#i think jean is generally not mad about their cheap jokes but this time the topic they chose this time was too much and the line was crosse

[sygneth]

Echoes of Elysium | Chapter 1 | Page 5

Page 4 Page 6 Info & index

Not in the mood for this.

#i wanted to draw the interaction on those three so badly #the iconic duo vs what remains of the depressive duo #i think jean is generally not mad about their cheap jokes but this time the topic they chose this time was too much and the line was crosse #also i think this says a lot about jean's perspective on the matter of harrys state #disco elysium #disco elysium fanart #echoes of elysium #jean vicquemare #chester mclaine #mack torson #my art #art #fanart #fan comic #jeangst #i think?

[agentwhiskeypussyindulgence]

Whiskey Kisses (Agent Whiskey x plus sized Reader)

Authors Note: Hello!!!! If this looks familiar it’s because it is! This was written in the middle of my covid sickness back in January and I have not touched it since lmao. I figure it might be better to edit it a bit, and post it all as one rather than two separate entities since the second part was only separate bc I hadn’t written it yet at the time I posted the first one. I’m hoping that I’ve gone through and removed any glaring descriptors that will exclude folks but the one thing that remains is that this is a plus sized reader (gotta leave a little bit of me in there lmao!) This was/still is my first attempt at smut so I'm hoping I've read enough to get somewhat of a grasp on it ✌ Plot is the same, wildly incredibly self indulgent, Whiskey is as charming as ever and hopefully the new post will get some fresh eyes on it! Hope everyone enjoys~~

Word count: ~7000

Warnings: NSFW 18+ fem plus sized reader (a bit of body insecurity that is Very Brief), Daddy Kink, Loss of Virginity (including insecurity about being a virgin), Praise Kink, no y/n used, excessive use of pet names bc Whiskey is a menace,If I’ve missed anything please don’t hesitate to let me know!

The place smelt like smoke. That was first scent that hit you as you moved through the crowdto the bar, claiming a seat on the side nearest to the exit. This was your first time out and about in your new city and you weren’t exactly sure what you were here for. At the least you would get a good night of entertainment from people watching from your position at the bar. Maybe you would make a friend. That’s how it worked for people your age right?

It had been so long since you had to put yourself out into social situations that weren’t engineered to create bonds--this wasn’t school and it wasn’t work, the two places where you felt confident about your social skills. You feared you might be a little behind on friend making procedures. This was only your second week in town. You’ve moved from home because you knew you couldn’t stand one more day in your hometown. Moving back after college had been a great way to save up money, but you were tired of living with your parents and tired of the same small town views. It hurt leaving your folks and it hurt to leave your friends even more. But you knew that sooner rather than later they would be moving out into the world. That’s what was expected and you were terrified but immensely excited to be the first one in your group to make the leap.

Now you’ve found yourself here alone in a bar nursing some sugary drink that had been listed in chalk on the special board outside the bar. You didn’t mind being alone. In the past you’d learned to enjoy your own company —going thrifting on your own or heading to see a movie when everyone else was busy. That being said, you found being alone in a bar a much more harrowing experience. You didn’t usually spend much time alone in places where the drunken masses gathered. Parties, clubs, and bars weren’t usually your scene and let alone without your group of friends there as backup.

You were out to be social yet still hoped that your phone would serve as a good enough reason for no one to come up and ask for a dance. Sure, there were some attractive people in the bar tonight, but you were only on your first drink and didn’t have enough in your system to get yourself out on the dancefloor with someone you didn’t know. Not yet at least.

Your attention was pulled from your phone by a movement in your periphery, a silhouette passing behind you. It was a…cowboy?

That wasn’t who you were expecting to see. This wasn’t a country bar by any means and he stood out amongst the other patrons in their casual clothes. He kept a respectful distance leaving a seat between the one he chose and yours as if to not block you in. You stared, taking in his outfit, he seemed like the real deal. Cowboy boots with spurs, well-fitting denim jeans, and a Stetson seated on top of dark hair. Only thing out of place was his shirt. You weren’t a hundred percent sure what kind of shirts cowboys wore, but you weren’t betting on a nicely pressed dress shirt.

He looked young upon first glance, then you noticed the smile lines around the corner of his eyes and mouth. That and the way he carried himself, his essence, revealed that he probably had some years on you though that didn’t lessen the attraction any. He turned suddenly and you couldn’t look away; embarrassed as you were to be caught staring. Not when those gorgeous brown eyes met with yours. He raised a hand to the brim of his hat and honest to god tipped it in your direction with a smile and a quiet “Evenin” on his lips.

You cleared your throat and cradled your glass in your hands, fingers working to twist and turn it. “Evening…didn’t expect to see a cowboy in here tonight.” You take a small sip. “Doesn’t really seem like your scene” you finish, looking around at the crowd, all dressed differently but certainly no cowboys among them.

The stranger lets out a laugh and a smile lights up his face as the bartender works his way to your side of the bar. “Maybe not darlin but this cowboy is home anywhere he can find a beautiful lady and a whiskey, neat.” He says this last part to the bartender who you find standing in front of the two of you. He gives a nod at the cowboy and glances over at you and you notice your drink is almost empty. “Put this sweet thing’s next drink on my tab” he says with a wink in your direction and you can’t help but feel heat flood your face. This is the first time you’ve ever been bought a drink by a stranger at a bar.

You realize the bartender is waiting patiently on you and you panic. You had wanted to switch drinks after finishing this one off, tired of the sugar, worried over the hangover it might bring. “Oh! Uhm, whiskey neat also. Thank you.”

The stranger sitting close to you raises his eyebrows at your order, his eyes glancing between your own and the remnants of your sugary cocktail. You smile and give him a shrug “Buyers choice I suppose.”

He lets out a chuckle and holds his hand out across the empty seat between you. “Jack Daniels. Nice to meet you.” You give him your hand and your name and you watch as his eyes trail over you.

He smiles, as if he’s seen something he likes once his eyes have finished their exploration. You can’t blame him as you had just done the same thing. But you couldn’t help but be a little puzzled. You hadn’t really dressed with the goal of attracting attention to yourself tonight. You chose your favorite pair of light-wash jeans (you were told they hugged your curves nicely) and a band t-shirt with a light flannel on top. It was comfortable and you looked nice, but you hadn’t dressed to impress.

The drinks arrive and Jack raises his glass in the air and tips it in your direction. You hurriedly grip yours and do the same, smiling at the clink of meeting glasses.

The whiskey stings your lips, chapped from your habit of nervously biting at the soft skin in new situations. You don’t often drink whiskey and you attempt to school your face into something neutral, trying not to cough, as the smoky alcohol burns its way down your throat. A burn that you find yourself enjoying mere moments after it passes. You over at Jack who doesn’t avert his eyes when you catch him staring at you, an amused expression on his face. If he noticed your brief grimace that came with your first sip of the whiskey, he was a true gentleman and kept it to himself.

“Is Jack Daniels really your name?” Taking him in with an incredulous look. Who the hell is named after a whiskey brand? Or who uses it as a fake name and then orders it at the bar? Sighing with a smile, he nods. “It was a name before a brand, sugar. Plus, now all my friends can call me Whiskey. You can too if you’d prefer.” He finishes with a wink.

Setting his glass down he doesn’t give you time to react beyond your surprised stare. “So. What’s a beauty like you doing all alone, stuck here talking to an old man like me?” You let out a laugh and look at him incredulously. Confirmation that he was older but you wouldn’t have thought to call him an old man. He’s really laying on the charm thick though. You can’t say you’re mad at it.

“I’m new to town.” You reply. “Figured after a week of unpacking and organizing I deserved a night out on.” He gives a grin. “I don’t know about the other fellas in this joint, but I for one love an independent woman.” Grinning you take another sip from your glass, the burn still there but less aggressive. “Well we all have to learn to be independent one way or another right?”

Humming in agreement he meets your eyes with a smile and doesn’t look away. Cheeks continuing to burn away, you give a smile back. This much undivided attention on you is new territory. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t reveling in it.

“So what do you do when you’re not out wooing the ladies at the bar? You a real cowboy?” You ask, giving him another once over. As a general piece of knowledge from living in a town with some farming areas you knew that genuine Stetsons and real leather boots didn’t come without a hefty price tag. And he certainly didn’t look cheap.

“I’m an agent for a secret independent intelligence agency.” He says this with no hesitation or humor in his voice. Simply a flat reply. You raise your brow at him and snort into your glass. “And now that you’ve told me you’ll have to kill me right?” Jack takes your joke in stride “I don’t think I would ever deny the world a beauty like yours by killing ya darlin”

He swirls his whiskey in his glass as you blush. “Really though I work on the board for Statesmen Distillery. We’re based in Kentucky.” You smile with a nod, taking another sip from your glass “Well that certainly explains- well just about everything about you. How’d you find yourself here then? Need a vacation?”

This line of questioning leads you and Jack chatting back and forth about nothing and everything. He asks about your family, the move, how you found yourself moving from your hometown all by your lonesome. He tells you about his job, the boring meetings, how he really enjoys spending time on his ranch, watching the sunset. (He pulls out his phone at one point, showing you a picture of a calf that you can’t help but coo at, directing baby noises at the phone in his hand. He seems endeared by this.)

You had always had a hard time talking to people you didn’t know, keeping to your same group of friends because of this reason. With Jack though you didn’t feel any lulls in the conversations, no awkward silences. You couldn’t remember the last time it had been so easy to have a conversation with someone.

As the two of you finish off your second round of whiskeys, a slow country song begins to play from the speakers. Most of the crowd looks confused at the shift in vibes from the DJ booth. The DJ in question points towards the corner where you and Jack have been sitting and winks; odd to pander to the one cowboy in the crowd. You’re not going to complain though, and it seems, neither is Jack. “Tennessee Whiskey. Just like my namesake.”

He hums in appreciation before he stands, holding a hand out to you. “Would you like to dance darlin?” You’ve never been much for slow dancing, but you knew you’d be kicking yourself with regret if you said no. You place your hand in his as he leads you out onto the dancefloor. The music swirls around the two of you and you feel your nerves spike, hoping your hands aren’t sweaty, that you don’t step on his feet and praying to whatever god is out there that you can keep the rhythm. But as he gently tugs you closer into his embrace you feel any apprehension disappearing you’re your mind.

You find yourself looking up at him, dark and beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. You take a risk and lean your head against his shoulder as you sway, taking in a deep inhale of his scent. It’s beautiful, not too strong. You can smell the whiskey on his breath and you wonder what cologne he uses. It’s something oaky and fresh and the combination is enough to intoxicate you even further.

“Sugar…” the pet name comes out as a whisper from above.“I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t ask if I could kiss ya right now.” You pull back looking up into those eyes that you could get lost in. He’s leaned in close to you now, his breath dancing across your lips. You part them to respond and you knew you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t say yes.

Wordlessly you nod and can’t help the sigh that escapes you as he tilts his head and his lips meet yours.

It’s not your first kiss, but you can count all the previous ones on a singular hand. He’s gentle, his hawkish nose that you’ve found yourself enamored with brushes softly against your cheek as your lips dance together. You hum in contentment, bringing your arms up and around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and it may sound juvenile but you hadn’t had much experience with tongue kissing. You part your lips anyways, following intuition, allowing his tongue access. The sensation is foreign but not unwelcome and you can’t help moaning, and his hold on your waist tightens as you’re pulled even closer against him. You spend a few moments in the middle of the dance floor in his embrace, tongues dancing together and thoroughly getting lost in him.

He pulls back for a moment and you’re thankful he made the decision because you hadn’t even noticed the fact that you still needed air. You cringe at the whimper you let out as your lips detach, you hate at how pathetic you sound, hate that you instinctually go to chase them. It doesn’t seem like Jack cares though, he’s gazing down at you, bringing up a hand to rest on the side of your face, a thumb coming to sweep across your bottom lip before swooping down for a second kiss. This one is much more brief. “How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” he murmurs against your lips.

You freeze up at his question knowing exactly what he’s asking. Your eyes going wide as you try to stammer out excuses that won’t reveal your true hesitation. This particular insecurity doesn’t come up a lot but you’re never sure how to breach the topic of your virginity whenever scenarios like this pop up.

Jack pulls back, a concerned look growing on his face at your muttering. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, doll. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to do anything other than sit around here all night. I’d enjoy any time spent with you.” His eyes met yours and they were so kind and soft and you felt your heart melt a little at his crooked smile. You had just met him but you made up your mind to tell him the truth so he wouldn’t walk away from the night feeling terrible.

You always make up something else and run before you can embarrass yourself further. Your younger years are supposed to be your “prime” and you know in your mind that it’s completely normal for you to still be a virgin. That being said you have always felt like it was some kind of barrier blocking you from ever truly being comfortable with romantic entanglements.

You sigh as another song picks up. You’re both still holding onto each other and swaying to the beat and you open your mouth to give this man some peace. “Jack I… listen you’re incredibly attractive and I love a cowboy, I really do. And you didn’t make me uncomfortable! I just-” you chew on your lip again, thinking if there was a better way to say this before deciding on just getting it over with so you can stop wasting his time.

“I’ve never…been with anyone like that before and I as much as I wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, I know a lot of people don’t want the virgin burden on them so I completely understand if you want to find someone else for the night so you’re not wasting your time.” It comes out rushed and in one breath, you’re avoiding his eyes not wanting to see the disappointment that might radiate from them. When you finally looked up, he was still staring at you with those gentle eyes, it was too much for you and you cast your eyes back down.

In an instant you found his hand gently holding your chin, lifting your gaze to meet him once more. “Hey. Look at me. You ain’t got anything to be embarrassed about darlin’. And you’re certainly not a waste of my time. Far from it. Ain’t nothing wrong with being inexperienced.” His eyes crinkle with a smile directed at you and you grin back feeling relief wash over you. This is honestly the best one of these conversations.

“Now listen,” he continues “if you just wanna dance and drink the night away, I’m thrilled to get to know you more.” You nod waiting for the ‘but’ you knew was coming. “But if this is something you want to try and I’m the fella you wanna try it with, well then-” He leans down, voice dropping and breath dancing along your ear “-daddy will take care of you.”

He studies you then, gauging your reaction at his phrasing. He knew it was a bold move but hoped that it would pay off. And lucky for both of you it does. Your eyes widen and you let out a short gasp as you bite at your bottom lip. The term he used sent a spark of arousal directly through you and in that moment you know that Jack is exactly who you need to come home with you tonight.

You give Jack a nod and he caresses your face with his large calloused hand. “I need to hear you say it, sugar.” And fuck it if that doesn’t get you feeling all warm inside. “Y-yeah” it comes out shaky not purely from nerves but also through the adrenaline you can feel coursing through your body. “Take me home Jack.” He practically beams at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips and tugging you back over to the bar so he can pay the tab. You didn’t walk in here expecting to leave with someone tonight but you’re the furthest thing from disappointed as the two of you rush out the doors.

--

You both make your way through the bar's exit and you find yourself standing in front of a vintage Ford Bronco, Whiskey holding the passenger door open for you. You smile and slide into the seat. “Such a gentleman. But you know, this isn’t the car I was expecting a fancy distillery man to own. But it does feel quite fitting.” You muse as he takes his own seat and starts the engine, the radio on low crackling to life. “It’s my pride and joy” he hums, gently patting the dash. “Anything could happen to me as long as my baby here is safe.”

You laugh at the man’s love for his car until the chuckle is cut off by Jack’s hand coming to rest on your leg. His touch is gentle, and he drags his palm up from your knee to your upper thigh and back down again. He glances at you from his periphery “This alright darlin?” You nod as he resumes his movements, tracing inscrutable patterns with his fingers whenever his hand pauses in its path.

You feel the telltale heat of arousal begin to pool in your stomach. You’re not unused to that. The new and exhilarating part of the scenario tonight is that you have someone else to take care of it. Someone other than your hands and your well-used vibrator. You’re thankful that the drive back from the bar to your apartment is short. If it was any longer than the ten minutes it took you might actually explode.

Jack pulls up and you direct him to park in the spot next to your own car. One that looks far worse than you usually find it when compared to the well taken care of Bronco next to it. Jack, continuing to be the gentleman he’s been all night, opens your door for you once more, grabbing your hand as you sling your purse over your shoulder and make your way towards the front door. The elevator ride up to the 5th floor is rife with palpable tension and you almost melt at the gentle circles Jack makes with his thumb on the back of your hand as it sits entwined with his.

The moment the two of you cross the threshold of your doorway you expect everything to begin at once, all passion and clashing lips. You find yourself surprised when you’re not immediately pressed against the door and ravaged like in the movies, and you see Jack take in your living room.

Luckily everything had gotten sorted in your first week and the only thing to indicate a new occupant were the stack of boxes in the corner that you needed to take to the recycling bin behind the building.

His eyes trail along your bookshelf, scanning the titles bookended by little trinkets and tiny figurines you had gathered from gifts and mall vending machines. He admires the paintings on your wall, all excellent purchases from the local Goodwill you thought.

You shift from foot to foot not entirely knowing how to start things off. This is your first time and Jack is the one showing you the ropes so you hover next to your couch as he finishes his scan of the room, turning to you with a soft smile. “You’ve made this place feel homey already, sugar. I love it.” You beam back at him happy to explain your interior design choices but in a moment he’s taking two large strides in your direction. “Now, mind if we pick up where we left off in the bar?” He brushes his knuckles gently across your cheek as he waits for your response and in an instant you’re already reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck once more.

It’s cliché and you know it but when his lips connect with yours once more you feel fireworks. An explosion of arousal deep in the pit of your stomach as you grant his tongue entrance. The kiss isn’t rough but it is passionate. You had always had the inkling that you would find a tongue in your mouth invasive and gross and you are thrilled to learn that isn’t true. Or maybe it’s just because of the man you’re with. Jack seems like the type of guy who can make anything feel good and you can’t wait to see what he has to offer you.

Detaching his lips from yours you find yourself unintentionally pouting. He laughs at his before leaning down to latch his lips onto your neck and the pout disappears as a moan rips through your body as he begins to suck and bite up your neck. Jack is savoring every moment he spends kissing you, you can feel the restraint lurking behind every kiss. You can feel your legs turn into jelly and you’re grateful for the hands around your waist and the couch back behind you for all the support you certainly need right now.

As Jack soothes a bite with his tongue he moves his hands from your waist and places them under your ass instead. He tugs you forward, your balance unstable without the couch behind you. You feel his muscles get to work and suddenly you’re off the ground letting out a startled gasp. “Don’t worry, sugar. Daddy’s got ya.” Instinct kicks in and you’re wrapping your legs around his middle, groaning at the contact between your clothed core and his waist. You hadn’t realized how desperate you were for some friction until now and it hits you like a freight train. Dropping your head against Jack’s shoulder you hear his laugh from above you. “Hmm, someone’s impatient ain’t she?”

Lightheadedness consumes you, astonishment at his strength combined with his teasing giving you an incredible heady feeling. “Jack please…” you rub circles into the nape of his neck and you feel his breath huff into your hair as he groans in response to your begging.

Wasting no time he carries you to your bedroom and gently sets you down on the bed. He stands above you as you stare up with wide eyes. He kneels in front of you at the edge of your bed and reaches a hand up to begin to slip the flannel from your shoulders. The gentle touch of his hands sends a shiver up your spine, even through the layer of clothing.

Soon your shirt is off and he’s tracing lazy patterns on the swell of your breasts. He gently palms your boobs through the lacy fabric of your bra and drags a thumb across the raised material where your nipples are hardening underneath. You’re not sure how much longer you can handle the touches, gentle and tantalizing and just enough to leave you wanting more. You move your arms up and back to unclasp your bra, throwing off the side of the bed to be dealt with in the morning.

Jack’s eyes are trained on your breasts now, even more so than before. There’s a hunger there, a desire that you’re not used to seeing directed at you. He leans forward and cups one breast with his hand and secures his mouth over your peaked nipple. You groan in pleasure and press your chest further into him, despite there being not much more space to fill.

He drags his tongue across your nipple before sucking, repeating the process every few seconds. You’re pleasantly shocked at the little nibbles that are peppered across your chest once he’s had his fill of licking. You move your hand down to gently grip at the back of his head, pressing him closer. “Daddy please, keep doing that it’s so good!” He eases his mouth off, a pleased smile on his face. “Anything you want sweetness.” And promptly moves to the opposite breast, continuing his work.

Soon you’re left panting and hungry for his same talented touch in a much more sensitive place. You tell him as much through panting breaths and he wastes no time to start shimmying your pants and underwear off with your help. He stands for a moment, beginning to remove his own clothes, a pile of his country wear being left in the corner of your room. You admire his broad shoulders, the hair on his chest, slim waist with just a hint of a belly that you’d love to kiss. You follow his happy trail down eyeing the prominent bulge in his jeans begging to be freed.

As you lay on the bed spread before him, you’re overcome with the urge to curl up into a ball to cover yourself. You wouldn’t say that you’re unhappy with your body. You love your curves and your tummy. No you’re not insecure…not entirely.

