#ranking David's sweaters

[melefim]

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Fuck

Overview:

Fuck was said a total of 90 times, in all 8 episodes and by 15 different characters.

Uses Per Episode:

Fuck is said in all 8 episodes of the show, one of only 4 words to do so.

Episode 1: 7

Episode 2: 5

Episode 3: 13

Episode 4: 5

Episode 5: 8

Episode 6: 13

Episode 7: 16

Episode 8: 23

Uses Per Character:

Fuck is said by 15 different characters, more than any other word.

Edwin: 2

Charles: 5

Crystal: 20

Jenny: 18

David: 12

Esther: 6

The Cat King: 6

Tabby Cat: 2

Calico Cat: 1

Litty: 8

Kingham: 5

Brad: 2

Hunter: 1

Twitchy Richie: 1

Girl in Crystal’s Memory 2 (Club Fight): 1

Percent of Total:

Fuck is used 90 times, which is 27.9% of cursing in the show.

Variations:

There are 7 variations of the word used in the show, with the most popular being Fuck, which was used 42 times.

Fuck: 42

Fucking: 37

Fucked-up: 7

Fucked: 1

Fucker: 1

Fuckboy: 1

Mindfuck: 1

Rankings:

Total Uses: Fuck comes in first for total uses, being said 90 times.

Number of Episodes: Fuck is one of only four curse words that is said in all 8 episodes- the others are Shit, Ass, and God.

Most Uses of a Word in a Single Episide: Fuck holds 5 of the top 11 spots.

Most Uses of a Word by a Single Character in One Episode: Fuck took the title here as well, being said 10 times by Jenny in episode 8.

Total Characters: Fuck comes in first for number of characters to say it, with 15 using it throughout the show.

It is one of only two words said by the main trio of Edwin, Charles, and Crystal, the other being Damn.

It is one of only four words said by both Edwin and Charles—the others being Damn, Bloody, and Bloody Hell.

Favorite Word: Fuck is the favorite word of 7 different characters: Jenny (18), David (12), Litty (8), The Cat King (6), Kingham (5), Tabby Cat (2), and Brad (2).

Curse Word Variations: It comes in first for most variations, with 7.

Lines:

Episode 1:

Charles: Edwin, hurry the fuck up!

David: I'll fucking gut you! (x2 while possessing Crystal)

Crystal: It's just a stupid fucking name.

Tabby Cat: Fuck you. I'm not telling you nothing about that house or the witch inside.

Crystal: So maybe he's our fucking demon now!

Edwin: Police don't know what to do with a fucking witch!

Episode 2:

Litty: Little ghost fucker!

Litty: I'm gonna tell you something, because I think you really need to hear it, okay? You should go fuck yourself.

Litty: You know what? You can take that sweater and you can shove it up your ass. Do you have any clue how powerful we are? We are fucking gods!

Kingham: You better hope we never get out of here or we are going to fuck you up, like 'brass knuckles and mace' fuck you up!

Episode 3:

Jenny: It's a super fucked-up story so I'm gonna need some coffee

Crystal: What the actual fuck?

Calico Cat: At least we don't have to go inside. This house is fucked up.

Crystal: Just what the fuck is it?

Litty: Looks like they left you behind because you fucking suck.

Litty: They're all gonna fucking die.

Litty: We were fucking kidding, can't you take a fucking joke?

Litty: Stupid fucking bitch!

Charles: I'm just sick of watching this asshole kill his family a million times for no fucking reason. Tried it your way, and it did nothing. Sod it. Let's try mine. (x2 due to time loop)

Charles: His dad was bad, Edwin. Royally fucked-up bad.

Crystal: I am done wasting my energy on your fuckboy bullshit.

Episode 4:

Jenny: Ok, so you're what? You're just, you're not gonna leave until I explain this even though it's private and go the fuck away?

Tabby Cat: Fuck off. The kid had a sardine.

Crystal: You fucked with my head, I'm gonna fuck with yours.

Charles: Every day, I'm fucking smiling.

Episode 5:

Twitchy Richie: The fuck is this?

Jenny: Oh my fuck.

Crystal: You walk around acting like the sun always shines, and then you lost your shit while beating the Night Nurse. Edwin and I are walking on eggshells around you instead of just saying 'what the actual fuck?'

Jenny: What the fuck, Maxine?

Hunter: Oh, fuck that, you whiny little bitch.

Brad: It's a fucking tragedy that we died, okay?

Brad: What the fuck does that mean?

David: I'm a demon! And I always get what I fucking want!

Episode 6:

Crystal: I want to keep this demon the fuck out.

Jenny: Just like whatever the fuck I am doing is none of yours.

Crystal: It's like he's fucking haunting me.

David: Oh no, I'm so fucking scared.

Charles: Don't listen to him Crystal, it's just some sort of a mindfuck, innit?

David: Why the fuck do you smell so weak?

David: What the fuck did you do?

Crystal: I gave up my powers, OK? I got you out of my fucking head.

David: Now, she's just another fucking terrified lump of human flesh!

Crystal: I am nothing special, So why don't you just leave me the fuck alone?

David: Did you really think that you could beat me with a fucking cricket bat?

The Cat King: Do you hear me? I will stop fucking playing nice!

Esther: Teeth Face, what the fuck?

Episode 7:

The Cat King: Why the fuck are you here?

Esther: I know you blew up Monty's spot, you little fucking snitch.

The Cat King: I don't give a fuck, OK? End of audience.

The Cat King: That was my third life, you bitch. I only get nine. Would you fuck off? Fuck!

Crystal: Fucking bullshit, like I can't help.

Crystal: God, that's fucking insane.

Jenny: Fucking kid.

Jenny: What the fuck?

David: Why the fuck would you even want that?

David: What the fuck did you do? Where are we?

David: Maybe I was just fucking with you.

David: Fuck! Fine, you got your memories back.

Jenny: What the fuck was that?

Esther: You, you.. you think that you're the only one who's ever been screwed over? You're not. I fucking deserve this!

Edwin: That is so fucking stupid, It's unbelievable!

Episode 8:

Girl in Crystal’s Memory 2 (Club Fight): Get your fucking hands off my boyfriend, you slut!

Crystal: Oh, my God. Oh, I'm a fucking awful person. Oh, God, I'm the worst.

Jenny: What the actual fuck?

Jenny: And why the ever-loving fuck is my hair braided?

Jenny: Fuck that! That is bullshit!

Jenny: No fucking way.

Kingham: "No fucking way" to you. "No fucking way" to that side braid. What the fuck is that?

Jenny: Fucking fuck!

Jenny: Screw it. I'd rather know my own life, no matter how fucked-up.

Jenny: Jesus, fuck!

Crystal: Fuck! (Esther has the boys)

Jenny: I figure a meat cleaver can cut up a witch, but what the fuck do I know anymore?

Crystal: Because whatever fucked-up little thing you have going on with Edwin, you must care about him a little.

The Cat King: Fuck me. Did you even listen to my story?

Esther: Oh my God, my own sacrificial knife? I'm impressed. But I'm not fucking around that you're also gonna patch that wall before you die too.

Esther: Who the fuck are you?

Esther: What the fuck? Hey hey hey no! What did you just do?

Jenny: God, that sounds so fucking procedural.

Crystal: I don't have to give up my new fucked-up life while I'm trying to sort out my old fucked-up life.

Notes:

Not included:

In episode 1, Crystal flips off Edwin in the malt shop.

In episode 2, Litty flips off Charles, Edwin, and Crystal with both hands, and then later Kingham and Litty both flip off Edwin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by Episode

Swearing by Character

Swearing by Word

All Swearing Posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress

[saltygilmores]

THOUGHTS WHILE WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS: S3/EP5/8 O CLOCK AT THE OASIS (PART 3) Aka SweaterPaws, Fake Fish, The Best Okuh Ever, And Jess Mariano Is A Waterlogged Infant Kitten

Parts 1 & 2 and all other episodes can be found in my pinned post.

This scene of Rory overhearing an answering maching message from Dwight's irate wife combines two of AmyShermanPalladino favorite things: answering machines and (the voice of) Alex Borstein (Celine & Drella on GG, Suzie on Mrs Maisel. Also Lois on Family Guy). Gilmore Girls Producer: Attention, Gilmore Girls crew! It has come to my attention that our budget will not cover both Outdoor Landscaping Scenes and Fishtanks. Sacrifices will have to be made.

Finally she admits to herself that Dean is a serial killer. And casual swearing from Rory? Wow, what a delight to hear.

!!!SWEATER PAWS ALERT!!!!

What do the kids say? Unbothered. Moisturized. Flourishing? In my lane? Something like that. It's clearly a school day (since Rory is in her uniform) while it appears to be a rare day where Jess hasn't been scheduled to work in the Coffee Mines before school. Speaking of school, he's walking away from school instead of towards it and is not carrying any school supplies or a backpack. He looks happy. Just vibing in his ugly oversized clothing. Hopefully he looks up every so often so he doesn't walk face first into a lamp post.

Or that.

Blue Crush was a 2002 movie about a girl who surfs starring Kate Bosworth. Get it? Cause Rory is covered in water?

Hey. Eyes up top, Pal.

The floofy hair. The prominent draggy lip. The five o'clock shadow. Salty enjoys naming things she can see.

How many of Jess' books have been ruined with water? 2 so far. The answer is 2.

And now...ladies and Gentlemen...I present the greatest Milo Okuh Ever Okuh'D:

Get you a man who will risk soaking himself and pretend he didn't assist you with turning off a sprinkler so your boyfriend Dean won't fly into a jealous rage over it. It brings a tear to ol Salty’s eye. The episode wraps up with Lorelai attempting to end the Peyton Sanders nonsense by apologizing to Emily and taking the blame for the entire incident. Silly Lorelai, she didn't consider "What would Emily Gilmore think?" first and foremost before agreeing to go on one date with a random guy. I mean, Lorelai declining a second date with Peyton could have caused Emily to lose rank in her Tea Party Circle with Peyton's mother or some nonsense like that, according to a ridiculous story Richard just told Lorelai earlier in the episode. Let me be clear here, in case the message got a little lost- I am 100% siding with Lorelai here. She should not have to grovel like this over something so meaningless.

HOGWASH. Stop this right now Lorelai. Emily is standing just a few feet away and you're in a kitchen filled with many sharp knives and cooking implements. I'll look the other way. She even agrees to go on a second date with Peyton just to pacify Emily even though she just made it painfully clear how miserable it would make her to see this dude again. Emily is quite pleased seeing Lorelai's state of misery. Well, like I said earlier, you do only have a very small window of time before David Bowie stops performing forever, so go for it I guess. Take the tickets, then drop Hamm. Drop him like Rory dropped out of Yale. I have a final comment: Although by the end of this episode we don't see Rory at school, one would have to presume that after the sprinkler incident she either had to get on the bus and go to school sopping wet or go home and change and blowdry her hair and risk being very late to class. Either she gets reprimanded for showing up to school late or she gets reprimanded for the wet uniform and hair so she's screwed no matter what. If he didn't take an ounce of pity on Rory for her Hit By A Deer story, do you think Headmaster Charleston would buy some fantastical tale from Rory about her tardiness being due to a sprinkler, sweater paws, a neighbor with a board game fetish, and Dean the unabomber?

[justforbooks]

In the 1960s, there was one actor who could justifiably claim that ladies prefer blonds. As the secret agent Illya Kuryakin in the TV series The Man from UNCLE, David McCallum, who has died aged 90, received more fan mail from young women than any other actor in MGM’s history.

With his Beatles-style haircut, his liking for black turtleneck sweaters (which created a fad among viewers nationwide), and an aloof and enigmatic air, through which he sneaked a fair amount of charm and self-amusement, McCallum made Kuryakin into a sex symbol of the period. He provided a trendy contrast to Robert Vaughn’s Napoleon Solo, his fellow spy, who went in for expensive suits and ties.

Although Solo and Kuryakin worked perfectly in tandem, their personalities were at variance, the former being urbane, easygoing and sociable, the latter more reserved, intellectual and intense.

The James Bond film craze had already taken off when The Man from UNCLE series was launched in 1964, so US audiences were used to laidback heroes and their villainous nemeses. However, it was surprising to find a hip Russian alongside the good guys of United Network Command for Law and Enforcement fighting against the evil organisation THRUSH (an acronym for Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity), during the cold war.

McCallum, who played Illya with the slightest Russian accent and an occasional Scottish lilt, was also known recently for his long-running role from 2003 in the popular CBS crime series NCIS.

He was born in Glasgow. His parents were classical musicians; his mother, Dorothy Dorman, a cellist, his father, David McCallum, a violinist and leader of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. McCallum Jr won a scholarship to University College school in Hampstead, north London, before being accepted at Rada, where he studied from 1949 to 1951, having given up his ambition, and his parents’ wish, to play the oboe professionally.

In 1951, McCallum managed to satisfy his love for both music and the theatre by landing the position of assistant stage manager at Glyndebourne opera. However, he was called up to do his national service in West Africa. Demobbed as a lieutenant, the 19-year-old McCallum headed for the theatre, which mainly meant stage-management jobs in rep.In 1956, he half-heartedly posted off some photographs of himself to the Rank Organisation, which was scouting for young talent. The photos were seen by Clive Donner, who was casting his first feature, The Secret Place (1957), and he invited McCallum to do a reading.

“Although he was nervous, his voice was firm, and he was very good,” Donner recalled. “I sat and looked at him for a long time. He was very skinny, with a marvellous head and huge eyes. I think he was living in a bedsit in Archway at that time and had little money. We put him under contract straight away.”

Obviously under the influence of James Dean, the leather-jacketed McCallum, playing a young punk involved in a heist, does his best to express teenage angst. In Cy Endfield’s gritty thriller Hell Drivers (1957), McCallum plays Stanley Baker’s brother, on crutches as a result of a crime. In the cast, as a waitress, was 20-year-old Jill Ireland. McCallum and Ireland were to marry a few months before the film’s release. Soon after, they played young lovers in Robbery Under Arms (1957), an adventure shot mostly in Australia. At that time, the couple were often pictured together in fan magazines.

It was back to British realism with Basil Dearden’s Violent Playground (1958), in which McCallum plays a juvenile delinquent gang-leader. Despite a mite too posh an accent, he makes a vivid impression with his drawn features and mop of fair hair.

There followed several more conventional supporting roles, such as radio operators, first on the Titanic in A Night to Remember (1958), and a jumpy one in an Elstree-studio Burmese jungle in the second world war drama The Long and the Short and the Tall (1961). He was even more nervy in John Huston’s Freud (1962) as one of the first of the psychoanalyst’s patients, a young man who assaulted his father because of an incestuous love for his mother.

