you had. Your parents passed away in a car accident together, the world taking them both away from you in the same night. You witnessed it from the backseat, the cracks of the windshield and the dark, pooling blood you wished wasn't your parents. It was some sort of miracle that you survived unscathed, but in your sweet grandmother’s words, you were an angel.

You didn't believe in any of that religious shit now, but maybe it was due to all your ups and downs. You didn't need to have some godly figure in your life to know that you were damned no matter what. So you lived your life in fits of anxiety and happiness, all swarming around you. Your anxiety made you believe that you didn't deserve that happiness, and the happiness made you believe you didn't deserve the anxiety.

And hongjoong? He was your happiness.

You sighed, remembering that he asked you a question long before your mind started wandering. You smiled, a real smile, right at him. “Yes, if you're here with me, I'm happy.”

He scoffed playfully, still directly across from you. The only thing in your way was the kitchen table, creating some sort of barrier with your feelings. You could just…walk around it and enter his world, touch his face, run your hands through his hair…

“Well I’m just checking up on my y/n,” he smiled, that beautiful smile of his. He pushed up his sleeves, and turned away from you to pick up a cookie off the tray. “Come here.”

You obeyed like a well-trained dog, making your way past that invisible barrier. He stood close to you, his eyes bright and sparkling as he looked down at you. “Open,” he said, and once again, you obeyed like you owed him your life.

You opened your mouth for him to give you a bite, his fingertips gliding against the corners of your mouth. You ate the cookie from his hold happily, and when he was going to pull away after it was gone, you suddenly gripped his wrist with your hand.

“What are you—”

“Shh. there's still some chocolate on your fingers,” you teased, looking into his eyes as you licked the tip of his fingers, trying your best to distract your horrible thoughts. Now your focus has moved to tease him, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

Your lips moved down onto his fingers, sucking on them until the taste of chocolate was dull. You shut your eyes, not able to see the look of lust radiating from hongjoong’s glare. It disappeared the moment you met his eyes again, and he let out a chuckle as you pulled back.

“You really like chocolate, huh?” he carried on, his eyes moving back and forth from your eyes to your hand gripping his wrist. His vision was hazy as he pulled out of your grip, moving to distract himself with something—anything. “I thought you preferred my gingerbread cookies?”

You nodded, looking at him up and down. “Yeah, but only around christmas time.”

“Ah,” he gulped, reaching for the small towel that was hanging from the oven door. He wiped his hands hastily, moving away from you towards his little study–converted into a studio. “I gotta go finish my song, alright? Why don't you eat more of the cookies?”

He shut the door of his studio room with aggression, leaving you in a warm, chocolatey kitchen with flour all over the floor. You smiled down at it, making you think about him spilling it and cursing like a sailor.

You loved him.

—

The week flew by, it was now mid-october. Your favorite season was slowly fading away with a blink of an eye, and you spent most of your autumn days cooped up in the emergency ward or your room, hiding from the sirens. Maybe this isn't for you, but once again—

You were too far in to quit, now. You loved it, you really did. You had that feeling–that ability—to save someone's life the way your parents’ lives could have been spared. You were doing a good thing, you couldn't handle the anxiety for the expense of someone's life.

You found yourself curled up in your cozy blanket in the corner of the couch, hongjoong sitting on the other side. He stared at you—watched your movements. He noticed everything about you, and knew when you were about to have an attack.

“y/n? Why don't you put on your favorite show?” he asked you, but it was more of a demand. When you stared at him blankly from your curled over position, he sighed and stood up to grab the remote from the coffee table. After turning on some cartoons that you loved, he left the room to grab a glass of water.

When he came back, you were sitting up straight, staring off toward the window, looking at how the raindrops fell. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Just a desperate breath for air. You fisted the blanket in your hands, holding back your shakes.

Hongjoong sat the cup of water down quickly, making his way over to you with a rush. He sat down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your shoulder. “Come on, angel. It's okay, I promise,” his voice echoed through your mind, your breathing getting unsteady and your hands twitching in your grip for them to stop. The feeling overwhelmed you—it was as if you were dying. His touch only helped a little in the heat of the moment, and he held you tightly as your body shaked.

You gasped for air, the tears of fear rolling down your cheeks. No matter how many times you go through these attacks, each time makes you feel like you wont make it through it. Hongjoong’s facial expression looked pained as he reached for your hands under the blanket, gripping them in his own so you weren't cutting crescents into your palms.

“Let's play the letter game, okay?” his head was still buried in your neck, his voice strong. “An animal. Okay? An animal that starts with A?”

You gulped, tearing into the skin of his hand with your nails. “A…animal?”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yes angel, an animal. What animal starts with the letter A?”

“Uh,” you breathed, the tears now staining his shirt. “A-ant eater?”

He pulled away from your neck, his free hand running down your cheek to catch the tears. “Good job. B?”

You took a second, panicking when you couldn't think of something. Hongjoong ran a hand through your hair as you shook, holding onto you tightly. “It's okay, I'll help you. Bear? Buffalo? You like buffalo sauce, right? You like the spice.”

You nodded, smiling at his efforts. He did this with such love in his eyes that you could have sworn he was in love with you. That he cared for you this deeply.

He smiled, brightening up your heart. “Good, good. Now C?”

“Cat.”

“Wonderful,” he cooed, running a hand down your arm. He carried on through the alphabet, until he reached H.

“Hongjoong,” you smiled, finally feeling a bit more like yourself and not some mummy locked in its own body.

He laughed melodically, causing your smile to brighten even more. “I’m not an animal,” he teased, pulling you to his chest and running a hand down your back. “Are you feeling better?”

You nodded, your hand tremors dying down. Hongjoong didn't let go of your hand yet, still holding onto you as tight as he could.

“I just want to take it all away,” he whispered softly, his lips near your ear. Little did he know that he did take the pain away. He was the source of your happiness—you needed him.

“You do,” you hummed back raspily, your heart on your sleeve as he kept you close to him. “You do take the pain away.”

He sighed, kissing your temple with such softness, you crumbled in his hold.

“I don't think it's enough.”

You didn't say anything after that. He did let go of you reluctantly after you said you needed the water, but the minute you finished drinking it, he was back to holding you, his head against yours as silence enveloped you both in the darkness of the room.

You were certain friends don't kiss each other like that.

—

The next week of October came—the week before halloween. This time, you felt better than last week. The constant presence of dressing up as something this year was heavy on your chest, knowing your colleagues have invited you to a party. You have yet to ask hongjoong to join you, as you wouldn't dare show your face alone.

You took a day off on the first day of the week, hongjoong sick as a dog and your heart aching for him.

You brewed some hot tea and fixed him up a bowl of his favorite soup, caring for him the same way he catered to you. The thing was that he denied it most of the time, leaving you standing alone with your heart in your hands, ready to give it to him.

You set the bowl of soup on a tray you normally used as decor, spilling it slightly that the wood of the tray darkened. You rolled your eyes at your clumsiness, and then set the mug of tea on the stained wood.

Making your way up the thin, creaky townhouse stairs, you reached his room at the end of the hallway. He left the door open a crack, inviting you in at any given moment. So you entered the sunlit room, his curtains pulled back and his head hidden under the duvet. All you could see of him was his little wave of orange hair and a foot peeking from the cover.

“Joongie,” you cooed, cautiously entering his abode with nervousness. You knew him for ages, took care of him for ages, but everytime you got close to him, you felt your chest get heavy. Almost as if something was pushing you down. “Are you awake?”

He groaned something inaudible, tossing around in the bed until half of his body was out of the covers. He was shirtless, his smooth, slightly toned stomach glistening with sweat. You sighed, collecting your dirty thoughts.

You set the tray down on his nightstand, pushing aside the cough medicine and dirty tissues you would clean up after. Little pumpkin was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching your every move.

“I have dinner for you,” you hummed, reaching over to him, but pausing at his unclothed body. It was as if you were a feral animal—you wanted to devour him.

You ignored the instinct and pulled up the covers.

“What is it? I’m not hungry,” he groaned groggily, his eyes barely opening. He let out a cough, and it made you want to take his sickness away.

“You need to eat, you haven't eaten all day.”

He sighed, pushing himself up on the bed, revealing his body after you concealed it. He leaned up against his headboard, sniffling. His eyes were sunken in and his lips were pale, but you still thought he was the most beautiful being in the world.

You wanted to kiss away his chapped lips.

“Soup?” he said raspily, looking over at his night stand. He went to reach for it, but nearly spilled the tray.

You grabbed the bowl, and went to sit on the edge of the bed, next to his sweating frame. He definitely still had a fever. “Here, take it while I take your temp.”

He grabbed the soup out of your hold, his warm fingers brushing against yours. He didn't hesitate when you leaned over him, but you heard his breaths get shallow when you brushed away the hairs off his face to place your hand on his forehead. “Stay away from me,” he blinked at you, and even though his words seemed harsh, it was all out of love. “You’ll get sick. I don't want you to get sick.”

“I’d rather be sick than watch you suffer,” you smiled at him, your eyes lingering on his chapped lips for a moment too long. “You look better than you did this morning.”

He swallowed a spoonful of the soup, shutting his eyes tight as the warm liquid coated his sore throat.

“Thank you,” he said. It was only an acknowledgement in words, but his eyes pierced through yours as you sat inches away from him. He meant it, but you were too involved to read between the lines of his breaths.

He breathed for you.

You stood up to leave him peace, but your breath hitched as his warm hand reached your thigh, causing you to look down at it cautiously.

“Don't—” he paused, lifting his grip and moving to set down the bowl of soup. “Don't go.”

You didn't let the smile creep up onto your lips. “I thought you didn't want me to get sick?” you instigated, but nonetheless moved further onto the bed, holding onto his overheating frame with all the love in the world.

“I don't, but I want to be selfish today,” he coughed, nuzzling his head into you. His lips were pressed to your neck, sending chills down your spine. Your fingertips caressed his bare skin, hoping to take away his sickness.

You held him until the sun went down, thinking that was enough for him.

Feeling as though he was sleeping, you tried to pull yourself out of his grip, to which he pulled you to him even tighter. Now your faces were an inch apart as you both lied on the bed, his hot breaths tickling your lips.

“Where are you going?” he asked you.

“Nowhere,” you smiled, looking into his tired eyes. You leaned forward, resting your head against his. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed in contentment, letting out a breath as his arms tightened around you. He didn't speak—he just looked at you with hearts in his eyes.

“Don't leave me,” he whispered.

You ran a hand through his messy hair. “I won't, I won't.”

He fell asleep in your arms, all while your mind kept you up the whole night. You knew this isn't what normal friends do—but this is how you were together, which was normal for you.

You got sick the day after.

—

On the third day of the week before halloween, you both were finally feeling better. He seemed back to normal, but you still had a slight sore throat that made you not want to eat. Hongjoong insisted the same way you made him eat the soup, and he cooked up your favorite pasta meal.

“You need to eat,” he muttered, using tongs to place a scoop of pasta onto a plate. You sat across from him at the table, your head in your hands.

“I have a splitting headache,” you groaned, lifting your head up to catch the glimmer in hongjoong's caring glance.

He handed you the full plate, your nose filled with the delicious scent. “I’ll get you some medicine.”

“I’m fine, joongie,” you mumbled with a rasp, twirling your pasta around in your fork, but not lifting it up into your mouth. You stared at the thin noodles that dangled from the metal, distracted as the sauce splattered onto the plate. Hongjoong watched you, an eyebrow raised and his lip curled up.

He sat down across from you. “I uh…is there a hair in it or something?” he asked you, but a joking smile dawned on his face. “If there is, still eat it. I won't do take-backs.”

“Awe, how kind,” you chuckled, finally lifting the fork up to eat the delicious pasta. You closed your eyes as the taste filled your senses, opening them to see the look Hongjoong was giving you.

“You look pretty today,” he acknowledged, his eyes dancing around your features. He blinked at you, waiting for you to brush it off.

Boom boom.

Your heart picked up its pace. “Don't lie, joong. It doesn't suit you.”

He rolled his eyes, resting his head in his hands as he stared at you. Your phone buzzed with a text message from your work friend, which reminded you about something that happened earlier during the day.

“Oh,” you muttered with a mouthful of food. “Some guy asked for my number today,” you took another bite.

Hongjoong tilted his head at you, and then moved his gaze to his own plate of food, grabbing his fork to stab the noodles. “Oh really?”

You nodded, swallowing the food as he glared down at his own. “Yeah. he was cute. What was his name….uh, yun..yunho? Super tall, let me tell you. It was like staring up at a skyscraper—”

Hongjoong interrupted you with a loud scoff, accidentally screeching his fork against the plate. “Did you give him your number, though?” he asked you, acting as if you didn't.

You studied him for a moment, feeling confused. He seemed to care more than he should. You honestly gave the cute skyscraper your number, but you didn't have a thought in your mind about actually texting him back.

You shrugged, playing with him a little bit. “Yeah, I did,” is all you said, smiling to yourself. You were sure hongjoong thought you were smiling about yunho, when in reality you were smiling for him. “He was too cute to reject.”

At that, Hongjoong’s fork clanked onto the plate, causing you to jump and look at him. He looked mad—too mad. You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling like you hit a nerve.

“Joong? What's wrong?”

He laughed devilishly, his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly open. “So what? Are you gonna go on a date with him or something?”

You knew you were pushing his buttons a little too far, but you furrowed your brows at his unusual behavior.

You leaned forward, setting your own fork down. “Hey,” you narrowed your gaze while he practically had smoke coming out of his ears. “Are you jealous? Should I not date him?”

He blinked at you, and looked down at your lips for a second.

“No.” is all he said.

“He seems like a good fuck. Should just fuck him silly instead and—”

“y/n I swear to god,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair aggressively. “I, uh. Fuck,” he hissed, unable to look at you. “Thanks for the image.”

You frowned jokingly. “Ah, I see. You were visualizing me getting fucked?” you smirked, knowing you were taking it way too far. “Do you want to watch? Or join?”

You reached your arm out, sensually touching his fisted hand. You ran your fingertips in circles around his hand, a smirk on your lips.

He pulled back and stood up abruptly, causing the chair to squeak against the floor. “I-i have to go—I mean, I have a song to write…I uh…” he coughed, glancing at you for one minute and then storming out of the room, leaving you all alone with cold pasta and a frown on your face.

He didn't show his face to you that whole night.

—

Two days later; it was a friday. You had to go to campus early in the morning to listen to a required lecture, which ended up by you sitting next to hongjoong on the commuter bus.

He sat stiffly, his knee bumping into yours occasionally whenever the bus hit a pothole. You couldn't lie, you wanted him to stay touching you.