Jack is a handsome man and you’re lying here wondering if this is what he wants to see. You curse yourself for letting your insecurities try and ruin your night with this handsome man who clearly wants what you want. You fold inwards on yourself only slightly, bringing your legs closed and positioning yourself more on your side than on your back.

Jack finally back at you from where he’s been stripping and glances over at you with a furrowed brow, noticing the change in position. “Sweetness what’s wrong? We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.” You shake your head so quickly that you almost make yourself lightheaded. “It’s not that. I just-” you pause trying to think of the right way to explain yourself without sounding incredibly pathetic.

But it seems like Jack can read your mind. Before you can even continue to draft your thoughts, his brow straightens and an incredibly soft look crosses his features. He stands from his spot and kneels in front of you on the bed. “Doll, you are one of the most gorgeous creatures I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. I just wanna make you feel good. Will you let Daddy take care of you?”

You can feel the heat bloom in your body and you nod as you release a shaky breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jack smirks at your reaction, pleased that you’re less in your head.

He stands and holds you by your hip, urging you to rotate onto your back. Once you’ve done so, he grabs your ankles pulling them apart and down so your legs are dangling off the bed. He kneels on the ground in front of you once more and you see that his eyes are dark with lust. You feel dizzy, knowing that you’re the one having this effect on him. He lifts one leg over his shoulder, and then the other; finishing by sliding his hands under your ass and tugging you closer.

Any potential embarrassment is immediately banished from your mind as you feel his breath against your wetness. He wastes no time, flattening his tongue and licking a broad strip up from your slit to your clit. Your eyes widen at the sensation and you let out a loud gasp as he does it a second time. His tongue licks at your folds before his lips settle on your clit.

Immediately, as if they had a mind of their own, your hips try to buck into his mouth. Desperate for more pleasure, more of that tongue on you. You feel Jack grin against you and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep them still. “Woah now sugar, calm down.” He’s only removed his mouth a few inches, the hot breath teasing you with its closeness makes you want to writhe on the bed. Jack must feel the tension in your hips because he chuckles. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna give you what you need.”

His mouth is on you again, alternating between swirling patterns on your clit and filling you with his tongue. The noises coming from his mouth as he works you closer to pleasure are filthy and you’re about to comment when he pulls back for a moment. You let out a ragged breath and sit up a bit, wondering why he stopped. He takes a thick finger and drags it up through the combined wetness of you and his spit. It teases near your opening and you groan as your want for more sparks once again.

He chuckles at your expression. It’s not a mocking one, you can tell with the way he’s looking at you, the softness in his eyes like he’s the lucky one for sharing this with you. He’s not away from you long. That same finger is entering you now and nothing has ever felt this good. You didn’t realize how different it would feel with fingers that weren’t your own. Yours always felt too methodical, his felt magical.

“You’re sweeter than honey. Did ya know that?” you’re glad you managed to open your eyes as you look down at him popping that same finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. You know you must look ridiculous, your eyes blown wide with lust and jaw hanging slack and open in shock.

You feel yourself clench tightly as Jack moves to slide a second finger in. His free hand reaches up to hold your hip, his thumb moving in calming circles along the skin there. “You gotta relax sugar.” He moves his head back to your clit, speaking directly into you. “I want ya to feel good. Just relax.”

You do your best to follow his instructions, taking a breath and focusing on his hand on your hip and his mouth on your most sensitive area. Feeling your muscles relax, Jack grins into you. “That’s a good girl.” And the praise makes you shudder. He moves a second finger through your folds gathering the pooling slick and slides them into your entrance. You can feel his fingers thrusting inside you, taking breaks to scissor outwards stretching you out in the most delicious way. The fingers curl, finding a spot you’ve never managed to find in your years of exploring your own body.

You throw your head back against the covers as you let out a wanton moan, eyes clenched shut in pleasure as he continues to stroke that sweet spot. You’re so lost that you don’t take notice of a third finger slipping in as he picks up the pace. You’re panting now, breath coming out rapid and hot as your chest heaves with the labor of trying to keep some semblance of calm as the man between your legs wrecks you. Between his fingers thrusting into you and his lips sucking at your clit you can feel your orgasm rushing up on you like a speeding train. You reach a hand down, hoping Jack doesn’t mind as you grab onto his hair letting out a breathless “Jack I’m gonna-” you can feel him nod slightly, groaning at the pressure of your fingers gripping onto his hair and the vibrations finally do you in.

You feel yourself clenching again, this time due to the amount of pleasure running through your body and your legs close gently around Jack who works you through your orgasam, only letting his fingers slide from you once you go limp against the sheets. He gives you another broad lick for good measure and you whimper from the overstimulation, not being able to form words yet.

He rises from his kneeling position and crawls onto the bed, one knee between yours, the other bracketing your leg. You stare up at him with glossy eyes, tracing over his slick mustache and chin. Reaching up, you circle your arms around his neck and bring him down for a kiss, slow and passionate and you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, sweet and tangy, on his tongue. “You ready for more sugar? We can stop here if you need you.”

You know it’s the bare minimum, really, but you can’t help but be moved by the constant check-ins from Jack. It means a lot to you that he’s looking out for you every step of the way.

Not much for words for fear of getting to emotional, you reach over to your bedside table and pull the drawer open, fishing out a bottle of lube and a condom. You hand both to Jack and correctly reads this as an answer to his question. Looking down, he raises a brow in amusement. “A pink condom huh? That’s new.” Biting down on your tongue to hold back a laugh, you shrug under him. “They were free at the last pride I went to. Gotta stick with the thematic rainbow colors right?” He laughs with you ripping the foil open and rolling the condom onto his cock and you’re glad the two of you can laugh in the moment.

“Now sweetness, I’m gonna need you to relax again, alright? Daddy prepared you with his fingers but as you can see sugar, his cock is much bigger.”

Your eyes trail down his body and he was right. His cock was much bigger than his fingers and much bigger than the dildo you had made yourself comfortable with. But Jack has been patient and gentle all night and you’d be lying to yourself if the thought of him inside of you didn’t set a fire coursing through you.

His words sent heat right through you down to your core, you might have been overeager but his tone had you spreading your legs for him with a wink, a bold feeling suddenly overcoming you since your first orgasm. “I’ll relax daddy. I’ll be good.” His smile is blinding as he grabs one of your pillows and helps you settle it under you, lifting your legs to bracket his own hips.

He notches his cock at your entrance and your breath catches in your throat. He was right, it’s much different than his fingers. More filling, more intense, but just as pleasurable. The pain and pleasure intertwine and set your nerves alight. He inches in slowly, giving your body time to adjust to his size, the entire time he’s praising you, pressing kisses to your face, neck, and chest. “That’s a good girl. Taking me so well. That’s it sugar, keep breathing. You look gorgeous under me like this.”

His praise pulls you into his orbit further. Sooner than you expected you feel his hips make contact with your ass and you realize with a moan that he’s fully in you now. He remains still and bent over you, kissing you deeply, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stillness is agonizing, you need him to move and move now.

“Daddy!” you whimper, and you’d be embarrassed at the tone of your voice if you hadn’t felt him twitch inside of you. “Please move! Please, I'm ready for you to move.” He groans into your neck and obliges. He moves back, pulling out at a torturously slow pace and you feel his cock drag along your walls letting out a breathy moan. He pushes back in slowly too, continuing with this pace until you’re pulling at his hair again, whimpering and begging him to go faster.

“Alright darlin, you let me know if we need to stop now.” You eyes are trained on him as you nod, internally mesmerized at how much care he’s been taking tonight. You can’t say one way or another but you think it’d be hard to find someone to come into a bar hookup with this much gentleness.

“You’d be wonderful to tease darlin. You know that? I could listen to those noises all night, keeping you on edge. You think you’re begging now?” You clench at his words knowing that you were at his mercy, that at this point you’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as he kept cooing praise in your ear. “But tonight is about you, no teasin. Your wish is my command sugar.” He picks up pace and you can’t believe what you had been missing.

Your legs lock around his back bringing him in closer and you find yourself holding on, arms linked around his neck as he takes you on a ride.

What started off as a careful pace on Jack’s end, wound up pushing you to your limits. You didn’t think it would feel this good your first time. Maybe that’s what had kept you away for so long. But any fears had no place here as Jack rocked into you picking up speed with each thrust.

With one hand on your hip holding you steady, Jack leans down to start sucking a mark on your neck, pulling back to admire his handiwork in the form of a red mark that he knows will last a few days. In response your hands in his hair tighten their grip as you both let out simultaneous moans.

“Such a good girl for me.” Jack’s grunting into your neck at this point, his breath coming out hot and heavy, fanning across your skin. “Making me feel so good.” His thrusts are getting erratic now, losing rhythm. His hand dances across your skin, skimming across your chest before finding its way between your legs, thumb working small and quick circles on your bundle of nerves.

“You got another one in ya don’tcha sugar? I wanna see your face when daddy makes you cum.” You’re past words at this point only able to nod your head and moan in response.

With a few more powerful thrusts in tandem with the pressure on your clit you’re coming around Jack’s cock, head thrown back against the pillows with eyes rolling back in pleasure chanting his name.

Jack groans at the tightness around him and the expression on your face. He fucks you through your orgasm, removing his hand from your clit as he grips tightly onto your hips.

When Jack finishes, its with a shaky breath and a drawn out moan right next to your ear. And though you were on the verge of overstimulation so close to your last orgasm, the sound sent another pang of arousal through your body. You were definitely gonna store that away for later.

The two of you remain entangled for a bit. He’s softening inside of you as he gently peppers kisses to your forehead, nose and cheeks. You’re thoroughly exhausted, reveling in the attention and when he dips down you find yourself nuzzling into the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You worry for a moment that it’s too intimate for a bar hookup but immediately chase that thought off with a deep inhale, taking in the smell of sweat and sex and remnants of his cologne. It’s intoxicating.

Eventually he must tire of holding his body up so as to not crush you and he slides out of you slowly. You have to admit that you miss the fullness and only pout slightly as he stands from the bed, making his way into the bathroom.

When he returns the condom is gone and he has a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels on the bed and begins gently wiping away the sweat on your brow, trailing the warm rag down your chest and between your legs. You can’t help but hum in contentment, not having expected this level of care after a one night stand. He balls up the rag and tosses it with expert aim back into the bathroom and you couldn’t care less where it lands. All you want is him back in your bed and pressed against you.

Words aren’t needed. Jack seems to read your mind and smiles down at you before crawling into bed behind you. You inch your body closer to his until you find his arms wrapping around your middle, tugging you close and eliminating the gap.

“Thanks for that Jack….that was-” you pause trying to find your words. “-that was fucking phenomenal.” You feel a huff of laughter against the back of your neck before feeling him shift positions allowing him to press another kiss to your temple. “I aim to please darlin.”

You close your eyes briefly before a pang of anxiety worms its way into your mind. “Will you still be here in the morning?” The question is quiet, whispered. Half of you wanting an answer and the other half hoping he didn’t hear as to not reveal yourself to be as vulnerable as you feel.

“Course I will sugar. I reckon–if you’re amiable–that there’s a few more things I can show ya.”

You’re giddy at the thought and can’t help but giggle. “I’d love that.”

You’re not sure where this thing between you two will go, but even if you only have him for one night, you know that it’s an experience you’re never going to forget.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey fanfic #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fanfic #how do tags work #can anyone tell i dont know what i'm doing and i Have Not Learned #dfhsdfh #one day i will apologize for this incredibly self indulgent personal fantasy fic #today is not the day #i haven't like actually re-read my own work but i am Going Through It right now and it actually made me feel better #:') #my writing

[synvamp]

What You Do To Me - Part 1

Fair Game Week 2020: Day 5 - Hurt / Comfort

TW: relapse.

Qrow has a fight with Jimmy and goes back to his old ways… but this time there is a hand held out to lift him up and warm arms to hide in until the pain finally fades.

Addiction, relapse, truth… and hope. A ballad in two parts.

Part 2 is HERE

For @shitluckebi hurt / comfort. I’m hella nervous. Thanks for all your encouragement... Here we go!

Rating: M

---xxx---

 “Ruby?” Clover put the scroll to his ear, “What’s happened?” he sat up in bed.

 She didn’t waste time with small talk. It wasn’t a good sign, “It’s Uncle Qrow… he’s gone. He always comes back by ten but it’s… really late. We think he might have… gone to a bar…”

 Shit.

 “Ah, yes, ok. I’m getting up right now. Do you think he’s down in Mantle?”

 “Yeah, that’s where he goes to… walk. I’m… sorry to ask you but he’d be so mad if I told Winter or…”

 “Yes, of course, it’s fine. I’ll go right away ok? I’ll let you know as soon as I find him.”

“Thank you,” her voice sounded so small at the other end of the line. She was always the one to lead and guide, forced to be old beyond her years. At least this was one burden he could carry for her.

 Clover threw the covers off and grabbed some clothes; jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, hoodie… he pocketed the scroll and looked at Kingfisher. He can’t be in that much trouble? Surely?

No, this is QROW.

 He picked up the weapon, threw open his door and headed off into the night.

 He walked for about an hour, sticking his head into this bar and that. He didn’t stay long enough to ask if anyone had seen a gorgeous, wiry huntsman with perfect hair… there were only so many bars even licensed to be open this late and he was going to check every single one.

 The night kept getting colder and colder. Clover started to seriously worry. The longer Qrow had been away from alcohol, the lower his tolerance would be. If he drank like he used to and went out into the snow…

 He raced down street after street, checking every door way. Every alley.

 He’d nearly run out of names on the mental list he still carried from his patrolling days, when a deep gravelly voice cut through the icy air.

 “Well looky here, if it isn’t Atlas’s finest.”

 Clover slowly turned.

 At least he’s upright. Kind of.

 Qrow was leaning against a lamppost very shakily; his eyes bleary. One hand clutched a bottle; a large bottle that was only one third full.

 “Hello Qrow, fancy finding you here. You enjoying the Mantle night life?”

 “It’s shit,” Qrow waved his bottle for punctuation, brown liquid sloshing.

 “Well… that’s a shame I guess. How about we get you out of the cold?” Clover glanced at his scroll and pressed send on the message he had hopefully pre-typed for Ruby: Found him, he’s fine. I’ll take care of him tonight.

 “I’m not cold,” Qrow said, using his drink to toast the sky, “I don’t even feel it. That’s the point,” he grinned. It made Clover angry and sad in a way he hadn’t expected.

 I know it hurts but you can’t keep just killing yourself slowly... the kids need you… and I…

…have no right to put my needs on someone who is hurting this much.

 Come on, Clover.

Do better.

 “You want to head home? Seems like you’ve got enough there to keep you going,” Clover gestured to the bottle and tried to smile.

 “This? I haven’t even gotten started,” Qrow slipped off the lamppost, flailed a little then regained his feet.

 Think!

 “Maybe I could have a swig? It’s nicer to drink if you have company,” he looked at Qrow, his eyes pleading.

 “That’s where you’re wrong. Company is exactly what I don’t need. Now go away. You’re harshing my buzz,” Qrow made eye contact and then, slowly and deliberately, he lifted the bottle to his lips and gulped half of what was left.

 “Qrow…” Clover’s chest hurt like he’d been hit, “Come on… at least sit with me. I’ve come all this way just to see you. You wouldn’t leave a man hanging like that would you?”

 “Leave you… hanging? You!? Ha!” Qrow barked, his eyes flashing, “You’re the one who leaves people hanging! You’re all winky and tight pants but you don’t even follow through!”

 Clover had a lot of thoughts all at once but none of them were helpful.

 “I didn’t mean to do that, Qrow.”

 “That’s what I’m saying! You don’t even know what you do to me!” Qrow kicked the snow, nearly losing his footing again.

 Clover just stood, blinking. What you do to me…

 Oh, Qrow…

 Qrow waved his bottle and continued, “Why’d you even come down here anyway? Just wanted to see me… like this? Want to tell all your little Ace Ops friends what a fucking mess I am!? I’m sure Jimmy would love to know that he’s upset the great Qrow Branwen soooo much! Man lives to make fucking waves after all…”

 So that’s what this is about…

General Ironwood.

 It wasn’t surprising. Clover used to admire the General so much… he still trusted the man with his life but he seemed to be going too far down a dark path. What Qrow had gone through for the General… what he had suffered… He probably expected to be welcomed by a great man with a great plan… a leader at the height of his powers. But when Oz died, a big part of the General went too.

 It had been hard on all of them but Qrow… he’s suffered alone for too long.

 “Qrow… Qrow… I didn’t come because of the General…”

 “Yeah, yeah… you probably even believe that but he gets in your head. He makes you believe that what you’re doing is right but it’s not right! He’s a megalo… megala… he’s an asshole!”

 “Yeah he is,” Clover sighed, looking at his shoes.

 “What!?” Qrow growled as he slowly slid down the pole and sat heavily in the snow.

 “He’s an asshole. Sometimes,” Clover conceded.

 “He’s an asshole all of the damn time!”

 Clover approached slowly, feeling the rage in the air start to dissipate. Finally he was standing above the crumpled figure. One of the greatest huntsman in Remnant and his only weakness was that he cared too much. It was just so… unfair.

 Clover shook his head and sat his ass down in the snow. He reached out his hand, “Come on, give me a drink. I’m fucking freezing over here.”

 “I didn’t know you even knew that word,” Qrow looked at him unsteadily.

 “There’s a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

 Qrow scoffed, but he passed Clover the bottle.

 Well, I have no idea what this is but… bottoms up I guess.

 Clover took a big swig and burst into a coughing fit, spraying cheap scotch on the sidewalk.

 “What the hell Qrow!? How can you drink this?”

 “Lots and lots of practice,” Qrow sighed.

 Clover took another big hit and got it down this time. Every drop I drink is one he doesn’t.

 “You be careful…” Qrow looked at him with eyes full of haggard suffering, “This shit’ll kill you.”

 “I know.”

 The heavy silence engulfed them. The heat in Clover’s stomach just made the ache in his chest more obvious. Every time he looked at Qrow it just hurt.

 “So what now?” Qrow asked, taking the bottle back and clutching it to his chest.

 The red eyes looked at him, willing him to act… What do you want from me Qrow? I would do anything… Come on, Clover… “Would you… come back to my place maybe?”

 “Your place?” Qrow’s eyes narrowed. Not what he was waiting for, then.

 “I… left my tight pants at home because I thought I’d have to arrest you,” Clover joked, awkward.

 “Arrest me!?” Qrow laughed a mocking, loud and guttural laugh, “You and what army, Hot Stuff?”

 “It only took cuffs last time,” Clover tried a tentative smile.

 “You had the pants on last time,” Qrow looked at him, his unfocused eyes sliding over Clover’s face, his lips.

 “I didn’t know they were such a hit.”

 “Yes you did,” Qrow’s eyes cleared and just for a moment, Clover felt like he was really looking at him. Seeing genuine hurt and rage. “You’re a fucking show off.”

 Clover swallowed around the knot in his throat, “I guess I… did know. I’m sorry I never did anything about it. I’m gutless when it comes to men.”

 “Gutless? You got no taste! Who could say no to aaaallll this?!” Qrow gestured at his crumpled form, wet with dirty snow and spilled cheap booze.

 Clover shook his head. Even in the depths of his depression, Qrow could still manage a self-deprecating joke. It was the armour that kept the world at arm’s length. Such a habit that it was natural as breathing.

 Qrow’s words struck home but not how he’d intended them.

 I’ve never seen a man so strong and so broken. Burning with a fire of self-destruction but still spending every breath on those he loves… hiding his doubt. Hiding his fear. So that no one else will have to bear it.

No wonder Ruby is so selfless… so strong.

Who could say no to all this?

 Clover smiled, a sad and wistful smile, “I am struggling to restrain myself.”

 “If it’s so fucking hard to hold yourself back then why would you? I could sure as hell use a distraction right about now,” Qrow sighed heavily. He lifted the bottle and tipped it up, his throat opened and he emptied the last of it in a single gulp.

 “Qrow…” Clover felt the cold wind freeze the tears as they formed.

 “No, don’t say it. I know. I’m a fucking mess. Should’ve kept my damn mouth shut but I guess I must just hate myself that much.”

 Something deep inside Clover just snapped. He grabbed a fistful of Qrow’s waistcoat and yanked the man towards him. He pressed his lips to that scotch covered and stubbled face and focussed on kissing the pain away.

 Please Qrow… know how much I care about you. Let this tell you what I can’t say.

 Qrow returned the kiss; eager, desperate… then he suddenly broke away and lunged forwards, past Clover, onto his hands and knees, and threw up in the snow.

 Clover put his head into his hands and grinned.

 Out of everything that had happened tonight, this was the only thing that seemed right for them.

Typical Qrow.

 My beautiful bad luck charm.

 “Oh fucking hell, that is not nice,” Qrow huffed.