After appearing as a sympathetic officer in Peter Ustinov’s Billy Budd (1962), McCallum went to Germany to make John Sturges’s The Great Escape (1963), the most expensive PoW picture of them all. Among a starry cast, headed by Steve McQueen, James Garner and Charles Bronson, McCallum held his own among the Brits as Eric Ashley-Pitt – “Dispersal – who devises a way of getting rid of dirt from the digging of an escape tunnel. But more significant for him was the fact that Ireland, who was with him during the shoot, fell for Bronson. Ireland and McCallum divorced; he later married Katherine Carpenter, while Ireland married Bronson.

McCallum, who was already making his principal career on television, was given the secondary role of Kuryakin in The Man from UNCLE, but was soon granted equal billing with Vaughn after it rapidly became clear that he had a huge fanbase. Alma Cogan recorded a song called Love Ya, Illya, which became a pirate-radio hit in Britain in 1966, and as late as 1991, an Argentinian funk duo named themselves Illya Kuryaki and the Valderramas, after McCallum’s character and the Colombian football player Carlos Valderrama.

The first feature-film spin-off from the TV series, To Trap a Spy (1965), in which McCallum had a minor role, did little business. But the second one, The Spy With My Face, co-starring McCallum, really lifted off, followed by the box-office hits One of Our Spies Is Missing, One Spy Too Many and The Spy in the Green Hat (all 1966), and How to Steal the World (1968).

After The Man from UNCLE finished in 1968, McCallum continued to make guest appearances on TV until his second long-running series, the BBC’s Colditz (1972-74), in which he played Flt Lt Simon Carter, a hot-headed RAF officer who is impatient to escape.

Subsequently, McCallum appeared and disappeared as a scientist in The Invisible Man (1975-76), a US TV production, and co-starred with Joanna Lumley in ATV’s spooky sci-fi series Sapphire and Steel (1979-82) as the eponymous extra-dimensional detectives sent to Earth to monitor threats to the time-stream.

McCallum was seldom off television screens over the next three decades, making the occasional sortie into films. He also did some theatre in New York, where he and his wife had settled, notably Julius Caesar in a Central Park production (2000), playing the title role as “a senile old man, suffering from ideas of grandeur” according to the actor; and portraying the Emperor Joseph II on Broadway in Peter Hall’s revival of Amadeus (1999-2000).

In 2003, his looks belying his age, McCallum began playing Dr Donald “Ducky” Mallard, chief medical examiner, in the TV series NCIS, following the cases of the fictional agents of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. His research for the part included studying pathology and sitting in on autopsies. He stayed with the show for the rest of his life, appearing in all 20 seasons up until this year. In one episode, a character asks another what Ducky looked like when he was younger. “Illya Kuryakin” comes the reply.

McCallum is survived by Katherine, their son, Peter, and daughter, Sophie, and by his sons Val and Paul from his first marriage; Jason, his third son with Ireland, died in 1989.

🔔 David Keith McCallum, actor; born 19 September 1933; died 25 September 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[algoreithms]

A little question for you, if you had to rank the alien movies from best to least favourite? ALSO I LOVE YOUR ART, always happy to see your post

hehehe first off THANK YOUUU I appreciate it so much <3 secondly, my ranking is gonna get me creme brulee'd, flamebroiled if you will, past the first one, but its below the cut lol

1) alien

it's literally a classic and made me develop a love for sci-fi horror that has been going strong for most of my life lol. i feel it's a given it has to be my number 1

2) alien: resurrection

i know it sucks so bad and makes no damn sense canonically sometimes but... it's campy and it has wormed its way into my heart over the years. i could genuinely watch it 7 times in a day and not get bored. i also love how queer it is. ripley 8 and call should've kissed and johner and vriess DID kiss. as a bi trans dude, i definitely love those aspects bc they feel special to me. no matter how much it sucks as an actual entry in the alien anthology, i love it like an ugly christmas sweater

3) prometheus

even though it's more its own thing than a true alien movie, I adore the religious themes, scenery, and I wish there had been more exploration with shaw's character before she got dissected like a high-school science lab frog. but alas.

4) aliens

aka the second one that's named in a very confusing way. I loooove the ambiguity of how sapient the xenomorphs are in this movie. "what do you mean, they cut the power?" is still so fucking scary to this day and it's my favorite movie depiction of the xenos. it's also the first use of the term xenomorph in the franchise I think. dope ass movie, I also love ripleys funky haircut and the theme of the struggles of motherhood

5) alien: covenant

it's not my favorite because when I first watched it the pacing was very jarring compared to other slower alien movies, but I've grown quite fond of it and it's honestly iconic. I find myself thinking about specifically Covenant David's weird ass soooooo often he's such a disconcerting character.

6) alien³ or alien 3 or alien cubed or whatever

not super fond of alien 3. it's the weakest to me and the one i always forget about personally. ripleys character arc confused me and continues to confuse me even after multiple rewatches, but I will say that her look in the film is iconic and I love the buzzcut. sigourney weaver the woman that you are. not much else to say about it as once again to me it's entirely forgettable

tl;dr I live laugh love the alien anthology even if my movie preferences are deranged. ty for asking <3

[thealogie]

It would rank in my Top 3 easily but should we really count Staged in the poll since he’s playing himself? Even though it’s fiction those are just his own everyday looks. It’s a slippery slope to then adding in his red carpet fits and that way lies madness…

This is why he (fake David Tennant) was excluded last time but he’s just fictional enough and the people clamored for him enough that I think we can include him. Real life David Tennant doesn’t wear just one gray hoodie and doesn’t have hair extensions. He wears 2-3 different sweaters and has floppy hair

[storecowboys]

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[mdccanon]

MY Young Avengers Ranking by Debut)

Peter Parker from Captain America Civil War, (Iron Man 2). It's more of a technicality. He's a young Avenger not a Young Avenger. But it's worth noting that his debut was legendary.

Real #1: Cassie Lang from Ant-Man: Saucy, getting arrested fighting the good fight, already has her own archenemy, she's miles ahead of everyone. Get on her level. She even already has memes. Thanks, MCU! We love it!

#2: Vision from Age of Ultron, (Iron Man): I have always loved Vision, I will always love Vision. JARVIS died for your sins so that Vision could be the only voice of reason in the entire Avengers Organization. My man is five-years-old and serving up philosophical truths in a Sears catalog sweater.

#3: Billy and Tommy Maximoff from WandaVision: Scary creepy kids with Addams Family motif. More trauma. Heap it on there.

#4: Kate Bishop from Hawkeye: Charming, overwhelmed but eager to learn, tries to solve mysteries by how much she likes the suspects. Should work on that.

#5: Riri Williams from Black Panther Wakanda Forever: I deeply suspect that she will replace Iron Lad and/or Prodigy because Nate, David, and Elijah, are basically identical, so it makes sense to simplify it down to "Black genius who emulates Iron Man" and "Black genius who emulates Captain America." But anyway, Riri was funny and actually useful in the plot.

#6: Kid Loki from Loki: Every squad needs a short king. His Liege didn't do anything noteworthy in his debut, but he DID become a variant by killing Thor, so there's the delicious trauma we all crave.

#7: Elijah Bradley from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: He did absolutely nothing but he still didn't do nothing AND take up screentime. Congratulations on the bare minimum.

#8: Love from Thor: Love and Thunder: I don't even know if she counts but they introduced every female Asgardian as an adult and she is now Thor's daughter, so she is by default the young Thordottir.

#9: America Chavez from Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness. DO SOMETHING. Anything! Run! How many people have to die because you need to be told to run from a murderer?!

[onceinaugust]

Do you know where one can get the Sweater that you ranked #7 that David is wearing on the Schitts creek episode # 3 of season 2?Thanks Mike

So it's a Neil Barrett Geometric design neoprene sweater... Right now I can't find any active listings for it on any of the usual sites, but if you use those search words and keep an eye on eBay or Grailed, it might pop up eventually! I do think it's from around 2013/14 though, so it won't pop up as frequently as the newer costume pieces. Sorry I couldn't be more help!

[ellohcee]

Day 10 - Pumpkin (carving)

Mushiness of multiple varieties:

Jasper hums in concentration as he maneuvers the tiny carving tool, a thought striking him. “I know you really like baking, so have you ever made anything with like… a whole ass pumpkin?” he asks curiously as he pops a piece out.

“I have thought about it, but honestly that’s something I’ll gladly cheat on. Canned pumpkin tastes just fine to me and is so much easier,” David replies with a wry smile as he works on his own carving.

“That’s fair, I don’t know what you’d gotta do but I bet it’s a pain in the ass,” Jasper grins.

“You have to boil it for about thirty minutes and then mash it,” David replies in a too-chipper voice.

“Ew,” Jasper says, immediately pulling a face and making David giggle at the little scrunch above his nose. “That’d make your whole place smell like boiled pumpkin, that’s rank dude. Eww and when you cook something forever like that it makes your kitchen all warm and humid and gross and shit, oh grody,” he says, sticking his tongue out.

David giggles at his reaction, the almost personal offense he takes over the idea. “Mmhm, I wasn’t wild about the thought of that.”

Jasper is silent for a moment, maybe in concentration of what he’s working on, maybe a little too much about… “Hot, wet, boiled, wet, mushy pumpkin, making that gross wet squelchy noise when you mash it-”

“Stop!” David laughs. “We don’t need nearly that much detail, thank you!”

Jasper notices just in time that David has put his carving tool down for the moment, wiping his hands on a towel and he decides now’s the time to make his move. He scoots closer and makes an impressively disgusting ‘squish’ noise with his mouth the same time as playfully grabbing David’s sides where he’s ticklish, earning a shriek of laughter.

“Stop it, you’re terrible!” David giggles as Jasper wraps arms around him to keep him from escaping.

“You love it,” Jasper grins, planting a wet smooch on the ginger’s cheek.

“Terrible,” David chuckles again, returning the kiss as Jasper pulls him into his lap. They stay wrapped around each other in warm content for a few moments before Jasper hums, breaking the kiss with a convincingly perturbed look.

“Hold up, we got a looky-loo,” he says, gesturing with a jerk of his head.

David looks over at Jasper’s pumpkin, where the half carved smile grins at them, before he lets out a bark of laughter. Jasper grins in delight as David laughs whole-heartedly. “So corny!” the ginger says around giggles.

“Actually babydoll that’s a pumpkin,” Jasper returns calmly and so convincingly matter-of-fact. “We went to a pumpkin patch,” he continues, batting his eyes innocently as the ginger tries to push away from him like a cat, but with a suspicious lack of fight to his struggling.

“Ooohhhh stop!!!” David exclaims, even though he’s still lost in a fit of laughter.

“When you stop laughing,” Jasper shoots back easily, a shit eating grin on his face. “You can’t reward my bad behavior and expect me to stop,” he says, pulling David back against him and rubbing his back as the ginger tries to catch his breath while still fighting giggles. “Alright alright, easy babe,” he smiles, hearing David take a deep breath.

“At least you know when to stop before I asphyxiate,” David sighs out one last tired chuckle, rubbing the corner of his eye. “Goodness but you’re awful,” he says again.

“But ya sure do love me,” Jasper says, more than a little smug, rubbing gentle circles in David’s back still, the old knit sweater shifting under his touch.

“Sure do,” David hums in tired delight, turning to rest his cheek atop Jasper’s head with a winded sigh as he closes his eyes, arms looped loosely around his shoulders as they relax. “I love you an awful lot,” he murmurs tenderly, quiet.

Jasper’s heart thumps in delight as he goes a little bit red, turning his face into the crook of David’s neck and taking a deep breath. He loves when their playful, goofy moments turn so warm and affectionate, it’s the best combination of feelings he can imagine. “I’m goddamn lucky for that,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” David says softly, pulling back a little to look down at Jasper, using one hand to tilt his chin up. Those blue eyes meet his curiously. “Luck has nothing to do with it,” he insists gently, making Jasper go a little redder, a goofy smile quirking his face. David smiles back and leans down to kiss him, earning a soft, happy hum against his lips. When they part, he plants a long kiss on Jasper’s temple before pulling back with a sigh. “Now then, I think maybe we were in the middle of something before all this, hm?”

“Maybe,” Jasper admits on a bark of laughter, grinning as he releases David, watching the ginger slide off his lap and return to his own chair. He loves how he can get them so completely off track in the stupidest ways and David takes it in such good stride. Rewarding his bad behavior indeed. “Shit though, how’s a guy supposed to get anything done with a boyfriend like you around? You’re so distracting,” he teases, earning a warning smile as David flushes.

“Well, the sooner we get these done the sooner we can roast the seeds,” David says cheerfully, the delighted shade of pink lingering on his face for a long minute as they continue to work. “What do you want for dinner?” he asks.

“How about we be really bad and order a pizza?” Jasper suggests. “Pizza and movies was always my Halloween night staple.”

“That sounds really good actually,” David says, earning a noise of triumph from Jasper. His boyfriend takes it as a personal accomplishment whenever he agrees to something as unhealthy as pizza. “I haven’t had pizza in a while and Halloween night deserves an indulgent dinner.”

“Yeaaahhh babe that’s what I’m talking about,” Jasper replies. “We’ll find some shitty scary movies to watch, sneak candy from the bowl between trick-or-treaters, I’ll yaaawwwn and casually streeeettch and put my arm around your shoulders completely cool-as-a-cucumber smooth like-” he rambles, grinning as David laughs again.

“Are you going to do this to me all night?” David chuckles, his cheeks aching delightfully from all the smiling he’s been doing.

“Sure am,” Jasper agrees happily. “You were aware of all this when we started dating, you signed the contract. No exchanges, no refunds, the jokes are hardwired baby there’s no off setting, it’s like those shitty programs that come pre-installed on computers that you can’t get rid of without taking it apart-”

David feels like he’s laughed out but he still can’t stop laughing.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Ivy

➣ Pairing: apprentice!Jungkook x reader, art curator!Hoseok x reader

➣ Premise: You’ve been promised to Jung Hoseok for twelve years. You’ve never wanted anything else. Until now. (inspired by the song “Ivy” by Taylor Swift)

➣ Genre: arranged marriage au, angsty with some fluff, SFW

➣ warnings/tags: it’s a bit angsty, the reader is technically promised to someone else so it’s a little messy, general EmOTioNS, a bit intense/stalkerish but not too bad?? some fun fluff and banter as well, but Hoseok might kill a man and Jungkook will go down fighting

➣ word count: 12.2k *yeah, I know. this sucker is like 3 times longer than it was meant to be*

➣ a/n: this was a commission by @delacyrose224 for Army for AAPI! Thank you so much for requesting this awesome prompt, I literally had too much fun writing this. I swear, I could’ve made a whole series out of this. You guys, check out ways to get involved in this awesome cause by clicking the link!

The person staring back at you in the mirror is not you. Of that, you are certain. There’s no way you could ever pull this off – the silken layers, ivory making your skin glow with a dew-like complexion…

           You voice as much. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

           “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

           Whirling around in a flurry of skirts and soft-to-the-touch fabric, you spot your betrothed lingering in the doorway.

           “Hoseok!”

           He chuckles, the sound making the corners of your lips tug upward. Taking in the sight before him, you can’t help but notice the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. Hoseok takes one hesitant step forward, crossing his arms.