Ever since two nights ago when you brought up fucking someone and having him watch, he acted distant with you. You felt bad, hoping you didn't make him too uncomfortable with an image he probably never wanted to see in the first place.

Joong leaned against the cold bus window, looking out at the leaves that matched his hair. In his ears sat wired earbuds, attached to the jack of his phone. You leaned your shoulder into him, looking down at his hands in his lap.

No words were spoken. He lifted his head to look over at you, and after a moment, he sighed, and handed you the earbud closest to you.

“Here,” he hummed, barely audible.

You took it wordlessly, putting it in your ear to hear the soft strum of a guitar. You didn't recognize the song, but you felt the emotion fill through the little speaker, breaking through your heart. You always loved how he would share his favorite things with you, even if he was upset with you.

“I’m sorry, joongie,” you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn't say anything; maybe he was waiting for you to continue. “I shouldn't have said those things the other day.”

He mumbled something you couldn't decipher, but then nodded shortly. “It's not something to apologize for. I’m sorry I ignored you the whole night.”

You looked at his hands. He was rubbing his knuckles anxiously, so you reached out to hold them. He jumped slightly, and you gave him a side eye.

He eventually settled with your hands on top of his, and your head against his shoulder. You listened to his whole playlist—and his heartbeat—until you had to leave.

—

The same night, you brought up the halloween party.

“I need you to come with me,” you said, your eyes pleading.

He sat next to you on the couch, pumpkin sleeping adorably in his criss-crossed lap. “Why don't you take the skyscraper?” he said blatantly, his expression unreadable. He held a bottle of soju in one of his hands and had the tv remote in the other.

Was he actually jealous? At this point, he hasn't been himself since you told him about Yunho, who you didn't even know his last name.

You looked over at him, as he was paying strict attention to finding a movie. You began to overthink like you always do, convincing yourself that Hongjoong doesn't want anything to do with you.

“Do you still want to be friends with me?” you ignored his question about yunho, now feeling a bit unstable.

He noticed the shake in your voice, and sat up straight. He finally looked over at you, his eyes softening.

“y/n,” he sighed, setting the remote down. “Of course I do. Don't worry about me leaving you.”

Your gaze shot right through him. “But…you just seem off. Ever since I joked about….you know,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It's something you probably had no intention of visualizing, so I feel bad—”

“No, uh,” he gulped, looking anywhere but you. “It wasn't that…”

You raised your eyebrows. “Huh? Really? What was it then?”

He looked deep in thought—and a little nervous. You wanted the words that came out of his mouth to be a love confession, something straight out of a movie. You knew it wasn't going to turn out that way, but you couldn't stop your heart from beating out of your chest.

“I just,” he paused, afraid to look over at you. “I just worry about you. I want the best for you.”

Ouch, that wasn't a confession.

Come on, hongjoong. How hard is it to say, “Oh, y/n, I love you. I’ve loved you ever since I met you?”

You hid your dissatisfaction with a smile. “I can hold my own, joongie. I may be the most anxious person alive, but I can still meet guys.”

“I know you're capable, it's not you,” he admitted, looking a bit embarrassed as he shook the bottle of soju. “It's them. The guys. You deserve the world and I don't know what I would do if a guy took it all away.”

You sat and stared as he finally picked a movie—the nightmare before christmas. It wasn't your favorite, but something about it reminded you of Hongjoong. After it started playing, he tossed the remote onto the coffee table.

“I appreciate that you care,” you told him softly, looking down at your hands in your lap. “But you don't have to worry about guys.”

You sat in silence for a little, your heartbeat finally slowing down. He scooted closer and closer to you until pumpkin jumped out of his lap angrily. He saw that as an excuse to stand up and finally plop down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours.

“You’re special to me, y/n,” is all he said as he rested his head on your shoulder, cuddling up to you under the warm, cozy blanket.

—

Tonight was the party. You were rooting through your closet, tossing things at hongjoong, who sat on your bed among the pile of clothes.

“We're being pirates, right? I’m sorry, but I doubt you have pirate shit in that closet of yours.” He teased, lifting up a shirt from the pile to fold it.

Maybe you should have planned this better.

“I have to have my corset in here somewhere,” you ignored him, knowing you were just going to toss on a slutty ass dress and put the corset on over it. “Hongjoong come here, will you?”

You heard him let out an ungodly sigh as he stomped over to you, kneeling right next to you. “What am I supposed to wear?”

“Hongjoong you literally have every possible article of clothing in your closet.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Shush.”

He stayed quiet then, and after a moment, he started to root with you. After a bunch of irritated sighs and groans, hongjoong found your corset.

“This?” he raised an eyebrow playfully. You reached out to grab it, only for him to stand up and back away from you. “Come and get it.”

“We don't have time for this, joong,” you groaned, but still stood up and followed him. He was cackling as you tried to jump for it, standing on his tip-toes as if he thought of himself as a giant. You moved forward, lunging at him with full force, which sent you tumbling down onto the smooth comforter of your bed.

You landed on top of him, his warmth radiating through you. Your hips met his hips, and something stirred inside of you. His lips were inches from yours, his hands over his head and his eyes wide.

You felt more of him than you should, but you didn't want to move. You wanted to invade his space forever—if it were a job, you’d be a professional.

He didn't say anything—he looked up through the sea of your hair, his gaze resting on your lips. He frowned, and you wondered what he was thinking.

You wanted to reach out to him. To hold him right here, forever. You wanted him to be yours and only yours.

You studied the shapes of his face, similar to how an artist evaluates their subject. He had to be sculpted by a god or something, with the way his lips curve just right, and with the compelling wonder that swirled in his eyes.

Before it got too weird, you pushed yourself up despite the ache to become one with him, and you ripped the corset out of his hands. “Thanks,” you coughed, and he still didn't move from his position on the bed.

He stared up at the ceiling—the ceiling you decorated with those tacky glow in the dark stars. The room was dimly lit from the warm-toned lamp that sat on your dresser, right next to your pile of anatomy textbooks.

You both listened to silence for a while, Hongjoong now sitting up after a few long moments. You found the dress you wanted to wear, and gave him a look.

“I’m gonna change, so if you want to see every part of me, you're welcome to stay.” you muttered, your fingertips on the waistband of your leggings. He looked at your hands, his eyes growing darker.

He raked his eyes all over your clothed body. You wondered about what he was thinking—did he want to rip the clothes off of you? Did he want to stay and watch?

Your curiosity ended when he stood up slowly. “Come help me with my outfit then. After you change, of course.”

A small fraction of your heart caved in as the door shut behind him, but the ache for him remained standing.

You slid off your clothes, wishing your hands were his.

—

You waltzed into the party, which was at your colleague, yeosang’s place. He was born with old money, and it showed through the exquisite taste of his home. He was nowhere to be found though—which was normal. He wasn't exactly sociable. The one who took it by the wheel was his best friend wooyoung, who seemed like he would embody a party.

“I didn't pregame enough,” Hongjoong gulped as he stared at the strangers around the home, some guzzling alcohol from bongs and others simply conversing with each other. On the other hand, there were a bunch of people blowing big puffs of hazy marijuana smoke, and others snorting shit that you never touched before.

Joong shivered. “Aren't you guys like…medical students?” He raised an eyebrow, his one eye covered with an eye patch and his other one wide. “You have to know that snorting cocaine is not beneficial to your health.”

You slapped his shoulder, feeling out of this world already. Maybe you shouldn't have slammed those shots. “Whatever. Lets go get fucked up so i don't have to remember this tomorrow,” you wrapped your arm in his, pulling him into the grand kitchen that had a chandelier dangling from the vaulted ceiling.

“I think you’re blown out enough, to be honest.”

You reached in the cooler to grab a bottle of some sort of alcohol you didn't recognize. “I’m guessing this shit is like millions of dollars,” you shrugged, handing it off to the pirate you called hongjoong.

He looked fine as hell in his own corset, brown leather wrapping around that thin waist of his. He had on a half-unbuttoned white button down, pulled up at the elbows. His pants were tight, leaving your mind wandering back to earlier when your hips bucked against his. His rusty hair was hidden under a bandana that matched your dress, with flakes of greens and dustings of gold.

“y/n? Hello?” he snapped his fingers in front of your face, his one eye piercing into yours. “You zoned out for a minute.”

“Ah, oh sorry,” you sighed, looking down at your own outfit. Your dress was flowy, but only reached about mid-thigh, showing leg and tits at the same time. Your legs were covered in fishnets, and you noticed many partygoers staring at them.

You reached into the cooler to grab yourself a drink, guzzling it like water. Hongjoong watched, and then did the same. You both pulled away at the same time, expressions matching like twins as you scrunched your eyebrows.

“Thats strong as fuck,” he hissed, but still drank the rest of the bottle since thats what you were doing. His eyes locked on you as you finished the last drop, and you reached for another. “Yo, slow down. You downed like five shots of vodka earlier.”

You rolled your eyes, finally feeling like yourself. You loved the feeling of being drunk—you felt like you could finally be the person you were under the surface. The person without anxiety. The person who didn't have to hide how to feel.

“You know,” you hummed, setting down the second bottle onto the gold counter. You approached him, your hands finding the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing—you wanted to lick it. “Did I ever tell you how hot you are?”

Hongjoong’s eyes—eye— widened at your words, and set his hands on your elbows to pull you off of him. “You’re obliterated and we weren't even here for five minutes.”

“I’m not,” you rolled your eyes, pulling out of his grip and grabbing his arms now.

He didn't even get to say what he wanted to say as the skyscraper himself came up to you, bending his head down slightly to see if it was you.

“y/n?” His tone of voice was smooth and cool, your name rolling off his tongue with ease.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, moving your attention away from hongjoong. “Skyscraper!”

He laughed, looking from you to hongjoong with a confused glance. “She must be drunk, she’s usually quiet at work,” yunho said to hongjoong, not expecting the glare of death to radiate from his single eye.

“Oh no, she’s loud and obnoxious at home,” Hongjoong growled, reaching out to steady you.

The tall vampire tilted his head at the pirate, a smirk on those full lips. “Home?” he inquired, looking at you with that same smirk. You glanced up at him with a smile, not purposely ignoring your roommate. You were just a teensy bit drunk—call it tipsy—and you were fascinated with the red contacts in Yunho's eyes.

“Did you change your eye color?” you asked him in all seriousness, looking over at the cooler filled with alcohol with longingness. Hongjoong scoffed at your words, and couldn't stop you as you reached out to touch Yunho's face, which remained in a smirk as your fingertips brushed against his skin. “Even your skin is sparkly.”

“You never answered me,” he hummed lowly, hongjoong feeling like the third wheel now. The vampire leaned down towards your face, a lustful smile on his lips. “About that date?”

Hongjoong had enough. He muttered a goodbye, but you weren't able to hear it.

“Hmmm…” you clicked your tongue, tapping your chin slowly. “I’m sorry, count dracula. I have someone in my heart already,” you proudly proclaimed.

He smiled despite the rejection, his white teeth bright under the dim lighting. “I’m guessing it’s that one-eyed pirate, hm?” he asked, but he knew the answer.

“Yep. even though he’s a little bitch sometimes,” you bowed to him then, lifting your gaze to meet his red eyes. “Sorry again.”

He nodded with a smirk. “Well your pirate just ran off somewhere, so you better go find him before he thinks something different.”

You might have been a bit out of it, but you knew enough that yunho was a good sport. He walked away before you could say anything else, leaving you all alone in a sea of people. You recognized some faces, like wooyoung and some guy named yeonjun from the general surgery department who hit on you during a surgical lesson. You surveyed the scene, meeting eyes with some random men who kept looking even when you moved your gaze.

You grabbed another drink from the cooler, flipping the cap off and dumping its contents into your mouth. After the rush of warmth hit your body, you pushed through the bodies of people in search of your person.

“Anyone see another pirate?” you yelled to no one in particular. “He has orange hair and a pretty face. Has one eye and—Oh, he’s kinda short too. Like a little leprechaun.”

Now you were just blabbing into nothingness as your vision split. You know damn well your alcohol tolerance was scarily low, but you still got yourself fucked up to the point of no coming back.

You weren't sure where you were going, but you found yourself outside now, behind the extravagant mansion. You stood on the patio, shivering from the lack of clothing and cool autumn air.

You looked out towards the yard, intricately covered in plants and flowers. If you were sober, you’d call it a garden. For now, it was just a pile of vegetation.

“Joongie! You yelled loudly, as if he was going to suddenly fly out of the bushes to greet you. There was no one around—not even a bug. “Joong? Pirate king? Captain—”

“You’re too loud,” his sweet voice filled your eardrums, but it sounded dull—like he was irritated. “Why don't you go entertain that vampire?”

“Because…” you drawled out, turning towards him in the ocean of flowers. You stood in the middle of a surreal garden, but it was too dark to see the colors. There was a small lamppost above you, only coloring a quarter of the flowers in your view. “Because I want my pirate.”

His eye studied you for a moment, and then he sighed, leaning up against the post. “Y/n, I—”

“Shh,” you whispered, drunkenly leaning up against him, unable to tear your drunken eyes from his lips. “You have something on your lip,” you hummed, the pads of your fingers brushing against his soft lips. There was nothing there; you just wanted to touch them.

“ah-ah-Okay, I think you got it—”

“ —I want to kiss you,” you whined, crushing your head against his chest. You heard his heart race as you touched him. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

He stiffened underneath you, his arms at his sides as you held onto him. “You're drunk.”

“I know, but I want to kiss you even when I’m sober,” you lifted your head up, frowning when you only saw one eye. You brushed your fingers against the soft skin of his face, gripping onto the eye-patch softly. “And I want to see your pretty eyes.”

He kept quiet and still, letting you lift the eye-patch over his head, your hazy gaze meeting his starstruck one. Your hand didn't leave his face even after the patch was gone, and he just stood there with all the love in the world in his gaze.

You leaned forward, slowly, carefully, and met your lips with his. You gripped his shirt, your knuckles turning white and your eyes shut tight. He finally snaked an arm around your waist, parting your mouth open with his own. He kissed you hungrily, as if he couldn't hold back even if he wanted to. It felt like ecstasy, two worlds colliding. You now felt like you could tell the colors of the flowers—you felt like you could do anything.

And once he gripped the back of your head to deepen the kiss, you woke up drenched in more than sweat, your clothes missing and your hair like a halo around your head.

What the fuck?

—

Was it all a dream? Did you even go to that party? Did you…did you even get to kiss Hongjoong?

You looked under the covers to see the same underwear you put on before the party—paired with the matching bra. You felt drenched to your core, dreaming about something—

“You're awake,” hongjoong gave you a weird glance as he walked into your room to toss you a hoodie of his. “Put this on.”