 Clover moved tactfully away as he finished emptying his stomach.

 Finally the cramping and groaning was over and Qrow sat back against his sturdy lamppost companion and sighed, “Thank you and goodnight.”

 “You going to let me take you home now?” “You want this,” he gestured to himself in all his drunken glory, “in your room? You sick fuck.”

 “I want you out of the cold and also, if I don’t have someone to hug then I may freeze to death so… your choice.”

Qrow looked at him, finally he seemed to decide. “I don’t think I can walk very good.”

 “I can help.”

 “You carry me and I will puke on you. With intent,” Qrow grumbled.

“Ok tiger, I’ll just…” Clover bent over and draped one of Qrow’s arms over his shoulders then he straightened up and lifted the other man to his feet. This way they could stumble along together without offending Qrow’s dignity any further.

 Slowly, with cold, wet hips bumping along, they wended their way back to the hanger and found a transport willing to take them to Atlas. By the time they got back to Clover’s room, Qrow was all but asleep.

 “Here we are…” Clover set Qrow down on the couch gently, “I’m just going to take your wet things off so you don’t get a chill, ok? Don’t panic.”

 “Imma not gonna panic I told you I want you bad…” Qrow muttered, eyelids fluttering to closed.

 Clover smiled and shook his head. Why now?

 “Well, you might have to wait until morning. But I promise that I’ll be here, ok? You can sleep in my bed… with me… keep me warm, ok?”

 “I’ll do more than ke… keep you warm…”

 Clover laughed, “Sure. Come on then…” he slowly peeled the wet clothes from Qrow’s shivering body. He left his underpants on, of course, despite them being wet from the snow. By the time he had finished the man was completely asleep, the gentle rasping in the back of his throat threatening to build into a snore.

 Oh Qrow… at least I have you here.

Clover slowly changed out of his own wet things and then carried Qrow to bed. He was shivering pretty hard now and it made him seem even slighter, more vulnerable.

 He would hate that I saw this…

I’m sorry Qrow. I just couldn’t leave you there.

 He placed Qrow tenderly in bed and lay down next to him. Am I allowed to hug him? Can a drunk person give hug consent? Of course not. Not bed hug consent.

Anyway, you kissed him. You’ve done enough for one night…

 Qrow groaned in his sleep and rolled over, his arm flailing. One hand landed on Clover’s chest and then the whole of Qrow followed it. Suddenly Clover was completely wrapped in freezing long, long legs with cold fingers clinging tightly to his chest. Qrow “hmpfhed” and nuzzled his face into Clover’s neck and his breathing immediately got deeper, more even.

 Well… I guess that’s that then.

 As he lay in the dark, surrounded by the smell of wet hair and whiskey, Clover smiled.

 Not the first date that I would have chosen but… I’ll take it.

 He swept one strong arm around Qrow’s waist and just held him against the world.

 No matter what, Qrow, I’m here.

 I’m here.

 ---xxx---

Part 2 is HERE

#fair game #fairgameweek2020 #fanfiction

[verus-veritas]

Senior Picture

By Cris Kane

Shawn had looks. He had a killer body. He had mad skills on the football field.

What he didn’t have was a lot of money.

So while other members of his class were hiring top-notch photographers to take their senior pictures, Shawn had to search for whoever could do it cheap. Around here, the cheapest shutterbug was “Navajo Joe”.

That’s what all the kids had been calling the short, skinny Native American kid from tenth grade since he and his family moved to town a few years back. Navajo Joe’s real first name was indeed Joseph, although no one knew if he was a Navajo or even bothered to ask what his background was. In general, he was just ignored, although behind his back, many of the jocks referred to him as “Nava-homo”. Not only was he small, thin and frail, sometimes staying out of school for weeks at a time for unspecified illnesses, but raised suspicions by excelling at anything artistic. While he never did anything overtly gay (besides being artistic), he did show up with his still camera at nearly every sporting event held at the high school and he seemed to focus his camera most intensely on the handsomest, hunkiest boys. At every football and basketball game, every swim or track meet, every wrestling match, Joseph could be found, hovering on the periphery, zooming in for the best angles. He used a vintage camera that still took photos on actual film and, after he developed the pictures, he would bring them in to the school newspaper for publication.

Shawn didn’t know much about art – or about much of anything besides football, to be honest – but he did know that, whenever his photo showed up in the school paper credited to Joseph, Shawn looked really cool in it. Not that any photographer could mess up terribly when taking a picture of the well-built senior with his shaggy brown hair, intense eyes, boyish upturned nose, firm lips and strong chin. But Joseph seemed to have a knack for snapping his shutter when Shawn was at peak awesomeness. Shawn’s girlfriend Madison had started keeping a scrapbook of all the photos of Shawn that appeared in the paper, so she could feast her eyes on Shawn during those rare waking moments when she let him out of her sight. Her favorite was probably one of Shawn at quarterback during the homecoming game, his facial features in perfect profile against the stadium lights, his right arm cocked back to throw, revealing just how pumped Shawn’s biceps were. Further down, Shawn’s spandex football pants embraced the bulging curves of his glutes and did nothing to hide the generous endowment lurking behind the laces on the front.

Madison was the one who urged Shawn last week to ask Joseph’s services for his senior portrait. When Joseph returned from one of his frequent absences on Monday, Shawn tracked him down in the hallway between classes. At first, Joseph acted afraid he was going to get beaten up when he saw Shawn walking quickly toward him in the hallway. Shawn grabbed Joseph by the arm so tightly that the skin indented and turned white, not returning to its natural cinnamon brown shade for a full minute after Shawn let him go.

“What do you want?”, Joseph mumbled, casting his worried gray eyes up at Shawn.

“Chill, Nava…Joe.” Shawn grinned disarmingly, but Joseph looked suspicious. “I just wanted to say I liked the pictures of me you’ve been taking for the school paper.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” Joseph indicated relief that a jock was actually being civil to him, but he still stood with his limbs tense, ready to bolt if necessary.

“My girlfriend loves the pictures too, and she was wondering…well, I was wondering too…if you’d be willing to take my senior picture for the yearbook.”

Joseph’s body relaxed and he smiled with relief. “Why, sure, I’d be happy to.”

“I can’t afford to pay you much. Both of my folks are out of work right now, and I don’t have much saved up, but…”

Joseph waved off his apologies. “I’ll do it for free. It’d be a great opportunity.”

Shawn’s grin widened, revealing a movie-star smile. “For serious? Awesome! When?”

Joseph started to get excited. “How about after school today?”

Shawn shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I got football practice.”

“We can do it after practice is over. We can go out by my house. There’s some great scenery we could use as a backdrop.”

Joseph’s extreme eagerness was starting to give Shawn second-thoughts. He looked down at what he was wearing: a long-sleeved plaid shirt with jeans and work boots. “I’m not sure I’m dressed right for photos today.”

“Are you kidding? You look fabulous!” Inside his head, Joseph was kicking the shit out of himself. Fabulous? He never said that word, but suddenly it fell out of his mouth as soon as he found himself talking to the school’s number-one stud. He knew the jocks’ secret nickname for him, and knew how accurate it was, but he didn’t want to blow this chance by acting like a cliche. He backpedaled. “What I mean is, you don’t want to be in the yearbook looking like some douchebag in a suit and a tie with your hair all fussed over. You want to look normal. You want to look the way you really look. Like you do right now.”

Shawn couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t want to look like some pretty-boy model posed in a studio. “You promise I’ll look bad-ass?”

“How could you not?” How could you not??? Way to go, Joseph, you’re sounding less and less like a regular guy the more you blather on. Just shut up before it gets any worse. “So, after practice tonight?”

“After practice tonight.”

---

Not wanting to be taunted by the jocks, Joseph didn’t hang around the football field or the locker room, but waited in the parking lot until Shawn was done with practice. When Shawn finally emerged, his hair was tousled, his shirt untucked, its top two buttons undone. As Shawn unlocked his rusty 4x4, he asked Joseph, “I don’t know the way, so I guess I’ll need to follow you.”

Joseph looked sheepish. “I don’t have a car. I take the bus.”

Shawn had forgotten how young Joseph was. He unlocked the passenger door and said, “Okay, hop in.”

Shawn swung by his house to grab a few cans of Bud from his dad’s mini-fridge in the unfinished basement. He offered one to Joseph, who politely declined. Shawn chugged two beers as the truck bounced along the dusty backroad that led to Joseph’s place. Shawn had hoped the beer would loosen him up, since he was self-conscious about the idea of posing for pictures, particularly for someone who was probably a fag. Not that he had a problem with gay people. At least not as much as some of the other jocks. Hey, maybe fags take the best pictures because they like what they’re seeing, Shawn thought. Although if that was the case, then Madison should be able to take the best pictures in the world, because she couldn’t keep her eyes or her hands off Shawn whenever they were together.

Shawn liked Madison a whole lot. With her wavy blond hair, big green eyes and porn-actress lips, she was definitely the hottest of the cheerleaders, and she worked just as hard to keep in good shape as Shawn did. She wore her cheerleading sweater to school as many days as possible because she knew just how spectacular it made her boobs look, and it never failed to get him hard when she would leap in the air and her skirt would fly up to reveal her panties and her great ass. It was true she could get clingy sometimes. For the past couple of weeks, it was like she wanted to be with him 24 hours a day. Fortunately she had mellowed out in the last day or two. Musta been her period or something. But mostly, he was happy to be her boyfriend and he knew how jealous the rest of his teammates were that he was the guy who Madison pursued.

They finally reached the top of the hill, where Joseph said meekly, “This is my place. It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but the outside keeps you from seeing how bad it looks inside.” Poor as his family was, Shawn suddenly felt like a millionaire compared to anyone who had to live in a dump like this. It had a sagging roof, a ramshackle porch, windows repaired with duct tape and a front yard consisting of dirt and rusty car parts.

A haunted scarecrow of a man with long white hair and the skin of a brown elephant opened the squeaky screen door and stepped onto the dilapidated porch. He eyed the strange truck with suspicion until Joseph leapt out of the passenger door and shouted, “It’s okay, this is a friend of mine from school.” Joseph smiled over at Shawn. “That’s my father. He’s scary at first, but when you get to know him…he’s terrifying.” Shawn had no doubt. “I’m gonna run in and get my camera. Be back in a minute.”

Joseph dashed swiftly across the pitiful “lawn” and into the house. Shawn was impressed by Joseph’s speed, especially for someone who’d just been so sick he couldn’t go to school. Maybe he should encourage the kid to join the track team next spring. Clearly he needed something positive in his life, and if Shawn vouched for Joseph, he was sure he could get the other jocks to lay off on the razzing and the mean jokes.

Shawn waved to Joseph’s father and called out, “How you doing today?” The old man merely stared, coolly appraising the young man and his truck. As a wind swept through, creating a cloud of dirt between them, Joseph stepped back outside carrying his camera and a tripod.

He sprinted over to the truck and told Shawn to follow him. “Bring your football.” Shawn jogged back to the truck and grabbed a ball from the cab, then cast a look back at Joseph’s father, who remained stern and unhappy.

Joseph scrambled easily up steep paths, increasing Shawn’s admiration for the wiry kid’s athleticism. He had assumed Joseph was just a wimpy art geek, but get this kid in a weight room and give him a year or two to grow, he might even be football material.

When they reached the top of the hill, Shawn was amazed by the natural beauty of the valley around them. “Shit, it’s awesome up here.”

“Yeah, I like to come up here and stare at the horizon and think about my future. The sunsets up here are spectac…they’re awesome.”

“I bet. So what should I do?”

Joseph pointed Shawn toward a rock outcropping near the edge of a cliff. “Stand over there. I can get all the hills and the trees behind you.”

Shawn set down the football, walked over and stood stiffly, facing directly at Joseph, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. Joseph placed the camera on a tripod and looked through the eyepiece, then frowned. “No, I need you to relax. Be natural.”

Shawn tried but he was still too self-conscious. He fidgeted with his arms, having no idea where to put his hands. Joseph realized the problem and grabbed the football. “Here!” He gave the ball a wobbly toss more or less in Shawn’s direction. Shawn easily snagged it with one hand, although it sent him slightly off balance. A lesser athlete might have toppled over the edge. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”, Joseph yelled.

“No problem,” Shawn grinned back. Okay, maybe Joseph wasn’t football material.

“I want you to grip your ball and stare at the horizon like you’re looking downfield.” Shawn did as he was told. Giving him a prop to hold had made a world of difference. “Turn a little to your right.” Better still. Joseph risked making another suggestion. “Could you maybe unbutton a couple more buttons of your shirt?”

Shawn hesitated. Was this all part of Joseph’s plan? To get him out here and have him take off his clothes so he could have pictures to jack off to? Wait, he was the one who asked Joseph to take the pictures. Stop bein’ such a dick, Shawn thought. He loosened two more buttons, offering a peek at the pecs he’d spent so much time perfecting in the gym over the summer.

Joseph grinned approvingly. “That looks awesome. You ever thought of being a model, Shawn?” Shawn laughed off the suggestion. “I’m serious. I don’t think you appreciate all you’ve got going for you.”

Shawn was starting to feel uncomfortable again, and the buzz from those beers was really kicking in. He just wanted this over with. “Quit stalling and take the pictures, okay?”

Joseph nodded and looked through the viewfinder. “Did you ever hear that old story about how when the first Native Americans saw cameras, they refused to let anyone take their picture because it would steal their soul?”

“Yeah, I think I heard something about that. I always thought it was just bullshit.”

“Yeah, me too. Funny thing, though. I asked my father about it. And you know what? He told me it was true.”

Joseph snapped the shutter on the camera and the clicking sound reverberated in Shawn’s ears, repeating and repeating like it was caught in a loop. Shawn’s skin tingled all over while his muscles stiffened. Inside, he felt panicked as he realized he couldn’t move any part of his body. It was as if he had become frozen in time at the moment Joseph took the photo. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon and he couldn’t move them in any direction. He suddenly felt an incredible desire to itch his nose, to lick his lips, to scratch his balls, to do ANYTHING physical, but he was powerless. As if that sensation weren’t disturbing enough, he suddenly felt as if he were drifting out of his body – almost as if he were seeping out of his pores and becoming a vapor. Eventually, when he felt his entire being had escaped the confines of his body, he seemed to coalesce, his spirit – his soul – shrinking, becoming denser until it seemed to converge into a single particle that zoomed at light speed toward the lens of Joseph’s camera. He was disoriented as his very being was warped through the heavy glass of the camera’s lens until he was finally trapped inside the camera itself as a shapeless entity.

“Can you hear me, Shawn?” The voice was booming and echoey, like Joseph’s voice but heard from a long distance away in a deep canyon.

Shawn’s trapped being, or whatever you wanted to call it, could somehow hear the voice, and he discovered that he could psychically “speak” back to the voice, despite no longer having a tongue or a mouth. “What did you do to me?”

Joseph’s camera remained on the tripod, while Joseph sat beside it on the ground, eyes closed in a meditative state so he could communicate with Shawn’s trapped soul.

“My father taught me how to capture the souls of others in my camera, then teleport my own soul into their bodies.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“You’re stuck in a camera, Shawn. Does that seem like I’m shitting you?”

Although his soul had no eyes, Shawn could somehow look out through the lens and perceive his body, still standing frozen in position on the cliffside. “Why are you doing this?”

“First of all, because I can. I mean, if you had a choice to be either me or you, wouldn’t you choose you? Second of all, so that I can support my family.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re doing a great job of that so far,” said Shawn’s snide disembodied voice.

“I’m still only learning. But I’ve been on the lookout for a body that I could really do something with.”

“So all those pictures you took at the games, you were stealing people’s souls?”

“No, I have to concentrate to make it happen, so I only steal the souls that I really want. Like Madison’s.”

“What? You did this to Madison?”

“Yeah. A couple of weeks ago. I got her alone after cheerleading practice and asked if I could take her picture. And, zap, she was trapped in the camera just like you are now, while I took over her body.”

If Shawn’s soul had a head, it would be swimming. "So, wait, for the last two weeks, Madison…”

“Has been me, that’s right.” Shawn could hear a wicked smile in Joseph’s voice. “Every time you kissed her, every time she jerked you off, every time she blew you, that was me.”

Holy shit, Shawn thought. He had wondered why Madison had been so eager to give him blow jobs lately. “That’s sick.”

“I got the impression you enjoyed it at the time.”

“You did that just so you could have sex with me?”

“Not exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed being so close to you, but being stuck in a straight girl just felt…icky. No, I had to use her to convince you to let Joseph take your picture. You would never have asked ‘Nava-homo’ to take pictures of you if your girlfriend hadn’t said how hot you looked in his photos. Once I – well, Madison – had planted that idea in your mind, Madison’s soul went back into her body, with no memory that anything unusual had happened to her, and I returned to school in as my dumb old self.”

Joseph’s body began to shake violently, as if something were escaping it at a rapid speed. Instantaneously, Shawn’s body began to vibrate. Joseph felt his spirit overtaking Shawn’s frame, his lifeforce oozing its way through Shawn’s bones, his muscles, his brain. The transition from his own scrawny body into Shawn’s was overwhelming to Joseph. While his training period had allowed him to enter other bodies that were larger than his, including his own father’s, none had previously possessed the strength, the poise and the confidence of Shawn. As Joseph acclimated to his new shape, the body began to move, balancing itself quickly before it could topple over the cliff. He clutched the football in his hands and had a comforting sense that Shawn’s body mechanics and agility were still intact even without Shawn’s soul. He glanced down at the gap in his open shirt and admired the well-honed musculature underneath. He lifted a mighty fist and appreciated how the folds of fabric stretched and strained over the pumped biceps. Taking over Madison was a means to an end. Taking over Shawn was Joseph’s wet dream. Shawn’s cock expanded to a rock-hard eight inches just from Joseph’s thoughts about what he would be able to do in this body.

Joseph looked over and saw his body collapsed on the ground beside the camera on its tripod. He walked over, enjoying the swagger that came automatically with this body, and spoke softly into the camera. “Shawn, I can’t hear you any more, but you should still be able to hear me. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in here, but don’t worry, my father will make sure nothing happens to you until I return. And I promise, I would never let anything bad happen to this body.” Joseph placed one of Shawn’s hands under his shirt and rubbed his smooth tanned skin.

Joseph, as Shawn, easily flung Joseph’s inert body over one shoulder and grabbed the camera and tripod with the other. He walked back to the house and left the camera and his old body with his father, then strode manfully back to the 4x4. He got into the driver’s seat and roared the engine to life. He had driven in enough other bodies by now that he could practically take a driver’s exam if he wanted to. He waved goodbye to his father, who could psychically make out the muffled screams of Shawn’s soul inside the camera.

Shawn did not show up for school the next day, and his parents told the school that he had never come home the night before, although his father did note that some cans of Budweiser had gone missing. No one had seen Shawn when he drove off, and his 4x4 was missing. Shawn’s girlfriend was questioned but she couldn’t think of anything that might have caused him to vanish, although the police found it suspicious that her memories of the past two weeks appeared to be astonishingly vague.

Joseph also did not show up for school the next day, but nobody noticed much. People were so used to him being out sick that this attracted no undue attention. He wasn’t a very memorable kid.

About a week later, Joseph’s father received a letter from California, in which Joseph described his adventures so far. He had ditched the 4x4 fairly quickly, to avoid being spotted, and with the help of family members scattered across the country, had made his way to the coast via various forms of transportation. He had already had meetings for possible representation as a model and hoped to be able to start sending checks back home soon. (There were other things Joseph planned to do with this body to make some extra money – things that Shawn would never have done and which Joseph’s father never needed to hear about.)

Just in case the police ever connected them to Shawn’s disappearance, Joseph’s father burnt the letter as well as a photo that Joseph had enclosed. It showed “Shawn” lying on a California beach in white shorts, hair clipped into a buzz cut and newly bleached to platinum blond, his softball-sized deltoids and biceps practically bursting through his golden skin.

In the photo, he was staring at the horizon, pondering the bright future ahead of him.

Source: “Senior Picture” by Cris Kane on Gay Spiral Stories

#possession #jock #soul #magic #gss

[robronsecretsanta]

Fic: Sweet Tooth

to @golaulau love from your secret santa

Robert knew better than to attempt Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. Everyone did. Yet here he was, shuffled around with the masses of last minute shoppers getting the last few gifts he needed for his family gathering tomorrow.

If Robert has it his way he’d avoid the whole bloody day altogether, spend it eating a takeaway and drinking the expensive bottle of whisky he got from his boss as a Christmas present. He already had plans for his very hefty Christmas bonus, a nice long vacation somewhere warm and the new Audi he’d been eyeing all year.

Unfortunately, Robert has a sister; the kind that loved you absolutely and for some reason wanted to spend time with her brothers. They’d been getting along better since Katie had left Andy, doing exactly the same dance on his brother’s heart that she’d done to Robert. Nothing brought people together more than shared distain.

So now Andy focused on his two children from a previous relationship, and seemed to understand Robert a lot better, or at least was trying to.