           “You should’ve seen me earlier,” he croons, voice always sounding like he’s a breath away from laughter. “I thought my dad had somehow teleported into the mirror.”

           You wince. “Does this mean we’ve grown up?”

           “Unfortunately.”

           Twelve years of waiting for this. How have they already passed?

           “You know,” Hoseok begins, dropping your gaze in favor of stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t even properly proposed to you, yet.”

           “You should probably get on it.”

           “Mmm.”

           “Aren’t we getting married in April?”

           He frowns. “Yeah, mid-April I think. It’s barely November, though. So there’s no pressure, right?”

           You almost burst out laughing at his simple question. No pressure? Pressure has been your constant companion these past twelve years.

           What else were you supposed to feel? Trying telling a thirteen year old that they’re already promised to somebody and then tell them “Oh, but no pressure.” Of course, they made sure to drop that little piece of pointless comfort after they mentioned who you had been promised to.

           Jung Hoseok.

           Three years your senior, he had seemed larger-than-life when you first met less than a year after learning of your pre-determined commitment to him. He’d been kind, that was your first thought. A little strange, a little loud at times. For your teenage self, that was fine.

           Then things began to change. It was a rare occasion that you ever saw Hoseok; the two of you lived in different cities. However you distinctly remember one occasion in which you had unintentionally bumped into him while in search of your parents at their giant headquarters located in Busan.

           It was easy to get lost in that building – you still can picture all the different nooks and crannies where different works of art were stored. The more valuable ones were of course under lock and key, however there were plenty of show rooms that you managed to get lost in.

           You had done just that, taking a detour through the preservation room where several workers could be seen on the other side of the glass cleaning a timeless piece that had just been flown in from Austria. Once you realized where you were, you turned to leave. However, something caught your eye that made you hesitate.

           There was Hoseok, perched on the edge of a stool as he leaned over the artwork. There was nothing particularly flashy about him that day, something you weren’t used to. In all your time of knowing him (four years at that point), you had never seen him in something other than formal wear. If it wasn’t some sort of suit or dress shirt, it was a sweater vest that he somehow managed to pull off.

           This time, he was disguised in a white lab coat, holding a Loup to his eye in an effort to analyze the fine details of the painting. His brown hair was a little mussed, his knee bouncing up and down in the only outward show of excitement he portrayed.

           One of the workers began speaking, the details of their conversation muted to your ears due to the glass separating you from them. However, you watched as Hoseok listened with almost terrifying focus before turning back to the painting and delicately taking a brush to the frame. No doubt dusting off some invisible smudge.

           You had been frozen for a long moment, completely unfamiliar with this man. The Hoseok you knew was jovial and quick to laughter. He made you smile and roll your eyes. He put you at ease.

           This man, with his precise flicks of the wrist and unwavering focus, was a force of nature.

           You realized then, at the age of seventeen that while you were promised to this man, you did not know him at all. There was so much more hiding behind that heart-shaped smile.

           And now, at twenty-five, you are no closer to knowing him than you were before. You’ve never known anyone else quite so talented at wielding smiles with the same deftness as a sniper hiding on a rooftop.

           “No pressure?” You scoff, wiggling an eyebrow at your intended sniper. “That means I can’t gain any weight from here to April! That’s impossible with the holidays coming up!”

           Hoseok bursts out laughing, clapping at your comment as though you’ve just completed a stand-up routine. “That’s a good point,” he sighs, making a contented sound. “I’ll have to ask my tailor to let out my suit a bit in the spring.”

           You fidget on the pedestal, glancing back at the mirror over your shoulder. Your gown is breathtaking, there’s no denying it. It’s just…overwhelming.

           “Well,” Hoseok begins to back out of the room, “You look beautiful. Sorry for snooping around, but I couldn’t resist.”  

           You straighten up at his comment, preening a bit. Over the years, you’ve come to realize that Hoseok’s compliments are not given lightly.

           “Thank you.”

           He shrugs. “It’s true.” He turns on his heel and strides out the door, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll fly out first thing in the morning.”

           Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, from Beethoven’s Opera 58 echoes off the domed ceiling, bouncing through the air and enveloping you in a cocoon of music. Without your realizing, your right foot bounces out the rhythm as you crane your neck to get a better look at your work.

           “C’mon, David,” you groan, sparing the renowned sculpture a glare. “You’re not making this easy on me.”

           “I wasn’t aware that sculptures got vasectomies.”

           You jolt, nearly tipping off of your step stool before two warm hands grasp your shoulders. Sputtering and spewing, you spin around to see just who you need to direct your cursing at.

           “Who are you?” You fume as the person in question removes their hands from you and takes a timid step back.

           “Jeon Jungkook, m-ma’am.”

           “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

           Jungkook’s eyes widen even more, something you didn’t think he was capable of doing. Chowing down on his bottom lip, he gives you a small shake of his head.  

           “Then tell me who you are to me, not your name.” You inwardly grimace at your snappy tone, but you’ll apologize later.

           “Oh, I…uh, I’m the apprentice?” When you don’t immediately get a look of understanding on your face, Jungkook presses on. “Mr. Jung’s apprentice, ma’am.”

           Ah, that checks out.

           Hoseok’s father would be stepping down as the East-Asia representative on the international board of Art and Artifacts (basically the equivalent of the U.N. in art terms), leaving a spot open for Hoseok to ascend the ranks.

           “Why haven’t I met you before? Haven’t you been around for a while?”

           In order to complete the apprenticeship, Jungkook would need at least three years of working alongside Hoseok. Learning the ins and outs of being the curator of some of the biggest art collections and galleries in the world.

           “Yes ma’am, I have.”

           “Ok, Jungkook,” you stand up and stretch, gaining some sort of sick satisfaction from the way he scampers back a bit more to give you space. “Two things. First, I’m not ‘ma’am’. Just speak to me casually, ok?”

           There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes, but he nods. “And the second thing?”

           Turning point to the David in all his glory, you smirk over your shoulder. “Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working. David here nearly lost his balls because you startled me.”

           Cheeks flushed pink, Jungkook sputters out something resembling a “y-yes, I won’t do it again” before dropping his gaze to the floor. Chuckling to yourself, you resume your position before the sculpture, meticulously layering on a protective substance to the David’s nether regions.

           You and Hoseok had been called over to Italy in order to make preparations for the upcoming art show. It was to be the first of its kind --- never before had these timeless artworks been on display like this. Royalty, presidents, dignitaries of every kind mixed with world-class celebrities would be present.

           As a precaution you were going through and applying a protective but clear substance to more fragile parts of the artworks. Today, the David was the lucky one.

           “So, Jungkook,” you hum, completely undeterred by the strange position you were in at the moment. “What brings you over to my side of the museum today? Shouldn’t you be off with Hoseok, planning for the event?”

           “Ah, well…Mr. Jung said you might need a hand. I volunteered to assist you with whatever you need.”

           You blink. Hoseok had always been completely content to leave you to your work. It was a silent agreement you have: you let him do his thing, and he doesn’t interfere with your stuff.

           “Huh.” You smooth out the final touches, leaning back a bit. “Interesting. So what, you’re just hanging out with me for the rest of the day?”

           “Yep. For the rest of the week, actually.”

           David stares off into the distance, ever stoic. You swear you can see a bit of a confused glint in his eye as the sculpture listens in on your conversation. It’s always just been you and the artwork. So what’s this with Hoseok sending Jungkook over? Is he just trying to be kind and help you out?

           Probably. There’s no need to assume anything else. You just think…

           Well, despite trusting you, you would think he’d send someone less attractive to help you with your work. Is this some sort of trust exercise he’s pulling on you before he proposes? Or does he just not care enough to think about the possible repercussions of his actions?

           “Doesn’t he care at least a little bit?” You think aloud, frowning up at David.

           “What was that?”

           “Oh,” you swivel around to give Jungkook an apologetic smile. “Nothing. Do me a favor?” Jungkook nods. “Take a look at this for me, see if the extra layer is noticeable at all.”

           Getting up to move out of his way, you can’t help the grin that breaks out as Jungkook flushes a bit when he gets up close and personal with the David. Despite his obvious embarrassment though, he meticulously checks ever angle.

           “I can’t tell at all,” he finally responds, straightening up. “You’re amazing.”

           You blink. “Oh. Er…thanks.”

           “So, where to next?”

~~

           “We look like those ancient plague doctors,” Jungkook jokes, hanging you a bottle of clear liquid before you can even ask for it. “You know, like with the big beaks and stuff?”

           You snort, which in turn fogs up the inside of your suit. Waiting a moment for it to clear up, you glance back at Hoseok’s apprentice.

           He has a point. The two of you look slightly ridiculous, in your full body Hazmat suits that are necessary to inspect these ancient papyrus scrolls. They’re falling apart already, no need for you to contaminate them with something as feeble as a sigh. Once you’re finished working on them, they’ll be placed in thick Plexiglas cases which will keep them safe from the outside world.

           “We’re missing the beaks, though.”

           Jungkook hums, watching you carefully as you smooth out the scroll. “I bet we could roll these up and use them as beaks.”

           “Not funny.”

           “Worth a shot.”

           Rolling your eyes again; something you’ve become prone to doing in the past 24 hours you’ve known Jungkook, you set to work.

           It’s only quiet for so long before Jungkook speaks up again. He does so quietly, making good on his promise not to startle you anymore. “No Beethoven today?”

           You give a slight shake of your head, hardly daring to blink while applying the syrupy liquid to the bottom corner of the document. The slightest mess up would result in having to scrape it off before it dries, which is something you don’t want to have to try. Not when a single nick to the papyrus equals game over.

           Letting out a sigh of relief once you’ve completed that section, you sit back and stretch. “No,” you groan out mid-yawn. “It felt like a Tchaikovsky kind of day. Don’t know why.”

           “Hmm.”

           “Ok, we need to wait…” you glance at the clock on the wall. “About an hour to let that completely set in before flipping it and working on the other side.”

           “Great, let’s grab some lunch.”

           You blink, watching Jungkook as he shoots to his feet and heads toward the door. “I was going to suggest we get started on the next exhibit-”

           “Food first,” Jungkook chimes, leaving no room for argument as your stomach rumbles at the thought of lunch. “We’re literally in Italy, food always comes first.”

           Well, he has a point.

           You make a point of locating Hoseok before heading out for food, eventually finding him in a grand corridor surrounded by staff. Wherever Hoseok is, there’s constant motion. People flitting about, running errands and trying to keep everything moving in a timely fashion.

           As the two of you became closer work partners over the past few years, it’s become a familiar sight. It helps, finding Hoseok is usually fairly easy. Today proves no different.

           “Hoseok!” You wave him down, offering a smile to the surrounding staff that recognize you. The man in question is nudged by his assistant, Joshua.

           “Hey!” Hoseok breaks away from the group and jogs over to where you stand beside a column. He nods at Jungkook, smiling warmly. “What’re you two up to? I thought you were working the papyrus today.”

           “We have an hour before we can move on to the next thing, so we’re grabbing lunch. Wanna come?”

           “Oh,” the look of surprise on his face gives you cause to wonder when the last time you invited him to do something with you was. “That sounds…really nice, actually. Give me a minute?”

           Your heart stumbles as it pick up in speed, something you weren’t anticipating. “Yeah, sure. We’ll wait right here.”

           “Great, thanks.”

           With that, he scurries back over to the throng. Jungkook leans over to you, elbow nudging your arm.

           “What?”

           “How long do you think they’ll last before calling him?” Jungkook muses, an amused smile on his face.

           You can’t help but laugh, knowing full well that it won’t be long. “I’d say…thirty minutes?”

           “Really? I’ll give them forty.”

           “You’re too generous.”

           “Aren’t you being too hard on them?”

           Your eyes slide over to Jungkook, arching a brow. “No. So what are we betting?”

           Jungkook breathes through his teeth, taking in your determined expression. “Hmmm…money or something else?”

           “Not money, that’s too boring.”

           “Ok, ok.” Crossing his arms, Jungkook sways from side to side as he thinks. Slowly, his eyes drag across your face, trying to see something that’s beneath the surface. “If you lose, you have to be my date to the gala.”

           “W-what?!” You choke on your spit, staring up at Jungkook like he just grew a second head. “I can’t- why would you-”

           He tilts his head to one side, clearly enjoying your shock. “Hurry, make your bet. What happens if you win?”

           “Jungkook, I’m literally marrying Hoseok in a few months, I can’t just go as someone else’s date!”

           “Don’t worry,” he winks, only furthering your embarrassment, “I’ve it all planned out. Now, hurry up. He’s heading back.”

           Indeed, Hoseok is clapping Joshua on the shoulder and turning this way. Chewing furiously on the inside of your cheek, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Ok, well if I win then you have to leave me alone for the rest of the week!”

           There’s a hint of worry that streaks across Jungkook’s features, but it’s covered up a few seconds later as he thrusts out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

           With the way he grins down at you, you can’t help but feel like this was a stupid thing to bet on.

~~

           You’re wedged into a booth not long after, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Hoseok. Jungkook takes the spot across from you two, never missing a beat in his conversation with your betrothed.

           “The guest list has been finalized,” Hoseok is saying, smiling warmly at the server that drops off some menus. You don’t miss the way she ogles your companions, shrugging it off. It’s become a common occurrence. You’re not blind to their looks.

           “It wasn’t finished before?” You ask, frowning. Hoseok passes a menu to you, leaning in a bit closer. It’s unnecessary, but the way he lets his leg rest against yours has a rush shooting through you.

           So…this is a new development.

           “No,” Jungkook answers for him. “Well, we thought it was, but then the curator here wanted to invite some more political officials. Has it been a mess trying to rearrange?”

           “Yeah, but everyone pulled their weight.”

           “That’s good to hear.”

           It’s relatively quiet as you all look over your menus, bouncing ideas off of each other for what they should get. After you’ve placed your orders, Hoseok nudges you.

           “Your mother called me last night.”

           Your eyes widen. “She did?”

           Both men chuckle at your obvious worry. “Yes, she did. We had a nice chat. Why do you look so concerned?”

           Perhaps it has something to do with the last conversation you had with your mother. It took place about three weeks ago, when she’d come up to Seoul for a visit. The visit had been pleasant enough; you’d gone to dinner and talked about things back home. She’d actually approved of your apartment, despite the eclectic feel to it.

           It has almost been too normal. You should’ve known that it was only a matter of time before something happened.

           You were busy putting your leftovers from the restaurant in the fridge, your mother hovering in the doorway to the kitchen with a pensive look on her face.

           “Have you ever had…doubts?”

           “Doubts?” Your voice was muffled from the odd angle, but you peeked out around the door of the fridge with a questioning look. “About what?”

           Your mother shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the door of the fridge and its decorative magnets. “About Hoseok.”

           You immediately stood, closing the door with a dull thud. “What?”

           “I just…your wedding is coming up, he’s probably going to propose within the next couple of months – for heaven’s sake, you have your dress fitting coming up in just a couple of weeks, isn’t that right?”

