#I love his face when he laughs he looks like a catalogue model | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

extravaguk · 3 years

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

wordcount: 15k

genre: summer!au, ex high school classmaters, kinda frenemies to lovers, tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook, popular!reader

rated: m (fluff - smut - angst)

warnings: you broke jungkook's heart you bitch!! , oral sex (m&f), protected sex (shocking tbh), CL as your bestie it doesnt get better than that! idk i dont wanna spoil too much

author's note: fucking finally dude!! i've been writing this since february but school was kicking my ass. now that i finished my exams and mercury is in gemini i was able to finish it. if you read this, i hope you enjoy it!

Inkphoria

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping the flyer too tightly, rumpling the paper in your hand until you're pretty much sure it's ruined. It's the first day of June, and it's already too hot. The sun and humid weather are causing beads of sweat to form in your hairline and your white tank top to stick to your skin. Your jean shorts didn't feel this uncomfortable a few hours ago and you're sure the heat is causing your mascara to transfer to your eyelids and lower lashline. You've never needed a slushie and a smoke this bad in forever, even if you knew the later would make your parents lose their shit.

Inkphoria

You read it again. Your brain is trying to guess what font its written in, an excuse to try to steady your heart beat until your nerves ease a little and you can finally gather the courage to step into the damn shop. You've noticed a few people passing by giving you strange looks because maybe it hasn't been fifteen minutes. Perhaps you've been unmoving like an idiot in the middle of the street for longer than you want to admit.

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

'Its not that much of a big deal. It's not even that painful, trust me.'

You wish you could trust your best friend, but your best friend is also the same woman who assured you Cats was the movie of the year. Yes, not 'Cats: The Musical'. 'Cats', the movie.

'And this could be a great start to get out of your comfort zone and start living your life exactly the way you want to, not the way people expect you to. Not the way your family wants you to, not the way Adam wanted you to.'

But although her credibility could sometimes be questionable - like that time she also told you she'd tried marmite and 'honestly, it's not as bad as people make it out to be'-, you also didn't trust anybody in this world as much as you trusted her. She had always been your entire support system, the only one around you who never sugarcoated, who always treated you as an equal, who was always there for you to help you discover yourself and, at the same time, remind you of who you were.

'And it's gonna look so hot, too.'

That's it. Sticking the wrinkled flyer on your back pocket, your feet finally start moving. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing open the door.

The first thing you notice is that, thankfully, the shop is empty. The second thing you notice is the bright sky blue walls, a green undertone peaking through. Your eyes scan nervously the interior. Frames with tattoo designs and people modeling other different designs decorate the walls, some skateboards also hanging from the ceiling. A few plants in the corner, and two leather couches on either side of the room. Your scanning stops on the counter, where a girl with short, platinium hair and -what you guess is- the eighty percent of her body inked. Face included. She's been looking at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her tone is amused when she speaks

"Hi." she says. "You can come closer, you know? We don't bite."

Great. As if you couldn't feel more out of place, apparently you also couldn't look more out of place.

"Sorry." you gulp as you walk forward. "It's my first time doing anything like this."

She laughs this time, but it's not mean. It's not mocking, thank God, and the smile she sends you is as warm as the weather, friendly, luckily helping you calm down a bit. "A virgin, huh? JK's gonna love this." your eyes jump in surprise, but she's fast to wave her hands in front of you. "Just a joke. So, first time getting a tattoo. You have something in mind, honey?"

"Um, no. Not a tattoo. Not yet, I think." you wet your lips, regretting not reaplying chapstick before stepping inside. "A piercing."

"Oh! Cool!" she claps her hands, too excited for your own taste, pulling from under the counter a catalogue. "So, where will it be? Cartilogue? Nose? A lot of people are getting their septums pierced right now, though, so you might-"

"Nipples. Like, one of them."

Her gaze finds yours in surprise, although her face swiftly transforms again into an amiable expression. "Now, that's badass. Alright!" she skims through the pages of the catalogue until she finds the nipple piercing collection. You scratch your head before wiping your forehead sweat-free. "You can pick either barbells or hoops, although barbells heal faster and they don't move around as much. There's different kinds of metal, too. Gold or platinium. If your skin is sensitive, I recommend titanium. It's hypoallergenic and not as problematic."

The blonde keeps talking as you nod your head, a smile making its way into your face while silently thanking her for her easygoing personality. It quickly makes you feel comfortable and stupid for being so terrified of doing this.

Once you decide, settle on the cost and sign the papers, she stands up from the stool she'd been sitting on. "Ok, I'll go tell my coworker. He's been sketching tattoos all morning, it's time he gets to work!" she laughs, but suddenly your smile banishes and your throat shuts down.

"He?" your alarmed tone halts her motions and she looks back at your frightened expression.

He? A he is going to pierce your nipple? You're about to let a random stranger, a HE, see and touch one of your boobs and then pierce a needle through one of your nipples?

"Oh, baby, don't worry. I'd do it myself if I knew how to, but I only do tattoos. Most of our staff are on summer vacation so it's mostly just him and I. If you don't feel comfortable, which is totally understandable, you can wait until september when Minzy comes back and she can do it for you." It's her turn to scratch the back of her head as she adds: "but trust me, we're professionals. He's not a creep or anything like that. He's been doing this for a long time. He won't cross any boundaries."

September? You won't even be here in september. Fuck.

Sure, you could do it when you move back into the city. But this summer was supossed to be the summer. You already decided after your breakup with Adam that there would be no trace of the old you. That it was time to push yourself, to do the things that you've always wanted to do, unapologetically. To find the new you, the real you. To stop being scared.

So after going through you options for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you make up your mind.

"It's fine. I can do it."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"JK, sweetheart!"

Jungkook is finishing drawing a Chinese dragon when Mijoo opens the door without knocking. Again. He puts the pen down, rubbing his eyes. It's monday, a slow monday, not much work, and he had hoped it would stay that way until closing time. It's summer and Jungkook hates summer. He hates the heat, he hates being drenched in sweat, and he hates the fact that he can do nothing about it. Because working in the summer is terrible. Summer makes him lazy, makes him want to bathe in a tub full of iced water and not get out until he turns into a raisin and october comes. It makes him irritable. Summer makes him annoyed by people -like Mijoo, even if he loves her to death- and himself.

"I got a girl here who wants a nipple piercing, her first piercing by the way, so get your shit ready and bla bla bla. Straight titanium barbell. Also, don't flirt and don't be creepy. She almost ran away when I told her a male was going to be touching and piercing her tit, be mindful of that. She's too cute, if you want to get her number you should wait until it's done. I think that's it. I'll bring her in in a minute."

Mijoo leaves as fast as she talks, but Jungkook is already used to it. He's already used to the headaches her mouth causes too. He sighs before standing up, tying his too-long raven hair into the best bun he can manage. He washes his hands, sets the table up, sits on the chair and puts the gloves on. He's too busy sterilizing the jewerly when Mijoo comes back with you.

"Alright, my babies. I'll leave you to it." she turns to you. "He'll explain everything, from how the process will be to how to take care of it after it's done." she leaves before saying bye, closing the door behind her, and then he finally turns to you.