Buying presents for them all was proving a bit of a headache though. Andy had sent him a list of things the kids wanted, all cheap and way less than Robert had been prepared to spend. Robert’s money and Andy’s lack of it was still a sticky point. It hadn’t helped when Robert had paid off the mortgage on the farm after Katie left, knowing his brother was in a bind. Andy thought Robert was throwing his weight around when Robert had just been trying to build a bridge back to who they used to be, before they’d been waring brothers and actual friends.

Plus Robert had a soft spot for Sarah and Jack, his niece and nephew who thought Uncle Rob was pretty great, even when he wasn’t showering them with gifts.

Still, last year this had all been easier when he’d left it all up to his assistant. Except Victoria had made a joke about it during the last Christmas dinner and Robert had gotten offended. It wasn’t that he couldn’t buy presents for people that were meaningful; he just didn’t have time.

So now he was standing in front of the shops with a few bags of items that didn’t seem like the right things and regretting telling Bernice he had it covered this year.

An understated but expensive Tiffany necklace for Victoria (Breakfast At Tiffany’s was her favourite film), a new Chevalier jacket for Andy (just like the one Robert had but in green, he’d noticed Andy admiring his a few months back), the latest gaming system for Jack (with enough games to make his head spin) and a new iPad for Sarah with a hefty gift card attached (the girl loved blaring her music, just like her Uncle Rob.)

So why didn’t he feel done?

He needed caffeine to make it through the rest of the evening, especially if he was going to be mad enough to keep searching for a present he didn’t actually need. This Christmas was going to be the start of a new tradition, all the remaining Sugdens together under one roof. They hadn’t done that since they were kids. Robert remembered after the day of excitement and food sitting around the living room sofa playing Monopoly with Andy while Victoria pretended to be the banker, too young to actually understand the game. No one ever really won, they’d just play until it was time for bed, for once not arguing over who was the better man.

Robert ducked into the first Starbucks he saw, thankful that the line was only halfway across the store. He juggled the bags in his hands, trying to ease the pull of cheap plastic against his wrists. He ended up jostling into the body in front of him.

“You alright, mate?”

Robert had intended to be polite and beg forgiveness from the person who turned around to look at him. He had intended to be apologetic and charming. Then he met a pair of crystal clear blue eyes and his brain short circuited.

“Huh?”

Robert closed his eyes at his own stupidity but opened them to the sound of deep laughter. Those eyes belonged to a stubbled face, broad shoulders and a voice that made Robert’s insides feel like they had collected in a pile at his feet.

“Yeah I know the feeling. Not a fan of crowds myself.”

Robert had absolutely no idea why this man was talking to him and his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. Robert wondered if he was drooling? He might be drooling. A man this gorgeous needed to walk around with some kind of warning label. Also, say something Sugden, Jesus.

“Sorry about that, it’s bedlam everywhere innit it?”

Good job, ask him a question. Get him to keep talking. That way you can look at his face more. Robert really liked that face.

“Serves us right waiting until the last minute like this. At least someone will be very happy tomorrow.”

Gorgeous Stranger motioned to the bags in Robert’s hand with a jut of his stubbled chin, specifically the bright Tiffany blue one.

“It’s for my sister. I’m single.”

Robert wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Yes, tell Insanely Attractive that you’re single after 30 seconds. Way to keep a cool head. Thankfully before Robert could shove his foot any further into his mouth one of the barista’s shouted “Next!” and Blue Eyes turned away from him.

Instead, he stared at the back of the man, tried to gauge his age. Younger than Robert, but not by much. He wished Touchable Hair wasn’t wearing such a puffy jacket, but it showed off how broad his shoulders were. He looked cool in that whole “I don’t have to try to work at being attractive because I am, I just don’t know how much” kind of way. Robert was more of a “Yeah I look good but when I try I look better” man himself. They didn’t create well fitted suits for no reason and he wasn’t going to squander what God gave him by not enhancing it.

Wonder what Hidden Biceps would look like in a suit? Wonder what he would look like out of a suit? Or in just a tie? Or in…

“Uh, Sir?”

Robert realized he was next in line and had been daydreaming like an idiot.

“Yeah, Grande Peppermint Mocha, extra shot of peppermint, please”

Robert loved anything sweet; it was another addiction along with Calvin Klein boxer briefs, his sisters shepherd’s pie, and his Monty Python’s Flying Circus box set.

He paid for his order and headed to wait for his drink. Wet Dreamwas leaning with his back against the wall, tapping away on his phone. Robert rolled his eyes at the slowed down guitar riff version of Jingle Bells that was being pumped through the sound system.

He only had about three or four more minutes to look his fill before they’d go back to their shopping and on with their lives. They’d never see each other again.

So what would be the harm in offering Look At Those Thighs his number? Robert was usually more self assured than this. Clearly Christmas and the nostalgia was getting to him, taking him back to when he was an insecure boy, not the confident Robert of today. He was dressed nice, leather jacket over his well fitted jeans. His hair was probably perfect and he’d gone to the gym this morning.

If Kissable Mouth turned him down it was his loss than wasn’t it?

Emboldened he stepped forward just as Scruffy Sex On A Stick put the phone to his ear and started talking.

“Yeah, I’ll be home soon. Of course I’ll pick up dinner on be way; God help us if you decided to cook.”

Robert’s stomach sank, Unavailable Dream Man was beaming as he talked on the phone and that could only mean one thing, love. It was punctuated even further by the throaty laugh that spread want through Robert’s entire body.

“Yeah, I love you too. See you soon.”

Seriously Fuckable shoved his phone in his pocket and offered Robert a smile as he reached for the cup the barista put before them on the counter. Robert offered him a tight smile, trying to not show disappointment that this was the end of their epic love story.

He sighed as I Want His Mouth On Me took a large sip of his drink and turned to walk away, until he heard the sputtering and coughing.

“Ugh, what the hell is this?”

Robert looked at the cup, saw his name written on the side and grimaced.

“Sorry mate, I think that was mine.”

Adorable Frown shook his head and looked down at the cup in his hand, finally realizing he’d grabbed the wrong drink and downed Robert’s sugary concoction.

“You actually like this stuff?”

Robert couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s Chrismassy.”

“So is holly but you don’t see me blending it up and swinging it back.”

Hot And Sarcastic smiled at Robert’s short burst of laughter and dropped the drink into the garbage can beside him.

“Well let me get you another one, because there was something clearly wrong with whatever that was.”

“No, really it’s fine.”

“Look mate, you want to drink this swill, I ain’t gonna stop yah. Let me please, my fault after all.”

Robert opened his mouth to protest again until I Want To Lick Himraised his eyebrow in a seductive challenge that had Robert licking his own lips instead.

“Yeah, okay. Peppermint Mocha, extra shot of peppermint.”

Are Those Eyes Even Real grinned and moved past Robert, going to the head of the line and gesturing slightly before handing the barista more money than it should cost. The barista looked Robert’s way, grinned, writing the order on the cup and passing it over to be made.

Robert was trying to think of something impressive and lasting to say but once again words failed him. Instead, Smells Good Enough To Eat snagged his correct drink off the counter and kept walking, a friendly “Happy Christmas” thrown over his shoulder that sent a shiver down Robert’s spine.

Ugh, Robert hated himself and the world in general as he watched All The Good Ones Are Taken disappear out of sight.

“Sweet Tooth.”

Robert blinked and looked at the barista as she held out a red take away cup towards him.

“Excuse me?”

“Peppermint Mocha with extra peppermint, he said your name was Sweet Tooth.”

Robert smiled at her and took the cup from her hand. She winked at him and turned back to making another drink. It wasn’t until he was out on the street that he looked at the cup more closely and noticed the phone number scribbled on it with a heart and the name Aaron in bold letters.

One Year Later

Robert scrolled through his phone, reading intently the article he’d found about Monopoly strategies. He was going to wipe the floor with Andy this Christmas.

After he’d left Starbucks a year ago, he’d headed to the nearest game store and bought the swankiest version of the game they made. It was pretty expensive but it would last forever, mahogany board and actual silver pieces. There was even a banker drawer which he knew would make Vic happy.

Christmas on Andy’s farm has been tense at first, Andy giving him a tight smile with every excited squeal Sarah and Jack made over the presents Robert gave them. It wasn’t until everyone was done that he pulled out the game, wrapped in gold paper with a giant red bow and placed it in front of Victoria with a flourish.

“So this is a Sugden present; it’s for all of us.”

Victoria had cried when she’d opened it and Andy has just looked at him, a genuine smile on his face and declared he was going to wipe the floor with Robert.

The kids hadn’t been too interested but after dinner the original Sugden kids had played well into the night, Victoria losing early but still willing to hand out money and hold the deeds. They’d finally called it a draw at midnight after too much wine and a lot of laughter.

But for the last few weeks, Andy has been texting him trash talk about the upcoming game and Robert was not going down without a fight.

A slight cough made him raise his head and take in Sexy In A Ridiculous Christmas Jumper as he held out a mug for Robert.

“You are not actually looking up Monopoly strategies online are you?”

Robert took the cup, smiled at the candy cane and whip cream piled out of his hot chocolate that The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me had made for him.

“Aaron, he’s been winding me up for weeks. It’s a matter of pride now.”

Sweetest Smile just rolled his eyes but sat down on the couch and snuggled into Robert’s side.

“What time do we have to leave to get Liv?”

“Not for another hour yet. But I’m driving, you know what you’re like after…”

He Knows Me So Well waved his hands at the empty chocolate wrappers on the coffee table and the cup of sugar Robert was drinking.

“Only if I get to pick the radio station.”

“Ugh, fine.”

It had taken every ounce of willpower Robert had possessed to wait until after the holidays before he called Hogs All The Covers and asked him out to dinner.

Robert was in love before their appetizers made it to the table.

In the year since, they’d argued over everything under the sun, gone on vacation to Spain, met each other’s families, and were about to celebrate their first Christmas together in the home they shared.

It’d been a wild ride and it wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. Because they had Liv, Kindest Person I Know’s little sister, to pick up from the airport. She was going to be the first guest in their newly redecorated spare room.

Christmas Eve was with the Dingles and Christmas Day was with the Sugdens. Somewhere in between all that Robert was hoping to get a few moments alone with God I Love Him So Much It Hurts, because he had a ring box hidden in their Christmas tree and a question he wanted to ask.

“You’re not going to win the game, you know that right?”

Robert looked at I’m Going To Marry Him in mock horror.

“Aaron, whose side are you on here?”

I Can’t Wait To Spend My Life With You just snuggled in closer and lifted his face to Robert’s

“Mine, because I’m playing this year. I am going to own you, Sugden, just wait and see.”

Robert couldn’t resist tipping his head down and pressing a kiss on those lips before he whispered against them.

“You already do, Aaron. You already do.”

#golaulau #robron #robron secret santa #robron fanfiction

[uglypastels]

When You Say Nothing At All - Tom Holland movie AU (2/3)

Part 2 

(a/n) I don’t think I actually have anything to say about this... 

word count: 8184

warning: swearing; mentions of divorce, infertility, the dark side of fame; sexual themes; SPOILERS FOR NOTTING HILL

part 1 

Tom’s POV - 1999 - London - Characters are in their late 20′s  It had easily been the most painful hour of Tom’s life. All of the actors he had met, looked at him as if he was crazy or stupid. Tom couldn’t decide which was worse. But he knew they weren’t wrong.

He walked out of the last interview he had done. It was with a young child actress that clearly already at the age of twelve had her life more put together than he would ever have. It was clearly already getting late, as the crew had started to pack up and most journalists had already left. Tom was also more than ready to leave this suite. He never wanted to come back again.

He was almost at the door when Karen’s voice sounded from the end of the hall. “Mr. Holland,” she called him out. Tom stopped in his tracks, mumbling “Oh, no” a bit too loud. He slowly turned around. Karen was looking at him brightly. “Have you got a minute?”

“No.,” he said honestly. Karen, fortunately, heard it as a joke and broke a little laugh. Defeated, Tom followed the assistant to a room, in which he surprisingly had not been in yet. He wondered how many rooms there could possibly be in this suite alone.

She opened the door for him. Tom’s face lit up with a smile at the sight in front of him. (Y/N) got up out of her chair when she saw him. Her suit jacket lay somewhere abandoned. Her long hair loose. She said a small “Hi”. The door closed behind him. He didn’t even look. They were finally alone again. Had she asked for him? Probably. Tom did his best to hide his excitement. He also responded with just a “Hi.” For some reason, (Y/N) looked nervous. He didn’t understand why. It was just him.

“Uhm… Yeah, so, the, um…” She started mumbling. It was cute, Tom thought. “The, the thing I was doing tonight. I’m not doing anymore. I told them I had to spend the evening with Britain’s premiere equestrian journalist.” She smiled.

“Oh,” Tom smiled too. “Well, great. Fantastic.” He already started to think where he could take her this evening. Of course, nothing would probably even come close to what she was used to. He barely could afford to eat himself. Dinner...oh no! He completely forgot.

“Shit. It’s my brother’s birthday. Shit.” He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. “We’re meant to be having dinner.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” she said, not seeming to be very bothered by the fact.

“No. I’m sure I can get out of it.”

“No, I mean, if it’s fine with you, I’ll be your date.” Had he heard that correctly? Did (Y/F/N) really just suggest to be his date? He looked at her with wide eyes. “You’ll be my date to my little brother’s birthday party?”

“If it’s alright.” She looked a bit concerned. He must have sounded rude.

“Well, yeah, I’m sure it’s all right. My friend Max is cooking,” he remembered, “and he is generally acknowledged to be the worst cook in the world, but you could hide the food in your handbag or something.”  

“Okay.” she genuinely seemed happy to go.

“Okay.”

Tom had asked (Y/N) if it would be okay if he picked her up at eight. She had simply nodded and then her publicist walked in, saying that she had a sudden interview in two minutes and had to get ready.

When he got back home, Tom called Bella, Max’ wife to check if it was okay if he brought a date. The party would be held at their place as it would be very likely that Max could burn down the kitchen in an attempt to cook. So it would be better if it wasn’t someone else's.

(Y/N) stood next to him as Tom rang the doorbell. She looked very casual, but still very fabulous. Her hair was up in, what he thought was called, a milkmaid braid. She was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, over that a light jacket.

The door opened. Max had not even come up to it. Just opened it as soon as he could reach the handle, and walked away immediately after it. “Hi, come on in. Vague food crisis.” He disappeared back into the kitchen. Tom looked at (Y/N), who was in a small shock. They laughed together and stepped into the house. Tom, of course, let her walk in first.

“Hiya,” Bella said from the living room, they followed her voice. “Sorry, the guinea-fowl is proving more complicated than expected.”

“He’s cooking guinea-fowl?” Tom asked. It was a classic move for Max, to cook something he could barely even pronounce.

“Don’t even ask.” Bella rolled her eyes. Then, she noticed (Y/N). they both said hi and shook hands. Then, Bella’s eyes widened. “Good lord, you’re the spitting image of…” before she could finish, Tom said: “Bella, this is (Y/N).” he introduced his date to his friend. Bella scoffed in disbelief and answered with a “Right.”

“Okay, crisis over!” Max could be heard out of the kitchen. Bella’s eyes didn’t leave (Y/N).

“Max, this is (Y/N).” He put his hand on her back, and lead her to the kitchen, where Max was fanning away some smoke erupting from the oven with a hand towel. (Y/N) gave him her hand and said a small “hi” still remembering her entrance.

“Hello, (Y/N)...(Y/L/N).” Max seemed to be in a small state of shock, realizing whose hand it was that he was shaking. “Have some wine.” he smiled nervously.

“Thank you,” she said. Then the doorbell rang and Max, being the good host, excused himself to welcome their next guests. While he was gone, Tom thought it would be quicker if he poured the drinks. “Red or white?” he asked. She was about to answer when Tom’s brother, Patrick, walked in.

“Hi guys,” he seemed excited, probably ready to give Tom a tight hug. Then he saw (Y/N). “Holy fuck!” Tom felt like he was the one that was supposed to break the ice in this situation.

“Paddy, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Paddy - Patrick. He’s my baby brother.” (Y/N) was looking at him and her expression softened when she knew what was going on, she turned around to Patrick, who was holding a hand in front of his mouth in shock. “Hi.” she smiled.

“Oh god. This is one of those key moments in life when it’s possible you can be really genuinely cool and I’m going to fail just 100%.” (Y/N) looked very confused at the younger man in front of her. “I absolutely adore you.” he took a few steps to her. “And I just think you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Tom looked at (Y/N) while his brother was having his little moment. She didn’t seem mad that Patrick was technically confessing his love to her, but she wasn’t very comfortable with it either.

“And I’ve believed for some time now, that we could be best friends.” Well, that was not as bad as Tom had expected. “So what do you think?” (Y/N) looked at Patrick rather flabbergasted. She mumbled a few uhh…’s before saying: “Lucky me.” She cleared her throat and remembered she had a present for him. Tom had told her that she didn’t need to bring him anything, but she had insisted.

“Happy birthday.” She handed him the small box. Patrick actually gasped. Tom wasn’t sure when the last time was that he watched his baby brother act like that. It was like he was twelve all over again.

“We’re best friends already, then.” he smiled. Then, his eyes lit up, “Marry Tom, he’s a really nice guy, then we can be siblings.” Tom laughed awkwardly. Thinking, if he would slam his head hard enough on the cupboard, would he maybe pass out?  This was getting a bit too much. (Y/N) smiled politely and responded with: “I’ll think about it.”

The doorbell rang again, releasing a bit of the awkward tension in the room. Max sighed: “That’ll be Bernie.”

Bernie walked into the living room, holding some shapeless purple package, that was probably Patrick’s birthday present. Max introduced (Y/N) before Tom had the chance.

“Hello, (Y/N). Delighted to meet you.” They shook hands for a second and then Bernie immediately walked to Patrick. “Pads, happy birthday to you.” he sang. He said a quick “Hi” to Bella. Patrick looked interested at the strange package that was now in his hands. “It’s a hat,” Bernie explained. “You don’t have to wear it or anything. Hi Tom.” Bernie walked around, grabbing a handful of peanuts that were displayed on the table as a casual snack. Everyone looked at him, awaiting a moment of realization and shock about who was standing in front of him, but nothing happened.

“Hi,” Tom repeated, a bit awkwardly.

“What?” Bernie saw how everyone was looking at him. Then Max moved into action. “Wine, Bernie?” Bernie hummed a yes. Max picked up a glass from the kitchen and then pulled Tom away from the rest, to the corner of the room where all the alcohol for the night was laid out.

“You haven’t slept with her, have you?” The sudden question startled Tom a bit, almost making him burn his hand from the match his was holding.

“That is a cheap question and the answer is, of course, no comment.” they had been doing this to each other ever since they met, years ago. The answer always stayed the same, whether it was true or false.

“No comment means yes.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He looked at Max, again almost burning his fingers while he tried to light another candle.  

“Do you ever masturbate?”

“Absolutely no comment.” He looked away from his friend.

“You see, it means “yes”.” Max walked away with the wine bottle. Tom followed, not being done with the conversation. They soon did change the subject, getting a bit too uncomfortable with the last one. From the corner of his eye, he saw (Y/N) talk to Bernie. He couldn’t hear what they were exactly talking about, but at a certain point, he saw Bernie widen his eyes… almost as if in horrific shock.

“Right, I think we’re ready.” Max clapped his hands. Bella and Patrick were already at the table. (Y/N) turned around from Bernie and looked down at Bella. “Bella, can you tell me where I can find…”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, yeah. It’s down the corridor on the right,” she said, understanding the problem without it being said. Patrick got up.

“I’ll show you. I’ll show you.” Tom almost choked on his drink. What was Pads doing? Before he could stop his younger brother, unfortunately, he had already walked into the corridor. (Y/N) walked behind him, smiling nervously at Tom. He smiled back, reassuring her it was gonna be fine. The moment she was in the corridor too, Bella and Max gathered around him. In a quick and hushed voice, she said: “Quickly, quickly, quickly. Talk very quickly. What are you doing here with (Y/F/N)?”

“(Y/F/N)?” Bernie said out loud, “What, the movie star?” Max and Bella tried to shush him. Bernie hit his head with the palm of his hand. “Oh god. Oh goddy God.”

“What did you say to her?” Tom asked scared. Right then, Patrick walked back in. His face almost the same color as the hideous red-orange shirt he was wearing.

“I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it. I actually walked into the loo with her.” Tom felt like he was about to faint. His brother just harassed his date, great. “I was still chatting when she started unbuttoning her jeans. She had to ask me to leave.” Max started laughing. In any different situation, Tom would have laughed too at the idiocracy of his little brother, but this was not okay.

“So you knew who she was?” Bernie asked Patrick, who was now laughing along with Max.

“Of course I did, but he didn’t!”  he started to laugh at Bernie, who rolled his eyes.