           “Mom,” you voice was stern. “What is this about? You’re scaring me.”

           At your confession your mother finally met your eyes. “Oh, sweetie, I didn’t mean to worry you so much. But I can’t help but wonder, you know? We’ve never really talked about it-”

           “There was never anything to talk about!” You sigh, exasperated. “All I’ve known is that I’m going to end up with Hoseok, and that’s that! He’s a nice man, hardworking, and we make a good team.”

           “I know, darling. I know.” She hesitated before stepping forward, coming to place a loving hand on your cheek. “I just want you to know that you get to make this decision. Even though it may not have always felt like it. There is…more. Out there, for you.”

           More?

           “Just, uh…” you shake your head, trying to clear your mind of those thoughts rolling around your head. “Wanted to make sure she didn’t share any embarrassing information about me.”

           This makes both men chuckle, Jungkook leaning forward with eager eyes. “Like what? Do tell.”

           You blush at his undivided attention, groaning and slipping down further in your seat. Hopefully neither of them notice your pink cheeks, something tells you that Jungkook would never let you live it down.

           The fact that you don’t know how Hoseok would react has you even more on edge.

           Hoseok grins at you as you sit up again, reaching around your shoulders to pull you close. “Aw, you probably don’t have any embarrassing stories. We all already know that you’re perfect.”

           You blink, staring up at your betrothed as his smile softens. He’s never spoken to you like this. First sending extra help in the form of Jungkook, then dropping everything to go to lunch, now this?

           Before your mind can run with the idea blooming in your chest, your server appears with your food. Her eyes instantly zone in on you and Hoseok, something registering in her eyes as she offers you a warm smile. Then, she turns her full attention on Jungkook. Practically eating him alive as she sets his food down in front of him.

           “Your hair is so long,” she muses. “I’ve never seen anyone able to pull off hair like that…what’s your secret?”

           Jungkook, who you assumed would preen in the attention, hardly glances the girl’s way. His eyes rest on where Hoseok’s hand ghosts over your shoulder, slow in its retreat. Jungkook keeps a neutral expression, although his eyes shoot up to yours in a way that has you pinned to the back of the booth.

           It’s over just as quickly as it began, Jungkook grinning down at his food and mumbling, “No secret. Just good genes.” He doesn’t wait another second before diving into his food. You snort at his reply, Hoseok just shaking his head before beginning to eat in a more meticulous manner. If he noticed the strange exchange that just passed between you and Jungkook, he doesn’t say anything.

           Or maybe it was all in your head. Maybe that protective coating you applied to the papyrus earlier today has gone straight to your head, addling your brain.

           The food is delicious, as expected. The three of you fall into an easy conversation, revolving mainly around work. You notice that Jungkook keeps checking his phone, but you ignore it.

           That is, until he offers you a smug smile before focusing his attention on Hoseok.

           “So, for this gala…we’re meant to bring a plus one, right?”

           Hoseok nods. “Yep.”

           “Who’re you taking?”

           Hoseok laughs, taking a long sip of his drink. “Who? I don’t know, I feel like I should maybe take the woman I’m marrying in a few months.” He shoots you a friendly wink, but you can’t completely return his light-hearted nature. Has it already been forty minutes? But still, there’s been no call…

           “Oh,” a familiar ringtone cuts through the air, and Hoseok grabs his phone from his pocket, frowning at the screen. “It’s Joshua. I’ll just step outside for a moment.”

           Hoseok is too busy sliding out of the booth to notice the way your jaw drops. The second he’s out of sight, you turn an accusatory glare toward Jungkook. “What was that? Did you seriously tell them to call-”

           “Before you castrate me, I’d like to defend myself. Can I do that?”

           “And then I can castrate you?”

           Jungkook visibly swallows. “I only meant it hypothetically, but…just listen.” When you angrily wave for him to continue, the smug smile from earlier reappears on his face. “I have this all under control. But, from where I’m sitting, I won our little bet. So I have a question for you.”

           “I’m not going with you, Hoseok is taking me!”

           Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Jungkook sits back and observes you for a moment. “Don’t be so sure about that, sweetheart. Now, what color of dress are you wearing to this thing?”

~~

           You do your best to ignore Jungkook for the rest of the day. Hoseok chats happily with you on the walk back to the museum, occasionally finding a way to let his hand graze yours. It’s enough to keep you distracted from Jungkook’s complacent expression which is usually directed in your direction.

           Parting from Hoseok is like parting with a security blanket, and he looks to be particularly pleased with the way you run your hand down his arm before bidding him goodbye. Jungkook huffs a breath, which goes unnoticed by your betrothed as he heads into the building where countless workers wait for him.

           “I’m still waiting on an answer,” Jungkook chides a few moments later. You’re desperately trying to outpace him, annoyed when he easily keeps up.

           “You’re not getting one and we’re not going together.”

           “Didn’t I tell you that I’d take care of it? Everything. Even Hoseok.” You stop in your tracks when Jungkook jumps in front of the doors, opening one up with a flourish.

           “Jungkook.”

           “Yes, darling?” It’s infuriating how much you react to the pet name, your reddening cheeks giving you away instantly.

           “Stop.”

           Jungkook blinks, straightening up a bit as you sweep past him and head inside. When he’s silent the entire walk to the papyrus lab, you let out a sigh of relief. Never mind the fact that there’s a dull disappointment blooming in your chest. For a moment, it was nice to think of what a night at Jungkook’s side could be like.

           It would certainly be different than what you’re used to with Hoseok. Not that you two often spend occasions like this together, it’s more of a formality than anything. The first few minutes are always a dream: Hoseok can’t take his eyes off of you and gets flustered. He’s a perfect gentleman, and even goes so far as to hold you close to him when entering the event.

           However, it only takes a few minutes before he’s swept off in one direction and you the other. Collogues, board members, and possible buyers of the rare artwork on display keep you two busy and apart for the entirety of the night.

           You make to step into the prep room, ready to get back into your hazmat suit and start on the other side of the papyrus scrolls. The moment you step in, however, the thought of being stuck in such a small space with Jungkook nearly makes your lightheaded. Focus is paramount in your line of work, and Jungkook counts as a distraction.

           “Would you go around to the sculptures we worked on yesterday and make sure they’re doing ok?” You glance over your shoulder to see Jungkook freeze in the doorway. “I, uh…I never know how they’re going to respond to the added layer.”

           Jungkook has lost all of his previous swagger, simply giving you a curt nod before turning to walk away. You can’t help but watch as he briskly heads down the hallways, running his hands through his hair before fisting them at the nape.

           You jump a little as the door closes, lost in your thoughts. Rushing back to you are your mother’s words.

           “There is…more. Out there, for you.”

           The words settle for a moment before you snort, chuckling to yourself before putting one leg in the hazmat suit. “They’re both hot. So what?”

~~

           Two more days pass in a similar fashion. Jungkook is always waiting for you at the entrance to the museum, resembling an eager puppy before you shut him down with a stern look.

           Last night you spent a ridiculous amount of time coming up with errands you could send him on that wouldn’t seem too suspicious. For the most part it’s worked; you’ve been working alone for most of the day, and Jungkook hasn’t seemed too keen to intrude.

           A part of you feels a bit bad for shutting him out so much, but you really have no reason to let him in. Especially not when he was so set on taking you to the gala when you’re very clearly promised to another.

           “Does he have something against Hoseok?”

           Your question is directed to your current project, The Incoronation of the Virgin, by Jacopo di Cione.  Of course, the virgin humbly sitting with a crown on her head pays you no mind, but you carry on anyway.

           “But then again, why would he? He’s getting his job, isn’t he?” You sit back, lightly dusting at the finer details of the mural. “Oh, maybe he’s angry at me.”

           “Why would I be angry at you?”

           You gasp as you stumble back, losing your footing from where you were on a stepping stool. You gasp louder (if that’s possible) when two sturdy hands grab your waist, firmly keeping you in place.

           “Steady?”

           “Why do you keep sneaking up on me?” You seethe, stepping down and out of Jungkook’s grasp. “Did I ask you to finish cleaning the bottles we used yesterday?”

           “I finished that.”

           “And what about sweeping the work area?”

           “Done.”

           “What about-”

           “Done,” Jungkook looks like he’s considering taking another step, but stays put. “I finished everything. Now would you quit sending me away?”

           You give him a long look, noting the way his cheeks burn under your gaze. After a moment you sigh. “Yeah, fine.”

           Jungkook perks up instantly, and a second later you find him glued to your side. He gazes up at the panel you’ve been working on, his mouth dropping of its own accord.

           “Wow, it’s beautiful.”

           “Mmhm.” You head back up the step stool, getting back to work while Jungkook holds it steady. He admires the artwork, leaving you in relative peace.

           “How did you get into this stuff?” He asks from the other end of the painting. You arch a brow before furrowing it, trying to come up with a reasonable answer.

           “I…well, this is what my family does.”

           “Uh-huh.”

           “Well, I guess they tend to lean more toward the buying and selling of artwork. From my teen years I’ve always gravitated more toward the conservation of artwork.”

           “Why’s that?” The fact that he sounds genuinely interested throws you off, making you pause as you meet his curious gaze. There’s no malice in his eyes, not a hint of the annoying pride from two days prior. Just genuine interest.

           It gives you a falling sensation, which has you clinging to the stool until it passes.

           “It’s quiet. Peaceful, for the most part.”

           “But it’s stressful, too?”

           The beginnings of a smile curl at your lips. “Yes, that too.”

           A companionable silence falls between the two of you after that, allowing for you to work quickly and efficiently. Once you’re satisfied with the panel, you find Jungkook ready to hold the stool steady while you get down.

           “What about you?” The question falls from your lips before you really understand what you’re asking.

           “Me?”

           “Yeah. Why did you decide to become an apprentice? It’s a long apprenticeship. And last I checked, curating isn’t exactly a hot trend.”

           Jungkook scrunches his nose in a way that has you wondering if what you just said was somehow absolutely adorable. He certainly thinks it was.

           “Well, there are a number of reasons.” He glances sidelong at you as you gather your things to head back to the storage space. “But mainly because it felt right.”

           You frown. “That’s your reason?” Jungkook nods, amusement glittering in his eyes. “What happens when you wake up and it doesn’t feel right anymore?”

           “Why? Do you know the feeling?”

           Suddenly you know that you’re no longer talking about career choices. It’s only confirmed when Jungkook slows to a stop, hoisting up the bucket of supplies and facing you.

           “I- no, I love my job-”

           “Haven’t you ever wondered, though?” Now it’s practically impossible to decipher what exactly is going on behind Jungkook’s bright eyes, his long brown hair falling into his face. “There’s more out there, you know. Why do you stay?”

           For some reason, you’re frozen in place. A deer in the headlights, probably reading way too much into this conversation.

           “S-stay?”

           “Yeah,” Jungkook takes a small step forward, as though afraid of scaring you off. “After all this time, you’re still here. Why?”

           Your breath is caught in your throat. “I…” The world stops spinning as Jungkook tilts his head to one side, eyes swallowing you whole as they trace the outline of your lips. Despite not laying a single finger on you, your skin blazes as though he were physically reaching out.

           With a step back, you glare at the floor before taking a steeling breath. “The retirement plan’s great. Hard to pass up on.”

           The sound of your footsteps echo off the walls, listening for Jungkook to follow after you.

           He doesn’t.

~~

           “So, about the gala.” Hoseok stands in the doorway to your hotel room, tie long gone and top button loosed. It’s a rare sight, and yet it never fails to be one of your favorites. “I have a weird proposition for you.”

           You kick off your shoes, not bothering with decency as you fall back on your bed with a groan. “Shoot.”

           “Jungkook has this really prestigious cousin that’s connected to the royal family-”

           “Royal family?” You sit up, frowning at Hoseok.

           “Yeah, like the British one? I think so, at least. Anyway, I don’t remember how she’s connected but it’s a big deal. And apparently she asked for me to escort her at the gala.”

           If blood could run cold, yours is pushing freezing. “Huh. Is that so.”

           Hoseok gives you an apologetic smile. “I know it’s weird and that’s why I came to you, I don’t want to hurt you-”

           “I’ll just go by myself, it’s fine.”

           “No, no. You’re not going alone. Jungkook already offered to take you.”

           You chew on the inside of your cheek, resolve withering at the sight of Hoseok’s tentative hope. You wonder if he would really back down if you asked to go with him. To let Jungkook’s schmoozing cousin find a different date.

           “Just say the word,” Hoseok offers with a fading smile. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

           For some reason, your ears expect to hear the word darling at the end of that sentence. But they don’t, and you know exactly where you can go for that.

           More, huh?

           “That’s fine, Hoseok. Really. What’s one night?”

           Hoseok rushes forward with glee, wrapping you in his arms for a second before backing away and heading toward the door. “You’re amazing, you know that? Absolutely amazing. The guests are going to be in awe of your work.”

~~

           The guests are, unsurprisingly, oblivious to your meticulous work.

           You’re not complaining, they’re not meant to notice it. Your work is behind the scenes, whereas Hoseok’s work is visible everywhere.

           His handywork acts as a constant reminder of him, keeping you on edge as you trail up the flower-studded stairs that are already overflowing with guests. A few give you odd looks as you walk alone, but most are too preoccupied with their own problems to care much for yours.

           You don’t know how he did it, but Jungkook managed to get you all to himself after all. The thought had left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach all day yesterday at work, hardly bothering to exchange more than a few words with the man in question. It seemed like he had almost anticipated this, content to leave you be. It was when he asked what time he should pick you up that you looked at him, angry at the fact that you immediately admired his outfit of choice. It suited him, which shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

           “I’ll meet you there,” you had responded firmly, hopefully leaving no room for argument. “Wait for me beside the entrance.”

           It was bad enough that you were going without your betrothed; that another woman was going to be hanging off his arm all night. The last thing you wanted was to create an equally flashy arrival with his apprentice. You were by no means the most popular guests in attendance tonight, but the guarantee of countless cameras had you refraining from taking any chances.

           Now, as you make your way to the entrance, you try to not look too eager. Jungkook is nowhere to be found yet, making you frown, but movement catches your attention in the corner of your eye.

           Stepping from the shadows is Jungkook, looking like he was made for this event. The first thing you notice about him is the wistful smile he gives you, which you return before your mind catches up with what’s going on.

           He looks…immaculate. Not over-the-top, he’s wearing a fairly standard black suit with a thin black tie. Nothing too flashy, but it might as well be an original piece with the way he wears it. His hair has been carefully styled, so unlike the careless mop you’ve seen throughout this week.

           Jungkook moves toward you like a man on a mission while you remain at the top of the stairs, hardly daring to breathe.

           “Hello,” he mutters, coming to a stop before you. “You look…stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

           He doesn’t wait for a response, perhaps already knowing that your tongue has turned leaden in his presence. Jungkook offers you his arm, which you graciously take. Hopefully he doesn’t pay too much attention to the way you’re gripping his forearm for dear life.