Your eyes meet and suddenly everything stops. He almost drops the sterilizing machine, his whole body tensing, going into panic mode as he recognizes you immediatly. His hands shake.

Of course he does. Of course he recognizes his high school crush. The too goody two shoes, too pretentious and too rich, too good for everybody and, most importantly, 'too good for Jeon Jungkook' girl of his high school dreams. Of course he recognizes the girl he had confessed his stupid crush to when he was sixteen. Of course he recognizes the girl who rejected and broke his young and foolish heart when he was a dumb teenager.

It doesn't matter that six years have passed ever since. He still knows every lock of your hair like the palm of his hand. He still remembers the shape of your lips and the exact shade of your eyes. He can still identify the body he fantasized about -and jacked off to- when he was a hormonal teen, now filled in all the right places. Now a grown woman.

Just one look at you after years and years of pining is enough to almost make him faint. And grow a boner under his jeans.

And by the look on your face, your eyes wide and your mouth agape, you recognize him as well.

Dammit.

He schools his features and clears his throat. Forces his body to relax and compose himself, because he's not a teenager anymore. He's also a grown man, who has matured, who now has much more experience with women than he did back then. He had already embarrased himself enough when he was sixteen to be doing it all over again. You're just another attractive girl in a sea of attractive women.

He turns to you. You still haven't said anything. Neither has he.

"Um, you can sit on the table." he manages, motioning to the set up in front of him. He watches you taking doubtful steps until you're sitting down, your eyes avoiding his gaze. He almost forgot you were here to get pierced. Holy shit, you were here to get pierced. To get your nipple pierced.

You're a professional, Jungkook. You can do this, Jungkook. You've seen boobs before, Jungkook. You've pierced nipples before, Jungkook.

Clearing his throat again and forcing his hands to stay by his side, he speaks. "The... The top." your gaze finds his, like a puppy about to get scolded. You look at your top, realization dawning on you. "You don't have to take it off. You can just pull it down."

So you do, pulling the straps of the white tank top down and dragging the fabric down with trembling fingers. No bra. Jungkook gulps as your breasts comes into vision. As perfect as he had imagined years ago. His cock twitches. Round, full, perky and so damn inviting he has to hold himself back from latching onto one nipple with his mouth around it and swirling his tongue over the nub until you're a pretty, moaning, little mess on his piercing tabl-

He closes his eyes for just a second before reminding himself to act like the 23 year old Jungkook he's tried so hard to become. The confident, assured Jungkook he is.

"Okay, this is how it'll go. First I'll clean it and scrub it to get rid of any bacteria." he's so glad he hasn't stuttered yet. 23 year old Jungkook doesn't stutter like 17 year old Jungkook. He's also glad he can pick the alcohol bottle and the surgical scrub without trembling. When he faces you again, you're watching his motions with your lip caught between your teeth. That has him swallowing the lump in his throat.

Making eye contact with him again, you take a deep breath and offer a small nod, so he gets to work. He can show you and himself he's a grown man. A grown man who can pierce a nipple without appearing like it's the first time he's seen a boob in his life. The sooner he does it, the sooner it's over.

Jungkook wets the paper towel with alcohol before carefully wiping over your nub with it. Your back arches, probably from the cold feeling, he guesses. He rubs it a few times before throwing it in the trash can nearby. He avoids looking at how enticing the soft peak is salluting him when he reaches for the marker. He doesn't say anything when he dots it with it, jaw clenched and his dick painfully stiff.

"Lay back." his voice low as he commands, turning away to get the clamp. When he slides closer, he tries to ignore the view: you, with your hair sprawled and your sweaty, shiny skin and your eyes focused on the cieling, nipple fully erect, like the star of one of his most erotic dreams. He extends his free gloved hand before he can stop himself, fingers carefully working the nub until he's sure it's painfully hard. Almost as hard as he is.

You gasp, your back arching again. He stills and looks at you, your cheeks flushed pink. Probably from the heat, he guesses again. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He can't stop himself from wondering how responsive would you be in a different setting, most likely his bed while his teeth play with your breast and his cock dives into-

"You okay?" he studies your face, your eyes not meeting his and instead still focusing on the white ceiling.

"Mhm." you reply with a small voice.

"Relax, alright? It'll be over soon." his voice is as gentle as he can, his fingers mindlessly caressing your breast to try to soothe your nerves. Or maybe it's just because he's a selfish bastard. Whatever it is, he forces himself to bring the clamp to your nipple, securing it around it.

"Take a few deep breaths. This will only take a second of pain and then it will go away." He misses the way your mouth falls open, but he doesn't miss the way your eyes squeeze tight as the needle goes in.

"Ah!" he definitely doesn't miss that either. He goes rigid for a second, because that didn't fucking sound like a cry of painfulness. It's breathy, and whiny, not too loud and, for fucks sake, if that's how you sound when you're getting fucked, he swears to God-

He feels your heartbeat under his hands when he puts the barbell in and then the bandage over it. He takes a look at you, chest moving up and down. And then you take a look at him and what he sees is almost enough to take you right there.

Reddened cheeks, drops of sweat framing your face and those eyes glazed with something he's seen too much in the women he's fucked throughout his life. They're half lidded, mascara adorning your long lashes and almost smudged, looking right through him.

"Jungkook..." and your voice, as you say his name -acknowledging him for the first time since you stepped into his shop, for the first time since you were sixteen-, it's hoarse, almost inaudible, like you just came all over his-

He's on his feet in an instant like he's been burned. "It may bleed for the first week, and it can be really sore. The swelling will eventually come down." he's quickly tidying up the table, a bottle in his hand that he hands to you without looking directly. "Wash it gently with this soap and warm water once per day. Don't touch it. Wear a comfortable...bra. If it gets crusty, clean it with saline. Not alcohol or any other thing you might clean a wound with. The soap I just gave you or saline. Nothing else."

He's pacing around the room as he takes his gloves off and throws them in the trash bin, too agressively maybe, then he keeps rambling, like he's hurriedly trying to make you leave as soon as possible. "Avoid pools and the sea. It takes about six months to a year to heal, so don't... don't touch it, don't play with it or..." he clears his throat, "don't let anyone else play with it. And if it gets infected, come back immediately and I'll take a look at it." which he honestly hopes it won't happen. When he faces you, your top is back on and you're getting off the table.

"Alright, um...I'll do that." clearing your throat, your hand gripping the doorknob. "Thank you."

But right before you can exit the room, Jungkook says your name.

"_____." when you turn around to face him, it takes a few seconds for him to make eye contact from across the room. "It was good to see you."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"Let me see!"

It's the first thing Chaelin says when she opens the door to her appartment. It's on the second floor, small enough to compare it to most expensive appartments you'd stayed in throughout your life, but big enough for Chaelin, her cat and her -impressive- collection of acrylic nail kits and pairs of high heels. It's also big enough for her to offer you the only guest room until summer is over so you didn't have to, one, stay at your parents' place, and two, find an appartment in a short period of time for a short period of time.

When you left years ago, you did so with the thought of 'never looking back'. You never really expected to return here, of all places. Maybe visit your best friend for a weekend at most, have dinner with your parents on a saturday and then go back to the new life you'd made for yourself on a sunday.