“Well, not instantly, but I got away with it though.” Tom slightly started to wish he hadn’t brought her with him.

Those thoughts did slowly fade, once dinner had actually started. The guinea-fowl had not been a complete disaster. The six of them were now talking and laughing about nonsense. Max left the table momentarily to get the cake.

“So, how’s the guinea-fowl?” he asked from the kitchen. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, but Tom knew it was mostly intended to (Y/N). She smiled and said: “Best guinea-fowl I’ve ever tasted.” That was a bit strange of her to say, Tom thought, as he had not seen her eat the poultry and he was pretty sure that he had read somewhere that (Y/N) was vegetarian. Anyway, he appreciated it how she didn’t want to hurt his friend's feelings.

Patrick put on the horrible blue hat that Bernie had given him. It looked horrendous, but he somehow pulled it off. There were many more laughs after Max had brought out the cake and the brownie. Patrick had blown out the candles and then they talked more while popping celebratory crackers. Tom couldn’t help it but gaze over at (Y/N) from time to time, who was sitting right opposite him. She didn’t say much through the whole evening. She mostly just observed while the others held their conversations. He doubted that she had many chances in her life to just do simple things like that: sit around a table with close friends and laugh. Nothing specific on anyone’s mind, while they stuff themselves with slightly overbaked cake.

“Having you here, (Y/N), firmly establishes what I’ve long suspected, that we really are the most desperate lot of under-achievers,” Max said as he shoved another piece of brownie into his mouth. Tom agreed. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Max added. “In fact, I think it’s something we should take pride in.” He looked as Bernie handed the plate of brownies to Tom and he, in his turn, gave it to Patrick. “I’m gonna give the last brownie as a prize to the saddest act here.” He smirked. Everybody was getting a bit excited, already thinking of some sad stories in their lives, in a chance to getting that brownie… at least, that’s what Tom was doing.

“Bern?” he suggested his friend goes first. Bernie looked surprised at the call of his name. Max, Bella, and Paddy started laughing. (Y/N) had also giggled a little bit.

“Alright, alright. Well, obviously it’s me, isn’t it?” he said, almost inaudible because of the piece of brownie still in his mouth. “I mean, I work in the city in a job I don’t understand and everyone keeps getting promoted above me. I haven’t had a girlfriend since, well, since puberty.” He swallowed the rest of his brownie. “And nobody fancies me...and if these cheeks get any chubbier, they never will.” With that, he put the last piece of his own fudge brownie into his mouth.

“Please, unless I’m much mistaken, your job still pays you rather a lot of money.” Max commented once Bernie was done pitying over himself, “While Paddy here earns twenty pence a week flogging his guts out in London’s worst record store.”

“Yes!” he agreed. “And I haven’t got hair, I’ve got…this” he pointed around his head. Tom had to admit, it looked rather tragic. “And I’ve got funny looking eyes and I’m attracted to cruel women. Actually, no one would want to marry me because my balls have actually started shrinking.” everyone laughed.

“You see, it’s incredibly sad,” Max concluded.

“Yeah, but on the other hand, his best friend is (Y/F/N),” Bella added.

“That’s true. I can’t deny it. She needs me. What can I say?” Paddy smiled while taking a tug at his cigarette.

“And most of her limbs work, whereas I’m stuck in this thing day and night, in a house full of ramps.” Bella sighed. “And to add insult to serious injury, I’ve totally given up smoking, my favorite thing. And uhm…” she looked at Max, who smiled at her lovingly, “Well, the truth is, we can’t have a baby.” A silence around the table fell. Tom shared a look with (Y/N), who was sitting right next to Bella and Max.

“Oh, Belle,” Tom felt so sorry for his friend. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes.

‘C’est la vie.” she sniffed. “Still, we’re lucky in lots of ways. But surely that’s worth a brownie.” She smiled.

“Well, I don’t know.” Max leaned forward in his seat, “Look at Thomas.” Tom laughed, knowing what will come next. “Very unsuccessful professionally.”

“That’s true.” Bella and Patrick agreed. Tom hoped that (Y/N) somehow managed not to hear any of this. Although, that was very unlikely to happen. His friends continued bashing his life. “Divorced. Used to be handsome, now kind of squidgy round the edges.” Max specifically looked at (Y/N) while he said this last part. She laughed with the rest. “And absolutely certain never to hear from (Y/N) again once she’s heard that his nickname at school was Floppy.” Before Max had finished the sentence, Tom tried to stop his friend, but he only said it louder, accompanied by Bernie.

“You did. I can’t believe it, you did.” His friends laughed even louder. “Thanks very much. Thank you.” he bowed down in his seat. “Well at least I get the last brownie, right?” he was already leaning forward, trying to reach the plate, when (Y/N) stopped him: “Well, wait, what about me?” The rest stopped laughing and looked at each other, a bit surprised. Even Tom had not expected her to join in.

“I’m sorry?” Max asked, “You think you deserve the brownie?”

“Well, a shot at it at least, huh?” she looked around the table, lastly at Tom. “Right, well, you will have to prove it,” he smirked, the brownie still in his hand. “I mean, this is a very, very good brownie and I’m gonna fight for it.” She thought for a moment and then started naming a list, that was, even for Tom, a bit too long: “I’ve… been on a diet every day since I was 19, which basically means I’ve been hungry for a decade.” she laughed, giving the rest an OK to join her. “I’ve had a series of not so nice boyfriends, one of whom hit me… And every time I get my heart broken, the newspapers splash it about as though it’s entertainment.” she gave a nervous laugh, the rest didn’t. Too captivated by her sad story.

“And it’s taken two rather painful operations to get me looking like this.”

“Really?” Paddy sounded fascinated.

“Really.” (Y/N) said, pointing first at her chin, then at her nose with a sly smile. “And one day, not long from now, my looks will go, they will discover I can’t act, and I will become some sad middle-aged woman who looks a bit like someone who was famous for a while.” Her eyes were transfixed onto one of the candles that stood on the table. Bella put down her cup and looked sadly at her, so did Max. From his angle, Tom couldn’t properly see what Patrick or Bernie were doing, but from his own actions and those of his other two best friends, he could assume it was something like it. Max stroke his chin, as if in deep thought.

“No, nice try, gorgeous, but you don’t fool anyone.” She started laughing at Max.

“Pathetic effort to hog the brownie.” Tom joked. On the inside, he wasn’t very sure if it was appropriate, but she kept smiling.

Not much later, it was already getting late and it was time for Tom to take (Y/N) back to her hotel.

“Thank you for such a terrific time.” She shook hands with Max and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Max had wanted to say that he was delighted but suddenly fell very still. “That’s a great tie.”

“Now you’re lying,” he spoke.

“Okay, it’s true. I told you I was bad at acting.” She walked over to Bella. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“And you, and you. I’ll wait until you’ve gone before I tell him you’re a vegetarian.” Bella smiled. Max, who had been re-adjusting his tie, almost choked on it when he heard his wife say this. With terror in his eyes, he apologized. (Y/N) smiled and then walked to Patrick and Bernie. “Goodnight.”

“Look, I’m so sorry about the loo thing.” Tom wished he wouldn’t bring it back up again. It was already rather uncomfortable. “I meant to leave, but I just…”

“Happy birthday.” She said before Paddy would dig a whole he couldn’t get out of. He thanked her. “Sorry, can I just,” he gripped her in a small embrace. This was a definite sign for Tom to go.

“Leave her,” Tom pulled his younger brother off of her and lead (Y/N) back to the corridor. They all said “Bye” a few more times until the door between them was definitely closed. Tom and (Y/N) were already walking away when the sound of people laughing and screaming loudly could be heard from the inside of the green house. (Y/N) started to break out laughing too.

“Sorry. They always do that when I leave the house.” Tom joked. “It’s a stupid thing. I hate it. They continued walking, in silence once the screams of his friends died down.

“Floppy, huh?” she asked curiously, looking ahead.

“It’s the hair. It’s to do with the hair,” he explained. Tom saw on her face that there was another question she wanted to ask. “Why is she in a wheelchair?”

“Because she had an accident about 18 months ago.” He looked down at the ground, not sure if his friend wanted him to tell (Y/N) her whole story. He simply kept to the very basics of it.

“And the pregnancy thing, is that to do with the accident?”

“You know, I’m not sure. I don’t think they tried for kids before, as fate would have it.” They walked on in silence. It was not exactly the silence that would be called uncomfortable, but it was not the silence that you want to keep for long. It was a silence that Tom had a need to break. Just didn’t know with what.

“Do you want to…” he started talking before the full question actually had formed in his mouth. She looked at him, waiting for Tom to finish the question. “My place is just…”

“Too complicated.” She said. There were no clear emotions in her voice or her face. Yet, still, Tom understood what she meant.

“That’s fine.”  He put his hands in his pockets. Feeling a bit stupid he had asked her in the first place.

“Busy tomorrow?” She asked. He looked up at her, surprised.

“I thought you were leaving tomorrow.” they looked at each other and she smiled. “I was.”

They walked on, the streets were dark for the most part. Some bits lit up with the old lanterns and some lights coming from the houses around them. Tom was not sure how late it was. It didn’t feel past midnight, but it just as well may be already 3 in the morning.

“All these streets round here have these mysterious communal gardens in the middle of them.” He told her, while they passed a wall of bushes and hedge, separating two houses on either side. “They’re like little villages.

“Let’s go in.” She said when they were in front of the gate. It was towering above them, a big lock on eye height.

“No, that’s the point. They’re private villages. Only the people who live around the edges are allowed in.”  She turned to look at him, looking a bit disappointed.

“You abide by rules like that?” She raised an eyebrow mockingly.

“I don’t, no, no, but others do.” He started walking up to the gate. “And I just do what I want.” Tom pulled at the gate. It moved around but it was still far from opening. He saw that a part of the fence which was normally covered with ivy, was a bit visible, making it hopefully easier to climb over it. “Uhm… right.”  He pulled his leg up on a horizontal bar in the fence and started to pull himself up. He could already look over it when he felt his leg slip up. He could just manage to not fall on the ground. With a ground he kept his balance, mumbling a “Whoopsie-daisies.”

(Y/N) was laughing. “What did you say?” He turned around.

“Nothing.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

She smiled knowing very well what he said: “You said whoopsie-daisies.”

“No one says whoopsie-daisies, do they? I mean unless they’re…”

“There is no “unless”. Because no one has said whoopsie-daisies for 50 years. And even then it was just little girls with blonde ringlets.” She could barely make out the words while laughing. Tom, feeling extremely embarrassed, just nodded and said: “Exactly, right.” He glanced at the gate, then at her, then at the gate again. “So here we go again.” He gripped the bars tightly and tried to pull himself. Alas, once again, he felt his legs slip and he fell against the wall of ivy that covered the rest of the iron fence. “Whoopsie-daisies,”  he exclaimed as he this time really fell on the ground. (Y/N) laughed loudly at his actions.

“Yeah, well, it’s a disease. It’s a clinical thing.” He got up and turned to her. “I’m taking pills and having injections. And I’m told it won’t last long so…”

“Okay, stand aside,” she shooed him away. Tom did as she told him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said as she was eyeing down the fence. “Really, it’s quite tricky. (Y/N)... (Y/N), don’t, it’s harder than it…” She was already at the top and pulling her leg over the fence. “No, it’s not. It’s easy.” She got her second leg over it and jumped down on to the little wall next to the gate. She held onto a thick tree branch to keep her balance.

“Come on, Flopsy.” She said, looking ahead of her and leaving Tom behind the gate.

“Right. Right!” He could do it. He had to do it. He couldn’t leave (Y/N) alone in the garden. For the third time, he gripped onto the bars at the top of the fence and pulled himself up. With a groan, he managed to stay up there. Now was the really hard part. He had to manage to get over to the other side. He tried not to think about the spiked bars that were right underneath him while he pulled his leg over the fence.

“Oh, God. This could be very unpleasant.” He said to himself. He managed to get one leg over it. Now the other one and he would be there. OK. Slowly, carefully, he pulled his other leg over the fence. Then he could feel his hand slip from one of the iron bars. He swung a bit to the right, hitting his knee on the gate. He groaned in pain.

(Y/N) was standing a few feet away from him. In an open space of the garden. She was turned with her back to him.

“Now what in the world in this garden could make that ordeal worthwhile?” He said as he reached her. His knee still hurt, but he tried not to think about it. (Y/N) turned to him and kissed him. It threw him off a bit. Why did she have to kiss him everytime he wasn’t ready? Once, just once, he wanted to be the one to make her feel like that.

She pulled away before he could do anything, and smiled. Tom felt his cheeks heat up a bit. “Nice garden.” He had to keep it a bit cool. She rolled her eyes and pulled his hand as she started walking. He hadn’t even noticed when she grabbed it.

They walked around for ages. Talking about nothing and everything. They looked around, even though there was barely anything visible in the dark. Finally, they stopped in front of a wooden bench in the middle of a clearing. A lamp behind them made it possible for them to see the engraving that was added to the backrest. (Y/N) read it out loud: “For June who loved this garden, from Joseph who always sat beside her.” underneath that, stood: June Wetherby 1917 - 1992, with a shamrock. She looked at it amazed, while Tom couldn’t keep his eyes from her. She looked so beautiful in the night light. The one street light illuminating her profile and making her eyes sparkle.

“Some people do spend their whole lives together.” she gasped and sat down on the bench. She looked at the sky. There weren’t many stars visible, due to the clouds and light pollution in general. Tom stood there, a few feet away from the bench. His legs started to move backward. It felt like she wanted to be alone.

“Come and sit with me.” She said. He did exactly that.

The next morning, Tom woke up late. He was supposed to meet (Y/N) at the movies and he couldn’t find his glasses anywhere. He had gotten out of the shower, he ran around the flat looking for them. Water still dripping off of him while he tried to hold on to the towel around his waist.

“Have you seen my glasses?” He asked Harrison, who lay half awake on the couch, his feet on the table in front of him. He hummed out: “No, afraid not.”

“Big, big bollocks.” he looked at the bookshelf, “Average day, my glasses are everywhere. Everywhere I look there’s a pair of glasses. But when I want to go to the cinema they’ve vanished.” He turned over pillows and threw some clothes around. “It’s one of life’s real cruelties.”

“That’s compared to, like, earthquakes in the Far East or testicular cancer, is it?” Harrison said, not looking up from his paper. Tom wanted to comment on his flatmate's sentence, but when he looked up his eyes caught a glance at the clock on the desk.

“Oh shit, is that the time?” He ran upstairs to get dressed. When he ran back down, he yelled out to Harrison: “Thanks for all your help on the glasses thing.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he said, still not looking up from the article he was reading. “Did you find them?”

“Sort of.” Tom groaned as he couldn’t find the sleeve of his jacket.

“Great.”

He only had one other option, except for going to see the movie half blind. So, when the movie started and the lights went off, he put on his diving goggles. (Y/N) almost started crying from laughter when she looked at him. He didn’t mind. He knew he looked like a twat.

During the movie, she would keep throwing popcorn at his face, scaring him every time as he couldn’t see her because of the goggles blocking most of his peripheral vision.

After the movie, they went to a sushi restaurant. It was an average dinner time, so the place was quite packed. Every table was occupied with people talking and laughing. Including the one where Tom and (Y/N) were seated. They had a table at the window. There wasn’t much of a view except for the plants growing outside. They had been talking about their own lives. Just getting to know each other a bit better.

“So who left who?” she asked him. Somehow they managed to land on the topic of his tragic divorce.  Normally he didn’t like to talk about it but he felt comfortable around her. “Er - she left me.”

“Why?” she stirred the drink in her hand. Tom had to think about how to make his story less pathetic.

“She saw through me.” he smiled a lightly. She brought her glass to her lips. “Oh-oh, that’s not good.”

A laughter from behind them broke out. There was a table with a couple of businessmen. They all looked to Tom as neither could pronounce any of the dishes that they were currently eating. Their laughter getting louder and more obnoxious.

“You can give me (Y/F/N) any day.” One of them said. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow as she listened to what the man had to say. There was a small wall between their tables so the man couldn’t see her or Tom.

“I didn’t like her last film.” Another one commented. “Fell asleep as soon as the lights went down.” She gave Tom a look of “fair enough”.

“I don’t really care what the film’s like.” the first guy said. “Any film with her in, it’s fine by me.” The man laughed. (Y/N) smiled. A third man added to the conversation: “She’s not my type at all. I prefer the other one. You know, blonde, sweet looking. You know, what’s her name? Has an orgasm every time you take her out for a cup of coffee.” (Y/N) mouthed the words “Meg Ryan” to Tom just as the man at the next table said it too in a chorus.

“No, she’s too wholesome.” the first one talked again. “You see, the point about Miss (Y/L/N) is she’s got that twinkle in her eye.” She gave Tom a seductive look with a wink and smirked, then started laughing. The conversation of the men at the next table continued: “Probably drug0induced. Spends most of her life in bloody rehab.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well, whatever. She’s so clearly up for it.” (Y/N) the smile disappeared from her face. She listened in concentration to what they had to say about her. “I mean, you see, most girls, they’re all like, “stay away chum”. But (Y/N)...” he made a disgusting sound. “She is absolutely gagging for it.” Tom saw her getting a bit uncomfortable. He wanted to do something about it. Those guys were being extreme dicks.

“Do you know that in over 50% of languages, the word for “actress” is the same as the word for ‘prostitute’?” They started laughing. One of them asked where his friend got that “fact” from.

“And (Y/N) is your definitive actress,” the same guy said it, with his mouth full.

“Right, that’s it. Sorry.” Tom got up, now really sick of it. His heart was raging with anger.  Who did they think they were, talking like that about another person. About (Y/N). The sweetest, most beautiful woman he had ever met. She tried to stop him, but it didn’t work. He walked up to the table of dicks while they were enjoying another of their vulgar comments about the girl that was sitting just a table away from them.

“Sorry, sorry to disturb you guys, but…” they looked up at Tom, still laughing. One of them, the one who had made most of the remarks asked: “Can I help?”

“Well, yeah,” Tom said. “I wish I hadn’t overheard your conversation, but I...I did. And, I just think, you know the person you’re talking about is a real person and I think she probably deserves a little bit more consideration rather than having jerks like you drooling over her.” he didn’t want to pull her into it. He could handle it himself.

The guy in front of him scoffed. “Oh, sod off, mate. What are you, her dad?” they all started laughing obnoxiously again. Tom wanted to say that he was her boyfriend, in fact. But was he? They’ve only been on two dates, one including his brothers birthday party one night ago. You wouldn’t call it a relationship really. Before he could come back with a remark, he could feel her tug at his arm, pulling him backward.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said embarrassed at his failure to defend her.

“No, I love that you tried.” Ow, that hurt. “Time was I’d have done the same thing. In fact…” They had been walking to the exit when she stopped. She put on a smile on her face and walked back, straight to the table of jerks. Tom followed her but stayed in the distance as she neared the table. “Hi,” she said. Tom couldn’t see her face, but the expressions on the guys’ faces were priceless. The color of their faces vanished as they looked up at her.

“Oh my God!” said the most obnoxious one of all.

“I just wanted to apologize for my friend. He’s very sensitive.” The guy shot up, his chopsticks held on to a piece of fish that were on the verge of falling to the ground and he held his pint in a way that it could spill if he only moved his hand by a millimeter. He stammered something that could be a start to an apology. (Y/N) stopped him. “No, no, no, leave it. I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm. I’m sure it was just friendly banter… I’m sure you guys have dicks the size of peanuts.” She added the last part through gritted teeth, probably still trying to smile.  “Enjoy your dinner. The tuna’s are really good.” and she turned around. Tom walked after her, giving the guys one last look. They still looked paralyzed as they watched her walk away.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done that,” she repeated it all the way up to the entrance of the Ritz.

“No, you were brilliant,” Tom assured her.

“I’m rash and I am stupid.” she laughed at herself, “What am I doing with you?” she looked him in the eyes.

“I don’t know, I’m afraid.” He really didn’t. How had he managed to convince the amazing (Y/N) to go out on a date with him? It was a miracle.

“I don’t either.” They reached the entrance of the hotel. (Y/N) looked inside and then at Tom again. “Here we are.”

“Yes.” He didn’t know what to do. “Well, look…”

“Do you wanna come up?” she asked.

“Well, there seem to be lots of reasons why I shouldn’t, so…”

“There are lots of reasons.” she agreed. “Do you wanna come up?” Tom simply nodded. “Give me five minutes.” She walked away with a smirk. When she disappeared behind the door, Tom leaned against the wall. This was really happening. He would go up to her room. Where they would be alone. And, possibly, kiss…

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, Tom walked inside. He got into the elevator, pressed the same number three button he did last time and the doors closed. When they opened again he was on the third floor. Immediately taking a turn to the right, he walked on. This time there were no journalists. No interviews. It would just be him and her. He knocked on the door.

(Y/N) opened. They said hi. Tom walked up to her to kiss her, but she had moved slightly, causing his lips to land on her cheek. He wasn’t mad. “To be able to do that is such a wonderful feeling.” He confessed with a smile.