           The two of you sweep inside, gaining easy access as you’re well acquainted with the staff. As you pass a long, tall mirror that’s flanked by sphinxes, you can’t help but glance over.

           You do look stunning.

           The red gown you wear isn’t too revealing, not too flashy, but calls attention to you just the same. No matter where you are tonight, Hoseok will be able to find you with ease. The thought fills you with a sick sort of satisfaction. He’ll see you, but he’ll see who’s arm you’re on, as well.

           With Jungkook by your side, you’re a force of nature. The two of you are no longer walking, rather prowling the premises as you make your way toward the ballroom. A few stragglers that are trying to get a peek at the closed off exhibits notice your keen eye and scamper off.

           It’s a new sensation to you, watching those people flee from before you as though you were an enemy soldier on a mission. Perhaps it has something to do with the way Jungkook appears to be smoldering beside you, emitting a dangerous aura that you never realized he could give off. For a brief moment, the silly boy you’ve been actively avoiding this week has vanished. In his wake stands a man with a purpose, the successor to the famed Jung Hoseok, and a legitimate contender amongst art dealers.

           “I’m not used to this,” you mutter as Jungkook continues in his path. His steps are timed perfectly to your own, and you wonder if that’s a mere coincidence or if he’s currently keeping count in his head.

           “Used to what?” Even his voice has turned to a dangerous rasp, smoky eyes sliding over to observe you.

           “People respecting personal space. Usual they all flock to Hoseok the second he walks in the door.”

           The corner of his lips pull up in a smirk. “And which do you prefer?”

           You sigh. “Are you seriously turning this into a competition?”

           You’re almost to the ballroom, but you let out a surprised sound when you veer off course into a deserted corridor just above the stairs that lead down into the ballroom. You realize that he’s taking you across a small overlook which shows the ballroom, a flurry of suits and dresses writhing before you on the level below. It’s a mesmerizing sight, and upon instinct you seek out Hoseok.

           Jungkook notices your search, pausing to allow you to look around a bit more. He studies your side profile carefully. “Is that such a bad thing?” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s referring to the competition.

           There’s Hoseok, sure enough he’s weaving in and out of the crowd. People smile and clap him on the back, making space for him and his companion to get through.

           Jungkook’s cousin, Margaret, stays close behind your betrothed. She even goes so far as to hold onto his hand, offering him a shy smile when he looks back at her questioningly. However, he does nothing to shake her off.

           “Yes,” you answer. Then, “He never took me along with him.”

           “You mean at events like these?” Jungkook stands beside you at the railing, eyes instantly finding the “he” you’re referring to. “I know. You two usually go your separate ways.”

           The nonchalant manner with which he comments this has you turning to face him, confusion clear on your face. “How could you know that?”

           Jungkook frowns, popping his knuckles as he refuses to look at you. “Isn’t it pretty common knowledge? You two are both prominent members of the art community that hardly have time for each other. The rest is fairly simple to figure out.”

           You step to the side, granting yourself enough space to glare up at the man.

           “Fairly simple? Jungkook, I don’t know why you think you can make assumptions about my relationship with Hoseok, but there’s no need to do so. You’re right, we’re both busy. But we’re happy. Why do you seem so intent on making me second guess that? Why is everything a competition with you?”

           You’re surprised when Jungkook doesn’t step down like he usually does. Instead he straightens up, leaning in a bit closer while his eyes bore into your own. You swallow, pressing your nails into the palm of your hand when his gaze tracks the movement of your throat.

           “Calling it a competition might be a bit crass,” Jungkook mutters, voice coming out much softer than you anticipated. “But I guess you can say that. Sure, it’s a competition. As of right now, there are no clear winners.”

           “But what are you two competing for?” You ask, exasperated. “There’s no need to go after Hoseok, Jungkook. You’re getting his position in just a few months, you’ll have the same influence he does now. I don’t understand. Why go to such great lengths? Are you trying to usurp him or something?”

           Jungkook finds a way to step impossibly closer, one hand gripping the railing while the other finds your hand. “Which would you deem more valuable: your hand in marriage or your heart?”

           Dangerous, this is dangerous, your heart chides. Despite the warning, you can’t help but sneer and step impossibly closer. There’s a spark of anger deep within you, and if it wasn’t for your current predicament you would stop for a moment and wonder when the last time you felt such an intense emotion was, but you press on.

           “I wasn’t aware that I had to choose,” you seethe. You swallow a gasp as Jungkook leans in, nose nearly bumping against yours.

           You can see whole galaxies in those eyes of his. Glinting and shining under the light of the chandelier, stars begging for you to come dance. What would happen if you danced under his stars? Something tells you that you don’t want to find out.

           “That’s not an answer,” Jungkook breathes out.

           “I’m sorry, what that not good enough for you?”

           He blinks, an amused smirk painting his features. “You’re angry. Good.”

           “Good?” You sputter out, taking a small step back and finding it infinitely easier to breathe now that there’s some distance between you two. “You wanted me to be angry?”

           Shrugging, Jungkook rolls his neck from side to side, looking casual as ever. As though you weren’t just about to bite his nose off if he were to say one more stupid thing.

           “Anger is an emotion. I count that as a win. Now,” he extends his hand out with a flourish, “shall we dance?”

           “No.”

           “I’d rethink that answer if I were you, darling.” Jungkook makes a point of looking out over the railing, and your eyes unwillingly follow his line of sight.

           There’s Hoseok, spinning Margaret around and around. His smile is wide, and you can hear his laughter from up here.

           He has no idea that you’re up here fighting for your marriage, does he?

           Again, that anger is stoked until it’s steadily consuming you. With a huff that sounds more akin to a grown, you take Jungkook’s hand.

           “One. Dance.”

~~

           One turns into two, and two turns to four. The music lilts and does almost all the work, Jungkook picking up the slack as he moves your through the songs. You can hardly tell where one ends and another begins, all you know is two things.

1.     You’re still angry, however it’s being steadily replaced by confusion.

2.     Hoseok and Margaret stopped dancing a while ago, and they currently stand off to the side trying to make it look like they’re not watching you.

“Your cousin appears to be very concerned about you,” you pant, the dancing finally taking its toll. Jungkook glances sidelong, chuckling darkly.

“That’s probably because she’s not my cousin and I told her she would only have to stay for an hour or so.”

If Jungkook’s hand at your back wasn’t propelling you forward, you’re sure you would’ve stopped dead in your tracks.

“What?”

There’s a twinkle of amusement in those galaxy-filled eyes of his. “She is connected to the royal family; I’ll give her that much. But she’s not my cousin. Just an old friend helping out with a favor.”

You’re not sure if you should laugh or cry.

After a moment, you settle for easing out of Jungkook’s grasp with the excuse to use the restroom. The sound of your heels on the marble floor is drowned out as the live band pick up a lively tune, causing a new rush of people to the dance floor. Somehow you manage to weave your way toward the hallway where you think you remember seeing a restroom sign, unaware of someone hot on your heels.

You’re reaching out for the door when you feel a hand at your elbow. It stops you mid-step, pulling you in an entirely different direction. Gasping, you whirl about to see Hoseok with a grim expression. He doesn’t utter a word, marching the two of you toward a dark corner.

“Hoseok, you scared me!” You whisper-shout, entirely unsure of why you’re whispering in the first place. Perhaps it has something to do with the secluded area he’s led you to, not a single soul in sight.

Once you’ve turned the corner, Hoseok presses your back against the wall, peeking around the corner toward the faint light of the festivities. The sound of trombones and cellos echo around the corridor, making you feel like you’re experiencing a memory rather than living this moment in real time.

When Hoseok turns back to face you, you note the way his hair is mussed. You immediately begin to smooth it out with a frown. He’s usually so meticulous about his hair during events like this.

His eyes soften a bit at your ministrations, but his face is still flushed. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

“I- no…?”

“That’s odd,” Hoseok tilts his head to one side, eyes pinning you to the wall better than his hands. “You certainly look like you are.”

You blink. “I do?”

He lets out a choked laugh, the sound seeming so at odds with his typical demeanor. “Are you that oblivious? The way you’ve been staring at him all night certainly makes it seem like you’re drinking in every moment.”

“S-staring? At who?”

“Jungkook!” You flinch a little when Hoseok raises his voice, but he doesn’t notice as he pinches his eyes shut. “Just…be a little more cautious, ok?”

“I…”

When you’re silent, Hoseok opens his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, head bobbing to one side in a habit which you’d always found endearing. Now, though, it’s as good as a death sentence as he steps a little closer. Slowly, so slowly you want to scream, his eyes dip down to your lips.

“No,” he mutters to himself, so quietly that you wonder if he doesn’t realize that he’s speaking his thoughts aloud. “Not here.”

Pushing back from the wall, Hoseok steps away and leaves you with a lingering stare before he’s disappearing around the corner. Your ears strain to listen to his retreating steps, but they’re quickly overtaken by the music and chatter of the crowd.

“What just happened?” You whisper to yourself. After a moment, you ease out of the corridor, scurrying toward the bathroom. Flinging open the stall, you stare down at the toilet wondering if you’re about to retch. With the way your stomach is churning, it’s definitely a possibility.

You emerge from the stall a moment later, feeling no better than when you went in. If only you could splash some water on your face, that would probably help clear up your head. However, you’ve still got a few hours ahead of you. The event is nowhere near ending.

The door swings open as you brace yourself against the sink, and you look up in the mirror to see who just walked in behind you. Margaret pauses for a second as she meets your eyes, the door drifting shut at her back.

“I was hoping you were still in here,” she drawls, her posh accent instantly making you want to stand up straight.

“Well, here I am.”

You wince; your voice sounds horrible. Like you’ve been screaming for hours, when you haven’t hardly said a word in the past hour. No, according to Hoseok you’ve been too busy staring.

Margaret chuckles, coming to the sink beside you and running the faucet. “Look, I’ll make this quick. Jungkook has been waiting around for you for long enough, and to be frank I’m sick of hearing about it. If I were you, I’d make up my mind sooner rather than later.”

You’re sick of asking questions, but it appears that that’s all you have for tonight. “What?” You stare at Margaret, who looks almost other-worldly in her deep blue gown. “I just met Jungkook this week, I think you’re mistaken.”

“You just- what?”

It’s nice to see that someone else looks a little confused for once. You thought you were the only one out of the loop, but judging by the look on Margaret’s face, she’s just joined the club.

“Like I said,” you say, leaning one hip against the sink. “I just met Jungkook a few days ago. Hoseok sent him over to assist me in getting everything ready for the gala.”

“But he said…” Margaret shakes her head, focusing in on you once again. “Don’t tell him I said anything to you, alright?”

Before you even have a chance to answer, Margaret is sweeping out the door and leaving you behind in a stunned stupor. Slowly, you turn to face the mirror again. Then, to your eternal horror, a toilet flushes.

Out ambles Scarlett Johansson, who shoots you a grin before promptly washing her hands. “Trouble in paradise?”

You snort, in disbelief. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

~~

It takes a while to find Jungkook, but then again that may be because you aren’t actually looking for him. No, you’re just floating around the venue in a daze when you hear his voice coming from a parlor to your right. Only a couple of dim lamps illuminate the interior, but you don’t bother to get a closer look as you recognize the other voice.

Margaret.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jungkook? You just met her this week? You made it sound like you’ve been pining over her for years-”

“That’s because I have!” Jungkook hisses, the sound slithering out into the hallway. “I have, but she’s always just out of reach…”

“And what, you thought tonight would do the trick? Kook…look, you know I love you, but this is idiocy. She’s practically engaged to Jung Hoseok-”

“Jung Hoseok doesn’t know what he has, he’s never understood! I am the only one that really gets it, Margaret.”

“Yeah, well just because you get it Jungkook doesn’t mean you get her.”

There’s shuffling inside the room, causing you to back away into a dark corner to remain unseen. After a moment, Jungkook’s voice rings out again. This time, it’s a bit ragged, almost letting you taste the desperation in his tone.

“Margaret, please. I just- I just need time. Please, just give me more time.”

A pause, followed by a heavy sigh. “Fine. I hate you.”

“Love you, too.”

You’ve just managed to scamper around the corner when the door open and a little light floods out into the dim hallway. The sound of heels walking in the opposite direction of your hiding spot alerts you to Margaret’s retreat, making you wonder what exactly she has planned in order to allot Jungkook more time.

Once a couple of minutes that feel like eternity pass, you sneak out around the corner. Heart pounding and palms sweaty, you stare up at the ceiling as though you’ll find an answer there.

What are you even doing?

Before the answer comes you’re schooling your features into cool indifference and walking slowly toward the open door. It’s easy enough to spot Jungkook in the parlor, sitting with his head in his hands on the chaise.

You rap on the door, leaning against the doorframe as Jungkook’s head shoots up. The panic at your appearance doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you pretend you haven’t noticed.

“I leave for two seconds and suddenly you’re sulking in an abandoned room?” You chide. “You much be more attached to me than I thought.”

Jungkook’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I was just taking a breather. We danced a lot, didn’t we?”

“True.” You stare at him from across the room, thinking back on Margaret’s words. Jungkook has been waiting around for you for long enough. “Tell me, Jungkook,” you stride inside, taking up the seat opposite him. “How come I never ran into you before this week? You’ve been around Hoseok for nearly three years at this point, haven’t you?”

Jungkook nods, his wide eyes completely disintegrating the dangerous persona he radiated earlier. “Yeah, almost three years. We’ve…crossed paths a few times, I think.”

You frown. “We have?”

“Only a handful of times,” Jungkook quickly reassures you, and the fact that he doesn’t want you to feel bad about not remembering him has you only growing more confused. Didn’t you just hate him half an hour ago? “We never spoke much.”

“Oh.”

Words – none of which amount to full sentences – rattle around your brain as you strive to come up with something more to say. Your brain is breaking down, information overload finally getting the best of you.

“Should we go back?” Jungkook asks in a small voice. Who even is the man, to change demeanors so quickly? “There’s still a lot of dancing left to do.” He adds a wink in at the end, regaining a bit of his swagger with every word.

Suddenly the memory of Hoseok’s conflicted face comes back to you, and you scramble to your feet. “No! Uh, I mean…” you look around the room but find nothing to help you. “I need to be more careful. I’ve been careless enough tonight.”

Jungkook frowns, almost getting on his feet. “What’s wrong? Did…did Hoseok say something to you?” When you don’t respond, Jungkook lets out a dry laugh. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he grabbed you as soon as you left my side, right? Jealous little-”

“Jungkook!” You gasp, stalking out of the room as he follows close behind. “He just wanted to protect our image, that’s all.”

“Ha! Really, that’s all? Sweetheart, has anyone ever told you just how oblivious you can be?”

“Ugh, just when I was starting to hate you less.”

“I’m serious! Sure, he might have said something about being careful, for your reputations. But that’s all just a cover-up! Can’t you see?”

The ballroom is just up ahead, and you make a beeline for it. “I see just fine, thank you very much. However, I wish I could’ve seen just how horrible tonight would be with you! I would have never agreed to that stupid bet!”