“Where are my clothes?” you asked with an eyebrow raised. “Did we…”

He stopped in his tracks, looking at you like a deer in headlights. “Did we what? Fuck?” he scoffed, turning away to walk out of your room. “No. and I took your clothes off because you threw up all over them.”

“So, did we actually go to the party?” you barely spoke, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. “I had this weird dream…”

He swallowed hard and nodded, turning back to you but not meeting your eyes. “Yeah, we went.”

So you blacked out? Or was your dream possibly real?

He left the room then, leaving you all alone in a mess of yourself—and your thoughts.

After a bit of time wallowing in your own self-pity, you managed to leave your comfortable hiding spot you called a room to go downstairs, where hongjoong had a bowl of hangover soup ready for you on the table. He was nowhere to be seen, though, so you assumed he was out doing something or in his little makeshift studio.

Telling yourself it was all a dream so you wouldn't get your hopes up, you plopped down onto the chair to eat. You stared down at the soup, swirling it around with the spoon like you’ve never seen it before, your mind everywhere else but the idea of eating.

Eventually you raised the spoon to your mouth, but the thoughts of hongjoong didn't subside. He was the reason you wanted to keep on living in this god-forsaken world, and you couldn't risk the possibility of ruining your friendship. You decided to not speak of your dream, or even express your feelings, for the sake of keeping him by your side.

After you finished your breakfast, you tip-toed through the creaky floors to peek and see if Joong was in his hideout. As soon as you saw the rush of orange hair, you smiled, and left him alone. Pumpkin was staring at you through the glass window, lying comfortably on the plush carpet he had.

You walked away then, tossing on your jacket and a pair of shoes, and made your way to the convenience store around the corner. You didn't want to interrupt Hongjoong’s focus just to tell him that you wanted some banana milk.

You left him in peace, not knowing that he was going to worry about where you went.

—

You walked slowly towards your townhouse, watching the leaves land on the sidewalk. Some leaves even left imprints on the pavement, greenish-hues as the remnant of when they once lived.

Halloween was right around the corner. The party was over. You kissed the love of your life—in a dream, of course. It seemed like the world was moving so fast, as if you had no time to hold on as it moved.

You swung the door open, finding hongjoong in panic mode, his hand in his hair and the other one gripping his phone.

Your eyes widened. “Joong?” you tilted your head, slipping off your shoes before moving further. “Everything alright?”

He let out a sigh of relief, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn't know where you went. You didn't answer your phone.”

You frowned, patting the pockets of your hoodie—hongjoongs hoodie. “Oh? I must've forgotten it.”

He scoffed as you walked past him to reach the fridge. You emptied the bag, putting the banana milk into the fridge and pulling out the cheap, single rose the store had at the register.

“You don't know how worried I was,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes in irritation. “You can't just leave without saying anything, I thought you were kidnapped.”

You chuckled softly, smiling to yourself that he cared. The smile began to drop, though, as you began to think it was only platonic—and that's all it will ever be.

You turned around to face him, a forced smile on your face. “Here,” you said, handing him the nearly-dead red rose that had a slightly bent stem.

He looked down at the token of affection, confusion washing over his features. “A r-rose?” he stuttered slightly, eyes meeting yours. “For me?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, taking a step closer to him.

“Why?” he inquired, his eyes searching yours for any type of answer.

You gathered what you wanted to say, swallowing hard. “Because you're my best friend. I never want to lose our friendship.”

You saw his hesitation then. It was as if you said something hurtful, but all you spoke was the truth. He let out a little laugh, and reached out to grab the decaying flower.

His fingers brushed against yours, sending chills down your spine. The minute your skin made contact with his, you replayed the kiss you shared in dreamland, hoping that if you kept thinking about it, it would come true.

“Ah, Best friend…” he smiled—almost sadly—and inspected the rose. “Thank you.”

You sniffed, feeling like you just ruined something. But there was nothing there to begin with. You nodded, and turned on your heels.

“I uh, I’m going out then,” he spoke up, his hands feeling the petals.

You stopped, looking down at your bare feet. “Oh really? Where?”

He paused. “With friends.”

You nodded, but didn't turn around. “Have fun.”

He didn't say anything else, and just let you trudge up the stairs. Your heart felt like it was about to crumble, and without reason. Nothing changed, nothing was broken. You said the truth, he told you he was going out. A typical day in your household.

So why did it feel like your world just ended?

—

Days fly by. Hongjoong ended up coming home the next morning that day, and without a word, he locked himself up in his studio.

It was halloween. You felt like it was pointless now, unable to connect to your hongjoong like you never had a connection in the first place. As if you didn't spend every waking moment together. Birthdays, holidays.

You stood in front of your full length mirror, critiquing every single angle of your body. You knew deep down you were beautiful; some days you just saw everything wrong all at once. You stood there, lost, alone, and still thinking of hongjoong like he was living in your mind.

And one day, you’ll watch hongjoong leave, causing life to lose all its meaning.

You sighed, pulling your jeans up slightly to button them. You slid a t-shirt over your bra, feeling like you waited for this day for nothing. You felt numb—like the anticipation was worth nothing. You slid on a pair of festive socks, finally getting your bare feet off the cold, wooden floors.

It was still early—not even noon. Usually you’d be at work and joong would be at school, but you were both home, locked away in your rooms, acting like you don't exist. Well, you didn't want it to play out this way—you wanted to run into his arms, tell him you love him, and bury him in kisses in the halloween haze.

You had no plans, despite it being the night of the year for you. The party was over, your heart was aching, and you felt like you could crumble to the ground like an old building. It was just one of those days that you didn't feel like yourself—and what better time than the night you're supposed to be anything but true.

After grabbing a hat to keep your ears warm, you waltzed your way down the hallway, only to cause hongjoong to peek out of his doorway. He looked tired.

“Where are you going?” he asked you softly, his voice scratching your brain just right.

You didn't realize you were picking at your fingers until he looked down at them. You put your hands at your sides, and looked up at him. “To go get candy for the tick-or-treaters tonight,” you hummed as a response, staring into his gaze, getting lost in it for a moment too long.

He looked at your outfit, his eyes examining you the same way you looked at yourself—however, he wasn't critiquing. He was admiring. No matter what you wore, he looked at you like you were made of gold.

He nodded, tearing his gaze away from your eyes. “Okay.”

You turned around after it felt too awkward, feeling as though something was ruining your relationship. There was no warmth, no comfort. It all happened after you gave him that rose, holding back your feelings like he held back his tears.

Time passed like the world was spinning too fast, and you went on with your day as if it was any other day.

When you came back from the store, you poured the candy into a cute little serving bowl, stealing a chocolate bar like you were a kid again. A part of your soul ached as you stared down at the bowl, thinking about the days when you were the one grabbing the handfuls and eating too much candy. Back to the time when life was simple.

Hongjoong was in his studio, and you heard the dull vibrations of his voice. He was singing like he always did, but this time, you wanted him to sing for you.

You ignored it as best as you could and forced yourself to dress up in a slightly more modest pirate outfit, and after the sun began to set, you found yourself sitting outside on your porch alone. Bundled up in a blanket and a mug of hot tea in your hand, you waited patiently for the kids to come around for the candy.

Sirens blared loudly, an ambulance passing the street in front of you. You watched as the bright reds and whites reflected off the windows of the houses around you, and how the wind from it knocked more leaves to fall to their death.

You watched them crumble to the ground in front of you, small little feet stepping on them as they walked by your home. One little girl came up to you, her little shoes crunching the decaying life underneath them, and you looked up to her from your seated position.

“Trick or treat?” she asked you, her face covered in paint and her smile as bright as can be.

“Take a handful,” you murmured, forcing a smile onto your pirate persona. She smiled at you and tossed the candy into her bag, and you were too distracted to hear the door open behind you. The only sign was the brightened look on the girl’s face as she looked behind you.

“Another pirate?” she mumbled, dimples showing through her scarecrow face paint. “Is he your boyfriend?”

You hesitated, but shook your head. “Oh, no. He's just my friend.”

Hongjoong forced out a chuckle, and came up to sit next to you. “Happy Halloween,” he smiled, his leg bumping yours. You didn't shy away, but you didn't move any closer.

As the girl left, you sat in silence with hongjoong for what felt like ages. You smelled alcohol on his breath, wearing his mask like normal. You were dying to know his true feelings about everything. You lived with him for years, but yet, he knew everything about you and you knew very little about him.

A few more kids stopped, grabbed some candy, and left. As if the time flew by once again, the bowl was empty, and so was your heart.

“I have to go use the bathroom,” you let him know as you stood up. He looked from you to the empty bowl, but made no effort to come inside with you.

“Okay,” he nodded, not looking in your direction. You left his presence, needing some air.

You walked towards the bathroom that was past his studio until you noticed the door open. Pumpkin was sitting on a pile of papers, and knowing how finicky your hongjoong was, you quickly entered the sacred grounds to get the cat off the pile. With your luck, you startled pumpkin, causing her to let out a scared yelp and leap off the pile, knocking over all the sheets at once.

You let out a gasp, followed by a groan, as you quickly tried to pick up the papers. That is, until you came across some lyrics of what it looked like a song…

A song for a lover?

It was titled, halloween, and as your eyes ran across the words on the page, a few stood out. Words like roommate, coffee, watching movies, hugs, dinner, and home. His home was her. His home was with her, his love was for her.

You were his…home? His love?

“Put that down,” Hongjoong growled behind you, but his tone of voice wasn't harsh—it was defeated. “It’s nothing special.”

“I think otherwise, joong,” you murmured softly, still reading the lyrics as they made your heart race. “Is this about…me?”

He came up beside you, his face right next to yours. He ripped the paper out of your hands and held it behind his back as you turned to him. “Yeah,” he breathed, but shook his head. “But it means nothing now, okay? So don't misunderstand—”

“Can you sing it for me?”

He stared at you, wide eyed. You both were in your pirate garb, his one eye covered by the eye-patch. You thought back to your dream of lifting it up, kissing him, holding onto him….

He didn't say much. He just stared for a while, unsure about your motives. Clearly you made it known that he was just a friend to you, but little did he know that you wanted everything under the sun with him.

He sighed, and sat down onto his bench in front of the keyboard. As his painted fingers slid across the keys, he started to sing to the lyrics that were meant for you. He bled through the words, telling the story of you and him, sharing a space, and putting on masks. It was halloween, the song was called halloween, and he sang with all the love in the world to you.

It had to be a dream. There was no way he was sitting in front of you, tipsy, and proclaiming his years-long love for you through a song. It was unreal, and when he stopped singing and turned to you, you saw the concern drip off his face as he looked at your expression.

He swallowed hard, standing up to face you. “Listen, don't think much of it. Like I said, it’s worthless now and—”

You gripped the back of his head and kissed him, holding him tightly as he stood stoically. After a few moments, you pulled away, leaving his lips a mess of red from your lipstick. “I–I’m sorry. That was a little—”

He took a step forward, like you were his prey. Gripping your arm, he pulled you to him, his lips on yours with no spare of a glance. Your hands found their home in his hair, gently sliding off his eye patch with your fingers. You kissed each other as if it was your last—as if this would only last the night.

You pulled back, resting your forehead on his as his hot breath kissed your features.

“I…what does this make us?” you gulped, counting his breaths, happy that he was living at the same time as you. “Its…its halloween…we can be, you know,” you got distracted as his gentle hands caressed your arm. “We can be anything.”

He smiled at you, love dripping from his gaze. He kept his hold tight on you, and mumbled his answer into your head.

“I’ll be whatever you want,” he breathed into you, and you found yourself melting into his hold.

His lips, his hands, his breath—everything collided. Two became one once again as he kissed you, kissed you so hard that you lost your breath. Your hands meshed within the rust of his hair, your fingertips painted in orange. His tongue met the roof of your mouth the same way your hands gripped at him, repeating his words over and over in your mind.

Whatever you want…

I’ll be whatever you want…

He lifted you up then, holding onto your body tightly to set you onto his desk, knocking off all his music sheets and crumbled up papers. His finger nails pierced against the bare skin of your thighs, his lips now on your neck as you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

He let out a moan as your fingers grazed his chest, finally pulling his shirt off his body to admire him. You let out a content sigh, wanting to taste the soju on his lips. Not yet, though, as his hands gripped the corset you were wearing, untying the laces and ripping it off your body, slightly rough but his touch was smooth.

You sat on his desk, ready for him to claim you as his own. Even if it was just for the night, you weren't thinking long term as his strong arms pulled your dress right over your head, leaving you only in your underwear.

“My god, I always wanted to do that,” he groaned, his lips meeting your neck as his hands trailed down your stomach to meet the waistband of your underwear. As his fingers slipped underneath the fabric, you arched your back into his touch.

“You like that, huh?” he whispered in your ear as you looked down at the bulge of his pants, seizing the opportunity to get him flustered. “You turn me the fuck on, you have no idea, y/n.”

Your hands brushed his erection, a sinister smile on hongjoongs pained face. He smacked his head into yours, his teeth bright white as he showed them. “Careful, baby. I’ve been waiting years to fuck you. I don't want it to end too quick.”

“Years?” you breathed into his lips your head tilted up as his hand found its home and started to slide the underwear down your hips.

He didn't answer. What he did do was pull them down your legs, and then as soon as they were off, he kneeled down onto the ground in front of you, treating you like a peasant would treat his goddess. His lips met your heat, the warmth from his breath stirring your mind into mush. You gripped his russet hair, fisting it as his tongue slipped inside you. You hissed, throwing your head back as you saw stars.

He worked magic, his lips becoming something you never wanted to lose. Eventually, he found his place above you, his fingers tilting your head back to look up at him. His hands reached out to pull your bra off, giving you a look of affirmation before gently lifting it over your head.

He stood in front of you, vulnerability showing through like sunlight through a window. He was your sun—your warmth—your love.

No words were spoken after that. You unbuttoned his pants while he kissed your lips, entangled in each other's love and infatuation. He carried you up the steps then, gently setting you down onto his bed, the creak of the mattress springs underneath you. He kissed your forehead, your nose, your temple, your lips, and trailed all the way to your breasts, admiring them like they were all he dreamed about—you were all he dreamed about.

You looked into his stare, his dark brown eyes above yours. You felt the heat of his body, and every breath he took. You wanted to count his breaths every day for the rest of your life until they stopped. You wanted to entangle yourself into his soul, spinning yourself around his finger like the red string of fate.

You wanted to make love to him every night, crawl into his embrace like he was the only human on earth. He was like a warm fireplace on a cold winter day, the fall of snow during spring. And after all, at this moment as your eyes met before he entered you, his lips moved, your senses heightened as he spoke.