“You’ve got to go,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because my boyfriend, who was in America, is, in fact, now in the next room.” She pointed to the wall next to her.

“Boyfriend?” Tom didn’t understand. He thought he was the boyfriend. Or, at least, possibly on his way there. Was it too bold of an assumption?

“Yes.” She wanted to explain but as if on cue a voice from the other room called: “Hey, baby, who is it?”

“It’s a…” (Y/N) didn’t manage to mumble out much. Out of the next room, walked out a man, who Tom couldn’t help but think that he would fit perfectly around the jerks from the restaurant. He looked at Tom suspecting.

“Uh… Room service.” Tom improvised.

“Oh. How are you doing?” he smiled. Tom had to admit, the man looked a mess. “I thought you guys always wore those penguin coats?” he joked. Tom had to go along.

“Usually we do. But I was just changed to go home. And..uhm… then I thought I’d take this final call.”  

“Oh, great. If you don’t mind, I would like something, too.” He was unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. “Could you bring me up some really, really cold water?”

Tom barely heard the words, still confused about the whole situation. She had a boyfriend. Who was standing right in front of him? Blankly, he said: “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Still, not sparkling.”

“Absolutely, Ice-cold still water.”

He removed the dress shirt, under which he had a normal grey t-shirt. “Unless, of course, it’s illegal in the UK to serve beverages below room temperature. I wouldn’t want you going to jail just to satisfy my whim, now.” he joked. Tom didn’t exactly understand it, but smiled.

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Thanks.” he left to the bathroom. (Y/N) looked at Tom and was about to say something when her boyfriend came back. “Hey, one more thing, if you don’t mind, could you adiós those dirty dishes and take out the trash, too?” Tom was sure that under any other circumstance, he would be a really great guy, but now he just seemed like a huge dick. As if in trance, Tom stepped in and went over to the table where the plates lay. (Y/N) tried to push him back.

“No. No. Don’t do that. I don’t think it’s his job to clear.” she explained to her boyfriend who looked at her weirdly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What’s your name, man?” Tom couldn’t think of his own name. Completely blanking on everything… maybe he was having a seizure? Yes! And these were all some cruel hallucinations. That must be it. Tom just said the first name that popped into his brain: “Bernie.”

“Oh, listen, Bernie, thank you, I really appreciate it.” the man pulled out a note and put it in Tom’s hand. He didn’t see how much it was. Then, he went over and kissed her. Right in front of Tom. The audacity to pull her in so close, just like Tom wanted to do ever since he met her. He pulled away.

“So, tell me, tell me, tell me. Good surprise or nasty surprise?” She stared at him, definitely surprised, then said: “Good surprise.”  

“Oh, you’re such a liar.” he shook his head excited. He turned to Tom to tell him that “She hates surprises.” How funny, Tom thought, he hates them too. “Hey, what are you gonna order?”

“Huh?” she looked confused at her boyfriend, who suddenly was jumping with energy.

“From him,” he pointed at Tom, “What are you gonna order?”

“Oh, uhm… I haven’t decided yet.” She confessed.

“Well, don’t overdo it.” he walked away to the bathroom. “I don’t want people saying, there goes that famous actor the big fat girlfriend.” If Tom wasn’t scared of him hitting him back, he would have punched the shit out the guy.

“I should leave,” he whispered when the bathroom door closed. (Y/N) looked at him with broken eyes. He picked up the dirty plates and the waste bucket. (Y/N) rushed her hand through her hair, clearly feeling nervous and uncomfortable. Tom wanted to make her feel better, but it wasn’t his place to do so. Not with her boyfriend in the room next door. “This is a fairly strange reality to be faced with.” he sighed.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her words were getting a bit stuck in her throat. “I don’t… know what to say.”

“Well,” he looked away for a second, “I think goodbye is traditional.” he hated goodbyes. He hated traditional. Especially both together, if it had to do with her. In her eyes, he could see she was thinking the same.

(Y/N) walked him out, apologizing once more. Tom walked down the empty corridor, now feeling much colder than when he was walking there before. He left the plates in front of another room, knowing that the actual room service would clean it when they saw it.

Finally, outside, he was met with fresh air, but he still couldn’t breathe. He started walking wherever his legs were taking him, which was apparently the bus stop. The red vehicle didn’t come much later. Of course, it was one of those that promoted the HELIX movie. Her beautiful face right in the middle of it.

Tom stepped inside, paid for a ticket and then walked all the way to the back. There were other places for him to sit, but he felt like the last row would be isolating, very fitting to his current situation and feeling.

Once he got home all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and fall asleep, hopefully never to wake up again. But he couldn’t even close his eyes. He lay wide awake for at least an hour. He wondered what he could do to get the sleep to hit his brain. He knew that there was a movie theatre not far from the flat which had late screenings. Maybe there was something.

There was definitely something. Unfortunately, the only movie that still had tickets available was HELIX. Tom had no other choice. He purchased the ticket and went inside. There weren’t many people in the small room.

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to hate her. But his heart wouldn’t let him. She still looked as beautiful as she did yesterday, before all of that in the hotel room happened, before the boyfriend. Tom watched (Y/N) walk in slow-motion. Her space suit shiny from all the touch ups the editors had made to the film. He watched her stop in the middle of the hall of the space station and put on her helmet. He listened to her saying her lines, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“Come on. Open up.” Harrison was sitting opposite of him on the sofa. “This is me. Hazza.” He made some sad jazz-hands. It somehow made Tom chuckle a bit.

“I’m in contact with some quite important spiritual vibrations. Come on. Hit me with it.” Tom looked at his flatmate. Not really sure if he was the person who he should tell this to. But Harrison was the only person there and Tom at least hoped he could trust him a little bit. He took a deep breath before talking.

“There’s this girl.”

“Aha.” Harrison nodded along. “See, I’d been getting a female vibe. Good. Speak on, dear friend.”

“Er- she’s someone who… can’t be mine.” Tom stared into his cup of now cold tea. “And it’s as if I’ve taken love heroin and now I can’t ever have it again.” he laughed at his stupid analogy. “I’ve opened Pandora’s Box and there’s this trouble inside.”

Harrison leaned back. “Hmmm, yeah. Tricky. Tricky.” He talked very slowly. “I knew a girl at school called Pandora.” Tom wasn’t sure where that came from or what it had to do with anything he had just said.

“Never got to see her box though.” Harrison giggled idiotically.

“Right. Right, thanks, that’s very helpful.” Harrison kept on giggling.

“You didn’t know she had a boyfriend?” Max asked. Together with Bella, Paddy, and Bernie, they were eating dinner at Tony’s new restaurant. It had been open for a few weeks already and they were, with the exception of two others, the only diners there that night.

“No. No. Why, did you?” he looked up from his food. Had his best friends known and not told him?  Max didn’t respond, just raised an eyebrow to Bernie and continued eating his soup. “Oh, bloody hell. I don’t believe it. My whole life ruined because I don’t read Hello! magazine.”

“Let’s face facts. This was always a no-win situation. Y/N)’s a goddess.” Tom definitely agreed with that. “You know what happens to mortals who get involved with the gods.”

“Buggered, is it?”

“Every time.” he smiled to Tom weakly. “But don’t despair, I think I have the solution to your problems.” Tom wasn’t so sure about that.

“Really?”

Max nodded proudly, straightened the napkin on his lap and announced: “Her name is Tessa, and she works in the contracts department.” Tom laughed at the idea of a blind date. So did the rest of his friends. “The hair I admit is unfashionably frizzy. But she’s bright as a button, and kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row.” Bella stopped laughing and looked Max dead in the eyes. “Apparently.” He added quickly, too scared of his wife.

----------------------

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#imagine #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland writing #uglypastels #AU #notting hill #movie AU #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter parker writing #peter parker fanfics #spider-man smut #spider-man fanfic #spider-man imagine #spider-man fanfiction #tom hollan AU

[julia-highstorms]

The Third Park (Damien x OC (Ellie)) - Part 7 (NSFW)

Summary: Ellie has a proposal to Damien, but will he take it?

Note: (most) characters belong to Pixelberry Studios. Damien is 100% human in here and it’s a Male!MC (Allen). Link to previous parts.

Pairing: Damien x OC (Ellie)

Rating: +18 (NSFW/language)

Tagging: @flynnomalleys @boneandfur @damienazariostan @client327 @never-ending-choices @dangerous-capri15 @goirishsunshine @walkerismychoice @laniquelove @parkerattano @bluediamondsapphire @wa-reva @her-imperial-hangman-s @endlesswoods @confessionsofabrokegirl @odetomars @suckmydestielobsessedassbutt @clarissafics @kennaxval @thequeenchoices @writtenbycandy @pilitella If you would like to be tagged, please, tell me!

Word count: 4062

Eleanor woke up with the sunlight on her face. For a moment she was lost, not remembering where she was. Where did Allen’s curtains go? Then, she felt something heavy and warm around her waist and a soft snoring behind her. She turned to face Damien, who slept heavily. God, how could he still look so handsome after everything they did last night? She probably would be looking like a mess, a real gremlin, but him on the on the other hand...

Suddenly, her phone started ringing. Ellie desperately looked for her jeans on the bedroom floor, fishing the mobile from one of the pockets and quickly turning the alarm off. She let out a relieved sigh when she noticed that Damien still was sleeping.

“Shit!” - she cursed to herself. - “Dipper!”

Carefully, she tried to get out of the bed, freeing herself from his embrace, but almost immediately his arm tightened around her. Damien blinked a few times, waking up.

“Hey.” - she greeted him, with a sheepish smile.

“Hey… Were you already leaving? You weren’t planning on running away, right?” - he asked with a sleepy smirk on his face, his morning voice husky, as he pulled her closer. He kissed the love bites he left on her the night before, longing on that big red hickey on her left shoulder.

It was being really damn hard to maintain her focus on going back to Dipper with Damien kissing and touching her like that.

“I wish I could stay here all day long, but I have to feed Dipper. And take her out for her morning walk. The poor thing has been alone since last night. I have to go, D.” - Ellie said softly, brushing the hair out of his face.

He took a deep breath, before finally letting her go:

“Alright. Just give me five minutes and I’ll go with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I won’t let you do the walk of shame alone.” - Eleanor let out a laugh.

“Aaaw, aren’t you a gentleman?” - she squeezed his cheek playfully. - “Or is this your way of getting another round with me?”

“I don’t know. Why, is it working?” - she rolled her eyes to his smirk.

“Maybe.” - she said, sitting up, that little devilish grin back onto her face, and started dressing herself up.

Dipper barked happily when they arrived, jumping on her caretaker.

“I know, girl! I’m sorry I spent the night out!” - she said, stroking the dog’s ears affectionately. Damien would never understand the love for dogs that family had. He never cared much about animals in general. - “Can you please take her out while I change? I can’t stand these clothes any other second. And I have to see if she destroyed the apartment or not, while I was out.” - Eleanor asked him as she filled Dipper’s bowl with dog food.

“Sure.” - he shrugged as Ellie walked towards the bedroom, already undressing herself from her blouse. Damien had to control himself to not go there and help her take the rest of her clothes off.

When they were back into the apartment - after Dipper had sniffed every single light pole -, Eleanor was already fetching a breakfast for them. Both Damien and Dipper were attracted to the kitchen by the smell of bacon.

He stopped by the small kitchen door frame, leaning against it, watching Eleanor cooking. She looked so in peace with herself. Dipper approached her with those big puppy eyes.

“No, Dipper, this is not for you!” - Ellie told the dog, who whimpered and went back to the living room, dejected. - “Enjoying the view?” - she asked him, still focused on the food.

“Very much. Do you want me to make some coffee?”

“That’d be great. Mine is black.”

“A woman after my own heart.” - she giggled with his comment as he stopped by Allen’s coffee machine. - “So you enjoy cooking?”

“I do, actually, although I don’t cook as much as I like due to work. But I find it relaxing. You?”

“Let’s say that I cook to survive. But I usually eat somewhere when I’m working or I order food.”

“Yeah, I figured, since it seems that you know every single place where to eat cheap here in New York.” - they shared a laugh and Damien caught himself smiling, thinking how things felt easy and simple with Ellie.

Yes. Things could be simple.

“Alright, breakfast is ready!” - she announced and they sat down to eat.

Eleanor made them some bacon and omelette, nothing special, but Damien felt that it’s been ages since he last ate something homemade like that. They chatted throughout the breakfast, with Dipper prowling the table the whole time. If was so easy talking to her. They always found new and interesting topics to talk about.

“Oh shit!” - Ellie looked at her watch. - “Don’t you have to go work?” - the food was long gone and they’d been talking for the last hour. Time seemed to fly when they were with one another.

“It’s okay, I made some progress yesterday, so I can take the day off today. You’re going back to Northbridge tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, as soon as Allen is back.” - a silent fell between them.

Oh God, why did she had to mention Allen? Fuck fuck fuck…

“...Well, I’ll miss you.” - Damien confessed, to Eleanor’s surprise. - “It was nice meeting you, Ellie. And this is something that I don’t say often.”

She smiled at him.

“Oh, I believe in it. Thank you, D. I’ll miss not teasing the hell out of you everyday.” - and she playfully nudged his shoulder with hers, making him chuckle.

“I will definitely not miss this part.”

“Shush, I know you adored when I did it. Because I am just so cute.” - she winked at him. Damien rolled his eyes, but he was unable to deny it. All the Parks were so darn cute. - “Besides… This doesn’t have to be the end of our relationship. I’ll need you there in Northbridge too.”

“What? Why?” - Damien stopped pouring more coffee to him and looked at her. Eleanor was biting her lower lip, looking at him with a little uncertainty on her face. His mind immediately drifted away to the sensation of her soft lips around his di—

“...I’ll need your help, D. As a private investigator.”

And then the world seemed to stop for a single second.

Fuck.

“...What?” - he managed to ask, his breath caught in his lungs.

“I’ll hire you to investigate something for me.” - she said, suddenly looking serious, every trace of the former flirting and silly jokes completely gone.  

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Damien Nazario just stayed there, staring at her completely frozen for the last five minutes. Did she broke him? Was it something that she said?

“D? Are you okay?” - Eleanor squeezed his hand softly and he finally seemed to be back. He cleared his throat:

“Are you… are you asking me to work for you?” - he asked, watching her intently.

“Yeah, kinda. You see, there’s my best friend, Lucy—”

But he abruptly stood up and walked towards the apartment door.

Fuck. Fuck! He was so screwed. He knew he should have listened to the voice inside his head. And not let a fucking stupid boner decide things for him.

Getting involved with another Park was one thing… but working for her was too much. Just too much.

“Hey, where are you going?” - Eleanor was already following him outside Allen’s apartment. - “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” - she grabbed his jacket, but he immediately yanked out of her reach.

“So it was all about this?! You were just using me for my investigative work?” - he yelled in the middle of the hallway. Ellie thought that he looked like a wounded animal.

“What?” - her dark eyes widened in surprise. What the fuck was going on? She was completely lost. - “Of course not!"

“Stop playing with my head, okay?!" - he shouted again, igniting her rage. If there was one thing that Eleanor Zhou hated was when people yelled at her. - "I should have known this..." - he started muttering to himself.

"Okay, what the fuck?! Why are you so suddenly mad?” - Nice, now she was mad too, and she even didn’t know why!

His eyes were already back to hers, and he had this hurt expression on his face.

"This is what I get when I let people get closer to me. First Alana, then Allen and now..." - he looked away, not finishing the sentence, but Ellie got what he meant.

And she felt her heart breaking a little for him.

"D..." - she took a cautious step towards him. - "It's not like this… I do care about you, of course. If I didn't, you think I'd have spent the last few days with you? And about the detective thing, Nadia has always told me how quickly and efficiently you helped her, so I thought—"

"Please. I know you're hanging out with me because you don't know anyone else here. And because I'm just this bitter and lone loser. I don't need your pity, okay?"

Ellie felt anger rising inside her again.

“Oh my God! Can you stop acting like a completely paranoid for a second? Not everything is about you, Damien! Not everyone is trying to hurt you!" - now she was the one yelling, her voice echoing through the hall. - "Jeez, if I knew that you would react this way, I wouldn’t have asked for your help! What the fuck!! You know what?! Just forget that I ever mentioned this!” - and then she turned on her heels.

Damien watched her marching back to the apartment. Fuck.

Eleanor was already by the door when she felt him behind her, his chest bumping on her back as he put his big hand over hers, stopping her from open it.

“Wait.” - he whispered, his voice low and husky on her ear. She felt a shiver down her spine and cursed herself mentally. That was not the time to become all horny! - "Please."

"What do you want now? I thought you were leaving." - she said, still facing the door, refusing to look at him.

“...No. You’re right. I shouldn’t have yelled and stormed off like this. I’m sorry.”

She turned to him, glaring, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What the fuck is going on with you, Nazario?”

His eyes searched hers and he hesitated for a second, before saying in a low whisper:

"It's just that… I don't know." - he let out a frustrated sigh. - "I guess… I thought that you actually was just...getting closer to me because Allen told you to do so, or because of my investigative skills… I don't know what I thought, to be honest. I'm sorry."

Oh God. He had his heart broken so much, he had been hurt so many times…

Eleanor Zhou wasn't the “mother friend”; she never was the one to take care and listen to people’s problems and confessions. She’d rather take them for a night out drinking until they couldn’t remember their own names than listening to people’s problems. She already had too many headaches herself and didn’t need more.

...But there was something about broody and cynical Damien that she couldn’t just ignore. Because that was something that she would do too. She was a cynical by heart and whenever she felt down, she would just shut people away, even those she loved, and drown herself on work.

They were just so similar in some aspects, and this probably was the reason why she found herself wanting to take care of him. Get to know more of him. And that was dangerous.

“...About your work as a detective, of course I'll pay for it." - she said, softly.

"Yes, I know—" - she kept talking:

"...And even if what I felt towards my exes wasn't as strong as what you felt towards… them" - she decided to not bring Alana's and Allen's name again, and Damien appreciated that. - "...I know what you mean. It's so damn tiresome to have your heart broken. But I was being honest with you yesterday, when I asked you about what was going to happen between us. If we’re doing this, I need you to be open with me.” - he nodded, and she saw a sad smile spreading on his face.

"Thank you, Ellie. I'm sorry I freaked out. I shouldn't let my emotions and suspicions get the best of me."

"Hey, don't blame yourself, Damien. We can't be logical all the time. We are humans. We have emotions and feelings, and sometimes they're too strong. Stronger than us."

"Yeah, you're right. I just wish I had these mood swings less frequently. I've always tried to remain cool and collected, but… I don't know. I've been this mess since Allen told me he was going to marry Hayden, which is just ridiculous, to be honest. I can't keep on living like this. This is going to kill me. And if he finds out that I still haven't gotten over him, this will break him too." - Eleanor smiled sympathetically to him. God, he still loved Allen so much and knew her cousin so well. - "I'm sorry I thought the worst about you."

She put a hand on the base of his neck, her thumb stroking his cheek. He leaned to her touch.

"It's okay. I tend to think the worst of people too. People call it cynicism, but I call it 'survival instinct'." - he chuckled and then he felt her lips on his for a quick second. He looked at her, an eyebrow arched, when Ellie pulled out giggling. - “Fuck, how can you make me both so mad and horny for you, Nazario?” - she asked him, now both of her hands cupping his face and bringing him to hers.

Their lips met in a searing kiss, Damien's body colliding with hers and Ellie felt being pressed between him and the door behind her. His hands were already on her ass, while hers fled under his shirt, exploring those abs. He buried his face on her hair, his mouth kissing that smooth skin of her neck as she wrapped one leg around his hips. She let out a low moan when she felt his hard crotch pulsating against her...

Then, suddenly the sound of a door being slammed brought them back to consciousness and to where they were. A young woman around her early twenties with purple hair and glasses watched them intently.

“Oh shit!” - she squealed when they both looked back at her, catching her shamelessly watching them making out. - “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to interrupt you guys… but, uh…” - Ellie recognized her as Lily Spencer, one of Allen’s neighbors, who lived down the hall. She always played with Dipper when they met. - “Well, I heard some screams coming from here and then suddenly everything went quiet, I didn't know if you guys murdered each other, but now I see that I was wrong. So wrong." - she grinned at them. - "Anyway, that was hot. You two are hot…” - Ellie chuckled as Damien groaned in embarrassment. - “Oh, but don’t mind me! You go, guys!” - and then she went back to her own apartment, leaving them alone.

“God dammit, what the fuck is happening with me, getting caught like some kind of a horny teenager like this...” - Damien cursed under his breath, making Eleanor laugh.

“I think it’s better if we take this inside.” - she purred on his ear.

“Please.” - his brown eyes were almost pleading to her and she giggled again before opening the door and pulling him in by the waistband of his jeans.