But that was before you'd caught Adam cheating.

Tale as old as time: childhood sweethearts get engaged, move in together, son of a bitch sleeps with the assistand he told his girlfriend not to worry about, and then the brokenhearted girl packs her bags and leaves the cheating bastard begging for her to come back.

You'd be lying if you said you were surprised.

Throughout your life, you'd learned to expect many things, regardless of being sheltered and babied by your family since you were born. Watched too much Maury and Dr.Phil. Too much Gossip Girl to know what the deal with life really is.

So, thankfully, you'd only shed a few tears, mostly because your ego and self steem were slightly triggered. You'd realize long before that your feelings for Adam started to disappear once he popped the question and you said yes. Your love story began as teenagers but soon after graduating, the two of you went on different paths: you'd matured, grown into your twenties while he got stuck at 17 and never stopped acting as such.

So yeah, whatever, break ups are hard. But they're not as hard when the love is gone and the sole reason to stay with your partner is to please your parents. You were also right when you expected your mom to tell you to 'forgive and forget' because 'those things just happen, it's not a big deal, honey'.

But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

The lanky nerd with braces, glasses and an anime obsession much bigger than his hentai obsession, which is saying a lot. The shy, awkward classmate who'd stuttered his undying crush for you when you were just kids. That one who you had rudely rejected like the bitch you used to be in high school.

But my God, Jeon Jungkook was anything but a kid now.

You were shocked. You were gagged. Couldn't seem to fathom what was happening and what your eyes were seeing. It took you a while to close your mouth when you realized JK was Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

With messy black hair, a smoldering gaze free of glasses, piercings adorning both ears, and his right eyebrow,, the braces long gone showing perfectly straight - but still bunny like- teeth. The clothes he wore were loose, all black, but it was impossible not to notice the muscles of his back and arms, covered with tattoos from his hands to his forearms. You'd bet there were more of them underneath the fabric.

It was awkward at first. You didn't know what to do, or what to say. Didn't know if he rememberd you. So you chose to stay quiet while your body chose to react like it had never been in the presence of an attractive young man in it's entire life.

And oh, did it react.

He was reluctant, his old timid demeanor peeking through his newly adopted persona. But as soon as those hands came in contact with your skin, your whole body was lit on fire. Like you were 16 and losing your virginity over again and it was the first time a dude touched your boobs.

There shouldn't have been anything erotic about it -besides the fact that your entire breasts were exposed-, it should've been just a professional procedure. But those gloved fingers touched and pinched and suddenly you were too aware of Jeon Jungkook and the way you were starting to sweat profously, not due to the heat of the season.

You tried to distract yourself by looking at the cieling and not at his gorgeous face. Tried to avoid thinking about Jeon Jungkook and how his mouth would feel wrapped around you. Tried not to think about the way your panties were a second skin to your folds, and how tempted you were to grind your hips until you recieved some sort of friction with the jean fabric of your shorts. You wonder if he noticed you squeezing your thighs together. You hope not.

And then the needle happened. You never thought of yourself as a particularly kinky person. Sex with Adam was boring for the most part and you'd lost your libido for a long time. Stopped thinking about sex altogether. But the pain. The pain mixed with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your breast and his voice, as sweet as honey, guiding you through it. It made you reconsider a lot of things you'd once dismissed as 'weird' or 'deviant'

You swear you almost came right on his table.

And then your eyes connected, you made the mistake of calling his name like a satisfied woman who still needed more, and it was all gone. He stood up like a scared cat, gave you a bunch of explanations about the aftercare that you barely grasped without even looking at you and pretty much rushed you to leave.

So you walked, all the way from the tattoo parlor to Chaelin's appartment, mortified, and completely humilliated.

"Are you gonna let me see or not?" your friend says expectantly as you finally sit down after chugging a glass of iced water. You sigh, placing the glass on the table before carefully pulling down your top. "Oh my God, it looks so cool!" she gasps and you can't help a smile while she studies it in amazement. "Did it hurt?"

"Um, I guess." you keep out the part where you almost orgasmed, obviously, stopping her hand from touching when she reaches towards you. "Wait, no. He said something about not touching it for like six months or a year, I don't remember."

At that, Chaelin's eyebrows quirk up. "He? It was a he? Was he cute, at least?"

"You won't believe this..." looking away for a few seconds, you take a deep breath. "It was Jeon Jungkook."

There's a pause, a silence that fills the room when Chaelin's jaw drops. "Jeon Jungkook...pierced your nipple?"

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for what you're a hundred percent sure is coming.

"Ha..." there it is. "Ha ha..." you still know there's more. "Ha ha ha..."

Chaelin laughs hysterically for about God knows how long, while you keep drinking your glass of water unfaced, your mind drifting back to Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie, his tattoos and his stupid gloved hands.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

You know he's here.

Everything was cool, you were doing alright, having a great time with your vodka sprite in hand and your cute white bikini on. Chaelin was by your side, the guys were excited to have you back and thankfully, you'd avoided most questions about Adam and they'd avoided digging too deep into the topic. You'd sunbathed the whole afternoon, kept away from the water like he'd told you and ate the Hawaiian pizza Yoongi insisted on ordering despite Namjoon's and Jimin's complaints.

It's at night, when you're a little tipsy and your cheeks are flushed, that you feel it. You'd barely noticed Taehyung disappearing to let in a new guest.

You don't see him, but you feel him.

You're sitting on the pool tile steps, legs dangling and the water baely reaching your belly to make sure it doesn't touch your very sensitive and newly pierced nipple. Your back is facing the sliding glass doors of Hoseok's house, but the moment you hear his voice, smooth but animated as he converses with Taehyung, your body wakes up immediately, back straightening, goosebumps forming on your arms and nipples tightening against the fabric of your two piece.

You don't turn around, instead opting for downing the remaining of your drink and coming to the realization that, of course, Taehyung, social butterfly who'd always got along with everybody and remained friends with most people from high school, still keeps in touch with Jungkook.

You ignore him when he enters the pool, still peering from the corner of your eyes while pretending to be engaged in Chaelin's and Jihyo's conversation. Your mind sabotages you by taking you to that day a week ago at the tattoo parlor.

To the warmth of his hand, to the few strands of hair that his small ponytail couldn't keep together, to the way his eyes focused on such an intimate part of your body, to the endless ink decorating his skin, to-

Great. Now your bottoms are wet and not due to the water.

You don't miss Chaelin supressing a laugh and her not so subtle elbowing. You glance at her in warning and try to keep calm for the next fifteen minutes until Jin proposes moving to the living room to watch a movie.

"I'm gonna stay here for a little longer, guys." you say, after clearing your throat. You needed some time to gather yourself before being in a confined space with Jungkook.

"Are you sure?" Jin stops by your side to place a hand on your shoulder as everybody starts exiting the pool. "It's Mean Girls! You love Mean Girls! You never miss a minute of Mean Girls!"

Rolling your eyes, you wave him dismissively. "I know every dialogue on Mean Girls like the back of my hand, I think I'll be alright, Jin."