“I love you,” he hummed, his eyes sparkling in the dark. You were his source of light.

After those words, he collapsed into you, his hips meeting yours and your lips meshing together. He didn't give you a chance to respond—maybe he was scared of rejection. He had nothing to worry about, and as he made love to you, you ran your hands through his hair to keep it out of his eyes.

You moaned as he rhythmically crashed into you, his lips parted and his arms tightened. You wrapped your legs around his thin waist, his upper body crashing into yours, forehead to forehead, lips to lips, chest to chest, hearts beating the same beat. His hands found your breasts, grabbing them as if they would break under his touch. He trailed his lips down your neck to your chest, kissing you sensually, tastefully, treating you like a work of art.

Your vision became hazy as you reached your high, and after he noticed your climax, he smiled to himself, letting out a moan. “Good girl,” he praised, and then flipped you over onto your stomach with a groan. You positioned yourself for him, back arched as his fingertips glided against your skin. His hands ran down your sides, his hips meeting your ass as he gripped it with his hands, entering you once again like it was his home.

“I want this every day,” he pushed into you, his breaths hitting the back of your neck, causing you to tumble onto the bed, unable to hold yourself up from his strength. “Every night. For the rest of my life, I want you.”

You wanted to cry out of happiness. You wanted to turn around and tell him you want it too, that you’ve loved him since that one day he held you. He was all you ever wanted; ever needed.

He fucked you, made love to you, as if it was the last time. His body clashed into yours, letting out the most beautiful moans. He was born to be yours, you were born to be his. Your bodies fit like pieces of a puzzle, and as he reached his ending, you gripped onto the pillow underneath you, crying out as he came into you, him spilling his love for you, through words and actions.

He breathed and breathed and breathed, his body collapsing onto yours, afraid to crush you. He pulled out of you slowly, finding his spot next to you on his bed. Your eyes met, then your lips, and then your love.

“I love you, too,” you smiled at him, your eyes blurry as his beauty took over. His hair was stuck to his forehead from all of his sweat, and you reached out to brush it behind his ears.

He was breathing heavily, staring into your eyes like they were the most beautiful color he’s ever seen. To you, it might be bland. To him—they were the only eyes that mattered. The only window he wanted to look through.

His arms snaked over your naked body, his touch feeling like ecstacy. You fell asleep deeply for the first time in ages, his soft voice humming you to sleep as the moon began to fall.

—

The next morning was just like any other. You woke up alone, no Hongjoong in sight, but the warm, delicious smell of breakfast reminded you that it was all real. You looked down, no clothes, no underwear, just you. The sheets were crumbled all messily, your heart feeling just the same.

You smiled after looking around, noticing little things around his room that just made sense. Everything about him made you feel butterflies.

You made your way down the stairs after tossing on one of hongjoong’s shirts, hoping to stir something up with him. It almost feels unreal with the way you proclaimed your love so quickly, and after all this time of hiding your feelings, it was now all out in the open.

The minute you reached the kitchen, you found hongjoong sitting in the chair next to a plate of food meant for you. He sat with his legs crossed and his eyes on you. His pretty hair was messy, and his lips were curled up in a smirk.

You smiled at him shyly.

“Oh no,” he shook his head at you, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked you up and down, smirking even more as he noticed the shirt that covered your upper body. You decided against pants, only coming out in your underwear and his shirt. “Don't go all shy on me after last night. And not when you look like…this.”

You cautiously walked towards him, and the minute you reached him, he tugged you into his lap, holding you with a look of admiration.

“About last night—”

“If you're going to say it was a mistake, I will politely decline, angel,” he kissed your lips, lingering just a moment too long. It was blissful, despite your morning breath. “I need you. I can't be without you.”

I need you…

Did anyone need you? Was he the first person to actually want you?

You smiled sadly, but his expression made you feel comfortable. “I was just going to say that I enjoyed it,” you hummed, nodding. He chuckled at that, his arms tightening around your waist.

“I’m sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. About my feelings, I mean,” I babbled on, leaning his head onto you. “I got a little jealous with Yunho, and I couldn't stand the idea of you with someone other than me. And when you kissed me at the party, I got worried that you only made a drunken mistake—”

“Wait,” you raised your eyebrows, pulling back to look at him. “I actually kissed you at the party? I thought I dreamt that…” you spoke softly, subconsciously lifting your hand to your lips.

Hongjoong stared up at you for a moment and then smiled. “Ah, yeah. But you were so out of it. You passed out on my shoulder right after you made out with me.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, no. It's okay,” he swallowed, looking a bit nervous. “I…want to take care of you when you're drunk, and when you're sick, and when you're depressed. I want to hold you while you have your panic attacks—even though I wish I could take them all away.”

You sat and listened, watching the way his eyes bounced around the room as the food got cold. It wasn't even a thought in your mind as he told you he loved you without even saying the three words.

“I want to go through everything with you. Good, bad, whatever. As long as it's with you,” his eyes met yours then. “And as long as I can kiss you whenever.”

You picked apart his expression—his eyes were glassy and his lips were parted. His smile was a bit worrisome, as if he wasn't sure you wanted what he did. You smiled then, and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“I’ll be expecting showers of kisses,” you smirked, kissing his lips like they were made for you. “And shower sex. I love shower sex.”

He laughed musically, his voice always so soothing to you. You knew that your time in this house was ending, as this was the last year before graduation. You weren't sure what time had planned for you, but you hoped it was him.

There’s a time for everything. Your time with hongjoong was predetermined by fate. He was your soulmate if they existed. He was your sun, your moon, your universe. You spun around him like the moon to its earth, orbiting his existence like it was your destiny.

—

two years later,

Halloween Night

You stood on the steps of the townhouse, your phone clutched tight in your hands and a bag of candy in the other. Your heart ached the same way your feet did from all your running around at the hospital, your mind falling apart at its seam.

You stared at the red door, decorated with a festive autumnal wreath with the letters of your names.

You pushed through the door, your senses in overdrive as the smell of apples took over as a candle burned on the table. Sitting next to it was pumpkin, staring at the flame, and then at you, letting out a meow.

It was two years since you got with hongjoong. Two years before you graduated. Two years before you got swamped in work, having a hard time balancing work and romance.

You and hongjoong kept the house, deciding it was your home. You had nowhere else to go if he wasn't with you, and you graduated in love and in bliss.

Two years later, a mess of love and homemade meals, watching movies together, commuting together, sleeping together, you had a ring on your finger, a permanent mark of your love that would last forever.

You weren't planning anything—you let life take the reins. The love of your life stood in the living room, in his hands was a single rose from the mini mart—the same type of shitty rose you bought for him to ruin your relationship. Clearly it failed, as he stood, love in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hi, angel,” he whispered, his hair no longer orange. It was his natural black, grown out and curled around his ears. He was beautiful in every way, a knight in shining armor, holding out a decaying rose as the leaves fell from the trees beyond the window. “Happy two years.”

You scoffed, setting down the bag of candy onto the table next to pumpkin. “A rose?”

“Mhm,” he murmured, smiling brightly.

“Why?” you inquired jokingly, walking closer to him.

He smiled prettily, his heart upon his sleeve. You watched him study you, look at every part of you. He loved you dearly, and as did you. You got a bit of butterflies from the deja vu, lost in the ocean of his eyes and drowning in the sea of his love.

He held out the rose.

“Because you're the love of my life.”

#hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez fic #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fic #hongjoong x reader #ateez #halloween au #best friends to lovers #roomates #hospital au #ateez smut

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 months

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01/27/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Adopt Our Crew - Adopt Our Quiz!; Queerties Reminder; Cast & Crew Sightings; How to Help W/New Stuff; Hunt for The Pirate Home Twitter Watch Party; Articles; OurFlagMakesADifference; Love Notes; Goofy Shit For Morale

== Adopt Our Crew ==

Had some fun stuff going on across the platforms today with Adopt Our Quiz hosted by @adoptourcrew! You can still go do them! I'm including them here for those who don't have the platforms. Ordered from left to right 1, 2, 3. You can see the answers here on twitter (which have cool animations)

Answers below in picture form:

Twitter Thread Instagram Story

== Queerties ==

Just a reminder to vote for the Queerties if you're up for it!

TV Comedy Best TV Performance Wanna help another Taika/Rhys verse Queertie? Vote for Kaimana for Best Film Performance in Next Goal Wins!

== Cast And Crew Sightings ==

It's the weekend so as you can imagine there aren't many sightings. Definitely some personal stuff posted but nothing campaign related so I'll leave it out. Couple things I didn't know you could do was look at peoples likes on twitter, and now I know how to be a proper stalker if I ever wanna get into that kinda thing, which I don't, let me tell you. That being said, these are to make people feel warm fuzzies so here we are! Alex Sherman is out here liking our tweets all over the place! He's been doing it for days, just sweet to see the support.

Kristian Nairn sending love and support to fans on their art!

== How To Help ==

How To Help Save OFMD Task List - US

How to Help Save OFMD Task List - Outside US

Some new stuff added to our usual How to Help Lists, feel free to check them out!

== Talking About the shows Creativity ==

If you wanna talk about the shows creativity, referencing some of the awesome show-crew like Ra Vincent, Production Designer for OFMD can be great! Here's Ra Vincent's site Great inspiration and pictures to use to show off to the networks. Please be sure to credit them just like anything else you're using. Other great crew members for inspiration: Gypsy Taylor Costume Designer/Stylist!

== RADIO! ==

Some awesome new suggestions from @AdoptACrew Check out the thread here. Link to the NPR suggestion site: Here

== Reminder - Twitter Watch Party ==

=HuntForThePirateHome=

HuntForThePirateHome Watch Party Starts Sunday Jan 28 at 3 PM EST, 12 PT, 8 PM GMT. Hashtags for that event are:

#HuntForThePirateHome

#AdoptOurCrew

#SaveOFMD

== Petition Update ==

We hit 82,000!! Definitely things slowing down, but I think in generally we're focusing more on going after specific platforms (not saying more signatures isn't good, just saying we seem to have shifted priorities)

== Articles ==

I didn't see any new articles today, but I did see one I didn't notice the other day so I'm including it now:

Why Our Flag Means Death’s Cancellation Should Make You Angry

==OurFlagMakesADifference==

I had a couple people ask about what's going on with some fan led Palestine Efforts so I'm linking the current thread from Our Flag Makes A Differences Resource thread on Twitter. I know there is a great tumblr thread but tumblr search sucks so please share it with me if you have it!

== Love Notes ==

Just a little reminder for tonight--- you deserve happiness. You deserve kindness, and grace and you deserve a break from all the stressors that bug you on a day to day basis. Sometimes it's other people who can give you that break, and sometimes the only person who can give it to you is you. If you can, talk a little nicer to yourself today, give yourself a little extra time curled up in bed, or watch an extra episode of your favorite show. Remember to give yourself some love too, lovelies. You deserve it. You're gonna be okay.

== Goofy Shit for Morale ==

So I'm gonna combine a couple things tonight and end tonight with some fun goofy shit also feat. Rhys, Samba, and Taika

tumblr

@buckrogers2491's post

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

instagram

youtube

Alright, night lovelies! Let me know if I missed something or made any mistakes! (I think I double checked everything this time!)

#ofmd daily recap #ofmd daily recaps #ofmd #save ofmd #renew our flag means death #hoist the ads #be a lighthouse #adopt our crew #renew as a crew #our flag means death #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #edward teach #blackbonnet #save our flag means death #Instagram #Youtube

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misteria247 · 8 months

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So a little bit of the Muppets concept for Welcome Home that I've come up with so far. Please bare with me as I can't actually write, write anything for this little au but I can ramble so hopefully it'll make sense-

The reader (you) are a tired, struggling adult just trying to get by in life. You've kinda forgotten about how wonderful the world can be, because of all the responsibilities and such that comes with growing up. You just live a mundane existence, go to work and just exist. And you're content somewhat, though not really.

You ended up getting the puppets from a local town auction house. The person who'd owned the home previously had passed away, leaving behind their precious treasures. Since they didn't have anyone in their will to inherit their prized possessions, the town council had decided to do any auction house to get rid of everything within it. You don't know exactly why you'd decided to stop by. Perhaps it was to try and change up your routine, or perhaps fate had a hand in it. Whatever it was you soon find yourself inside the vast, old red home surrounded by other potential buyers and looking through all the knickknacks that were being sold off.

You stumble over all sorts of things, from old records to folders full of drawings and designs. Old musty costumes and a lot of older merchandise that came from the 70s. You noticed that a lot of said merchandise was apart of one of those older shows, like the Muppets and Sesame Street, called Welcome Home. An old 70s children's show that had ended up being canceled due to the loss of funding and such before its existence faded into obscurity. It's while you're looking around that you caught sight of a puppet off to the side. That puppet would be Wally.

You go over and look at him and find seven other puppets, all of them in somewhat mint condition, save for a few rips and tears that you can easily fix. You don't know why these puppets of all colors and sizes caught your attention, but you did know this. You wanted to take them home with you. You'd hunted down the auctioneer who was holding the event and asked him for prices and such like their names. Unfortunately you didn't have enough money for all of them but the auctioneer decided to give you an offer, stating that if no one else showed any interest in the puppets by the end of the auction, he'd give them to you for the price you tried to offer.

Two weeks later you get a call, and soon you're bringing them to your home. Once they're settled in you're a bit reluctant about the situation, seeing how some of the puppets are bigger than you. However seeing them in their somewhat saddened states made your reluctance disappear. If anything these puppets would at least give you a project to do to spice up your normal, mundane routine. And so that's how it started. Every time you had spare time, you'd get out your sewing kit and begin to repair the rips and tears in the old soft felt puppets. You had to visit the seamstress store to get some materials and had to order some too, using what spare money you put back to cover the costs of all of it. This was how you spent a lot of your time whenever you weren't working or doing other things.

However during all of this you'd also began to notice rather strange occurrences. You find that sometimes your things go missing, such as your house keys or parts of your uniform whenever you'd have to get ready for work. Things were being moved around, and even a bit of food had started to go missing. Not only that but the puppets you were fixing up and taking care of began to pop up in random places that you didn't put them before you'd left the house or room. Soon you find yourself wondering if perhaps a stranger was secretly living in your house, and it made you incredibly uneasy. However nothing could have prepared you for the actual reasons as to why all the strange things had been happening.

You'd been let out of work earlier than usual, your boss having no need for you to be there. And after getting a few things from the store you'd made your way home and took out the key to unlock it. Only to hear someone on the other side of the door talking. Going deathly silent, you slowly open your front door, glancing around for the source of the voice. Grabbing a nearby vase to defend yourself, you slowly made your way towards the direction of the voice, raising the vase to be ready only to come face to face with Barnaby B. Beagle.