Speeding up, Jungkook jogs up in front of you to block your path. You step to your right, which he mimics. To the left, and again, he’s there to stop you.

“Let me through!”

Jungkook glares down at you, a fire blazing in his eyes. It reminds you of a dying star, some sort of supernova exploding in those galaxy irises. “No.”

“No?” You push against his chest, scowling when he doesn’t budge. “Jungkook, I’m too tired to play this game. Move aside.”

“Dance with me.”

He says it with such seriousness that you almost agree. “I already said that I can’t.”

“Please.” Bottom lip disappearing between his teeth, Jungkook’s shoulders slump. “C’mon, we’ll go where no one can see us.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

Chuckling half-heartedly, Jungkook extends a hand. “I have plenty of them, trust me.”

~~

What started as one bad idea has turned into multiple.

Jungkook took you outside to some lonely balcony that wraps around the building. The doors are thrust open, allowing for some light as he takes you in his arms.

The music drifts up to where you sway, and you wonder how Jungkook even found this spot. It’s not far from the ballroom, but certainly not a common spot for people to wander off to. You ask him as much.

“I stumbled upon it when you sent me on all those dumb errands,” he explains, smiling lazily at you.

You chuckle, stifling a gasp as Jungkook spins you around. Once you’re nestled safely in his arms, you grin up at him. “I knew those would come in handy.”

It feels like whiplash, going through so many emotions tonight. You were set on loathing Jungkook for the rest of eternity until he managed to snag one of the chocolate fountains from the kitchens and bring it out here. A platter of strawberries sits off to the side, begging to be dipped and eaten.

“Strawberry?” Jungkook questions quietly, already reaching for one. You hum in confirmation.

A second later Jungkook is dipping it with an absurd amount of chocolate and bringing it to your lips. Your cheeks flush, but you tentatively open your mouth, awaiting the delicious-

“Hey!” You swat at Jungkook when he bops your nose with the strawberry, covering you in chocolate. He laughs merrily, throwing his head back at the stars before focusing on you.

“You look adorable,” he coos. “Here, eat.” Again he prods the strawberry at your lips, catching your hand in his as you go to clean off your nose. “Eat, I’ll get the chocolate off your nose in just a second. Patience.”

You roll your eyes, but allow him to feed the strawberry to you. At the first crunch and flood of sweet flavor, you close your eyes and ball up your fists into his suit jacket.

“Ah, so good.”

When you open your eyes again, Jungkook is frozen before you. His eyes alight on your lips, tongue wetting his own, following the way you lick up the extra chocolate. Then he looks at your nose, a forgotten smile on his face.

“Here,” he mumbles, reaching out to swipe the bit of chocolate from your nose. Without a second’s hesitation he brings it to his lips and devours it.

All is quiet. The music sounds more distant that ever, the dull chatter of tonight’s guests hardly registering in your brain as Jungkook’s eyes never leave your own.

Something stirs deep within you, something that goes much deeper than attraction or desire. Something stronger than the anger you felt earlier sparks in the pit of your chest, making you shiver.

The spot where Jungkook touched your nose tingles, and you wonder for a moment if it somehow looks different now. His touch lingers, the feeling sprouting something entirely new.

Jungkook continues to sway with you, the movement as singular as breathing. When he opens his mouth to whisper something to you, you can’t help but listen to every syllable that falls from his lips.

“I…I want you to feel when you’re with me,” he whispers. “I’m not picky. It can be any emotion. But I’ve seen you, how you are with him.” You flinch at the mention of Hoseok, but Jungkook holds you tighter and pushes through. “You’re empty around him. You play the game easily enough, but there’s nothing behind those words. I want you to feel.”

“Jungkook…”

“I know. I know how I sound. But this is all I have to give you, and I thought that if I could just get you to feel something again, it might be worth it.”

You find yourself drawing closer to him, some sort of unknown gravity pulling you together like a moon caught in his orbit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Completely helpless, thrown into someone’s orbit and hoping that they notice you. Hasn’t that the way it’s always been, ever since you first laid eyes on Hoseok?

But Jungkook notices you. You know, just from the way his eyes widen as though trying to take more of you in, you know that you’re all he sees. He’s blinded, for some reason or another. Blinded by you, enthralled by your silent suffering and digging ceaselessly for a way out. There’s no doubt in your mind at this moment that he’d carry you far away from here if you just said the word.

How your hands wound up clinging to the nape of his neck, you’re not sure. Just as surprising is the painful tone of your voice as you cry out, "Jungkook, this is no way to live."

His hands are at your back, pressing you closer and closer. "I will live like this for as long as you want, darling.”

“Like what?” Are those tears rushing to your eyes? Too many emotions in such a short amount of time, you can’t keep up. It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything so intense. When was the last time? Perhaps there never was a time such as this. “Hiding away from everyone? Looking over your shoulder every second of every day, wondering when it’ll all fall apart?”

“I can live off of these stolen moments,” Jungkook whispers in awe, gently wiping away your tears. “I’ve been doing that for years. But I don’t know what you want, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“Jungkook,” you wriggle in his grasp, suddenly needing to get away, to breathe, “Jungkook, he’ll find out- we can’t do this. What even is this? I can’t…I don’t even know you!”

He lets you go, allowing you walk toward the edge of the balcony as you greedily gulp down air. After a moment, he speaks up.

“You’re feeling again, aren’t you?”

It’s a silly question. It sounds like he’s addressing a child, but it hits a little too close to home.

Feelings, thoughts, desperation and something deep and exciting courses through you. Yes. Yes, you’re feeling. “Yes. But who says I can’t feel with him?”

Jungkook is silent for a moment. “Who says it can’t be me, instead?” He strides toward you, your heart hammering as he gently cups your cheeks. Stars must cry because his eyes are shiny with tears. Gently, so gently your knees nearly buckle, he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

Smiling sadly, Jungkook whispers, “I love you.” He takes a shaky breath. “I always have. From afar, so I don’t know if that counts in your book. I loved you before we shared a conversation. I loved you the second I first overheard you talking to that unnamed painting on the third floor of the gallery back home. You know the one, don’t you?”

You’re not sure he fully expects an answer as he leans closer, which is all the better as you’re completely unable to provide him with one.

“I love you,” he repeats, wide eyes dropping to your lips. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I wake up to you every morning.”

As his lips first graze your own, you remember him.

Countless times, that how often you’ve seen him. Passed him in the hallway of the gallery, trailing behind a busy Hoseok. Offering you a shy, sweet smile which you immediately assumed was meant for someone else.

He seemed to good, too kind for you.

But here he is, lips pressed gently to yours with a promise hanging in the air.

He asks for nothing in return.

When he finally pulls away, you gaze up at him with teary eyes. “Why?”

He knows what you’re asking. Why would he bare his heart and soul to you when he knows you’re promised to another? When you’ve never acknowledged his existence before?

Jungkook shrugs, then leans in for a short peck. He pulls back, allowing you to see the stars in his eyes.

“You deserved to hear it, at least once.”

~~

Two Months Later

You have not heard those three words since, and you wonder if you ever will again. Glancing at Hoseok who peers down into the glass case, you don’t think you will. Hoseok will never love you.

He has you. He always has, you’ve been a constant in his life. What’s there to love about convenience?

He’s saying something to the jeweler, but the words are muffled. That’s how it’s been recently. People talk so much, but you hardly hear a thing. They so rarely say anything that matters.

Jungkook has been gone, still working to replace Hoseok, but off on business trips that you know aren’t necessary. Last you heard, Hoseok had sent him off to Mongolia on a wild goose chase for some long-lost painting. Chances are he wouldn’t be back for months.

Staring at the rings below you, you know that by then, it’ll be too late.

Hoseok is planning on proposing soon. You’re not exactly sure when, but it’ll be within a few weeks now. Perhaps sooner, you can’t tell.

When you leave the jeweler’s, Hoseok’s hand finds yours. He gives it a soft squeeze, but you can’t find quite enough strength to reciprocate the feeling.

He doesn’t comment on it.

In fact, the two of you hardly exchange two words until much later that evening when you dine together. It’s in his parent’s mansion, one of several. This is the one you’re meant to inherit upon getting married. The dining room is a bit too dark for your liking, but under the current circumstances, you bask in the shadows.

Hoseok is late to dinner. An uncommon thing, but you brush it off, quietly greeting him as he takes up his place across from you. When he doesn’t respond, you look up.

He’s already staring at you, but that’s not what sends a chill through your bones.

He’s looking at you with that sniper-like concentration that you only saw once before. It’s terrifying to be on the other side of that gaze; something you had hoped to never encounter.

“What’s wrong?” You mean to sound more caring, but the question comes out flat. Hoseok chews on his lip before releasing it.

He’s kissed you since the gala. He did as soon as the two of you boarded the plane, away from prying eyes.

It had been rushed and desperate, and you’d been shocked into stepping back, breaking the kiss sooner than he intended.

You’d stepped back and bumped into Jungkook, who gently caught you. Hoseok merely smiled warmly and explained that he thought you two were alone. Jungkook didn’t say a word.

Hoseok holds up a letter, unfolding it. “You received a letter today,” he responds. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

You frown, reaching out a hand but he’s too far away. “No, I’ll read it later-”

“My darling, I only just now found a post office that sends international letters. I apologize from the bottom of my heart, I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you.” Hoseok peeks at you from over the letter, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me you enjoyed pet names. Let’s see what else my apprentice has to say, shall we?”

“Hoseok-”

“Hold that thought,” Hoseok pulls a candle that burns in the center of the table closer to him, hovering the letter just above the flame. “Let’s continue. Something tells me that we’re just getting to the good part.”

“I hope this letter finds you before the wedding, although I can’t be sure. This post office looks a little sketchy, but it’s my best bet. Love, I told you once that I could live off of stolen moments. I can, I do. But I’m tired of begged and borrowed time at your side. Once was not enough.”

“How sweet. I never realized he had such a way with words.” Hoseok sighs wistfully, making you shudder.

“Run away with me, darling. Meet me in Italy, at the gallery. Come up with any excuse you possibly can – just find me. I’ll try to do my best to find a way out of this place, and I’ll wait for you every day. From open to close, I’ll be there. If you don’t come by the end of April, I’ll know that you decided to go forward with the marriage and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Just don’t forget: I love you. Wow, that was beautiful, wasn’t it? Who knew Jungkook was such a poet?”

Hoseok sighs again, meeting your horrified gaze. In one swift movement, he lets the bottom corner of the letter catch the flame. Smoke curls into the air, and you scramble to your feet.

“Hoseok!” You lunge for the letter, knocking over the candle in the process. With a shriek, you watch as the candle drops to the rug and catches fire. Rushing over, you begin to stomp out the flames.

“Let it burn,” Hoseok mumbles, still staring at the burning letter in his hands. “I always wanted to burn this house to the ground. It seems fitting to do so now.”

“You’ve lost your mind!” You shout, turning toward him once the rug is extinguished and snapping the letter from his hands. The flames bite as your fingertips, the letter unsalvageable. Hissing, you throw it into the fireplace.

“You know what?” Hoseok rises to his feet. “I think I will burn it down. Maybe move into one of those cramped apartments in the city. What do you think?”

“Hoseok, you’re not thinking straight. Let’s talk about this.”

His smile is melancholy, but for a moment his eyes clear up and you catch a glimpse of the Hoseok you’ve known for twelve years.

“Don’t you have packing to do?” With a shrug he adds, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I-“ you stop mid-step. A series of choices flash before your eyes, but all you can see if Hoseok and the out he’s offering you.

Perhaps he wants to get out of this as much as you do.

As you pound up the stairs and begin to throw anything you can find into your bag, you realize that you may never know. You never did get to know the real Hoseok. His thoughts and inner feelings have remained a mystery to you.

When you rush out the door a few minutes later, Hoseok is already leaning against his car. There’s another car parked beside it, and he tosses you the keys. There are no parting words, no longing stares as he marches forward and strikes a match against the side of the house. Without fanfare, he tosses the flame inside the mansion. You watch with unabashed awe as he strides back to his car and hops in. There’s a small bag in the back, certainly not enough to hold his precious belongings.

Hoseok gives you a curt nod, tearing out of the driveway.

You’re gone before the sound of sirens cuts through the air.

~~

The Accademia Gallery is packed today, more so than you’ve ever seen it before. Of course, the main attraction is The David. Tourists crowd around, trying to find the best angle to take a photo, grinning widely.

All of them except for one, who stares up at the sculpture with a keen eye. His dark brown hair is shorter than it was a few months ago when he stood in a similar position.

“Jungkook!”

Somehow, amidst the din of the crowd, he hears you. The stars in his eyes are bright as he turns around, acting as a beacon as you push through the crowd. They gleam and sparkle, rivaled only by the wide smile that overtakes his features. Those eyes, so dangerous yet so lovely. They invite you to get lost in them, to dance under Jungkook’s galaxy.

This time, you think you will.

~~

main masterlist || Help support me? ko-fi

this was a wild ride, lemme tell ya

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797  @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall @miriamxsworld​ @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld   @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi​

[fudgetunblr]

Ranking the Evaks on how likely they are to break up (feel free to disagree)

(Inspired by @alexiaugustin post about break ups 🙃)

1. Nicotino (is that their ship name???)

Look, these fuckers broke up once before, and they’ll do it again.

2. Elu

There’ll come a point when Lucas will have it with Elliots constant lying tbh. Will they accidentally stumble upon each other in a couple of years after their break up and hook up in a bathroom undignified??? Probably.

3. Crisana

Maybe because Skam España is so realistic that it makes me think realistic, but I just have this vibe that they’d break up. I don’t know why, I just have this FEELING. I do think they’re the most likely to stay friends after their break up though. (This physically hurts me)

4. Sobbe

Could probably be number 3 as well. Look. They’re best friendos, they’re happy together. Eventually that might end. Something BIG would have to trigger it though, like someone falling for someone. Like I can’t imagine them apart, but also knowing Sander, who knows tbh 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

5. Evak

Call me biased. I am. But like, I just can’t really see it and at the same time I can. Like their break up would be chill, because they’d be like “this ain’t working, it’s been chill my dude ✌🏼” and go their separate ways. They’d have a civil break up, if that were to happen. But of everyone, they’re definitely part of those who’d make it.

6. Davenzi

Look. They’re too lazy to break up. Matteo saw David accepting his rat self, wearing his grandpa sweaters and terrible Instagram memeing and went, “this is as good as it’s gonna get.” It be like that.

[fishyspots]

i have a lot of feelings about David in skirts so if you’re still taking prompts: the first time david feels confident enough to wear a skirt on date night with Patrick

[read on AO3]

“We’ve been doing this for a while now,” Patrick says. “And I want to celebrate.”

It’s surprising because it’s not surprising. They have been doing this for a while. They still haven’t put a name to it, this thing they’re doing, but it’s been three entire months and Patrick hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to stop being his...Patrick. And David’s been looking.