When everybody finally leaves, you take a deep breath, covering your face with your hands in an attempt to get him out of your head. Damn Jeon Jungkook and his irresisitble glow up.

"You okay?"

The unexpected voice startles you, a gasp finding its way out of your mouth and causing you to jump on your seat, heartbeat erratic as you instantly recognize who it belongs to. Your hand grasps your chest as if that would do anything to protect yourself against him.

"Shit, don't do that!" you say, the words almost getting stuck in your throat as you see him approaching you, still submerged in the pool. The more he nears you, the less water depth there is and the more visible his torso comes into view. Wich was exactly what you'd been avoiding.

Because Jeon Jungkook was ripped, as you'd imagined when you first encountered him.

Broad shoulders and strong biceps and chiseled abs and veiny forearms. Drenched hair, a full sleeve of tattoos and water dripping from delicious tan skin and all just so very hard. That paired up with a loopsided smile that does nothing but make you shudder.

"Sorry." he doesn't sound apologetic at all when he says that, the smirk adorning his features telling. "You just seemed a little off." you advert your gaze when he pushes his hair back.

"I'm fine, just...just wanted to be by myself."

"Oh" Jungkook's smile disappears. "I can leave, if you want me t-"

"No!" you're not sure where that comes from and neither does he, judging by the look on his face when your eyes find his. Eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted, he's as surprised as you and there's an awkward silence for a few seconds. "Um, you don't have to. I mean, it's not my house, you can do whatever you want." you sniff and tame your voice, trying to seem cool and collected like you didn't just practically beg him not to go.

Ironic, considering this was exactly what you had been fearing for the past thirty minutes.

And then he smiles. A knowing smile. A smile that says 'you just totally checked me out and now you don't want me to leave'. A smile that you would have never associated with Jeon Jungkook of all people years ago. A smile that makes you want to look away but still keeps you in place.

"Sure." he says, closing the space between the two of you slowly but still leaving enough distance. "So, how's it going?"

You clear your throat, head high and determined not to let this man, or any man for that matter, turn you into a trembling mess. You're still you and you're not easily shaken by the opposite sex. Or at least that's what you helplessly chant in your head.

"Everything's cool. I'm on summer vacation now," a little white lie, "so I decided to-"

"The piercing." he says, the smile never leaving his face. "I meant how's the piercing."

"The pier- right." you almost miss the step he takes forward, all too aware of his height over yours but thankful for the centimeters that being propped on the stairs added to yours. "It's-" you almost, almost miss his knee touching your knee and him slightly separating your legs with his own inch by inch. Or how your thighs open unvoluntarely to welcome him in and how you can barely find coherent words to speak. "It's doing-" or the way his smile disappears and is instead focusing his dark stare fully onto yours.

"It's doing well." you finally say in a whisper, not being able to bring yourself to be louder.

He hums. "May I see it?" Jungkook wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and the action and his voice is enough to make you nod your head, bewitched.

His movements are unhurried, his hand coming up to tentatively come in contact with the flesh of your clavicle. His fingers skim through your skin upwards, his touch is feather-like when it wraps around your throat. You pant, and he stops but he doesn't move away, his eyes still focused on yours, studying you, daring you to pull back, to tell him to back off. But just a simple touch of his and you're fully under his control. It reminds you too much of the day you got that damn piercing.

Your lips are parted and for a moment he stays just like that. His body so close to yours but not close enough, and his hand slightly gripping your neck. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you can't wrap your head around the fact that something so simple sets your entire being alive and leaves you aching.

Then, as slow as he started, his hand travels from the front of your neck to the back, pushing your hair aside to carefully untie the straps of your bikini. He breathes through his nostrils, doesn't make a sound. He seems so collected it's starting to annoy you.

Instead, your breathing is ragged when the top falls down, exposing both your breasts to him. That's when he removes his eyes from yours and his jaw clenches. Your nipples perk up under his gaze, like they remember him and the effect he had on them just a week ago. You're at least glad you're not the only one affected but he seems to be a master at keeping it under wraps.

Then, his hand moves again, leaving goosebumps on your skin as it goes south. Jungkook takes his time, so deliberate you want to scream, until he's cupping your pierced breast, keeping away from the nipple just like he'd advised you a few days prior. You can't look away from his face, from his eyes observing you like you're a full course meal and he's been starving for days. You feel drops of water falling from his hair to your thighs, his thumb caressing your skin so delicately as it faintly nears your still tender nipple. Just nearing it, never touching it.

"Beautiful." his murmur is almost imperceptible and for a moment you think you've imagined it. Your back arches on its own, breast pushed against the palm of his hand, almost like your body is begging him to come closer, to touch you more, to feel you all over. He meets your eyes briefly, gauging your reaction, before going back to your chest. Suddenly, the grip on your breast tightens, fingers ever so softly squeezing your flesh. From your throat comes a mewl, your eyes shut and your legs close around his waist.

"Jungkook, please..." you whisper when you open your eyes. He looks at you, unvertainty written all over his face, lips bruised as if he had been biting on them too hard, gaze as glassy as yours. And just like that, the spell is broken. He blinks and his expression changes completely. Lips forming a straight line and jaw tight. His hand retracts, fixing your bikini top over your breasts before tying it around your neck like it originally was. Meanwhile your eyebrows crunch in confusion. But when you're about to start asking questions, he clears his throat.

"It's healing okay." he steps back, avoiding your eyes. "I'll see you inside."

Jungkook leaves the pool like nothing happened.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Jungkook is fiddling, fixing the position of his glasses and combing through his straight hair with shaky hands, habits he's tried so hard to get rid of in his sixteen years of existence but still finds impossible to.

He can't help it. He's always been like this: the quiet and awkward kid in class who sits in the back, a misunderstood puppy in a sea of stronger dog breeds that could eat him alive. An outcast. Too geeky for his own good. Notebokes full of Dragon Ball doodles on the margins of the pages, the shelves in his room stacked with Marvel figurines, and a closet filled with outdated clothes that he has been inheriting from his older brother.

He has never been the type to stand out, always being overlooked by people like he's invisible. He doesn't mind though. He'd much rather be ignored than getting picked on by bullies like he used to in elementary school.

He never gets invited to parties. Ever. He's a nobody who barely speaks, and when he does he either stutters or manages to embarrass himself in one way or another. He's seen the look on people's faces when they look at him. Their eyes seem to scream 'weirdo' everytime he gets acknowledged.

So obviously the only reason he was invited to this particular party had a first and last name: Kim Taehyung. The only kid in Jungkook's entire life who didn't look at him in a funny way, the only kid who took the time to entangle in a random conversation with him after class and who seemed geniune enough to make Jungkook feel comfortable.

He's not sure how it happened, since Taehyung mostly hangs out with the cool kids. But somehow it did, and now Jungkook is uncomfortably standing in a living room full of drunk teens, looking directly at you.

You, the one girl Jungkook had been pining on for God knows how long. You, who are obviously too pretty, too popular, and way out of his league. You, with your plaid skirt and your polo shirt and those legs that never seem to end. You, who are sitting with your friends in a couch, drink in hand and visibly tipsy. And yet, he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone pull of the 'drunk-rosy-cheek' look better than you.