Let's just say that you used that vase and by God did it do it's job. You also may have screamed and ended up making the other puppets come running which may have freaked you out a little bit more. Once they'd managed to calm you down from your panic attack and you began to question if you were finally losing your mind cuz puppets can't talk??? Much less walk and eat????? Yet here they were, doing exactly that and watching you with borderline concern. It was a very strange and awkward day for you after that. But little did you know that these puppets would become some of the most important people within your life.

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fibula-rasa · 11 days

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Cosplay the Classics: Natacha Rambova

My closet cosplay of Natacha Rambova’s signature look from the 1920s

It’s unbearably common for people who have written about Natacha Rambova to emphasize that her “real” name was “Winifred Hudnut.” In reality, Rambova had about a half dozen names she went by (or could have gone by). Natacha Rambova was the name she took when she began her working life as a teenager with Theodore Kosloff’s ballet company—hence the Russophone name. And, as Rambova was a person who first and foremost lived to work, sticking with her professional name seems true to her character, Slav or not. You see, the primary reason Rambova was (and is) subjected to this passive-aggressiveness is part of a lingering effort to delegitimize her and her work. Sometimes that takes the form of calling her Winifred Hudnut and sometimes “Mrs. Valentino.” While there are valid reasons to criticize Rambova and her work, the aspersions typically lobbed at her fully miss their mark because they’re motivated by the desire to belittle a woman who knew the value of her work and her art and had the necessary privilege to fight for it.

"Natacha Rambova seems to belong most to me, the individual I think I am, but of course, I wasn’t born that way."

—“Wedded and Parted” by Ruth Waterbury, Photoplay, December 1922

Collage of portraits of Rambova from the 1920s

READ ON below the JUMP!

To begin at the beginning, Rambova was born as Winifred “Wink” Shaughnessy in Utah in 1897. Her father, who was significantly older than her mother, was found lacking as a parent and a spouse, and the Shaughnessy’s divorced when Rambova was young. Her youth was spent bouncing between her mother’s home in San Francisco, boarding school in England, and her aunt’s villa in France. Early on Rambova discovered two of the great passions of her life, ballet and mythology. The latter became an enduring fascination that guided Rambova’s varied pursuits throughout her life.

At first, her family encouraged Rambova’s interest in ballet. However, around 1914, when Rambova was 17, the shady nature of Rambova’s relationship with Kosloff was discovered by her mother, who tried to have Kosloff deported. At the time, Kosloff was supporting a wife and child back in England while keeping house with Rambova and another of his dancers, Vera Fredova (who was also legally named Winifred and also a teenager btw). Mom called off the lawsuit, and for years Kosloff, Rambova, and Fredova ran the ballet company together.

The company relocated to Los Angeles where Kosloff entered into a contract with Cecil B. DeMille. The company would provide art and costume designs for DeMille’s films and Kosloff himself would appear in the films. While Kosloff’s name is found in the credits for most of these films, it’s now widely accepted that Rambova was doing most, if not all, of the research and design work.

Theodore Kosloff in his costume from The Woman God Forgot (1917) on the left with Rambova (who does not appear in the film)

In this creatively productive period, Rambova shifted her focus away from dance toward historical research and costume and set design as her primary endeavor. For DeMille, Rambova contributed designs for The Woman God Forgot (1917), Why Change Your Wife? (1920), Something to Think About (1920), and also designed the Cinderella fantasy sequence of Forbidden Fruit (1921).

from the Cinderella sequence of Forbidden Fruit [more gifs here]

The work caught the eye of Nazimova, who was still working at Metro at the time. Once Nazimova realized that Rambova was the one doing the work, she engaged her directly to work on her now lost film Billions (1920). Rambova would receive on-screen credit for her art direction on Nazimova’s final film for Metro, the deco-bonanza Camille (1921).

from Camille [more gifs here]

Camille features designs verging on the bizarre, using circles and half-circles as a consistent symbolic motif throughout the film. One of my personal favorite touches however, is the sequence taking place at Armand’s country cottage. Where the Paris sets are oversized and characterized by rounded edges, the cottage is excessively square and feels almost claustrophobic. At this point in the story, Marguerite is conflicted, she feels happier and freer than ever before in her love with Armand, but is also haunted by the notion that she’s dooming him given her past and her illness. The interior of the cottage feels more artificial because of its realism, almost like a doll house, in comparison to the more heavily designed Paris settings. This highlights the feeling in Marguerite that she’s just playing pretend at a happy, heteronormative fantasy.

country house setting from Camille

Influenced by the highly stylized visuals of ballet but also preoccupied with historical research and symbology, Rambova’s designs stand out from anything else produced in this period, especially in the US. The more I study her designs and think about how young she was when she created them, the more impressed I am by them. Faced with challenging assignments, Rambova balanced accuracy and perceived authenticity with her penchant for larger-than-life symbolism. On top of all that, they photograph beautifully! Being able to create interesting and appropriate costume and set designs with a demonstrated understanding of how they would register on film is a sophisticated skill set which Rambova deserves significant credit for.

When Nazimova went independent following Camille, she brought Rambova with her. The first two projects Rambova would work on for Nazimova’s company were A Doll’s House (now a lost film, which I profiled on my Lost, but Not Forgotten series) and Salomé (1922). The latter has become regarded as Nazimova’s magnum opus on film and often referred to as America’s first art film. For Salomé, Rambova translated illustrations made by Aubrey Beardsley into three-dimensional sets and costumes and character designs for film. If you’ve seen Beardsley’s illustrations and you’ve seen the film, you know this was no simple task and that Rambova did a phenomenal job of re-working the illustrations into wearable costumes and weaving elements of Beardsley’s illustrations into the set design.

from Salomé [more gifs here]

Taking a second to emphasize Rambova’s range, her work on Why Change Your Wife?, Something to Think About, and A Doll’s House (which we can only judge by surviving stills) are contemporary settings with more realistic, grounded set and costume designs. Rambova executes the designs for these films with just as much skill, although as she admitted herself, with less gusto because they didn’t scratch the historical-research/symbology itch.

production still from A Doll’s House

It was in this same period of creative growth that Rambova split from Kosloff (and he shot her in the leg on the way out) and she started seeing her future husband, Rudolph Valentino. Valentino, however, was still legally married to another woman. This would lead to significant trouble for the couple in the first few years of their relationship.

Perhaps too much time has been spent picking apart the nature of the Valentino-Rambova pairing—most of it spent trying to characterize her as a Svengali type and Valentino as too immature or unintelligent to have any opinions of his own. Now, having read most of what Rambova has written about Valentino, both before and after their divorce, she often takes a paternalistic attitude toward Valentino, but one tempered by real affection. And, given how close Valentino became with her family (and remained close after the divorce, even leaving a significant part of his estate to her aunt), to doubt the legitimacy of their partnership feels willfully disingenuous. Valentino shared Rambova’s desires to elevate the artistic qualities of film, oftentimes beyond their means. Together they crafted the romantic idol of Valentino. Together they challenged the studios for underpaying him.

“Some producers find an unusual personality. They use up thousands of dollars to exploit it. They put that personality into a picture and the picture goes over and makes a million. Then, instead of letting the actor who does fine work go on doing it, they give him cheap material, cheap sets, cheap casts, cheap everything. The idea then is to make just as much money from that personality as possible with the least outlay. “Isn’t it short-sighted? Isn’t it unwise? Yet they do it again and again. But they can’t keep it up forever. The fans are beginning to wake up. They refuse to take second rate products even when a big personality is exploited. They are doing the one thing that will affect the producer—when poor pictures are offered them, they are staying home.”

—from “Wedded and Parted” by Ruth Waterbury, Photoplay, December 1922

Something I mentioned in the last installment of “Lost, but Not Forgotten” was that in this period, a number of film artists in Hollywood were recognizing the true value of their work and going independent of the emergent studio system. Studio heads saw no problem in curtailing the creative freedom of their artists to further pad their overflowing wallets. For the founders of United Artists, the system was usually able to be bent in their favor, with their films getting wide releases with decent promotion budgets. For a number of other independent artists, the road was rockier as distributors and exhibitors were reluctant to offend the increasingly powerful studios. Nazimova was one of those who eventually ran out of funds to produce their own work. Valentino’s star rose precipitously after The Sheik (1921) and Blood and Sand (1922) was a massive box-office hit, but Valentino’s salary did not match that bankability. This financial dispute, complicated by negative press around his relationship with Rambova, left Valentino out of work in film for a year. In turn, Valentino and Rambova went on a dancing tour of the country, which raised her profile as a public figure while bolstering his star image despite not appearing in any new films.

Valentino and Rambova in a promotional photo for their dance tour

Unfortunately, crossing the studio system as they did resulted in a coordinated campaign to take them down a notch. Reading film magazines from the period will give you whiplash. Many of these magazines had established relationships with studios and ran news items in keeping with whatever narratives the studios wished to push. However, the stars and their managers (if they had them) had their own relationships with the magazines. So, occasionally, you’ll find items deriding Rambova as some kind of artsy-fartsy manipulative phony and then a profile piece of her or Valentino that’s sympathetic to their business woes. This is the period where the narrative emerges of Rambova as a calculating climber, using Valentino to build her own career. This talking point is often repeated today, despite the fact that Rambova had already been working on big productions for DeMille and Nazimova for years before meeting Valentino. While Rambova was certainly a key figure in developing Valentino’s star image, the plain facts make it apparent that they were working as a team—hardly abnormal. Unfortunately, neither member of said team had much in the way of business sense.

As I mentioned earlier, Rambova fashioned her life around her work. Something I didn’t mention earlier is that she was an heiress. At this point in her life, Rambova was determined to live off her own labour and not touch her inheritance. When they were battling the studios, the couple continued to not touch Rambova’s inheritance. And, both desperate to return to filmmaking, they were subject to the studio’s will. While their split is often framed as Rambova abandoning Valentino when she was denied the ability to control his career, a slightly different scenario emerges upon closer inspection. Both Valentino and Rambova were highly dedicated to their work and their work was intertwined with their relationship, a similar dynamic to Rambova’s relationship with Kosloff and later with her second husband Álvaro de Urzáiz, with whom she restored villas. With Urzáiz, their relationship degraded when they no longer had a shared project to work on. (In this case due to the Spanish Civil War.) It’s neither sensational nor romantic, but following Valentino’s reconciliation with Hollywood, after a few films, the pair was intentionally separated creatively. (This was at least partly due to the machinations of their new business manager, George Ullman, who we now know was manipulating Valentino’s finances after litigation regarding the disposition of Valentino’s estate.)

“What I desire personally is simply to be known for the work which I have always done, and that has brought me a reputation entirely independent of my marriage.”

—“Natacha Rambova Emerges” by Edwin Schallert, Picture Play Magazine, August 1925

Rambova worked on one film independently from Valentino before their divorce, What Price Beauty? (1925), starring mutual friend (for the moment) Nita Naldi. The film is now lost and its production and release seems awfully sus, so I hope to cover that for “Lost, but Not Forgotten” soon. Regardless of the film’s success or failure, the whole endeavor soured Rambova on Hollywood.

Nita Naldi in a promotional photo from What Price Beauty?

In her book about her life with Valentino, Rambova opined:

“Hollywood—all the joys of the petty community life of ‘Main Street’ with an additional coating of gold dust thrown in for good measure!… it is merely an imitation gilded hell of a make-believe realm. Nothing but sham—sham—and more sham. “Hollywood—one continuous struggle of nobodies to become somebodies, all pretending to be what they are not.”

Through their divorce and Valentino’s untimely death the year following, Rambova never stopped working. Rambova operated boutiques selling her original designs in New York and then in France. Around this same time Rambova also got more deeply involved in spiritualism. In an odd move, she published Rudy with the final third of the book “dictated” by Valentino’s spirit. I won’t say that I don’t find that pretty distasteful, but having read the book, it reveals two key things: Rambova’s genuine affection for Valentino, patronizing as it may be, and a sincere belief in the spiritualism movement that she and her mother had been drawn into. There have been critics who have framed the book as some sort of cash-in or vengeful act against Valentino for excluding her from his will, but the facts do not support that. Rambova, to reiterate, was an heiress who did not need to work for a living. She also states directly that it is Rambova’s spiritual leader who encouraged her to publish the book as a way to promote spiritualism. That’s not necessarily any better than the false narrative, but the truth has value (and is more interesting in this case!)

In the 1930s, Rambova relocated to Spain where she finally began using that inheritance to develop rental properties on Mallorca with her aristocrat husband. If you know anything about 20th century European history, you may know what happened next. Urzáiz joined the fascists in the Spanish Civil War, and despite her abiding fear of Communists, Rambova stuck around in Spain for as long as she could before fleeing to France. Of course, it wasn’t long before the Nazi Germany invaded France, so Rambova relocated back to the United States.

During her time abroad, Rambova’s preoccupation with symbology was reignited by a trip to Egypt. This sparked the next big passion of her life, which she would pursue for over two decades: Egyptology.

Rambova in Egypt

Rambova became a writer, researcher, and lecturer on symbolism and cosmology in Ancient Egypt (as well as spiritualism). Much of Rambova’s work was done in collaboration with Alexandre Piankoff and the French Institute for Oriental Archaeology in Cairo (IFAO). With various grants, Rambova travelled to Egypt to document important sites, via photography and illustration. Rambova also used much of her inheritance to source objects from Egypt, which she donated to museums and universities in the US. (There’s a huge discussion about that to be had, which, as an archivist myself, I am drawn to explore. But, it falls outside the purview of this blog, so it’ll have to stay a discussion for another time and place.) These collections are still accessible to researchers and the public today. Rambova continued this work until her death in the 1960s.

Without doubt there are meaningful reasons to criticise Rambova and her work. Some of her design work is appropriative at best, overtly racist at worst. She had ignorant and arrogant attitudes toward class politics bred from her uber-privileged upbringing, which occasionally bled into her work and interfered with her ability to collaborate with other artists. She definitely lacked the social skills and business sense that were very necessary for artists working in a mass-media format like film. It’s typical, but disappointing still, that so much effort has been put into demonizing Rambova for reasons that were either completely fabricated, or rooted solely in the fact that she was a woman who knew her value, but by society’s standards, didn’t know her place. All that said, maybe we are due to spend a bit more time as film enthusiasts genuinely engaging with the art Rambova created and recognizing how much of a force she was in standing up for artistry in the American film industry.