Dipper welcomed them when she saw that they were back into the apartment, but Eleanor ordered her to go to her dog house in the balcony. Dipper obeyed her, although the dog didn't understand why she was being kicked out. Damien chuckled.

"Poor Dipper, she did nothing wrong."

"Well, do you want to traumatize her? She's always all around the apartment if you let her. And I'll shower her with snacks later. Now, where were we?" - he grinned back at her and as soon as they were alone, his lips were already on hers, his hands all over her body, making Ellie groan with excitement against his mouth, her heart pounding.

But in a quick move, she shoved him down and Damien felt his back hitting the couch. He held his breath as Eleanor slowly disposed of her own clothes, piece by piece, her gaze locked on his the whole time. By the time she sat on his lap, completely naked, he already was completely hard.

“Hmm, do you want me this much, Nazario?” - she asked as she bit his neck playfully.

“I always want you, Ellie.”

“Good, because me too.” - she said and started kissing him down, pulling his pants and boxers as she went. Damien bit back a moan when she found his length, her hands and mouth working on it skilfully, soon bringing him to the edge.

He still was panting, his chest moving heavily, after he spilled inside her mouth, when Ellie climbed on top of him again.

“Delicious.” - she purred, licking her lips and hungrily looking at him, her face just inches from his. Knowing that she had swallowed everything was enough to make him hard again.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Ellie.” - he saw that mischievous shine back in her eyes, before she kissed him wholly.

The weight of her body on top of his, pressing him against the couch underneath them was completely hallucinating. He definitely was ready for more of her. He caught himself thinking if he’d ever get tired of her, but that thought was completely gone when he felt one of Eleanor’s hand positioning him there.

“Don't worry, I'm protected. Now fuck me, D.” - she ordered, lowering herself onto him. They both groaned with the sensation of him filling her, his hands holding her waist.

“Holy sh—“ - suddenly, Damien felt one of her hands over his mouth, muffling his swearing. He opened his eyes and saw Ellie grinning devilishly at him, her dark and long hair partially covering her face.

“You were a bad boy, Nazario. I don’t appreciate when people yell in my face. So I’m punishing you.” - she said as she leaned over him until her mouth was on his ear.  - “You shall not make any sound...”

And then, sitting straight, she started riding him. Her moans were the only thing that could be heard on the apartment, since her hand was muffling his own groans, while her other hand was sprawled on those abs of his that she was so obsessed with.

“Oh fuck...!” - she gasped when he hit just that right spot that made her whole body tremble. Her muscles tightened and pulsated around Damien and his nails buried even deeper on the soft flesh of her ass as she came.

Panting, she laid down still on top of him, until her forehead was pressed against his, her body shivering slightly because of the orgasm.

“Holy shit, Ellie...” - he murmured, his arms pressing her even tighter to him, feeling every inch of her sweaty skin.

Damien started bringing his hips to hers, thrusting faster and deeper until she felt her body tensing again, a delicious shiver going throughout her spine in anticipation. With a swift move, he changed their positions, with him now on top of her, her ankles over his shoulders, to let him have better access.

“I guess it’s payback time.” - he said with a grin.

“Shut up, you— ooooh...” - she moaned, her eyes rolling with pleasure when his thumb started massaging her clit. - “Yes, don’t stop, D...”

“Your wish is my command.” - his smile widened and he thrusted insistently inside her. He felt when she started pulsating around him again and leaned down to her, his lips kissing her neck and shoulders. They almost came at the same time, with him just a few seconds after her.

“Fuck...” - Ellie laughed to Damien’s curse, still under him, his body pinning her to the couch.

“As much as I like feeling you pressed against me, I need to breathe, D.” - she patted him on the shoulder.

“Oh right.” - and then she felt his arm around her and next thing she knew, she was again on the top. - “Are you okay?” - he tucked Ellie's hair behind her ear, so he could see her face better.

“Better than okay.” - she smiled before leaning in and kissing him sweetly. Eleanor rested her head against his shoulder, completely relaxed under the sensation of his arms enveloping her. - “...I’m sorry if I upset you when I proposed you a job. If I knew you’d be so—“

“I am the one who should be apologising. I’m sorry I got so mad.”

They stayed in silence for a few moments, feeling each other’s body. Damien stared into the ceiling while Eleanor drew figure eights on his abs, one of his arms around her shoulders.

“...Well, I must confess that I’m curious why you got so angry.” - Ellie said first, sensing that he would never talk if she didn’t say anything. He let out a sigh. He knew she would ask him that and she deserved an explanation.

“Alright, I’ll tell you, but... well, it’s a little silly.” - she arched an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“...I have these set of rules to follow. Three, to be exact. One, stop getting involved with coworkers, something I learned after Alana; two, stop getting involved with clients, on a personal level, something I learned after I met your cousins and befriended them; and three, stop getting involved with you, Parks.” - Ellie’s eyes slightly widened before she threw her head backwards, laughing loudly. - “Yeah, yeah, I told you they’re silly.”

“It’s not that. They all actually make perfect sense to me.” - both Alana and Allen broke his heart, but she thought it was better to not remind him of that. - “...I understand that things must be kept professional with coworkers and clients; I totally agree with this. I just found funny how specific was your third rule. But...” - she stroke his jaw, the sensation of his growing beard nice against her knuckles. By the way Damien smiled, she believed that he liked when she did it too. - “...you already broke it.” - she said, grinning at him.

“I know. And this is why I was reluctant to get to know you. I knew that I‘d be so screwed if we got closer.” - she laughed softly, making his heart jump. - “But what can I say? You Parks are so damn irresistible.” - she peck kissed him on his chin. - “Anyway, this is why I freaked out when you asked me to work for you. I’d be breaking another rule.”

“Actually... you’d be breaking both first and second rules too.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be hiring you, which makes me a client. But, you would need my help to undercover things about Lucy, so we’d be working together.”

He stared at her for a couple of seconds before cursing:

“...Fuck.”

“Yes, exactly.” - she rested her head against his chest again, listening to his slow and rhythmic heartbeat. - “But hey, since you broke one rule already, why not break the remaining two?”

Damien looked at her, amused.

“What kind of twisted mind is this that you have, Zhou?” - she giggled to his comment. - “Breaking one rule was bad enough and now you’re telling me to break all of them? At once?”

“Well, why not? For me? I promise you I am worth it.” - she winked at him and he rolled his eyes.

“And to think that you call me 'cocky'...”

“We’re both conceited souls, I guess.” - she shrugged, with a smirk on her lips. - “So? What do you say? Will you help me?” - her eyes shined expectantly.

Damien stared back at her for a few seconds.

Fuck.

“...Yeah, I will.” - he heard himself saying as he pulled Eleanor’s face by the chin to his, their lips meeting easily in a delicate kiss. - “Why don’t you tell me what is the case?”

“Yes!” - Ellie squealed and jumped out of the couch and ran to Allen’s bedroom to take her laptop, still naked.

Damien Nazario rubbed his eyes as he sat up and slowly started dressing himself. If he was going to do it, he would need a drink. A strong drink.

He was so screwed.

But he already was, anyway.

#ns*w #the third park #damien nazario #damien x oc #perfect match #playchoices #perfect match au #perfect match fanfic #choices fanfic #choices fanfiction #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction

[taeminsphltrum]

Unique Charm

Lee Taemin | Friends to Lovers!AU | Fluff | WC: 2.5k

♥ summary: taemin isn’t slick, but you’re super dense.

Taemin is quiet.

To outsiders, he doesn’t show many emotions. When he smiles, there’s always a hand covering it. More often than not it seems like he’s in his own little world, clueless to his surroundings.

Taemin is soft-spoken.

He’s probably the most awkward person you’ve ever met, but it’s endearing. His voice is gentle, calming even, and you love it. If he doesn’t know someone he doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and unless he’s comfortable, he’ll only speak a few words at a time in general. 

He is comfortable with you, though. He slips out of his shell when he interacts with you. Smiles are still covered, but he willingly laughs around you. Most people who don’t know Taemin personally think he’s bland, boring even. But you know that’s not the case at all. It took a few months to open to you joining his crew through mutual friends, but now it’s like you’ve been there all along. He’s funny, always cracking jokes that barely anyone catches. He’s playful, always teasing and laughing at his friends if something kind of unfortunate happens or if they cry.

Taemin is cringeworthy. 

He’s the clumsiest guy you know. He can’t act cute to save his life, cringing at himself and making others do the same. He isn’t smooth at all, but his awkward attempts at trying to smooth-talk get him far due to how funny they are.

Taemin is handsome. 

Every hair color and style looks good on him. He can even rock a bowl-cut and still have distant admirers. His lips are perfectly plump and his smile, when shown right before fingers are blocking it, is gorgeous. He has smooth skin that is usually hot to the touch, and it’s perfect for your cold hands.

Taemin is an idiot.

He’s made it so obvious he wants you to be his own. When you aren’t around, Jongin and Ravi make fun of him for being too chicken to ask you out. He does his best to not let it show, trying his hardest to not slip up and hug you for too long when greeting or seeing you off.

You’re dense.

Once you’re comfortable, you can be very affectionate. Not exactly the clingy type, but you like physical contact. You hold your girl friends’ hand, lean into your male friends when you need comfort, throw a leg or two over any of their laps when lounging around. Krystal is just as affectionate, and if the two of you are sitting next to each other, you’re cuddling. When walking down the street or wherever else, you sometimes find yourself holding onto Taemin’s arm. You like to play in his hair when the atmosphere in whichever apartment the squad decided to camp out in is quiet because usually he’s sitting next to you. You don’t notice any signs of Taemin wanting more out of your friendship because it’s the same with all of your guy friends. If Jimin needs a massage because he danced too hard he asks you, and sometimes he doesn’t even need to ask. If Jongin asks you to scratch his scalp because his nails are too short and don’t feel as good as yours do, you grant his wish.

You’re really dense. 

There’s always been a natural attraction between you and Taemin, but you never questioned it. The one time you actually thought about it, you concluded that it was just a matter of time before the two of you crossed paths. You suck at catching signs and taking hints, so the knowing looks you and Taemin receive when you two are leaning against each other or interacting at all for that matter, you don’t notice them.

Ravi, Jongin, Jimin, and Krystal are always trying to get it through Taemin’s head that he needs to speed things up. You’re an attractive girl with a pretty nice personality, the remind him, so you could be snatched from under his nose any day now.

“She’s not going to say no, Tae.”

Taemin is a pretty confident guy. He knows he has a nice face and nice body. He gets complimented a lot on his style and unlike you, he isn’t ignorant to when someone has heart eyes for him. But when it comes to feelings, he’d just rather not deal with them. Because you’re the same with all of your friends, no matter their gender, he can’t tell if what he feels is mutual.

“Why do we always have to talk about this? I’m not stressing it so neither should any of you.”

He honestly isn’t stressing it, but it usually is in the back of his mind. He wants you, but he’s not going to die from not having you.

Conversations like this get cut short when you arrive, smiling widely and more often than not hugging Taemin first. Though he does his best to keep his hugs from lingering, you don’t really help with how your hugs are usually long.

“Do you have food?” you ask while hugging Jongin, the side of your face on his chest. 

Taemin isn’t the jealous type. He doesn’t get mad at the way you and Jongin rock side to side during the hug that’s longer than the one you gave him. It doesn’t affect him at all, actually. Why would he feel some type of way when you don’t even know of his feelings?

“Only snacks,” Jongin replies, resting his chin on the top of your head. “You and Taemin could go get some? I’ll pay.” 

You smile at his offer, humming in confirmation. 

Jongin digs into his back pocket for his wallet, handing it to you. He looks at Taemin, eyes widening and head tilting, signaling that he just gave Taemin the perfect opportunity to do his thing. All Taemin does is roll his eyes, walking past you and Jongin to slip his shoes back on. When you grab Taemin’s hand and lead him out of the front door he squeezes your hand in an attempt to calm down his suddenly hard beating heart, but you just take it as a sign of affection.

“Can I drive?” you ask, smiling the smile none of your guy friends can resist. You brought your own, but you like driving his. It’s roomy, comfortable, the speakers are loud and bass is heavy. It’s fast and pretty expensive, and overall it’s just nice to drive.

After fishing out his keys from his jeans with the hand that’s not slowly becoming sweaty from holding yours, he passes them to you, making your smile grow.

He only lets you drive his car. He doesn’t trust Jongin and Krystal flat out sucks at driving. This could be another sign of how fond he is of you, but it goes right over your head.

You’re not dumb in the slightest, and while you’re observant enough, you don’t pay mind to little clues. You focus on the bigger picture, and Taemin hates it but is also grateful. If you would just pay a little more attention he’s sure he would be caught, but if the results aren’t what he wants, he’d rather you stay blind.

“So what are we eating?” you ask after starting the car, keeping an ear open for suggestions as you adjust the mirrors and seat for your safety and comfort.

Taemin shrugs. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

Your nose scrunches up in distaste at the nickname. They only call you that when you’re being a brat or manipulate someone into doing or giving you something you want. Taemin finds it endearing, though.

“I guess we’ll drive around until I find something good and cheap enough,” you shrug back. You don’t want to overdo it with Jongin’s money, seeing that he’s paying for six people. You’re considerate, and that’s just another characteristic on the list of why Taemin is so enamored. 

Taemin isn’t impulsive. 

He likes to think things out before saying them. He likes to think about his actions before performing them.

But Jongin’s words resurface. The two of you are alone, no prying eyes of people you know waiting for him to finally bust a move on you. Taemin hates to admit it, but Jongin graciously gave him the perfect opportunity today. Taemin woke up in a good mood today, and so far his plans for the day have been working out smoothly. He wasn’t greeted with a pimple when he looked in the mirror and his outfit makes him feel good, feel confident.

He isn’t poetic like Jonghyun and doesn’t ooze confidence like Jongin, but he has his own charm. He’s… Taemin. And in this very moment, he thinks that’s enough.

“Hey,” he calls out from behind you as the two of you walk towards the restaurant. 

You hum out in question, not bothering to turn around. Your arms are swinging back and forth as you walk and Taemin can tell you’re also in a great mood. So what better time than now?

He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm his now racing heart and the fuzziness in his brain. His stomach feels as if he’s on a roller coaster, but he’s already made his mind up.

Grabbing your swinging hand, he pulls on it, forcing you to stop in your tracks.

“What’s up?” you ask, brows furrowed. “Something wrong?”

His eyes flicker around to check his surroundings before they meet yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

He definitely isn’t poetic. He isn’t smooth at all. He is good at suppressing facial expressions, though. His poker face is amazing. But he cracks when you laugh. The sound is airy and genuine, and Taemin is dumbfounded.

“I don’t see why not.”

Taemin is a sweetheart. He doesn’t let you leave his presence with a frown. He’s there if you need a shoulder to cry on.

His question sparks realization in you.

Within a few seconds, memories resurface in your mind before leaving just as fast as they came, and it makes you laugh. Unlike you, Taemin isn’t very affectionate with his female friends. He hugs Krystal and Amber and whomever else, but he always visibly tenses up when they grab his hand or touch his thigh when laughing and that’s the closest body part to their hands. You always figured it was just because the touches were unexpected. But when you do so much more to him, he doesn’t flinch in the slightest. If you pat his thigh, he doesn’t react. If you slip your fingers in between his, he grips your hand. If you touch his face, he leans into your hand.

“Really?”

You nod, the softest of smiles playing on your lips.

“Do you actually want me to, though?”

His confidence has simmered down into insecurity. What if you only said yes because you’re just so nice you want to give him what he wants?

“Yes, Taemin.”

The thought never crossed your mind prior to his question. It’s not as if a thousand feelings come rushing in and you realize you’ve wanted him for as long as you can remember, but the realization that you wouldn’t mind his lips on yours one bit sinks in.

You take a glance at his lips, plump and just a little on the dry side. It might make him feel like less of a man if you initiate the kiss, so you wait until he’s ready. He hates feeling emasculated and you’d hate to make him feel that way.

Taemin dips his head down and you lift yours up. He’s still hesitant, lips just barely brushing against yours. His breath gets caught in his throat at the proximity and at the though that this is really happening. Everyone was right. Your glossy lips send sparks up his spine once he finally kisses you.

His lips are as soft as they look. You don’t move until he pushes a little more, separating his lips so that he can sandwich your bottom one in between them.

It’s short-lived, Taemin not wanting to push too far and pulling away soon after. He licks his lips, tasting the thin layer of lip gloss that was transferred.

“We should probably get the food before they start blowing our phones up,” he mumbles, swiftly turning and walking into the building. He knows they have an idea of what’s happening, but he needed an excuse to get away from you so that his heart could go back to beating normally and so that the butterflies in his stomach would settle. 

You follow suit, dumb smile on your face. His awkwardness is charming, and you’d take this over Jongin’s sex appeal any day.

◅ ▻

“Did you do it?” 

A number of times Taemin has heard this is kind of ridiculous. Each time he has the same answer. But it’s also ridiculous how many situations he’s been in to finally do it, yet avoided them. 

This time, though, he has a different answer.

“Yep,” he replies nonchalantly, eyes still trained to his phone as he scrolls through social media.

Jongin hits his shoulder with a loud thwack, body language showing his excitement as he stands up in front of Taemin. “You’re lying!”

Times like this is when Taemin pats himself on the back for being able to keep a straight face. He shrugs, crossing his legs and slouching into Jongin’s couch.

“I won’t believe you until you prove it,” Jimin says from the other end of the couch. “Prove it when she comes back in.”

You had to run out to your car to grab your charger, so you’d be back any second now. Taemin feels pressured, and he’s not sure how exactly he could prove it to his friends, but if he doesn’t find a way then they’ll be breathing down his neck until who knows when. 

The jingle of your keys announces your arrival, Jimin locking his phone and giving Taemin all of his attention while Jongin sits back down, biting his lip to contain his excitement. 

Taemin calls your name when you round the corner, beckoning you over to the couch the three of them are seated on. 

“What’s up, Tae?”

Uncrossing his legs, he pats his lap. “Come here.”

Your lips thin out in an attempt to hide the smile that wants to stretch your lips, glancing at the other to males on the couch. Both are watching you intently, and you kind of have an idea of what’s going on right now. Throwing your charger on the coffee table, you turn around and gently plop down on his thighs sideways. When he puckers his lips, tilting his head up towards you, you let the smile break out and give him what he wants, slanting your lips over his. 

If they want a show, they’ll get a show. Taemin’s hand finds your cheek and cups it, sucking on your bottom lip before pulling back, your lip stretching out until it snaps back into place. 

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your throat, leaning down further to bury your face in his neck and dangling your arms across his shoulders.

Taemin looks to his left, Jongin with a proud smile on his face and Jimin’s jaw dropped. Wrapping his arms around your middle, he smirks, mouthing told you.

A/N: this was just something to get me back in the feel of wanting to write while in the middle of projects and more upcoming exams and it came out pretty well so ya, feedback is always wanted :)

#shinee scenario #shinee scenarios #shinee smut #taemin scenario #taemin scenarios #taemin smut

[shark-myths]

I was tagged by @beckettsthoughts,  which, thank you. <3 <3 <3

RULES: Always post the rules. Answer the  questions asked, then write 11 new ones. Tag 11 people to answer your  questions, as well as the person who tagged you.

THEIR QUESTIONS

1. What is something  you’ve seen in person that you never thought you’d see in person? (E.g. rare  or bizarre wildlife, a dream destination, a celebrity)

Literally in a  parking lot I saw a raven using salsa. It was dipping its fucking parking lot  scavenge food in a little paper cup of SALSA. What the ACTUAL fuck???

2. What book/movie  do you keep saying you want to read/watch but know you probably never will?

Let’s be real, I am never going to get through The Silmarillion, I am a  low person of low quality

3. What song will  you forever associate with school dances or discos? 

GET LOW! And also, um, the Cha-Cha Slide. I’m old.

4. What’s your  favourite supermarket to shop at? Why is it better than all the others? 

Trader Joe’s. It is the fucking best in all ways. They have a lot of  random delicious items that I’m in love with, they have the best chocolate,  they have my favorite wine and it’s under $4 a bottle, they have dorky cute  house brands like “Trader Jose’s” for their Mexican food, I like their red  quinoa and dried pineapple and sweetened coconut chips and maple cookies, and  there are always samples and you can get produce there that actually has  flavor, is affordable, and is not ROTTEN like all the produce in Mississippi.  Also a favorite is ALDI, which is super cheap and offers pantry staples $2-3  cheaper than anywhere else and has a lot of types of food that are no longer  accessible to me now that we live somewhere without one—like, who can pay $8  for a pack of pancetta for her pizza sauce? Not this dude. At ALDI that shit  was $3. The working poor need dried Italian meats too.

5. Do you have any  local myths or legends? 

CUBA ROAD. It was just this creepy road and if you went down it at  midnight you would like, either not come back at all or come back horribly  changed. It was Haunted. No one I know who braved it ever saw anything but I also  only knew like, one person who dared try. I certainly didn’t.