He can hear your laugh through the music and he already thinks it sounds better than whoever is playing in the background.

"Come on, Gukkie! Her friends are leaving and she's all by herself now! It's your chance" Taehyung's obviously drunk too because it took Jungkook a while to decypher his exact words. He'd disappeared for a while and now that he's back, he's pushing Jungkook in your direction.

"This was a mistake, Taehyung." Jungkook shakes his hair and steps back, quickly glancing at the front door to prepare his escape. But his new friend's grip on his hoodie keeps him in place.

"Guk, listen. The only thing you have to do, is walk up to her, and say 'hey I think you're, like, really pretty. Just letting you know. Bye!' That's it. Jung- Dude, Guk, seriously, look at me." Taehyung grabs Jungkook's cheeks, squishing them between his hands and forceing him to face him. "You've been crushing hard on her for years, my man. We're graduating and you won't see each other again. What's the worst thing that can happen? Getting rejected?"

Jungkook's eyebrows draw together. "Um, yeah?"

"Exactly! Getting rejected is not the end of the world, bro! It just means keep trying on other girls!" Taehyung releases his hold on Jungkook's cheeks. "I just think you're going to regret not telling your crush she's your crush. Who knows? Maybe in the future you two will get married."

Jungkook snickers, muttering a 'yeah right' under his breath. Still, he can't help the smile that Taehyung's words always seem to pull out of him.

"Now," Taehyung playfully slaps Jungkook before turning him in your direction again. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Okay," Mijoo's voice slices through Jungkook's memories. She's sitting on Jungkook's desk, munching on her brownies and looking at her coworker expectantly. "And then what?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, sits back on his chair, already feeling the effects of Mijoo's baked goods. "And then I walked up to her, like a damn fool, stutter and all. And I say:" he clears his throat, making an effort to do his best teenage Gukkie impression."'Hey, _____, um, so, I think you're beautiful and I've had a crush on you since seventh grade, haha, just wanted to let you know.'"

Mijoo rolls her eyes, still chewing. "And then what?"

"And then she looked me up and down, giggled, fucking giggled, Mijoo, and said 'Who are you, again?'" Mijoo gasps and Jungkook closes his eyes, trying to force that recollecion out of his head.

"What a bitch." she can't help but laugh before apologizing. Jungkook merely shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of his brownie. "She didn't say anything else?"

"She said something along the lines of:" he clears his throat again, this time, doing an impression of you. "'That's sweet and all but, you and I... we're not the same. And I have a boyfriend, so...' She said that like I didn't know, like I wasn't aware of the school's it couple! Like I was dumb!"

Mijoo nods. "And now you want to fuck her even more than you did in high school."

"I- No! Well, yes. Fuck, of course I want to sleep with her! But I just... can't."

"Why not?"

"Did you hear anything about what I just told you or were you too concentrated trying to get high?"

It's Mijoo's turn to roll her eyes. "I heard everything you just told me. I just don't understand what the problem is. You two were sixteen. Sure, she was a bitch about it, but Lord knows I've been a bitch my entire life and now I'm not anymore." Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. "Okay, sometimes I can be nice. But the point is..." Mijoo finishes her piece of brownie before getting off of Jungkook's desk. "It's been, what? Nine? Ten years? People change, JK. You're the best example of that. You want to fuck her and she obviously wants to fuck you too. You're both adults." she wipes her hands on her shorts. "I think it's time you fulfill that high school fantasy of yours."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

You've made up your mind.

And by you, it means Chaelin has made up your mind.

It didn't take long to convince you though. That last interaction with Jungkook cause too many emotions stirring within you. It left you hot, it left you bothered, it left you confused. Sure, it also left you a little bit embarrassed like the first time, but above everything else, that interaction with Jungkook left you absolutely livid.

Because who the fuck did Jeon Jungkook, formerly known as Guk, Gukkie, Jungukkie, and currently known as JK, think he was to come near you, speed your heart rate's up, and then runaway like that?

You've spent days thinking about it. About that face, about that body, about those hands and- shit. You're doing it again.

You've spent days trying to push those intrusive thoughts. Spent days trying to bury what happened. You've spent days trying to keep quiet, not telling anyone about it and just wishing that stupid spark of desire simply went away.

But it has just been simply unavoidable. You haven't been able to ignore the sleepless nights with your brain drifting back to that night and forbidding your hand from slipping under your panties. Or the excessive amount of time during the day where images of him suddenly popped in your head and wouldn't go away, even with you squeezing your thighs to try to make the ache go away.

So you ended up ranting and ranting and ranting to the only person you could confide on, who is obviously your best friend. Your best friend, who's too smart for her own good and knows you too well for your liking. Because apparently your moodiness and snappy remarks couldn't go unnoticed.

And after explaining the fiasco over a bottle of wine -and minutes of endless laughing on Chaelin's part because, again, it's Gukkie you two were talking about and, according to her, this was "the most karmic thing I've ever seen"-, she gave you the best advice an older sister could ever give.

"Fuck him."

"I know right? Fuck him!"

"No. I mean, fuck him."

And now here you are. Right inside that room you stepped in weeks ago, confronting the man in question with the same confidence that has always distinguished you from others and trying to act like the fluttering inside your belly wasn't nauseauting.

"A date."

"Yes."

"You want to go on a date with me." this wouldn't be so hard if Jungkook didn't look so delectable in a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans. You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to not look down at the exposed skin of a man who obviously worked out a lot and apparently, never skipped leg day. "What's the catch?"

He's sitting on his chair, back resting comfortably and legs spread, narrowing his eyes at you and probably wondering why the girl at the front desk let you in without an appointment. Also, probably wondering if there was a catch to all of this.

"There's no catch. I just want to go to the fair this weekend. I'll ask Taehyung for your number and text you the date and the exact place we'll be meeting. Unless..." your quirk one of your eyebrows. "Unless you're already planning on how you'll chicken out this time."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Of course, Jungkook says yes to going on a date with his high school crush but spends the following days overthinking every single thing.

He can't help but feel like it's kinda sketchy. What if you're planning your vendetta on him? What if you don't even show up and he ends up there looking like a damn idiot? What if you hate him and are just messing up with him? What if that incident in high school is going to repeat itself?

"If she doesn't show up, you simply move on and never speak to her again. It's that simple. She can't have that much power over you to cry about something like that." Mijoo had said that same day she let you in the tattoo parlor after you'd asked to see Jungkook. Jungkook's coworker hadn't even question you and just motioned you to Jungkook's room with a knowing smile on her face. Later that day, Jungkook had scolded her about it and she'd simply shrugged.

He considers cancelling, eyes reading the 'won't be able to make it, sorry (sad face emoji)' over and over again and fingers hovering over the send button so many times he's lost count. But then he remembers that comment of yours about him chickening out and Jungkook starts seeing red.

How couldn't you understand he's just terrified of you rejecting him one more time? Sure, Jungkook is now an adult who doesn't get butthurt over stuff like that. He's experienced too much after graduating from high school and he's a much stronger individual than his fragile self back was back then.

But something about you just makes him feel so... weak.