☕Appreciate my work? Buy me a coffee! ☕

Postscript: This piece was a monster, so excuse me for not diving into rumours about Rambova’s potential queerness, as it eventually fell out of the scope of the essay. But, for those in the know: my personal take is that she likely was queer, though probably not romantically entwined with Nazimova, but maybe with Fredova. I also think her marriage with Valentino was not lavender. And, even if Rambova wasn’t queer, I appreciate what a keen collaborator she was with queer colleagues and what a good friend she apparently was to queer people in her social circles and her family, despite how often her detractors would try to use accusations of lesbianism as a weapon against her. IMO if someone were of weaker character, those types of aspersions would have driven a wedge between the object and their friends and colleagues.

Bibliography/Further Reading:

Madam Valentino: The Many Lives of Natacha Rambova by Michael Morris

Rudy: An Intimate Portrait of Rudolph Valentino by His Wife Natacha Rambova

Valentino As I Knew Him by George Ullman

Picture Play Magazine, August 1925

Photoplay Magazine, December 1922

Mythological Papyri – Texts by Alexandre Piankoff & Natacha Rambova

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peachtozier · 2 months

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uh. circus au 2024 edition bc I reread stepping stones and I miss them

richie: I'm sticking with hand balancer richie bc I don't care if it's boring. I'm giving him good shoulders. he trained in gymnastics before circus so his handstands are super pretty. when he's on his feet he has almost no control over his body but put him on his hands and he can balance on anything. can walk on his hands for minutes on end.

I also think he'd be a pretty good puppeteer!! bev helps him make new puppets :)

eddie: anything aerial for eddie. trapeze, silks, hoops, tight rope walking. that boy needs to be up high and flying. really flexible. his favourite thing to do is probably silks (and it's richies favourite too, because eddies costumes are always super short bc he likes having bare skin to help grip the silk)

mikey: dog trainer... bc the thought of him and mr chips having a silly little circus routine keeps me up at night. mr chips can balance on one paw. he can jump through hoops. he can walk a tightrope with mikey. they're so cute. best jugglar out of everyone

bill: ringmaster sorry I don't take criticisms. he also does tightrope and he even has a little tightrope routine with georgie!!! he taught georgie how to tightrope when they were little babies 🥺

stan: magician. he even has a couple of doves as pets that join in the routine sometimes. they're very well behaved and love sitting on his shoulders when they're not performing

bev: trapeze with eddie...... I also think she def helps design and make everyone's costumes. she also puppets with Richie sometimes, and her voices are always terrible and over the top but it makes the kids laugh.

ben: he's the one in charge of building everyone's sets and props and making sure everything is secure !!! he loves designing new things for Eddie to do aerial work with and weird little walkways for Richie to hand walk across and builds puppet theatres for rich n bev!!! he makes mr chips a kennel!! he helps make platforms for stans disappearing acts.... he is seriously the backbone of all their performances !!!!

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stanley uris #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #the losers club #it 2017 #it 2019 #reddie #richie can also totally do a backsault in this au too. thats my new fav headcanon #the toziers throwing richie into multiple sports to try to tire him out is so funny to me #richie went from football (he sucked) baseball (he sucked) gymnastics (pretty good but the pace was too slow) circus (LOVED)#connors hcs

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operafantomet · 7 months

Note

Hello, it’s me again. I’d love to know your opinion on the Italian production costumes. At first I didn’t like them, but after seeing the show live, I really enjoyed them.

I think they have many cool things going on, a nice period nerve, nice colours, cool references... but sometimes a bit campy. This is however solely judging from photos and video clips, and as always this is not primarily what they are designed for. They are designed for movement and light on stage, and from a distance. So if I ever get to see the production I can give you a much fairer judgement than what I can now. But some favourites and not so favourites!

ELISSA: I love the Elissa costume. Keeping the colours turquoise and golden corresponds well with the set design and chandelier, it looks rich and elegang, and it is also a cool match to the dark blonde wig. Regal and cool, and also somewhat recognizable as an Elissa costume.

DRESSING GOWN: Another recognizable look is Christine's dressing gown. Now... yes I do secretly wish a non-replica production would go a totally different route.. a pink one, a green, something completely different. Kinda like the heavy red one they did in LND Denmark. Just to be creative. But a good ol' delicate white dressing gown is always a welcome look for the First Lair. Hence... beautiful. Bonus for tucks at the hem (not depicted here) and the overall golden touch of the wig, the Hannibal costume underneath and the belt:

THE PHANTOM'S MASK: The Phantom's mask for this production... is not my cup of tea. I've never understood the "angry eyebrow" in any production, or an overall too bulky look. It also feels a bit overdimensioned? But again, this is probably an issue in photos and videos more than when seeing the show live.

DEGAS: I enjoy the "everyday look" of the Degas costumes. They really look like rehearsal costumes, and they look wonderfully period. Cool touch with the diamond-shaped underbust corsets.

CARLOTTA IN MANAGERS: A classy and period-looking bustle dress, but not a very exciting one? Not sure what I'm missing, but more... ooomp, more of an exclamation point. But I like the green towards her red hair.

MASQUERADE: Even if giving a hint of Venetian carnivale, and even if probably adding nicely to the chaotic atmosphere, I don't particularly care for the all-cloaked Masquerade. I feel I lack a focal point in some way. Yes, I know Christine and Raoul is especially featured at times, but as a general design look I'm wanting more. Not sure what. Wackier headgarbs? More distinct costumes? Something.

RED DEATH: I do however enjoy Red Death within this design philosophy. And especially that they picked up on the original idea of Paul Daniels, magic consultant for the original West End production: “My best idea was not accepted by the director (he had his image, fine), whereby the Phantom would come down, singing Masquerade, and then the whole costume and his stick would twirl up into the air, and he would… not be in it, despite the fact that he’d been singing." (as told in the Behind the Mask documentary in 2004). And this is more or less what they're doing here. When the ensemble grabs on to his cloak, it's empty, he's gone, and the cloak just falls to the floor. Should of course mention they did the same in Kristianstad, Sweden. But it's an awesome trick and I love the different takes on it. Here's the full costume before Red Death disappears:

CHRISTINE IN MASQUERADE: Christine wears a beautiful, if boring 1870s-esque bustle dress - much in the vein of Carlotta's Manager's dress. I don't think it adds anything, but at least it's pretty, as is the turned-view set and lowered chandelier.

MAUSOLEUM: I like the mint colour of the Mausoleum cloak, and the bow details. Subdued, yet visible. Bonus: The red lining of the Phantom's cloak (which I think he wears in the Mirror scene, to good effect). I will cherish the day a non-replica production does NOT push the red rose as a theme/prop, but anyway... at least the red rose look good towards the green on stage.

THE DARK ANGEL: No. Just no. I'm not on board. Don't camp it up like this. It feels like an idea that worked better on paper than on stage. Especially when he flies up in the air. I just... no.

POINT OF NO RETURN: In large I'm thinking WHY? Why the humongous hat? I think there are better ways to hide the face. Why is the Aminta skirt such a perfect nod to the Lon Chaney movie's Marguerite costume, but then the top is just a generic corset? Why the wildly clashing colours? It feels like they started with some good ideas and then it just... collapsed.

FINAL LAIR: ...and this is where you loose me... Albeit in hindsight I guess I am glad it's Raoul that is topless and not the Phantom. I mean, they COULD have done that. Or both, for that matter. I thank then for resisting the thought.

All in all, I think the costume design works within a recognizable look - to the point where MOTN, Madame Giry and the two managers could might as well have been Maria Bjørnson's design. But then with some creative touches here and there which either works very well, or moves over to the campy side. I think the Phantom is constantly balancing on camp, while Christine overall has a good wardrobe. As for Raoul, not really anything new or memorable apart from the shirtless thingie in the Final Lair. As far as the others go, a very consistent look throughout.

To me this is one of the most thorough and appealing non-replica productions out there, as far as costumes go. I would rate it in the vein of the Czech Republic (which is jollier but also sticks close to Maria Bjørnson), Hungary (ditto) and Norway/Greece (more blue and more 1905, and more of a roller-coaster, but what is good is really good). I like that they keep it Victorian-esque and recognizable, and a bit creative. And yes, I would love to see it live. Always.

#phantom of the opera #poto italy #poto spain #non replica #costume nerding

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junjunjunko · 4 months

Note

Do u have a character info page for your cult? Because seraph. Seraph is calling me. I searched the tag but nothing came up.

I was working on a Carrd but the site took it offline for some reason lmao — I wanna give Toygouse a try too but I always get lazy when it comes to setting up profiles so I usually put all the info on a Doc online or in Obsidian.

I can give some basic information here without going too much into spoilers. ♡

EDEN ❀( ᓀ ‸ ᓂ )❀

Age: 25

Birthday: January 1st

Occupation: Part-time streamer/Tailor/Cult leader (?)

Biggest lolita fashion fanatic you'll meet, her entire closet is full with the most expensive looking dresses that, fun fact, she made herself.

Rarely streams, but somehow her audience is loyal almost to an obsessive point, not like it bothers her because it benefits the cult itself.

Usually avoids speaking, refers to people by 'Sir', 'Miss', 'Mx', etc. Despite this, she is rather good when it comes to manipulating her way into getting what she needs and wants.

She falls asleep pretty often — even in the oddest moments.

Likes: Desserts, fashion design, novels.

SERAPH (｀ω ´ )📷

Age: 21

Birthday: October 31st

Occupation: Streamer/'Filmmaker'/Cult member

He's Edens' 'right hand' as he likes to declare himself — although he spends most of his time streaming, throwing parties, performing in public, sleeping with fans, crossdressing...

Because of his looks, he can easily pass as a girl when he crossdresses, and because of that he's been on a few dates pretending to be one too. In fact, he's so good at costumes and make-up he can just pretend to be anyone he wants to be.

He's a tad bit obsessed with recording things most of the time, even the most 'insignificant' stuff. He used to be an ex-film student after all.

Has a bunch of piercings on multiple places, and he's pretty much obsessed with them too. ( He actually gave Arc one. )

Likes: Filmmaking, giving piercings, horror games.

ARC ૮₍ ˶ • ‸ • ˶ ₎ა

Age: 23

Birthday: July 5th

Occupation: Tattoo artist/Streamer/Cult member

He's actually the youngest of two siblings although he is the tallest in the family and even in his friend group — well, the cult.

He has streamer some of his tattoo works on live a few times, other streams are usually just to relax, more than once he has received the occasional 'show us your tits' and he's so fucking exhausted already.

It's really obvious, but he absolutely loves bunnies, he has bunny keychains, plushies, posters, pictures, everything — it's a tad bit embarrassing sometimes, but he cannot help it.

The scar on his face was provoked by his ex.

Likes: Bunnies, chain accessories, milkshakes.

CHERUB 𓆩(๑>؂•̀๑)𓆪

Age: 23

Birthday: February 14th

Occupation: Streamer/Cult member

On streams, she tends to offer the 'girlfriend experience' by actively acting like a crush or girlfriend towards her audience. Outside them, she declares she finds men gross but she gives girls a pass. ( She is still bisexual regardless. )

She has an obsession with vampires and her aesthetic mostly consists solely on them — she even owns a collection of vampire series and movies.

Very emotionally explosive, which can be risky to deal with. Has doxxed someone for a petty argument and would do it again.

'Cannibalism as a metaphor for love'.

Likes: Cute-looking people, pigs, vampires.

#ueeueueuueueue #dia speaks #oc hours #yandere #yandere oc #EDEN!#ARC!#SERAPH!#CHERUB!#TH3 CULT!#lore hours

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seoul-bros · 8 months

Note

Sometimes...

Jungkook remind me of another very famous Asian artist, Leslie Cheung.

Leslie was a very famous actor and singer. He remains one of the most celebrated artists in China, 19 years after his death. He was also openly bi.

His film "Happy Together" is one of the earliest films in Asia to deal with a gay relationship.

Jungkook doesnt really resemble him physically but I do think their appeal/aura kinda similar?

Like they both have/had a very soft, yet powerful masculine appeal. Their masculinity is not threatening yet very palpable and inciting instead of repelling. Dunno how to describe this any other way.

Also both are Virgos lmao.

Leslie Cheung in his own words

So sorry, I took so long to respond to this but I don't get many messages like this and I wanted to take time replying and try to do justice to what you are saying here. I have been reading more about Leslie Cheung his life and his legacy and in so doing I begin to see where the comparisons you make to Jungkook come from.

Leslie Cheung (1956 - 2003)

“I believe that a good actor would be androgynous, and ever changing”

I remember Leslie Cheung for his performance in the 1993 film Farewell My Concubine. The film won the Palm D'Or at Cannes as well as awards for Best Foreign Language Film at the BAFTAs and the Golden Globes. He plays Cheng Dieyi, a Peking opera singer, abandoned and abused as a child and trained to sing the opera's female roles. The film focuses on his tumultuous lifelong relationship with fellow opera singer Duan Xiaolou and Xiaolou's wife Juxian. It is set against the massive societal upheaval in China in the early 20th century. It's a heartbreaking performance which reminds us of the fragility of love and friendship and the lasting effects betrayal can have upon us all.

"Leslie Cheung gives the performance of his career" Time

youtube

What I didn't know when I saw the film, was anything more about his life. His singing career, his huge celebrity in Asia and the fact that he was an openly bisexual man at a time where globally, attitudes towards homosexuality were at their most negative.

"Your love belongs to you and you alone.....as long as you are happy and, harm no one, do not be bothered by idle chatter."

youtube

I also wasn't aware of the role he played in shaping LGBT representation in Hong Kong cinema and the lasting impact that this has had on subsequent queer films and filmmakers which is perhaps best embodied by the 1997 film Happy Together which you mention.

youtube

"The theme of my performance is this: The most important thing in life, apart from love, is to appreciate your own self"

He was determined to be true to himself in a world that was not yet ready for such honesty. His 2000, Passion tour included eight costumes designed by Jean Paul Gaultier which blurred gender lines. Although the tour was very successful, there was a backlash at home which affected him deeply.

Article Link

"I hope you'll forever remember me, because I will forever remember your cheers and applause."

2023 is the 20th anniversary of his death and it is a testament to his legacy that every year people still visit the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Hong Kong to pay tribute.

There was a commemorative concert in April and the Miss You Much Leslie exhibition is being held at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum until October 2023. Leslie Cheung continues to garner new fans as his films and his music reach new younger audiences.

youtube

This GQ article from last year tries to capture how Leslie Cheung continues to influence the next generation of artists.

Leslie naturally possessed both feminine and masculine [qualities]—not to mention an enigmatic mystique that was just so unique I think no other star has come remotely close to having,” the trans Filipina filmmaker Isabel Sandoval told me. “I think he's the closest we've come to a modern-day Garbo in his sexual ambiguity.”