“You want to celebrate.” David does all he can to keep the want out of his voice. “It’s not even one of those monthly things, because you just gave me that chocolate last week.”

“Aw, you did want me to wine and dine you a little bit for our anniversary.”

David fiddles with the ripped denim around his thigh. It’s not what he wanted to wear today. He’d considered an asymmetrical McQueen skirt and then wrinkled his nose and set it down carefully, going for these jeans instead. They’re an old standby, and he knows Patrick likes the way he looks in them.

But it’s not—that. That’s not why he chose them.

Even though he’s not wearing them for Patrick, his...Patrick still proved him right within seconds when he walked into the store this morning, all wandering hands and red-tinged cheeks when Twyla popped in for some more of that peanut brittle they’re trying out and caught them having a decidedly PG-13 moment.

“I have to go home and change first,” David’s mouth says before his brain can put up a decent fight.

“You’re right.” Patrick nods. David can sense that teasing is coming, and he smiles in anticipation. What is happening to him. “You did carry in all those cases of juice and body milk earlier. And you moved that table all by yourself because I was definitely the one who said I was potentially getting a blister maybe. Oh, wait.”

David grabs Patrick’s wrist before he can dramatically point at himself. “I did other things,” he protests. “My things were less likely to make me all smelly, but still.”

“Are you saying I’m all smelly?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” David says airily.

“Fine. An hour after we close?”

David nods and starts mentally sorting through his sweaters.

After David sweeps up (“David, if you’re about to change, you can get a little dusty.” “First of all, you’re about to change, too.”) and Patrick counts down the till, when he’s back at the motel, David smooths a hand down the black pleats. It’s soft, light. He thinks the skirt might say what he wants to communicate—question and declaration all rolled into one.

Because if—when, god, he’s not a person that can say if about this—when this ends, he knows he’s going to spend too long working through all of their interactions backward.

It’s happened before. He ran up a phone bill that was impressive even for his pre-Creek self texting Alexis internationally about Sebastien, the plot intricacies of Bridget Jones, where the line between an open relationship and cheating is, and, fine, a definitive ranking of all flavored Auntie Anne’s pretzels and their respective dipping sauces that one time.

But if—when, when this ends. He doesn’t think it’ll be about this. And if it is, then. Maybe it’s...good? To know. Because unlike his reticence about open relationships and categorical inability to keep his mouth shut, he would rather know about this. If it’s a hesitation. If Patrick has a hesitation about this.

He slides the fabric over his hips and smooths down the front of his sweater. Patrick will be here any minute.

David slides into the booth after a surprisingly long drive. Patrick’s been exceptionally tight-lipped about where they’re going and what the menu is like and whether the dessert is any good, and David’s trying to toe the line between endearingly interested and nitpicky. It’s a fine line.

Patrick pushes at David’s shoulder. “Scoot.”

David does; it only occurs to him to question the request once Patrick’s side is pressed into his own. “What are you—hi.”

“Hi. Come here often?” Patrick slides a hand up David’s back and presses at one of the many persistent knots at the base of his neck. Thriving professionally does not come without its costs.

“First time, actually.” David’s surprised there’s a half-decent restaurant in the greater Elms that he hasn’t tried. He hopes it’s half-decent, at least. “Where did you find this place?”

“Marie, the woman who does those wines, said she’s letting them carry her product here.” Patrick’s hand is a brand tracing down his spine and around to—his skirt. “And I know you trust her taste.”

“She actually uses the toner we sell. Of course I trust her taste.”

“A convincing argument.” Patrick taps at David’s kneecap, then lets his hand rest against it. The touch is both soothing and electric. David isn’t really sure what to do with it.

“Haven’t seen these in a while,” Patrick says. 

“A while?” David leans back to catch Patrick’s eye. “When have you ever seen my knees?”

At Patrick’s slow once-over, starting at his knees and following the lines of his body as they curve and bend up his chest to his neck and then to meet his eyes again, David swallows and amends his question. “When have you ever seen my knees in mixed company?”

“Less often than I’d like,” Patrick says. “You look—”

Different, David fills in. Unexpected. Funky, if he’s misjudged Patrick fundamentally as a person. It’s happened before.

Patrick dips his forehead into David’s neck and burrows in. He does this sometimes, pushing like he would burrow inside David if he could. He mumbles something into David’s skin.

“What’s that?” David asks. Context clues are favorable, but he’s the first to admit that he’s not especially good at reading people. Okay, maybe he’s the second. Alexis jumps at the chance to point out his flaws usually.

“It’s—if I say lovely, are you going to roll your eyes at me?” Patrick actually seems worried that his word choice will do anything but make David melt, which—how?

“That’s…” David blinks. Hard, really hard, like there’s something like a branch or one of those twig pencils in his eye. “I’m not rolling my eyes.”

“You’re not,” Patrick muses. He runs a thumb over David’s eyebrow, which is so unsettlingly intimate in its total innocence and the matter-of-fact way Patrick moves to do it. He makes it look so easy.

“Hi,” their server pops up and prevents them from doing anything else that they really need privacy for. And David’s got more than a few ideas. “Just here to light your candle and take your drink orders.”

David asks for a water and tilts his head as the server holds up a lighter to the already blackened wick. “Really a lot to not even trim the wick,” he says after the server is out of earshot.

“I’ll trim your wick,” Patrick says. Then he winces. “That’s—”

“How would that even—”

“I didn’t think it through,” Patrick acknowledges. He nudges the tiny red tealight holder closer to David.

The wick is smoking and sputtering, and David doesn’t want to smell like a campfire so he pushes it back.

“Hey,” Patrick protests. “I want—it’s dark in here. And I like to see you.” His hand drifts down again and fiddles with the hem of David’s skirt.

David crosses one knee over the other and hides a smile behind his menu. He won’t be able to twist or push or slip this one out of sight. “Fine,” David says. “But like hell will I let you trim my wick.”

[ingravinoveritas]

Another fashion opinion post, made by request of @let-me-dream-with-the-stars​, who asked me to rank Michael Sheen/Miles Maitland’s outfits in Bright Young Things. I’m starting from the beginning of the film and covering most of the outfits (save for the one in the last scene, which is still too heartbreaking to watch).

So, without further ado, here we go...

This is possibly my favorite ensemble that he wears in the entire movie. The oversized collar and tight-fitting vest are giving serious “Aziraphale as a Shakespearean rent boy” vibes (which is also helped by whatever the hell is happening here). The dark eye and lip makeup accentuate his features beautifully and the wild curls complete the look, manic and untamed in stark contrast to the utter grace and poise with which he moves through the party, particularly after doing lines in the bathroom and walking like he is the fiercest bitch in the room (which he totally is). YAS QUEEN. 10/10.

Okay...the capelet. Again here is Michael in a garment in white that I’m not sure anybody else could pull off. I also love the shimmery blue and silver vest, jacket, and silk bow underneath, which are complemented perfectly by the blue eye shadow he is wearing. It all comes together in a very “1930s disco ball meets sassy goth grandma” way (thanks to the black nail polish and pearl earring he has on, and can we please have more roles where Michael gets to show off his piercing?). I enjoyed the glimpse we got of the long, black boots he is wearing as well, though I’m not crazy about the poofy, checked pants (maybe would’ve worked better in a different color). 9.5/10.

Oh, Michael, honey...no. I get that this is probably supposed to be how Miles dresses when he has to be in (more) polite society, but the tuxedo is just boring and sedate compared to what he’s worn before. And the HAIR. It’s some unholy combination of Crispin Glover in Willard and Steve Buscemi in The Wedding Singer and when paired with the suit makes him look like a funeral director who’d rather be at a drag show. The shaped, arched eyebrow still gives that hint of fierceness, though, and I’m glad we get a little faint eyeliner, too. 5/10.

Another flawless outfit. This is what you wear when you’re about to bottom for your closeted lover and a hay bale in a dimly-lit stable is your only option. The overcoat, jacket (with matching trousers!), and sweater pull this into a fully realized look, and the beret and sunglasses and hint of red lipstick add a delightful touch of camp to another setting where Miles perhaps can’t be as flamboyant as he’d be at a party. The sunglasses actually give me a “Thorne Jamison in the 1930s” vibe, which fits well in this era considering Michael played Thorne just a year after this was filmed. Excellent outfit overall, especially considering the jacket could look like a gingham tablecloth on anyone else. 9.5/10.

Another absolutely favorite outfit, so good I needed to include two pictures. The eyeliner, red lips, and curls draped over his forehead (shown beautifully in the first photo) make him look positively angelic. The camel overcoat works gorgeously with that hat and yellow (another color most people can’t wear) vest, and that bow tie adds delicious flair. This is top!Miles in perfect form, confidently striding over to his sexy race-car driver boyfriend to squeeze his angel botty and not giving a fuck who sees it. Only makes me wish there was a Good Omens AU with Crowley as a race-car driver who invented tinted windows because he wanted Aziraphale to suck him off while he’s driving. “What is it about boys in goggles,” indeed. 10/10.

---

So, there you have it! My officially unofficial semi-serious opinion of Michael’s outfits in Bright Young Things. If you’d like my opinion any of Michael’s other outfits (or any of David’s, or Michael and David together at any red carpet or event), feel free to comment on this post. Thanks for reading! xx

[aboldclaim]

42 for the kissing prompts!

Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

Patrick wants to marry him.

They’ll be married in September, but the look on David’s face as they’re left alone in a cool pavilion, a dozen careful slices of cake in front of them, makes Patrick want to marry him now, here, in July, with the summer rain bashing the thick glass above their heads and the soft cashmere of David’s sweater beneath his hand. 

“I’ll give you some time,” the pastry chef had said, fumbling with her umbrella as she’d nodded towards the table. Her careful handwriting sits across slips of paper propped against plates, words that cut right to the heart of David. 

“Buttercream, Patrick,” he whispers in awe, and then the barely restrained excitement bursts across his face, like the clouds that have given way to the rain, and his mouth splits into a grin. “Look at them all.”

David’s practically vibrating on the spot, fiddling with the tag beneath the collar of Patrick’s shirt, gaze flitting across the cakes with an expression that flattened Patrick the first time he’d seen it. 

It had been early on, and early morning, outside the motel waiting for David to put on his seatbelt so he could hand him a coffee, fresh and sugared from the cafe. He’d had such a crush, had been a mess of adolescent eagerness and the kind of want that sits in the bottom of your stomach, the morning of that vendor pick up, and he hadn’t been prepared for the smile directed towards him when he’d said there’s cheese at this farm. There was sleep in the crinkles at the corners of David’s eyes, and his cheeks were bright, and his was mouth crooked, exuberant. Patrick had wanted to lean over the middle console and kiss David then, while he’d tasted like caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, a dash of cocoa powder. 

He wants to kiss him now too, while he tastes like David, while he tastes like the bad coffee they’d had on the road and the pancakes they’d had for breakfast. While he still smells like the shower he’d had this morning, and the rain they’d just run through. While he still feels like he felt last night, soft skin and hard muscle and rough stubble. 

He runs the back of his hand across David’s cheek now, appled with joy, and stretches forward to kiss him just as he moves forward to the table. It’s a mess, Patrick’s nose hitting David’s jaw, his mouth landing in the crook of David’s neck, his chest slamming into David’s elbow. He’s winded momentarily, and feels David’s hand on his forearm, steadying him as his feet keep trying to trip over themselves. 

“God, sorry,” David says, waiting until Patrick feels right side up before turning him towards the table. “I have a good feeling about this one.”

He’s pointing at a delicate looking slice, with a pale yellow sponge split in two by a streak of white frosting. David hands him a fork, and breaks into the cake with his own, carefully collecting icing and filling and cupping one hand under the other to bring the forkful to his mouth. 

“I was trying to kiss you,” Patrick says, as David closes his eyes, pleasure making tracks across his expression as he chews thoughtfully. His voice is shot, quiet and wobbling and he’s a little embarrassed by it, but it doesn’t seem like David heard him anyway. He clears the desperation from his tone with a small cough, and waits until David swallows before he steps closer.

“I was trying to kiss you,” he repeats, lower, seductive, hopefully, and he’s proud of himself for getting it together, and for the way David’s brows crawl up his forehead a little as his eyes flutter open. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah that was - ”  

Something playful flits across David’s face before he leans forward, presses his mouth to Patrick’s, cutting his sentence off at the clause. The kiss is firm, too quick, and he pulls away just as Patrick licks at David’s lips, just as he tastes citrus and sugar and another gentle flavour he can’t put his finger on.

“Blood orange,” David says, and Patrick peers at the small card as David moves in front of him to reach another cake, his back pressed against Patrick’s chest. It’s obscene, the way David leans over to collect a bite of raspberry meringue, moaning a little as he crunches through the hard outer shell to reach the flavour in the centre. 

A forkful appears over his shoulder for Patrick, just as he recognises he’s lost any sense of an upper hand in seducing David this afternoon. The distraction of wedding cakes laid out in front of them has met with a newfound method of messing with Patrick, and he happily teases him as he makes his way around the plates. 

Patrick loses count of the cakes they try, of the mouthfuls of sponge he’s offered in lieu of David’s mouth on his.

He thinks there was a chocolate one, with a small pattern across the icing he can see between them, when David backs Patrick against a wall, his free hand at Patrick’s hip. David’s fingers are hooked into his belt loop, and his thumb tries to mimic the cake’s pattern into the crinkling blue material of his shirt. He offers the fork to Patrick briefly, before turning it back towards himself, closing his mouth around the sponge with a smirk. Patrick manages to steal a kiss then, catching David’s laughter as it bubbles from his lips, catching a hint of something dark and rich and alcoholic that takes his breath away.

It was nice, that one, probably, but he couldn’t say which slice he liked the most. He’s barely paid attention, to be honest, but has listened enough to hear that David has invented a complex ranking system at the same time as he’s been fucking with Patrick, has been placing the cakes from left to right along the oak table in order of flavour, density, aesthetic, wedding appropriateness. 

At the top is the lemon sponge he’d started with, and he moves Patrick towards it. He’s propped a potential cake topper against it, two small grooms with smaller bowties, holding each other, and Patrick moves the pair carefully to the side of the plate as he takes a forkful. 

The flavour he’d licked from David’s lips earlier is there, magnified and surrounded by buttercream, but still with a gentle citrus that bounces around his mouth as it had done before. He wants to tell David, wants to sound like he knows what he’s talking about, but when he turns, he’s met with the same bright, fond grin, directed at him.

“Let’s do this one,” is all Patrick can manage, and somehow David’s smile grows even larger. He’s with Patrick in a stride, and takes his face between his hands, wipes a wayward speck of icing from Patrick’s chin before bringing their mouths together. 

It feels like everything Patrick had thought it would, like this morning and last night, and every other kiss they’ve shared, every quick, lazy, last minute, first thing, middle of the night kiss. It tastes like chocolate and citrus and sugar, and raspberry, coffee and poppyseed, pear and meringue. It tastes like David, and Patrick wants to marry him here, now, already, please.

send in a number from this list!