He still finds it impossible to concieve where he got the courage to approach you like that at Taehyung's pool, or how he brought himself to touch you for longer than a minute without coming in his pants. He'd enjoyed it too much. Allowing him to see you so exposed, just for him. He'd be so tempted to kiss you right there and then, to run his hands up and down your thighs and fully wrap your legs around him to let you known how much you'd affected him. Once you called his name, it was like he'd finally snapped out of it and backed away like he'd been burned by you. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to keep himself from pulling down his pants and jerking off in his friend's bathroom.

It's terrible. Because he feels like the teenager he used to be when you're around. Shy, insecure and overall a mess. You showing up in his life after so many years and now apparenly being interested in him seems like a dream that he's not sure he wants to keep being in or wake up from before it's too late and he falls back into that tumoltuous longing that will inevitably end up in heartbreak. His heartbreak.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

It's saturday night, he's standing by himself in the crowded fair at the spot. You're fifteen minutes late and he's already about to turn back and dip out. He feels too awkward and the nerves are eating him alive.

You're not going to show up. You're not going to show up and now he feels and looks even dumber than the time he told you he was crushing on you. You're not even going to show up and now he's going to come back home, get drunk by himself and curse your name for-

"Hey!" he turns around to the sound of your voice and sees you running towards him. "Sorry I'm late! I couldn't find my phone and spent like thirty minutes looking for it. Turns out, Sharon Stone, was taking a nap on top of it and I didn't even notice."

"Sharon Stone?"

"Chaelin's cat."

To be honest, he's too surprised to process your explanation right away. He might also be a little speechless because that sky blue sundress looks too good on your skin and your eyelashes are so long, framing your beautiful eyes, and your lips are all glossy and kisseable that it takes him a while to find his own voice.

He clears his throat. "It's alright." scratching the back of his head, he momentarely adverts his gaze from you in an attempt to not get distracted by how soft your hair looks and how much he wants to wrap it around his hands in a ponytail. "Um, where do you want to go first?"

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Almost an hour and a half later, when the sun has already disappeared and you're both surrounded by colorful lights, Jungkook decides to buy the both of you hot dogs and a drink and you both settle down on a bench.

You've been walking all over the fair, going from booth to booth, playing any game in sight Jungkook dared you to -he obviously had a competitive streak-: from the ballon and dart games, to the shooting games, to the bumping cars, to the ball-in-basket one. To say you were having fun was an understatement.

You'd almost regretted setting the date up. You were sure he wouldn't even show up and if he did, you were scared of how awkward things could get between the two of you. And if things were awkward, you were sure it would only take less than thirty minutes for the both of you to part ways and never talk again about such failure of a date.

To your surprise, none of that happened.

The conversation was flowing, both of you acting like you were strangers on their first date getting to know each other, which, to be fair, that's exactly what it felt like. There was a slight banter, teasing each other when one of you lost in whatever game you were playing while the other was obviously winning. There were laughs and a funny feeling in your tummy whenever you'd walk side by side and his arm brushed yours.

There was no stiffness on his shoulders, no mention of the past or your previous encounters, no acknowledgement of the blatant sexual tension you'd experienced before, not an ounce of avoidance whenever your eyes met his and he was even sure of himself enough to place a hand on your lower back or briefly interwine your fingers with his to guide you through the mass of people.

It felt like you'd both unspokenly agreed on making each other feel comfortable enough to have a good time.

"I didn't think you were going to show up, to be honest." you suddenly say, taking a sip of your strawberry juice and thankful to finally let your feet rest for a while.

Jungkook looks at you, hot dog mid air and eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "You didn't think I was going to show up? I didn't think you were going to show up." you simply shrug, lowering your gaze seepishly, the beginning of a smile on both your faces. He surprises you by tilting your head in his direction with his forefinger. You watch him watching you, a little dazed, a little lost in how his dark hair messily falls over his forehead and his equally dark eyes study your face, his thumb swiping over your lower lip. "You um... There was ketchup right there." he lies.

"Oh" you say, feeling your face heating up. "Thanks. Red doesn't really match this dress." you manage a smile and tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

At that, he eyes your dress for a moment, mouth slightly ajar. He's debating on whether or not to say something but you beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

"For being late? I already told you it's fin-"

"No." you shake your head. "For... that time when we were young and I was such a concieted brat." you say, looking away , trying to find anything else that's not his pretty face. "I thought I was a queen bee back then. I was annoying and rude, specially to you. I..." you lick your lips. The cherry glittery gloss was already gone. "I thought it was cute, what you said. There was no reason for me to act like that. I know this doesn't make anything right but..." when you turn to face him again, there's still the same expression on his face. "I'm sorry."

A few seconds go by before it's him who's shaking his head. "It's okay. It was a long time ago, anyway." he smiles at you, although it doesn't reach his eyes and seems sorta forced. You sigh, and he takes your hand. "Let's go to the ferris wheel."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

tell you're tense. You're sitting right beside him in the ferris cabin, your back is all straight, you're facing forward and he believes you haven't blinked for what feels like an eternity. He thinks it has everything to do with your conversation a few minutes ago. You were probably not content with his response but what could Jungkook do? There was really no point in apologizing for something that happened years ago, but at the same time, he didn't want to hold anything against you like a resentful asshole because it was really not who he was. But there was still a little bit of stingyness inside of him and he didn't know how to make it go away.

At the end of the day, here you were, on a date with him that you'd asked for, getting along and asking questions about him and laughing at his jokes and trying to start all over again.

But then the ferris wheel starts moving, and he finally understands why you look so uncomfortable.

It's the way you immediately grip his forearm, nails digging in his skin and he swears he hears the smallest gasp forcing itself out your throat.

"Are you... scared?" he tentatively asks.

You say nothing for a while, not moving an inch. He would laugh if you didn't look so pained about it.

"I don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters." you finally say through gritted teeth.

"It's not really that small and ferris wheels are not rollercoasters. " your nails dig deeper and he winces. "Okay, okay. You don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters, and that includes ferris wheels. So why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I've never liked ferris wheels but you seemed excited about it, so..."

There's a silence after that in the environment, neither of you exactly sure of what to say or how to act. Until Jungkook moves one of his hands hands until it's resting on the one who's holding onto him for dear life, fingers caressing yours. The warmth of his hand spreads through yours and although it's almost July and you can already feel your sweaty back staining your dress, it's oddly comforting. What's more comforting even, is him twisting his body towards you and talking with the calmest and most soothing tone you've ever heard.

"Look at me." you do instantly, unwillingly, and kinda wish you hadn't. It's almost as if your body will do anything he says without question. Like he has some sort of power over it to just react however he wants. His eyes bore into yours and suddenly the cab doesn't seem so suffocating. "It's just you and me right now. We're not even on a ferris wheel." the corners of his mouth turn slowly upwards. You zone out the environment, suddenly too aware of him and how close he is and how loud the beating of your heart is to your own ears.

"Jungkook."

You swallow the knot in the back of your throat when he removes his hand from yours. It almost makes you protest, - now realizing you've losened the tight grip on his arm- , before it craddles your face, keeping you in place while bringing his body closer.

"You have to stop saying my name like that."