Jungkook definitely shares that characteristic of tantalizingly blending feminine and masculine qualities to create a unique presence which cannot be ignored.

"Great style is wearing anything you like, regardless of gender"

He is known for rejecting traditional gendered fashion and his support for LBGTQ friendly brands.

On stage he is mesmerizing.....

...and off stage he is grateful and giving with his fans.

"Whenever ARMYs miss us, you can come to us. If you have to go or if you want to go, it’s okay for you to leave us. But always remember, I will always be here."

Although, Jungkook has never and may never talk about his sexuality, I do believe that every day he is trying to be true to himself, show us who he is and live an as authentic life as is possible. He is an icon for this century just as Leslie Cheung was an icon for the last one.

Post Date: 25/08/2023

#leslie cheung #jeon jungkook #jungkook #farewell my concubine #happy together #queer icons

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chouchen · 1 year

Text

fontaine leak!!!

I promised myself to not look at fontaine leaks but i got curious but after what i saw i wont look again !

So a new fontaine chara just got fully leak design wise (rip mhy employee) and i like analysing stuff.

Lets go from head to toes, and lets say the era is around 1890-00

A hat yes !!!!! Very important, hats were a primordial part of fashion, going out without a head ornament was a sign of poverty. Around 1900, big feathers or flowers were common on hats, so i’m guessing the white ribbon (?) is a reference to that.

1899

oh boy where we go

Le costume de ville (”city costume”) is the jacket is typical of 1890, where women took on a more “boyish” look. Women started to wear them because they also started to have a more active life, these clothes being more practical.

Le costume de ville is usually made of a single colour cloth, a high collar and made to follow the curves of the body (especially at the waist since this is also the era of wisp corset) which is nicely represent here, with the bottom part of the cape flared.

The blue ribbon could be a potential reference to what deputy in france wear (sometimes) to show that they are, well, deputy...

DO NOT WEAR SHORTS IN 1890 !!!!!

Jean Béraud, Le trottin

Maison Félix 1897

The shoes !!

The white part is what looks like a “fraise”, they are absolutely NOT fashionable in the 1890s lol. They were a bit fashionable at the start of the century during the First Empire, but in the 1890s France was back at being a Republic and i feel like wearing these would be a bad idea ! (also they were only around the neck or eventually on a head ornament but not on ankles !)

The shoes themselves are correct ! They’re escarpins, at the time made in satin with some embroider.

Both from the UFAC collection 1900-10

In conclusion, there’s so nice references to the 1890-00 era with obviously the genshin style. Even if her design is nice, i hope she isn’t the archon, she doesn’t strike as an archon to me at all and it would be a GREAT MISS of references in the justice part which contains a lot to material to work with.

Hope you enjoyed that thread and yeah i can’t wait for fontaine !!

#fontaine leaks #text post

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erin-bo-berin · 1 year

Note

Here’s a prompt for you. Steve gets an extra job during the holiday season as one of Santa’s elves at the mall. He doesn’t tell the reader, but they are out shopping and spot him talking to a little kid who is nervous to meet Santa. To with it what you please my friend.

I love this 😭

Holiday Helper

Steve Harrington x Reader

Christmastime was a magical time filled with magic, kindness and warmth. Sometimes though, it seemed to be filled with secrets as you tried your best to keep from others what their gifts under the tree might be.

This certainly seemed to be the case for your boyfriend, Steve. He was never one to be secretive, but at some point after Thanksgiving to the beginning of December, your boyfriend had become tight lipped. You tried not to bug him too much, but the questions were killing you. He would disappear for hours at a time and you never knew where he was.

He’d claimed to be Christmas shopping—granted he did have quite the long list of people to shop for—but the fact that half the time he came back without any bags in sight was definitely curious.

Another day of Steve sneaking off secretly and you decided to stop worrying about things. You trusted Steve and whatever he was doing, you were sure there was a good reason for his secrecy.

You had a rare day off from your work as a pediatric nurse. You loved children and your job, but it made your heart heavy seeing so many sick children at Christmas. If you had your way, they’d all be better with a snap of your fingers.

Deciding to do some Christmas shopping yourself, you’d just exited the last store you’d done some damage in, arms already loaded with bags from previous shops.

You were so excited to give Steve the soft cashmere sweater you’d picked out just for him. You’d gotten it in a slate blue color as he surprisingly looked so incredibly good in the hue. You were equally pleased with the gifts for the kids you’d found—a makeup kit that El had been eyeing for months, some new skate gear for Max, a book about D&D for Mike. You still had a ways to go in your shopping, but you were happy with your progress.

You’d only gotten mere feet from the store when you saw the annual Santa Claus set up in the designated area of the mall. There were velvet ropes arranged in a pattern to enforce a neat line of kids who waited to see Santa.

The jolly man was in his big chair, set up in the center of the attraction. His merry “Ho, Ho, Ho!” could be heard from even where you stood, a few feet away from the attraction. The little boy on his knee grinned big at him, right as a helper elf snapped a picture. After one last whispered exchanged between the young boy and Father Christmas, the boy hopped off his lap and ran to his parents who were smiling and gathering the pictures of their son and Santa. With a wave from the three, they were off and the next child was up.

Something at the corner of your eye caught your attention and you realized the green flash was another elf. The elf pulled aside a crying girl, whispering softly to her. She was still towards the back of the line of eager children and less than a foot away. You smiled at the caring gesture and hoped this worker got recognized for their tremendous effort with the children.

It was only when the dulcet tones of a deep, kind voice floated to you that your breath caught in your throat.

“Why are you scared sweetie?”

The little girl just shrugged, sniffling softly.

“Is it your first time seeing Santa?”

The little girl, hair in pigtails nodded, her hair bouncing with the movement of her head. She couldn’t be more than three or four and she had to crane her neck even to look up in the face of your boyfriend.

You boyfriend.

Steve was the kind employee in the elf’s costume, consoling the nervous little girl. He hasn’t turned around yet, but you couldn’t miss the familiar tones of his voice.

If he hadn’t ever given you butterflies before, he sure did now.

You stayed back, but listened quietly to his words of reassurance.

He knelt before her until he was eye level with her.

“Well I have it on good authority that Santa absolutely loves meeting children. Especially meeting ones he’s never met before,” Steve said, gently wiping the little girls’ cheeks.

“Really?” she asked, sounding skeptical.

“Of course. If he wasn’t so busy this time of year, he’d sit here all day and long just so he could talk to every little girl and boy who came in this mall. He’s a very nice man. Making children happy makes his heart happy,” Steve went on.

The little girl looked from Steve to where at the front of the line, two siblings sat on each of Santa’s knees laughing joyfully at the excited chatter of the kids.

“I don’t know,” she responded shyly, “Could I just tell you what I want for Christmas and you can tell Santa?”

Steve pretended to think for a moment, scrunching his nose up in thought as the little girl watched him, hopefully.

“Say, I don’t think you’ve told me your name,” Steve replied.

“Kelly,” she replied, eyes now dry.

“Kelly,” he began, “If I tell Santa what you want then that ruins all your fun, don’t you think? You’ll miss out on sitting on Santa’s lap and talking to him and asking him whatever you want! I’m sure you’re a smart little girl filled with questions for him.”

She seemed to think over his words.

“I have always wanted to ask him how Rudolph’s nose glows so bright,” she giggled.

“See? Santa would be delighted to answer your questions. What if I hold your hand while we wait and I’ll take you to Santa myself? I promise I’ll be there the entire time while you talk to him.”

Kelly smiled big and nodded, slipping her small hand into his much larger, adult one and they stepped back into line.

You stepped back into the crowd of waiting parents, watching your boyfriend with a warm heart. True to his word, he stayed with Kelly until she got to the front of the line. He whispered a few words to Saint Nick and with a smile and a wink, he nodded at Steve.

Santa greeted Kelly with joy, just like the other children, but seemed to be just a tad bit more gentle with her. After a few seconds of apprehension in which Kelly looked over her shoulder to make sure Steve was still there—of course he was—she seemed to loosen up and excitedly chatter with Santa.

Steve grinned as he watched his new little friend tell Santa all her Christmas wishes. He even managed to overhear Kelly ask Santa about Rudolph’s nose which caused him to laugh with a boisterous “Ho Ho!”, his belly truly shaking like a bowl full of jelly.

“Well my dear, it’s because Rudolph has so much love in his heart. He loves his parents and his reindeer friends, me and Mrs. Claus and all the little boys and girls in the world. The glow in his heart just couldn’t be contained so he was born with the ability for his nose to glow,” Steve heard Santa tell Kelly.

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think the man was the real Santa, he’d been so wonderful with the kids in the few short weeks he’d been working as an elf.

“That makes sense!” Kelly grinned, causing Santa to chuckle again.

When it was time for her to leave, she hopped off of Santa’s lap, but turned around at the last moment.

“Wait! One more thing.”

She leaned close, her hand clasped around her mouth as she whispered in Santa’s ear. He looked over at Steve and gave him a wink and a smile causing Steve’s brows to raise.

What was she possibly saying?

When she pulled back, Santa patted her sides after giving her a final hug.

“Ho, Ho, I think I could pull that off, but I’ll see what I can do,” he smiled, “You continue to be a good girl okay Kelly?”

“I will, Santa,” she smiled, then turned, running off towards to Steve.

He was standing with a candy cane, something the elves gave each child when they’re done. He once again knelt to her level to hand her the red and white striped cane.

“For being such a brave girl,” he smiled, handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking it before throwing her arms around him, “Thank you for helping me be brave Mr. Elf.”

Steve chuckled, arms still around the girl as he hugged her back.

“I also hope you get your Christmas wish!” she grinned when she pulled back.

“Oh is that what you were asking Santa there at the end?” he asked, curiously.

She nodded.

“I asked Santa to bring you a pretty girl because no elf should be alone at Christmas.”

He couldn’t help his laugh as he thanked her and bid her farewell. He loved the minds and spirits and never ending hope children possessed.

He wouldn’t have thought anything of the wish if he hadn’t heard his name being called from behind him. He stood and turned around, expecting it to be another elf but stopped when he saw you, a huge smile on your face and was that tears in your eyes?

“Y/N,” he breathed, bewildered, shocked and mighty glad to see you, “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping?” you chuckled, motioning to the bags you sat at your feet after you walked closer to him, “I didn’t expect to run into you, working.”

Your lips twitched as you tried to suppress a smile.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Steve said wincing.

Your eyes took in his elf costume, all the way to his pointy elf hat and you smiled. He made the most adorable elf.

“I’m not mad,” you said genuinely, “But you could’ve told me, you know.”

“I thought you might laugh,” he chuckled.

“Well I have to admit, no one makes an elf costume look adorable like you do,” you smiled, “I wouldn’t have though. I overheard what you did for that little girl. That was so sweet of you.”

He shrugged bashfully, his cheeks turning a dusty pink.

“It was really nothing. She was super sweet.”

“And you did amazing with her,” you grinned up at him.

Your eyes cast upwards to the archway of the “Santa’s Workshop” you two had migrated to, to keep from being in the way. At the top of the booth, right in the middle of you both was a bundle of mistletoe.

“Do elves believe in kissing under the mistletoe?” you asked him slyly.

He glanced up with a chuckle and looked back down at you.

“If they haven’t before, they do now.”

He pulled your face close to his, connecting his lips to yours.

It looked like Kelly’s Christmas wish for him had come true after all.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff

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ophelia-writes-stuff · 2 years

Text

♥ power of my love . part 2 ♥

. pairing : yandere!austin!elvis x fem!reader

. summary / request : you're a pretty small and local fashion designer, so you are both thrilled and nervous when you get a call from a long-time friend of yours, steve, who tells you that he's got a job for you in vegas for no other than elvis presley. when the two of you meet, sparks fly, but you can't help but notice a more sinister underlining to your friendly relationship as time goes on.

. notes / warning : mild swearing, allusions to sexual content (sort of), slight yandere themes but not heavy whatsoever, jealousy, nothing else i don't think.

. word count : 3.8k

(♥) . . . request something . masterlist . taglist . navigation

(♥) . . . previous part / next part

(♥) . . . series masterlist (for all parts and warnings)

tags: @venus-haze, @luckyevansstan, @rxsesss, @ggxsan (if you'd like your name to be removed/added, pls just ask me!)

As it turns out, designing clothing for the one and only Elvis was no easy feat.

One would reasonably expect it to be simple in some which way— after all, the man seemed to always know what he wanted and would always strive to get it— but sitting in a deafeningly quiet room with the musician after you had just asked him if he had any ideas for an outfit defied all of your expectations.

You’d originally imagined the conversation would be smooth like it was, similarly to when you’d first met him, meaning Elvis would come in and tell you any ideas he had or looks he wanted to go for and would possibly ask you for some advice, but none was such the case. An uncomfortable feeling permeated throughout the air as the silence drew on, and after a couple more moments of almost unbearable tension, you simply couldn’t take it anymore.

"As I'm sure you must know, Mr. Presley, costumes and style can be a great way to express yourself in your show, and even in your real life sometimes," you'd often go on tangents like these with clients, hoping to inspire them in some way. "I found myself in my work, in my style, and I'm certain that you can do the same and find yourself again. It may not seem like much, but picking the right costume is very important. Now, do you have any possible ideas? A look you're aiming for?"

Elvis's eyes flitted to you as he shifted slightly, eyes focused intensely on nothing in particular.

It didn't take you long for you to realize why Steve had spoken of you being needed to help get Elvis back on his feet-- it was like, between one movie or another that he'd merely been thrown into, he'd truly forgotten who he was.

"Well, I think..." Elvis sighed and ran a hand through his coifed hair. "Colonel's been wantin' me to dress up in a Christmas sweater, but I sure as hell ain't doin' that..." He bit his lip in contemplation. "Steve's been thinkin' that something revealing might be good, or something dark blue to contrast with all o' the Christmas colors..."

“Is that what you want, Elvis?” Elvis paused briefly, supposedly stunned by the question. Considering the fact that you had said it in a somewhat odd manner, you said:

"Let me rephrase that, actually-- what do you want? Not Steve, not Colonel, not anyone. What do you want to wear on that stage? What do you want to perform in? This choice is up to you, and it should only be yours. Don't let anyone else sway your opinions."

Elvis took a deep breath as he racked his mind and he tried to figure out what he wanted, what he desired. One would imagine it’d be plain and simple, but after a life of being burdened with the needs of others, one would easily forget their own, no matter how stubborn one could be.

“I want something...” Elvis's eyes snapped closed as he pondered your question. What did he want?