6. How did you meet  your best friend? 

ON THE INTERNET READING FANFICTION, that’s actually how I meet almost  all of my significant relationships. not even joking. I just give my home address  and phone number to strangers on the internet, it’s been working out pretty  well the past 14 years

7. Think of the best  teacher you ever had at school, what were they like and why were they the  best?

to be honest with you, I have completed 24 years of formal fucking  education and I have had so many teachers, trying to pick the best one is  shredding my heart! I had one teacher for Anatomy who was really passionate  and gave us these embarrassing activities like doing autopsies on pickles  (she had dressed them up and given them wounds, like toothpick splinters and  ball-bearing bullets) and hypothesizing about cause of death; I had an  amazing ball-buster history teacher who yelled at me in class once for  working on homework for another teacher and from that moment on I adored her;  I had a really intelligent professor with really high standards who taught  psychopharmacology and I worked the hardest I ever have to do well in his  class because I respected him so much; I had a really excitable professor  from Luxemborg who I took a “gender benders” in lit and history class with  who was amazing and kind to me even though at that point I was too anxious to  ever speak; I recently took Medical Anthropology with a greek woman who  shouted about politics and biomedicine daily and just thinks about things as  a hobby and I want to be her when I grow up and she let me write my entire  term paper on how mad I was at sexism in my field of study.

The trends in what I like are: passion/enthusiasm; having high standards;  not being nice to me to try to get me to like them. because I’m broken in  strange and interesting way the quickest thing a teacher can do to lose my  respect is try to make me like them. Like, be kind of a dick to me and then  praise me for killing myself on papers to win your approval, that’s all I want.

8. Have you ever had  any funny holiday/vacation mishaps? 

once when I was interviewing for a graduate school program I was given  a hotel room by the school, which was pretty decent of them—they had this  weird on-site hotel—and I was all prepared to settle in, had my shit spread  all over both beds, when in came the OTHER APPLICANT I was apparently sharing  the room with. This was terribly embarrassing. I had an anxiety disorder at  the time, was easily embarrassed & soooooo behaviorally inhibited. Anyway,  long story short, I forgot to pack pajamas so instead of saying that like a  normal person, I just… pretended really casually like I always slept in the  same sweater I’d worn all day and wormed out of my jeans under the covers

9. Speaking of  holidays and vacations, what are the best and worst holidays you’ve ever been  on?

best: the Wizarding World of Harry Potter for my honeymoon, a spring  break trip to Toronto, a wedding in Martha’s Vineyard, going to Boulder for  the first time and spending a week with @simplydalektable and the way everything  was made of sunshine and gold and I didn’t need food or sleep or anything but  her

worst: when I was 15 and my parents took me and my half-brothers to a  remote cabin in the wilderness with no internet and it was during the days  when texting and phone calls like, existed but you had to pay tremendously to  enjoy them so they were Outlawed and everyone was tense and mad at each other  and bored because like, we are not equipped to socialize who would think locking  us all into one room was a good idea; once when I was depressed at Disney  World with my mom and all I could think about was how I was supposed to enjoy  it more and everyone was mad at me because I was an Angsty Adolescent; these  are pretty mild horrors, my life is pretty good

10. Do you collect  anything? Did you collect anything when you were younger?

I used to collect comic books with great seriousness! Now I collect  band shit and copies of Lord of the Rings, my favorite anything ever. I have  4 editions currently, which is not nearly enough. I collect books in general  with fervency.

11. What led you  create a tumblr blog, however long ago that may be? 

oh my god this is the most me thing ever, but there was an art festival  in the town I was living in and some old fucking white dude entered a project  that was Commentary On The Youths or some shit and used the selfies of young  girls that he took from the internet to criticize millennials for being  shallow???? Like, that is a form of cultural appropriation, these girls are  growing up in a society that allows them some modicum of control over their  own image and they’re using it to explore and define themselves and own their  own selves for one fucking moment in their lives, and You, some Gross Old  Dude, are just putting your slimy hands in there and like, trying to make a  Point about something you can’t possibly understand????? And I was so angry I  decided I was going to do my OWN selfie project (I’m in year 2 now; I was  daily in year 1 but I’ve been slacking the last six months), so I made this  blog, and for the first year I used it only for posting my daily selfies. like  every fucking other thing in my life, I created this blog out of pure rage.  (someday I will tell you the story of how I became so mad at the field of  clinical psychology that I decided to become a clinical psychologist, and  somehow powered through 8 years of torturous education on that anger alone)

And for the second  part of this, I tag @xabjectlessonsx @crhiscornell @syndestruction @time-less @immoral-crow @we-are-the-weirdos-mister @oceanjade345 and any of you lovelies who would like to!

MY QUESTIONS

1. What is the  sickest you’ve ever been and why?

2. What is your  favorite thing to drink?

3. What song do you  use to deal with your emotions? How does it work—does it suppress them or let  you express them?

4. If you could only  watch one movie for the rest of your life, it would be:

5. Favorite myth, legend, or fairy tale?

6. If you had a  perfectly self-centered wish you could make, what would you wish for?

7. Tell me about  your pets.

8. In your  opinion, what is the most perfect record ever made? (Doesn’t have to be your  favorite)

9. What’s your  favorite thing about space?

10. What are you  nostalgic for?

11. List 5  words you think everyone should start using more.

#ask #ask meme #about me #tag a friend

[allofbeercom]

5 Insane Subcultures That Might Become The Next Hipster

Guys, we’ve gone and done it: We broke hipsters. We’ve made fun of their $200 “vintage” shirts and fixies and craft-beer-spewing proboscises for so long that the very term has malfunctioned. “Hipster” is now a meaningless go-to insult for anyone who looks different from you, which is everyone. The hipster is gone. Beards can finally be un-ironic again.

However, as much as it pains me to say this, the death of the hipster is a problem. There must always be a dominant subculture — the one people love to hate until it occupies so much mind space that it actually hits the mainstream. A few of them actually die; strong ones such as punk come cackling back in the shadows before long, while others such as hippies gain public semi-acceptance and go on doing their thing. Even fucking emos have Hot Topic to remember them by. But, not hipsters — hipsters are going out like an IPA-tainted diarrhea fart. The mark they leave is distinct, but easily washable. They’ve been an unsustainable fad — the Kris Kross jeans of subcultures. So, now that they’re on the out, there’s a power vacuum, and attempts to fill it with more of the same (see “lumbersexuals” and “yuccies“) don’t seem to be gaining too much traction.

The balance of the universe is at stake. What we need is the next hipster: a fresh new stereotype to joke about/lust after (depending on your alignment) for the next few years. Seeing as I’m currently locked in the writing barrel, and the other columnists refuse to let me out until I find one, here goes:

#5. Raggare

I’ve never been a greaser myself because, frankly, I can only handle so much Buddy Holly, but I have a long-standing affinity toward 1950s aesthetics. That’s why it’s always pissed me off a little that, apart from a few fashion revivals and Stray Cats in the 1980s, the culture has been firmly sidelined from the mainstream for decades. Still, just because it’s not front and center doesn’t mean that it’s not evolving. In Sweden, strange things are happening:

It’s like Mad Max had a drinking competition with Grease, and everyone lost.

Raggare have been around since the 1950s, but they truly kicked into gear during the 1970s oil crisis: When America found it didn’t have money to drive its giant-ass cars, many Swedes said, “Fuck yes, American stuff for cheap,” and bought themselves a bunch of Buicks, Dodges, and suchlike in prime condition. The rock ‘n’ roll attitude arrived with the cars, and they’ve never stopped since. These days, raggare are a culture old enough to have subcultures of its own: the relatively mellow old-timers who tinker with their machines and arrange garage parties and drives, and the younger generation, who are feistier and, if the pictures are any indication, possess a very different attitude about their cars’ appearance.

Feber “I’m telling you, man, thatched car roofs are the next big thing.”

Hipster Pros:

Raggare have a look. They have a very specific thing that they do. Most importantly, they’re not just a phase you grow out of. Guys from the 1970s are still in the scene and have no intention of stopping. These guys could have actual lasting power.

Hipster Cons:

They’re seasonal. The raggare lifestyle is all about old cars, suede shoes, and painstakingly pomade-sculptured hair, all of which go right out of the window when mother nature decides to make your region eat a faceful of winter. For the colder portion of the year, many raggare tend to go around in modern cars and season-appropriate clothes and generally give more of an upstanding citizen vibe. Today’s Twitter-filled world is a hectic ol’ thing, and a subculture that goes into hibernation for a few months every year might not be able to survive even a single media cycle.

I am, of course, proposing that they should mod their cars into all-weather, all-terrain attack vehicles, M.A.S.K. style.

#4. Seapunk

Seapunk is a logical successor to the dominant subculture throne, in that it ticks all the right boxes: They have their own weird, house/hip-hop music, a distinct identity, and a look that sets them apart from everyone else. Also important: Said look is annoying as hell.

Aquaman’s emo years were no one’s proudest moment.

Even seapunk’s origin story is organic, reflects our times, and (most importantly) is easily stupid enough to warrant a torrent of jokes. Someone saw a dream about a leather jacket with barnacles instead of studs and tweeted it, shit went viral — and boom! Online joke becomes a meme, and meme becomes a subculture, complete with aesthetics that look like a tornado picked up the entire Burning Man festival and dropped it in the cartoon ocean part of Oz.

Hipster Pros:

They’re a fucking meme come to life! Plus, no one seems to be certain about whether this is an elaborate joke or an actual thing that exists. Suck on those irony levels, veterans of the hipster scene.

My money would be on the joke, but I think I actually have a shirt like that somewhere.

Hipster Cons:

It might be too late. We live in a time where most cool new things are almost immediately appropriated by the mainstream. So, barely a year into its short life, pop stars from Rihanna to Azealia Banks were already flirting with the seapunk aesthetic, stripping it of what little underground value it had. By most accounts, the movement largely fizzled out of existence by the end of 2012, meaning that the Mayan people were right about at least one small, sad apocalypse.

Even if there is a strong seapunk scene bubbling under the streets and just waiting to explode upon us in all its aquamarine glory, there’s the fact that apart from the 0.01 percent of seapunks with the looks, time, money, and eye for visuals to regularly look like a naval-themed wedding cake, pretty much every aficionado of the movement would end up looking as out of place as the left shark in Katy Perry’s Superbowl performance.

FUCK YEAH LEFT SHARK, YOU SHOW THEM!

This would, of course, be totally awesome and thus severely undermine the subculture’s ability to function as a hate sink.

#3. Gopniki

Weird Russia

There are plenty of working class cultures around the world that wear track suits and designer gear — British chavs, Polish dresy, Australian bogans, and gangsta rappers, for instance. However, those are not what we’re going to talk about today. Today, we’re all about the gopniki. They’re the Russian variation of the ghetto gangster theme and therefore, by default, 125 percent rougher around the edges and in possession of precisely none of all the fucks. If you see a weird YouTube clip about a 20-something in a cheap track suit doing an activity that makes you instantly nod and think: “Yep, Russia,” chances are it’s one of these guys.

Case in point.

Hipster Pros:

Every once in a while, society needs its dominant subculture to be more than just a remora sticking to pop culture’s underbelly. Sometimes, we need it to give us a good, hard slap on the balls and make us look in the mirror. It’s been a while since we had one of those, and none of the current ones fit the old “my son/daughter is not going to go out with one of those people” bill better than the gopniki.

Also, I’m completely on board with a rerun of the Slav squat meme.

Hipster Cons:

Gopniki are not known for their open-mindedness, but extremely so for their tendency to drunkenly fight anything that moves. Unless you’re a terrible person, they’re not going to agree with your political views too much and, on occasion, might be inclined to do their disagreeing with the soles of their Adidas instead of angry blogging.

So, while a gopnik might be a very good target for a casual “ugh, can you believe what I saw one of those fucking gopniki do today at Starbucks?” said offensive activity might involve a lot less pretentious screenplay writing with an actual typewriter and a lot more high-impact slurs and poor impulse control.

Also, I really, really don’t want that goddamned slicked-forward inverted mullet hairstyle half of them seem to sport to catch on. I still haven’t recovered from topknots.

Actually, yeah, let’s pass these fucking guys. Besides, I have a much better candidate just around the corner …

#2. Haul People

Back in the murky depths of 2011, Cracked’s resident trend expert Daniel O’Brien became baffled by a phenomenon known as haul videos. They’re seemingly random YouTube clips where girls fawned over their shopping “hauls” on-camera and, for some inexplicable reason, raked in five- to six-figure views.

I remember this well. Back then, it seemed like just another weird kink of the Internet, a video version of a meme. Surely, people have long since grown bored of watching a bunch of creepy kids wave their purchases at the camera and wandered away to watch more cat videos or someth-

… ing.

6.7 million views? Actual production values? What the shit?

Sure, they’re still not particularly widely known, but they’ve been moving and shaking in the marginal like no one’s business. The people who make haul videos used to be called haul girls, but now that guys are in on the action, too, I don’t think the community really has a name yet — haulers? Haulsters? I’m just going to go ahead and call them “haul people” and hope it’ll stick until the Mole Man mishears the name and attempts to enslave them all. Many of the more successful ones have PR agents and deals with fashion and cosmetic companies. They have been featured on Good Morning America. They have a distinct identity, albeit that of vapid fucks yammering about consumer products to unseen audiences. There are even people who make haul parodies. If that level of sadness doesn’t ruin your day, I don’t know what will.

Hipster Pros:

Easier to hate than a shit-smeared street performer singing Nickelback, yet inexplicably popular enough to have some semblance of legitimacy. Those are the main definitions of, well, every fucking successful subculture in history, and haul people pass them with flying flags.

Flags that they shape out of giant shopping bags.

Hipster Cons:

They’re not ready just yet.

Although they have vast potential as a highly visible subculture that everyone will do their level best to forget in five years’ time, haul people currently lack direction. They’re basically low-key corporate shills, buying/getting junk and peddling it for us. However, the extreme popularity of fringe haul genres such as unboxing videos shows promise for something much, much grander and more stupid. Give it a year or two; I have hope that the community will find certain defining themes and Flanderize itself into something we can truly be baffled by on an ironic-mustache level.

#1. These Fucking Guys

For the love of G’huul the Great Eater, keep the sound on.

Hipster Pros:

All of them.

Hipster Cons:

None. We’re done here. I don’t care who these people really are. I don’t care what they’re supposed to be doing. All I know is that they look like an explosion at the My Little Pony factory’s neon paint subsidiary, and someone edited the Thomas The Tank Engine theme to sync with their goofy-looking space outfit flailing. That is the level of bafflement we need right now, friends, and I now want these guys to explode all over our pop culture fucking yesterday — preferably, while contractually obligated to carry a boom box that blasts out the Thomas theme 24/7.

Pauli Poisuo is a Cracked weekly columnist and freelance editor. Here he is on Facebook and Twitter.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-insane-subcultures-that-might-become-the-next-hipster/

[nudesreadingminicomics]

The Complete ‘Eightball’ by Dan Clowes

Here's 'The Complete Eightball' by Dan Clowes, out from Fantagraphics and its reprintin' issues 1 through 18 of the comic series of the same name.  If you have been living under a rock or are just brand spanking new to comics and don't know what Eightball is, well, Eightball is what inspired just about the whole next generation of cartoonists who followed.  

I used to have every issue of Eightball, I bought them when they came out starting with something like issue 4 or 5, but I gave them away, along with the majority of my comic collection and pretty much all my personal possessions, when I went bonkers and disappeared to South America.  So this new collection is absolutely perfect for a fella like me as it reprints the comics EXACTLY as they came out, on the original paper stock and cover stock and everything.  Its a little hardback book binding together a bunch of old comic books between its covers!!

Anyhoo, if you don't know what Eightball is, its probably the best underground comic of all time.  I was inspired to finally pick this collection up and read it after going through Chris Ware's exquisite 'Monograph'.  Ware's self loathing is abundant, as usual, and as I marveled at page after page of meticulous art and craft accompanied by Wares constant "I'm a horrible artist, I hate comics, I hate drawing, all this shit is so embarrassing," I did start to think to myself, "is Ware indeed all that great?"  And, of course, he is all that great but his self loathing is coming from a good place and it does have a point.  Though I have no idea how much a Ware compares to a Clowes on how much they're drafting a page or researching a subject or sharpening a pencil, the Ware material does definitely come out with every second, every hour, and every day logged on a page very front and clear and it is at times hard to recognize if my awe and wonder at the page is in fact for its merit as "art"  or just for the mere fact that anything one spends over 400 hours working on is gonna result in some crooked necked, mouth agape, stares of awe and amazement.

Clowes' pages sing not only with the inspiring talent, the just fucking hip style, and the draughtman's skill but it does indeedy come off as fucking NATURAL.  I can't do what Clowes does but I can understand it, I know where its coming from and what inspired it, and Ware's stuff just looks like it came from outer space.  Clowes is relatable, I may be a shithead but I still get that warm feeling that if maybe I actually applied myself I could do "good" work like Clowes.  I can't do shit like Ware, nobody can, Ware's stuff is the result of living extended periods on Enceladus mixed with bathing retreats on Titan.

Clowes' Eightball was totally in the right place at the right time.  I cannot explain the excitement of seeing this stuff come out in real time, in the context of those times, and just how much it brought us little hipsters and freaks and losers together.   Going through the collection of course brought a ton of memories back but the material wasn't any less engaging or entertaining, its stood the test of time. He nails our angst, our melancholia, our rants in a timeless fashion and he regurgitates it out sometimes in surreal drama, sometimes in all to real drama, and in exquisite comedy.  

One little piece, one little thing I had totally forgotten about and would never had remembered had they not reprinted everything, was Joe Matt's bullshit letter to Clowes criticizing his humor pieces while reveling in stuff like Ghost World.  What the fuck, is MAD irrevelant??  Is Kurtzman or Wood or Davis irrelevant?  Cuz the humor in Eightball is of the finest degree and, in those early days, Clowes was the direct successor to those dudes and he and Altergott were definitely the only ones carrying the torch.  I used to read those early issues and be like, "HOLY CRAP THIS DUDE IS THE NEXT WALLY WOOD AND JACK DAVIS AND EVERYBODY!!"  I grew up on MAD and EC comics collections and this dude was GETTING IT.  His fantastic crowd scenes of Pogeybait or the Happy Fisherman walking through a city street, surrounded by the mania and the hopelessness of the citizenry manifested in full on mad dog crowd riot style chewing on feet and breaking windows and explosions were THE modern iteration of a MAD page.  This guy knew the city, knew people, and he wasn't aping that shit from Kurtzman or Elder he was just FOLLOWING THEIR EXAMPLE.  It was MAD for me, man!!  It was MAD for the skinny kid sick of watching the dude with the ski cap and the oversized jeans getting all the chicks at the party, man.  Eightball had hipness, "now-ness" and it was a burning fire to go out and suddenly see Clowes on a bottle of OK Soda or hear REM on Letterman singing 'What's the Frequency, Kenneth?"@!  Anyway, so Joe Matt is all criticizing him for his humor pieces and they are fucking TIMELESS, man!  Shit like 'Sensual Santa' is gut bustingly funny and the immediate (and quickly lost) rush of euphoria of good comedy is just as relevant as the paced and developed drama of a Ghost World, dude.

Issue 7 is the pinnacle, is the absolute Nadir of that early era of Eightball.  The main, serialized, story 'Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron' takes on a more serious and labored tone and gives us a hint of where Clowe's fiction will take a turn in future stories and serializations and the pieces 'Art School Confidential' and 'Chicago' are THE most epic rants of all time, peppered with all to real (too painfully fucking real) accounts of just how horrible we humans are amongst its real ball bopping jokes and groan worthy humor.  And you top that issue off with the exquisite 'Needle Dick, the Bug Fucker', who's final panel ends with the finest bit of dialogue in any comic strip ever (and I paraphrase); "hi son what were you doing today?" "FUCKING BUGS."

As Eightball evolved that style of humor was stripped away in favor of much more grueling human observations and dramas.  I didn't grow as fast as eightball did and stories like 'Gynecology' and 'Like a Weed, Joe' didn't strike me very much but the genius and absolute eloquence of 'Ghost World' could be lost on no one.  A fucking modern masterpiece worth every bit of praised heaped upon it and there's not really much more to say here that hasn't already been said.  Again, ya had to be there.  To be a fan of that magazine and watch it rock out Velvet Glove ish after ish and then fucking IMMEDIATELY AFTER, without even a couple issues of toodlin' around and finding his way to the next story, we are given the dose that was Ghost World.  Ahh what times they were!  That was a great time to be a comic fan.  

Ahh, dang it, I didn't want this thing to be one big ol "ya had to be there" trip down memory lane but it turned into one anyway.

Also, go over to my Patreon where you get uncensored images, music videos, art, and all sorts of fantastic shit from my 20 odd years in performance for real fucking cheap:https://www.patreon.com/shfb

#eightball #daniel clowes #fantagraphics #comix #graphic novel