With his thigh touching your thigh, your whole demeanor melts. When he leans closer, and you feel his breath fanning over your lips, your eyes shut closed.

"Tell me I can-" he starts to say.

"Yes." you finish for him. He doesn't doubt on closing the distance between you two. His lips touch yours and your body shakes in excitement. It's just him lightly skimming your lips with his but it's already too much and at the same time, not enough. It has you deepening it, yourself moving closer when he kisses you again. It has you relaxing against him, the tenseness prior disappearing and making you arch your back when his tongue asks for permission.

But it's exactly then, the moment you open your lips to him, that has you losing your mind.

The sparks fly, traveling from your head to your toes and then settling on the pit of your stomach as soon as the kiss starts to turn desperate and rough. When he nibbles your lips with his teeth, it makes you mewl and whine and your nipples tight against the cotton of your dress. It makes the metal barbell to feel uncomfortable, slightly painful. And when he goes back to being messy and filthy with his tongue tangled with yours, your thighs close on their own.

He forces himself to pull his hand back and bring it down, finding the parting of yd opening them for him. "Wait," you say, your fingers wrapping around his forearm as you try to catch your breath."The ferris-" he shuts you up with another kiss.

"We're not on a ferris wheel." he reminds you, a soft whisper against your mouth. And for whatever reason, you believe him.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"He fingered you on the ferris wheel."

"Yes."

"And you came before the ride was over."

You take a small sip of wine, your eyes focusing on the TV where a rerun of the Golden Girls is playing, although, to be fair, lately you haven't been able to pay much attention to anything else but a certain brunet with doe eyes and kisseable lips. "Yes."

She hums, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between your thighs.

"How long did it took? Like five minutes?"

There's a pause in which you clench your jaw, your fingers twitching around the glass in your hand, and then you answer. "Probably less."

There's another pause, and then-

"Ha...Ha ha...Ha ha ha-"

You let her laugh. It's okay. You knew you had it coming.

Chaelin knows the pillow you throw right at her face is also something she had coming.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

It's not that you're mad.

Jungkook and you had a great time on that fair date, he made you laugh, bought hot dogs and drinks for the two of you and got you off inside the cab of a ferris wheel on record time with those magical, long fingers of his. Technically, there shouldn't be anything to be angry about.

Except it's been a week and you can't stop thinking about him, about wanting more, and about those words that he left you with after the ferris wheel ride ended, when you had tried to return the favor.

'Next time, maybe.'

And there hasn't been a next time.

The thought of texting him or giving him a call to ask for another date is persistent in your mind. It remains while you do the laundry or wash the dishes, while you shower, while you eat or while you spend your days at the beach with Chaelin. There's always the incessant desire to reach out towards your phone, unlock it and dial his number to beg for more.

But you'd never been one to beg, so you resist the urge everytime that feeling starts to creep up on you and it washes over you like a wave. You silence your phone and try to concentrate on making the most out of your summer.

It's one random night, when you're tiredly dragging your feet across Chaelin's apartment's carpet, yawning and ready to succumb to a well needed slumber, that you see your phone screen's lighting up with a message.

Your heart pathetically leaps inside your chest when you read his name.

'you free on saturday?'

You wish you could say you ghosted him, ignored his text and moved on with your life until it was him who begged you for another date. But the truth is you opened it in a matter of seconds and typed 'i'm free, why?' back in a rush with trembling fingers.

So now you're on the passanger seat of his car while he sits on the driver seat, the first saturday night of July, like he's Danny Zuko and you're Sandy Olsson, watching a vintage movie in a drive-in theater which plot you don't give a shit about, even if Jungkook's date plan idea made something inside of you churn with adoration.

And the only reason why you don't give a single damn about the movie playing in front of your eyes, is because you're hot. Way too hot. And the reason and cause is none other than the boy-now-turned-man sitting on your left.

You barely exchanged words when he picked you up, just rode in silence until you got to your destination and you bet he can feel as well as you do the tension in the air.

You've surveyed him a few times from the corner of his eye, noticing him fiddling with the rings around his fingers and shifting in his seat from time to time. And if the sight of his fingers bring memories that you've tried to bury to keep yourself from lunching towards him, a brief glance at his forearms, adorned with ink drawn through his golden flesh -doing a poor job at concieling the veins running underneath- and his skin-tight jeans wrapping those muscled thighs of his is enough to have you be the one squirming in your seat.

A woman can only endure so much, and you come to that realization thirty minutes into the movie.

"I want to suck your cock." you say, a stern expression on your face as you turn your body in his direction.

Jungkook frozes as your voice slides over him. It takes him a couple seconds to look at you, shock widening his eyes and parting his lips.

"Huh?" he manages, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white.

Without separating your gaze from his, you gather your hair and tie it in a ponytail with the hair tie previously around your wrist. You don't miss the quick glance he sneaks into the curvature of your neck and the valley between your breasts.

Inching forward, closing in on him, you place one of your hands on top of his thigh, the action making his whole body tense. "____..." he whispers your name in a warning that doesn't sound convincing even in his own ears.

You smile, your eyes never wavering from his as your hand inches upwards, slowly caressing over the fabric of his jeans until you finally come across what you were looking for.

His hand flies to your wrist, stilling your movements. "____, this is not-". He starts, but his voice gets stuck inside his throat when you palm his undoubtly growing erection.

"Shh." your shaky breath fans over his cheek and you force yourself on your knees on the passanger seat in a more comortable possition to stop the trembling to reach them.

You fumble with the belt holding his pants in place, then with the button and finally with the zipper. He helps you by lifting his hips to pull his jeans and boxers to his thighs and you have to bite back a mixture between a gasp and a moan at the sight below you. You haven't even seen Jeon Jungkook naked all the way, but the mere sight of his hard cock with pre-cum glistening on his crown is probably the sexiest thing you've ever had the pleasure of appreciating.

It gets sexier when you wrap your hand around the base and his body melts in the driver seat, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. It gets even sexier when you finally lower your head, swirling your tongue over the head before finally engulfing him fully in the wet warmth of your mouth.

"Shit." his voice is tight, uneven as his hand loosely grips your ponytail, as if careful not to accidentally hurt you and break the glorious moment.

Although you wouldn't mind at all. Because the moment your hands are on him, and your tongue is on his shaft, that's the only thing you care about. Your belly is twisting, an undeniable wet spot on your panties as the fabric sticks to your folds, and the more you suck Jungkook, the more you want from him. His earthy taste is addicting and the soft little whimpers he occasionally can't prevent himself from are making you want to milk him until he can't take it no more. There's this desire within you to whorship him and his cock like you had been dreaming for the past weeks.

"This is s-so fucking h-hot." he rasps between ragged breaths, the bobbing of your head, sliding up and down his dick as your hand works the centimeters your mouth can't take is about to make him faint.

"Getting a blowjob?" you joke, your throat starting to feel sore as you kiss his leaking tip.

"N-no." he draws in a rough breath when you take him all of him again. "You giving me a blowjob... T-the f-fact that anyone c-could see us..." he darts a quick glance at your body, your ass up in the air and your dress sliding down, almost exposing you completely. "The fact that-ah! Shit..." he squeezes his eyes when he feels a glob of your spit lubricating him.