“I want something... edgy.” You didn’t miss the smile that lit up on Elvis’s face when he came up with the word. “Something raw, something...” his voice trailed off and he narrowed his eyes as he flit through his unorganized thoughts. "I want it to be dangerous, intimidating..." A boyish sort of grin adorned his features. "I want it to be me," he finished.

You merely nodded, quickly jotting down some things in your notebook before staring back at Elvis.

"Leather, that's what you need," you decided, leaning over to reach for the black material among the others that were spread out on the table. "Good old-fashioned leather. It's risky, intimidating, hard, but most importantly, it's you."

Elvis felt the leather material in his hand, brought it up near his eyes to examine it closer, and narrowed them, before bringing it further away and rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger contemplatively.

Realizing your possible mistake, your cheeks heated up ever so slightly. "But, of course, if you're not a fan--" you were quickly cut off by a loud "--No!" followed by a quick apology. "It's- it's perfect. It's exactly what I need," Elvis explained, "I just didn't realize that you'd figure it out all so soon."

You took this as a compliment and offered Elvis a meek smile. "Well, it's what I do, so I'd sure hope I’d be okay at it after almost a decade of doing it."

At this, Elvis stared at you with an undecipherable expression written all over his face and opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed as if the specific words had died on his tongue the second he cracked his jaw open. He slowly shut it closed and allowed the silence that once was to return, though you certainly weren’t going to allow it to remain as long as it did before.

Worried that you'd overstepped boundaries by using a bit too much sarcasm, you changed the subject. “Now that we’ve got the materials down, I do believe we’ll need to think of a specific design,” you said, grabbing your notebook as you sat down in your seat. “Do you have anything in mind? Just general concepts can go a long way.”

Elvis stared at you briefly with a certain intensity that almost brought butterflies to your stomach, but the expression was quickly forgotten as Elvis spoke.

“I’d like it to be unforgivable,” he said, his eyes wandering around the room in thought. “Unforgettable. Something iconic, like a leather jacket.” To this, you nodded, and said, "Is that it? Of course, a leather jacket is iconic, but it's an icon that many men have tried on."

"Well, what were you thinkin', then?"

You smiled, "A full leather suit." You showed him your notebook and pointed to the sketch. "There can't be anything more unforgivable than that."

To this, Elvis grinned and bit his lip with a certain satisfaction, and nodded.

“But just to make sure, that’ll be one hot suit, especially if you’re going to be doing some dancing numbers in it. You sure you’ll be okay with that, Mr. Presley?”

In response, Elvis's grin only grew wider, and in a deep, velvety voice, he said, “Perfect.”

Spending time with Elvis proved to be even more enjoyable than you’d initially anticipated.

Although your work together led to some long silences, it never hindered either of your abilities to keep up a lengthy conversation. You could imagine yourself talking with the musician for hours without ceasing if his or your own work didn’t beckon the two of you away from each other. Ah, yes. It was truly ironic how the very thing that brought the two of you together was the exact thing that also drew you apart. But, alas, Elvis’s workload never faltered, and the same could be said about yours.

As you worked on a couple of pieces of clothing some of the dancers were going to wear, your mind inevitably wandered to Elvis’s wife, Priscilla. Though you’d never met her, you couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Elvis had a couple of times spoken to you of how he craved to spend more time with her— and yet, it seemed as though the forces that be did not wish to see the two of them together. He spoke of his guilt, explaining how his work seemed to have completely taken over his life, and you couldn’t blame him.

It was never quite easy, being famous. People always relied on you, depended on your presence. Days off were not standard for people like Elvis, this much, you knew.

And while, yes, the days you spoke ever so much may have blurred the lines between your professional relationship with Elvis and your personal, you convinced yourself that it was for the best. If Elvis viewed you as some sort of confidant, you had no issues obliging to the role, though you wouldn’t bend down to his wishes of addressing him by his first name.

Not yet, that is.

And so, when Elvis knocked on your office door and entered in, tired and battered, you made no protest when he sat down on one of the chairs beside you.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” he asked in a raspy tone, that of a man that you assumed must have only recently just sung his heart out.

“Just some outfits for some of the dancers,” you replied, continuing your sewing work though offering a glance towards Elvis.

“D’you mind if I have a look?” You moved as to allow Elvis to view the piece you were working on, who walked up beside you and stared at it and then at you, in admiration.

“You’re real good at this, y’know,” he complimented. “Steve wasn’t kiddin’ when you said that you were the best in the industry. You got some real talent.”

At the high praise, your cheeks burned a bright pink, and you tried to hide it as he stared at the piece of clothing. “Thank you,” is all you replied, not trusting yourself to say more.

“No need to thank me. I’m just tellin’ the truth.” No longer could you hide your blush as you smiled abashedly and let out a small chuckle.

And then, suddenly, you paused, eyes wide as you glanced at the clock behind you.

“Shit—” you mumbled, momentarily forgetting you were at work. “I mean— sorry, Mr. Presley, but I have to get going.”

“Now what’s got a lady like you in such a hurry?” He asked, staring at you curiously as you raced to grab your things.

“Steve told me to meet him at twelve.” Elvis’s aura seemed to have changed slightly at the comment, but you didn’t pay attention as you absentmindedly searched for your purse in a frenzied panic.

“Pickin’ you up for lunch?” You didn't even notice the slight malice that laced his words, as, by the time he’d spoken them, you’d just found what you were looking for, so you assumed the question was simply an inquiry.

“No. Don’t know what it’s for, but it’s probably got something to do with work or something else important like that.” You didn’t bother mentioning how you would have truly appreciated it if that were the reason, as you didn’t see the situation fit for such a confession to your still relatively new client.

Besides, as close as he occasionally got with you, you still expected yourself to remain professional at all times with him. Though he was a friend, he was still someone you worked for, and that meant you had to keep a somewhat fortified barrier between your life and his.

At your reassurance, Elvis’s demeanor duly shifted, and he shot you a charming smile. “Well then, Y/n, suppose I’ll see you around.” He offered you a wave and was out the door in the blink of an eye, seemingly more pleased with himself than moments ago, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out as to why.

Alas, you couldn’t dwell on the matter for much longer as you rushed out your door and towards where Steve had told you to meet him.

Elvis was never a very jealous man.

Or, at the very least, not often, and especially not when it came to romance and love. He knew that women practically worshipped him--he wasn’t blind to the way that they looked at him, what they thought of him.

And, besides, he was married to the most wonderful wife anyone could ever have, so it was almost surprising to him when he felt such a sour emotion at the simple prospect of you and Steve being together. After all, he had his own wife at home.

So why, he would ask himself, did he feel jealousy, especially in such an intense way? And why did he still feel it? You made it seem pretty clear that you and Steve clearly didn’t have anything going on, so why did he still feel such vigorous anger?

Elvis sat in your office, pondering these very questions. Of course, he knew what the Colonel would do if he found him off-task, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to do anything about it. Either way, it wasn’t like the Colonel knew of his true plans. He was sure his anger due to his lounging in your office would be nothing compared to his anger should he discover Elvis’s deceitfulness when it came to his true intentions of how the Christmas Special would play out.

Regardless, after he’d decided that he’d spent enough time flitting through his thoughts, Elvis decided that it was time to return to the studio to see what the others would need from him. He was certain they were searching for him now.

"Steve, I'm really sorry I'm late." You apologized as soon as you walked in the door. "I must have lost track of time."

In response, all Steve gave you was a brisk nod, and seemed to invite you to sit down. "It's fine, it happens," he then said, taking a seat in front of you. "Plus, I only called you here so we could talk about your job so far." He smiled. "How is it?"

You were surprised that all Steve wanted to do was chit-chat, but you were relieved, too, as you realized your lateness was not as unprofessional as you had initially thought it to be.

“It’s pretty great, actually. It’s definitely been fun— plus, I enjoy seeing this part of the country. As you can tell, I’m not around these types of areas very often.” You smiled all but embarrassedly and let out a small chuckle. The man in front of you's gaze was distant as you slowly allowed your giggles to dissipate.

“D’you you like traveling?” Steve then asked, to which you nodded.

“You know, Y/n, I was thinking,” Steve adjusted his posture ever so slightly as he spoke. “You don’t get all that many clients back in your town, do you?”

Your brows furrowed as you shrugged somewhat hesitantly. “Not specifically, no. I get a decent amount, considering the size of my town, but relatively, no.” You replied.

“Have you ever wanted to travel a bit more? See more of the country?”

You quirked an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Steve?”

“Well, like you said, you like it here, right? Like seeing new parts of the country?" He leaned back in his chair. "I’m proposing you come work with me and my crew.” You opened your mouth to reply, but Steve beat you to it.

"You could travel with me and my crew and work on costumes for shows and sets we help produce and direct. Of course, you'll be able to go home for holidays and those sorts of things, but you'll mostly be traveling around the country."

"Oh, Steve, that sounds like a great idea, but..." You tried to protest at first but soon found your arguments fell short in every instance. To add to that, your eyes caught each of Steve's muffled expressions of disappointment or hurt when you brought up yet another reason to decline, and so, you caved. You gave Steve your word that you'd think about it and consider making the arrangements to make it happen, such as discussing it with your parents, and the two of you knew that this practically meant you had already arranged the plans. You'd never hint towards your answer being a no to a yes unless it was certainly one of the two.

"Great!" He gave you a satisfied smile, and you couldn't help but feel your own lips upturn at his infectious expression. "You know, if you choose to say yes, I know you'll love it, Y/n. It's nice-- being able to work with so many icons in so many different places."

"Sure sounds like it."

Steve nodded, "Plus, I wouldn't mind having you around a bit more," His smile shifted from satisfied to coy. "I feel like I don't get to see you as much as I'd like to."

It didn't take a genius to notice the shift of the atmosphere in the room, and you felt a funny feeling in your stomach at the comment. Of course, you weren't one to get in over your head, but looking at the way he was staring at you, you'd be a fool to say the gaze wasn't the least bit tender.

"Yeah," Your own stare fixed onto the floor all but abashedly. "I could say the same."

The rest of your day went by relatively quickly, your mind buzzing with thoughts of Steve and your future. It excited you, truly, to think that, after all of these years of having shown no more than a little interest in you romantically, he seemed to suddenly have had a change of heart.

You hummed along to one of the Elvis songs playing in the background as you worked on organizing some of your materials. Everything was scattered into different nicks and crannies, and though you were able to find it all, it still appeared as if something had exploded in your office.

And, although you didn’t want to admit it, you wanted to look at least a bit organized to anyone who dared to enter your den.

You all but jumped when you heard someone enter ever so suddenly, and turned around to face no other than Elvis. Your brows furrowed. It was funny, almost-- you hadn't even noticed the music come to a halt.

"Hey," he greeted, offering you a charming smile as he walked up to you. "I was told to come in here--well, 'bout now?"

Your eyes wandered to the clock as you slowly nodded, and returned his smile. "Of course, just stand right there and I'll get everything I need."

Measuring someone, as you'd come to learn, was a very intimate act in many ways. Stripping until you were near-naked for someone else who you most likely barely knew proved this with ease, and it was always so quiet-- so slow. Every mannerism seemed so tender when one would think about it.

You felt an intense gaze practically tear through your soul as you took your measuring tape and took the measurements for Elvis's waist, hips, height, etc. You made an effort to not look back up at him, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head with such a ferocious aura, it intimidated you.

You could have sworn that every time your hands brushed against Elvis's bare skin, somehow, he seemed to linger in that position-- to pause and allow the moment to resonate with the both of you. You weren't sure how exactly it happened, but there was certainly no denying that it did.

Once you had finished up, you offered Elvis a simple nod and said, "I'm done," before turning around to allow Elvis to put his clothes back on.

"Y/n?" You all but froze at the sound of Elvis's deep voice, though didn't dare turn around to face him. He let out a chuckle before opening his mouth once more. "Y'know you can look at me, right?"

You mistakenly took this as a sign that he, somehow, had already gotten dressed, but you were most certainly mistaken. You shifted awkwardly in your place as you stared at his almost naked figure. "Yes, Mr. Presley." You mustered on a shy smile, not feeling very comfortable in any which way.

"Good," he then said, a satisfied smile planted on his features. You didn't know what to say in return, just let the silence permeate throughout the room.

Elvis's gaze then morphed into an intense, intimate one. You didn't even notice as he took slow, calculated steps toward you.

"What I wanted to tell you, Y/n, was that you've been doin' a real amazing job here," he complimented, his expression not faltering in the least.

You offered him a tight-lipped smile in return, still feeling somewhat nervous as to what exactly was happening. "Thank you."

"Never seen no one like you," he grinned, his pearly teeth glinting dimly. "Not one."

Unsure of how to answer this, you merely nodded.

It was at that moment that you noticed the lack of distance between you and the man before you when his hand cautiously made its way up to cup your cheek. You were surprised at the contact. It unnerved you, almost, to think that he could traverse such a long distance and go unnoticed by someone staring directly at him. "Never realized how pretty your eyes were," he muttered. You stood, frozen in your spot, as he spoke. "Never seen you this up close before. Didn't realize what I was missin'..."

He leaned it, and you just stood paralyzed, stunned by the surprising turn of the situation. And yet, just as you were sure Elvis's lips were about to have a taste of your own, a knock on the door paused the moment. You let out a gasp as Elvis pulled away from you in milliseconds, eyes wide as he stared at the door.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, as he angrily threw on his clothes and opened the door. You didn't hear very much as he stormed out of the room and slammed the door, only catching some tidbits but allowing yourself to take a moment to process the situation.

You were stunned, to say the least.

You and Elvis were friends, of course, but you never expected the situation to escalate on such a high level. You'd never expected him to possibly consider you in a romantic way. After all, you were merely his costume designer. And, as an additional reason, he had a wife and a newborn child for crying out loud.

You decided to head over to the bathroom to take a minute. You let out a sigh as you washed some water over yourself and stare at your reflection in the mirror.

You knew you'd be flat-out lying to yourself if you said you weren't attracted to Elvis, but every girl was. There was no denying that there was certainly some charm to his infectious grin and that his dancing certainly did arouse some erotic feelings within you, but that didn't mean that you wanted to kiss him-- though you were sure he had much more in mind than just kissing.

And, besides, you weren't that kind of girl. You wanted a real man and a steady relationship, not some one-night fling with your new and temporary boss who you'd only just met recently. Of course, he was a perfectly kind and considerate man, but you could tell that he did have some trouble harnessing his emotions.

And so, your eyes wandered to the floor as you left the bathroom and you decided to make sure the event did not become a topic of discussion for you or Elvis, whatsoever. You just hoped that he'd never bring it up. You'd continue work as normal as if nothing ever happened, and you wouldn't have to worry about it once you left to work with Steve.

How wrong you were about your future, you'd later learn.

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