[themissingmarvel]

Kind Regards, Detective [Part 1]

(Prompt: I did it. I finally did it.This is one of many chapters. I started this a solid six months ago, or so, and struggled. But it’s based off “Prisoners (2013)” with Jake Gyllenhaal who I’m lowkey in love with. That said, having seen the movie is helpful but not life altering. Takes place present day, years after the case was solved. And seeing as Conyers is fictional [well, Conyers, Pennsylvania] I took liberties with where it’s located in Pennsylvania. Sue me. Just be glad I didn’t choose Scranton. I almost did.

And as someone with a forensic psychology background, I tried to keep it pretty on point which means it’s a little more boring than the movies make it out to be.)

Pairing: Detective Loki (David) x fbi!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Language. Mentions of abuse.Brooding.

+++

Detective Loki wasn’t happy.

Well, he wasn’t usually a ray of sunshine, but today he really wasn’t happy.

An understatement, to be sure.

Detective Loki was filled with fury and a sort of passionate anger you could taste, if only he opened his mouth long enough to let it escape his lips.

But he didn’t.

Looking at him, standing in front of the whiteboard in the large conference room in the precinct, anyone would think him an average detective doing his work. The sleeves on his white button-down were clasped at his wrists, his shirt buttoned right up to the neck as it always was and without a tie. Unusual, but not strange in any way. Black pants hung off his hips, a black belt holding them up, his badge and gun strapped to him. His dark hair, as always, was slicked back and his icy eyes were focused.

He looked like an average detective. A gorgeous one, to be sure. He’d had his share of married women coming in for ‘noise complaints’ just to try and catch a glimpse of the man. And his heart, of course, that gentle space he pretended wasn’t so soft, had given him away. He was average as hell, save for the collection of tattoos he had gained in his troubled youth, at least. 

Everyone in the damn precinct knew he wasn’t. Average, that is.

“Detective Loki? Agent (Y/L/N) is here. Should I send her in?” The young officer had pulled the short straw, a rookie kid who had started a few months ago. David didn’t know him well, but he did know his name. He knew everyone’s name.

Blinking hard a few times he placed his hands on his hips, eyes staying focused on the whiteboard, “Don’t really have a choice do I, Anders?” It was rhetorical. He knew he didn’t have a choice and he was vaguely aware Officer Anders would be too nervous to answer.

A moment of silence lapsed before Detective Loki rubbed his face, “Send her in.”

The Captain had warned Loki about this days ago. The disappearances in Conyers, they had realized, were not just isolated to Conyers. They spanned into Noxen, Benton, White Haven, and even out to Catawissa. 

After ten disappearances were linked together from the different towns and cities, the Feds were finally called in.

“With all due respect, Captain, I can work this case on my own.” David’s voice had been collected at first as he stood in the Captain’s office, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed.

The Captain looked frustrated. He was, really. He’d been on the phone with five different precincts to coordinate information and speaking with the Feds on how to proceed. Everyone was pissed. No one ever wanted the Feds involved, “I get it, Detective, but orders are orders, you know that. And the Bureau wants us to let one of theirs in. I don’t get a say, and frankly neither do you.”

His voice raised now, “What about the Dover and Birch case? I got those sons of bitches on my own, the Feds didn’t even know about it until I caught them!” He was leaning forward.

O’Malley had gone from frustrated to pissed, “Just shut up for once and cooperate, OK? You work alone, I get it, but with the Black Rose case the Feds are involved and you’re gonna have to play nice. Or at least tolerable, understood?” 

Looking at the pallid yellow wall to the left of him, David kept his eyes narrowed, his mouth in a straight line. Unspeaking, he turned and walked out of the office. 

Fucking Feds.

Fucking Feds indeed. Footsteps, soft and light, were muffled still by the old, grey carpet with strange geometric patterns on it in the building as she walked towards the conference room. The case was already drilled into her head. Names. Dates. Locations. Buildings. Abduction theories. So far, Conyers had three of the ten abductions which was why they had sent (Y/N). 

Other precincts had also gotten federal agents, but Conyers was special. Detective Loki was special. That was part of the problem.

When she stepped in Loki didn’t even flinch, save for the sharp blinks as he stared at the board. There were faces, three in fact, two men and one woman, smiling brightly. Next to each was the location of abduction. How did they know?

“Kind regards to Detective Loki,” (Y/N) broke the silence as she walked to the circular table nearby, placing her stack of folders and black messenger bag down. She was, of course, reading off of the note left with the black rose at each location the abductions had taken place.

David turned, a reminder flashing in his head to play nice, reaching out to take the woman’s hand, “Detective Loki. You’re Agent Y/L/N, correct?” 

She was surprisingly stunning, he realized as he took her soft hand, stained lightly with blots of ink. Y/N looked softer than he expected, not like someone who’d ‘seen some shit’ in their day. He imagined on the street he’d have done a double take, subtly, if she walked by. He wanted so bad for her to be ghastly. Appalling. For her breath to smell and for her to sound whiny. He wanted a reason to be irked by her but so far all he found was that she was… lovely.

She smiled gently, “I am. Pleasure to meet you, Detective,” she took his hand firmly, shaking it, the tattoos not going unnoticed. Not much had, really. She knew about David. She’d asked for his file and his background. His cases solved. Any reports. And per her own curiosity, she had asked for a personal history on file. It had surprised her, just slightly, that he’d made his way from a delinquent boys’ home with dabbling in petty crimes in his youth to a top ranking detective. It wasn’t a common theme. But he was a good man, despite everything she read. He had taken the Dover and Birch case hard, forced to take a leave after it all settled. No follow-up evaluation was done in small towns like this. 

When Loki drew his hand back he kept his lips pursed into a thin line, turning back to the board, “So the feds wanted a shrink involved? Did they send a shrink to every location or just Conyers?” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed by the woman standing in a simple grey sweater hanging loosely off her shoulders and a pair of blue jeans and black Converse shoes. Not exactly ‘shrink’ material, really. Not that one would notice. Except David. He liked it, though. He liked that she seemed to fit and that she wasn’t trying too hard. Or being blase about the whole thing. He liked that she wanted to talk about the case and not prod about how he was doing or how cold it was. She was his type.

Fuck.

She inhaled sharply. Yale didn’t prepare you for how to deal with cops in high-profile cases. The bureau had warned her that she’d be unwelcomed and especially given she was a profiler; she was the one with the psych background. Sure, she’d done her criminology bit, but she’d never used her weapon. Hell, she didn’t even keep it holstered on her person. But Detective Loki knew that. She was that type.

“Well, Detective, Conyers was where the first two abductions took place, though the third a couple weeks after. And as you well know, your name was personally left at all scenes. Of course, in the other cities Detectives Miller, Warren, Riley, and O’Toole were all named in their notes as well. I suspect that if we don’t get moving soon, more notes and more roses will come up. I’m here because this is where it started and profilers start at the beginning.” Her voice had stayed steady and cool as she watched him, her form and posture unmoving, his doing the same.

The world paused for just a moment as she eyed David. Detective Loki. Man hardened by the system who had saved the lives of many. Who had rescued a father trapped and left for dead. She saw the religious-themed tattoos, the juvie ones on his knuckles. She saw his clean cut hair, shaven face, shirt buttoned higher than most but with no tie to speak of. She liked that. He stood out without actually standing out. And god… he was hot. Ah, shit. No. Stay professional.

It was quiet as (Y/N) stepped up to the board, able to see that while half focused on Conyers, the other had the abduction sites and pictures as well as the detectives named. There appeared to be no pattern. Nothing as of yet. Just names. Detectives.

“May I be candid with you, Detective?” She stood next to him, arms crossed in front of her chest as she stared at the white board.

Almost confused, David glanced over, not making a comment about being informal, “Sure.”

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes a moment and composing herself before looking back up at the board, “I don’t think any of them are alive.” 

A look of anger fell over Detective Loki’s features, though perhaps not directed at Y/N as he turned to her completely, “How the fuck would you know that?” 

On some level, he knew it.

Hostile. Well, of course.

“I don’t think they lived long after being abducted, Detective. I don’t think any of them did. Why kidnap ten adults and just… keep them?” She looked over at him, aware she’d hit a nerve.

Loki was perturbed as he narrowed his eyes, “We didn’t find any evidence of a struggle at any of the scenes. No blood, nothing broken, all perfect. Why take people peacefully then kill them?” He was drawing on his many years of detective work, and (Y/N) knew that. He was bright and he was skilled. It was why he had been allowed to work as the lead. The other detectives named hadn’t been so lucky. They were all too involved. At least, they weren’t as good at hiding it as David was.

But she shrugged, “Ted Bundy got women to his car before they even knew what happened on a regular basis. So that’s why I’m here, I guess. Make it make sense.” Concern fell on her features, Loki watching as she reached up and took a picture of Frank Cohen. He was about forty, blonde hair styled well on his head. Went to temple regularly with his wife and kid. He was a banker at a local credit union and had no real ‘enemies’ to speak of. A neighbor who hated that he didn’t keep up his lawn. Wife’s friend who’d tried to flirt with him. He was average.

Placing the picture back up, she reached across Detective Loki who silently stepped back, watching as she took the second picture. Liana Lopez. Dark hair hanging by her shoulders, early thirties, Hispanic, Catholic, didn’t attend services save for bigger occasions. Left behind a husband who was cooperative, a man who had relied on his wife for work as he’d recently been injured working construction. 

That one went back up and she looked at the third without taking it down. Another caucasian man, this one only twenty-five, recently married to his husband. That one had first been the first and thought to be a hate crime, potentially, but with the rose and the note, and then the others, that had been ruled out. None of it made sense.

There was no discernable pattern, and it really pissed off both of them.

“This guy isn’t Ted Bundy. He’s worse than a psychopath,” Loki almost snarled out the words. In truth, he was aware that the individuals taken likely weren’t alive. What had frustrated all the precincts was where, then, they had gone. Why go through the effort of abducting people quietly, but leave a message behind to tell the world what happened? 

Kind regards.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N squinted before looking at the scenes, “The words are very… well, they’re formal, but they aren’t sweet. They’re taunting, but you knew that already.” She stood, walking to the corkboard again and squinting as she eyed the abduction sites. 

Well, presumed abduction sites. Why leave these anywhere else? No other places in the surrounding areas had signs of a struggle, the dogs and forensics had dug through cameras and they all seemed like these were the spots.

She turned to David, “Why does someone give a person a rose?” She raised an eyebrow.

Loki looked almost bored, though it was annoyance. He’d already asked himself this twelve times, “Sign of affection. So why a black one?”

She shook her head, “Yeah, but that’s the thing. The letter was left for you. The letters for the other detectives as well. But you…” she appeared to get distracted by her own thoughts, not unusual for the quirky woman, squinting again as she walked to the round, grey table and took the top file.

David was almost intrigued now, beginning to find himself drawn in, as he watched her, knowing there was some kind of process. He was still impatient, however, and still quite salty about the FBI coming in, “What about me?”

Pulling a few pieces of paper out, she grabbed a color copy of something out and walked over to David, “The last abduction was in Conyers, which you know. All the other detectives have been pulled off the cases for being too involved. But not you,” she glanced over at him, watching his face change as he glanced at her, then back at what was a copy of the last note, “No, you’ve stayed on. And this last note- here!” She pinned it to the board, pointing at the lettering, “The lines are darker. Thicker. The pen changed. Not the font or the style, but this note has more care put into it. Up until now, the notes all looked fairly carbon-copied, you know? But this one is-”

Quiet.

Staring at the lettering silence fell once she stopped herself from finishing. 

Years ago she had felt that same pang in her gut she was feeling now. That overwhelming sensation of dread and panic. She felt it when she had watched the clip of a video someone had posted near a crowd where a murder had taken place. She had felt that gut wrenching sensation as his face appeared. It was hard to spot a murderer because at the core, she knew, everyone had that potential. But some had that piece.

Detective Loki was not endeared by any of this, though. He didn’t buy the idea that suddenly he might have mattered to this killer more than anyone else. Thicker font. Who cared? People lose pens. And he was going to say that before Anders entered once more, a look on his face. The look of a rookie who had never had to say those words before. Never had to tell a detective what he’d just heard. The look of a man who’d vomited before walking in.

That look.

He was falling over his words. Tripping and stumbling over them. He was grasping for them.

But it was Y/N who frowned and spoke quietly, “Just tell us where they found them.”

[i-like-his-charm]

I Like My Ridiculousness

I wonder if he knew that women yearned for him. I’m betting he did. Nobody would do the kind of photos he posed for and not know that women all over the world (or at least where they were showing Danger Man) were breathing a little harder when they looked at those. And even before Danger Man… heck, those Rank photos to promote him were super hot photos. Give me a break. He HAD to know that the ladies were swooning all over the place. We STILL swoon. 

I’ll bet he had mixed feelings about that. Any red-blooded normal male would have to be a little pleased at being admired so intensely, but he would have also been a bit appalled seeing as he had such strong feelings about family and fidelity. Possibly his repulsion against that might have been made stronger as it could have caused him a bit of temptation from time to time. I mean, let’s be realistic, even the most faithful of us DO notice other people (aren’t we noticing PMG?) Personally, I love my husband and, although I know couples who joke and say that some celebrity or other are each other’s “free square,” I don’t really need or want a “free square.” Even if PMG were alive and willingly available, I wouldn’t want a “free square.” It’s never what it seems. There was a time when Mel Gibson would have been my “free square.” After what I heard him saying to his ex-girlfriend on the phone, he repulses me now. And there was a time when Harrison Ford would have been my “free square.” After he left his wife for Calista Flockhart, he lost my respect. So, a long time ago, I realized, I don’t really want a “free square.” My husband knew he didn’t want one long before I did. It’s meaningless. But, yes, I have a certain yearning for PMG. I yearn to touch his face. If I did have my way with him LOL, I would touch his face. Every inch of his face. And maybe even more, but nothing else, just touch,

Still, it’s just as well that I’ll never see him in person. I like sinking into the unreality of it all. I LIKE believing in John Drake, Number 6, David Jones, any of those characters. I LIKE believing that, of course, the mythical Patrick McGoohan — some sort of fable person — never smelled like smoke when he smoked cigarettes. Was never angry about anything out of line. Never got drunk from all those drinks he drank ;-) (and Drake was constantly drinking!) I just like to sit back and make up this imaginary person. I want to fill in all the blanks with perfections or with flaws that are sorta perfect flaws. His shirts always felt starched but never scratchy. He smelled faintly of cologne but something better. His skin was smooth but still had that roughness of a man’s chin. His nails were never dirty, always manicured, but he never had to bother with that stuff because they were just that way naturally. 

And 6, well, in Many Happy Returns, when he’s all waterlogged and has been wearing the same torn up sweater for however many weeks and staggered through sand and field and over highway, he still smelled great when he got to his old place and sat on the couch next to that nasty woman who betrayed him (which I would have never done ;-) ) 

This is getting too long and ridiculous… but I like my ridiculousness.