There's a sudden need to make you feel the same, to touch your skin and have you shaking the same way you have him. So one of his hands travels from your spine, to your perked ass, finally dragging the cotton of your dress to allow himself to see your thin white panties. "The fact that anyone could see you l-like this," he murmurs, regaining a little bit of control when he squeezes one of your cheeks. "letting t-them see you s-sucking my cock and..." he smirks when he feels you gasping around him, his fingers trapped between your thighs and pushing them inside your heat easily "and letting them see me fingering this pretty little pussy."

Soon after that he's cumming in your mouth while you're cumming around his fingers.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

At first, it's mostly on weekends when you see each other. Weekends of stolen kisses and soft sighs and whispering against each other's lips. Then weekends turn to week days, sitting on grass while sipping on refreshing beverages, drawing each other laughs, elbows touching as you walk around the park side by side because the both of you are too scared to interwine your fingers together.

Jungkook feels content like this: sitting on the sand with you between his thighs, admiring the sunset while nuzzing your neck and inhaling your scent every now. He likes waching you enoying your strawberry ice cream, almost forgetting the chocolate chip one already melting in his hand.

"If you were an ice cream flavor,which one would you be?" you ask him, relaxing against his chest.

"Rocky road."

"Why?"

He shrugs behind you. "Everyone likes rocky road."

You hum, playfully rolling your eyes. "What about me? Which ice cream flavor would I be?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer."

"Lemon sherbet? Out of all of the flavours out there, you're rocky road and I'm lemon sherbet?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer." he corrects.

"Okay, fine. Why?"

"You're boring and basic."

You gasp, trying to feign outrage but not being able to repress the laugh that escapes your throat. You elbow him, his laugh mixing with yours while taking the time to wrap his arms around your form, the breeze blowing your hair allowing him a spot between your neck and your shoulder. "You're boring and basic, but once you have a taste..." he presses a small kiss on your skin, causing the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck to rise. "Once you have a taste, specially on the hottest day in the middle of summer, you can't stop tasting and licking until there's no more lemon sherbet left."

You suck in on a breath when he craddles your jaw to face him. "It's been my favourite flavor since I was a kid." he kisses you immediately after, his lips swallowing the small whimper now stuck in your throat.

You close your eyes as his tongue opens your mouth, arousal blasting your insides and something much, much deeper that you fear to even name shredding your chest.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

The beginning of august comes faster then you two realize, but what you both do realize is how hard it's becoming to stay away from each other.

It's been thirty days of dates happening almost everyday, sharing high school memories and anecdotes of the time you spent away from each other. Hours of getting to know each other and opening up to each other. From failed relationships to new friendships. Of park dates walking side by side and fingers now interwined because you both realized one day that, fuck it.

It's difficult to sleep when you realize you're starting to catch serious feelings for somebody who was just supposed to be a fling. It's hard to sleep when his face, his voice and his touch and thoughts of missing him when you don't see each other start haunting you at night.

It's hard for Jungkook to focus on work when you're everything that's occupying his mind. Because he has a hundred sketches to make but he's too busy thinking about the hundred different sketches he would make of you.

It's hard not to send him a goodnight text, just like it's hard for him not to reply in a matter of seconds, almost as if he was already waiting to recieve it.

Jungkook thinks of you at night. Of how pretty and absolutely perfect you are for him. Of the taste of your lips, the way your hair feels between his fingers, or the flush on your cheeks when he makes you cum as droplets of sweat accumulate between your breasts. He thinks about your voice. He also thinks about the amount of hours left to be able to listen to it again.

But mostly he thinks about how ridiculous this situation is. Because he was stupidly crushing on you when you were only teenagers, daydreaming about a chance with you. And now his crush is long gone and he's starting to realize that he's falling, and falling fast.

You, too, think of Jungkook at night. Of his ability to bring a smile out of you, to soothe you with just a few words and filling your belly excitement, happiness and feelings you're sure you've never felt before.

Jungkook's managed to imprint himself in your dreams, and you, in his.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Getting drunk with Jungkook is fun and messy.

It's fun because he lets loose, he stutters a lot like he used to do when he was a teenager and he makes you laugh louder than ever before. It's messy because he has no control over his hands as they explore your body, clumsily taking your clothes off as his mouth laps at the breast he's allowed to touch.

He's more forceful and dominating too, pinning your hands above your head, and commanding you to keep them right there, on the pillows of his bed. When you rebel against it, your fingers finding the hard planes of his chest, he pulls away from you and places them back where he left them. "Don't make me tie you up." he threatens, and your body shudders beneath him.

He sucks, and bites and leaves marks all over your skin, grunting in response to your moans. Creating a path of kisses from your lips to your stomach, his shoulders separating your knees, opening you up only for him. And thankfully, when you reach down to tug at the strands of hair framing his face, he lets you, because he knows you need something to hold on to the moment his tongue eats you up. He leaves his fingertrips on your thighs as he keeps you in place, not allowing you to runaway. Just forcing you to take it as he takes from you.

And when you cum, he doesn't back away. He keeps sucking, and licking and punishing you with his mouth until you're cumming over and ove again, screaming and begging for his cock.

Having Jungkook over you, both completely naked, skin to skin and only sweat in between is more than you could've ever fantazised about. He slurls your name when he puts the condom on. He would do anything to feel you raw, but he also knows he wouldn't be able to last a minute. The sight of you spread open, with your cheeks darkened by a crimson blush and your hair tangled all over his pillow is a picture he wants to keep forever.

He enters you when you call his name, your voice dripping with need. He stretches your warm and wet felsh, slowly easing himself into you at first, until he's fully inside and your bodies are completely in union. A shiver runs down Jungkook's spine when he looks at your contorted face in pleasure, your lips forming an 'O' and your pussy clenching around him.

"Oh, my God." you moan into the dark of Jungkook's room, and even then, he can clearly appreciate every curve of your body lifting off the mattress to connect with his. He lowers himself on his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in and capturing your mouth with his.

"I know, baby." he murmurs. It's hot, in the middle of August but suddenly Jungkook doesn't hate summer as much as he used to. Not with you sharing the heat with him. "It's way beyond what I could ever imagine." You nod hurriedly against his lips, your arms finding their way around his neck as he starts rocking in and out of you.

"It's too good." you cry, when he hits a particular spot that has you rolling your eyes in bliss and gripping his waist tighter with your legs against you. Your fingers thread through his hair, not bothered by the beads of sweat gathered on the nape of his neck.

"Too good..." he agrees, not missing the shiver that's shaking your own frame when he picks up his speed. "You have no idea what I would do t-to fucking feel you with n-no barriers between us," his movements become frantic as his hips slap against yours, his jaw clenched as he keeps talking, "to s-stuff you full of my c-cum over and over again until it won't stop d-dripping."

Jungkook's voice against your ear has you trembling and your orgasm nearing closer, your nails scratching down his back as his thrusts overpower your form. "Would you like that?" he asks with his voice strangled.

"Y-yes. Anything y-you want."

"You'd take all of my cum like a good cum-slut?"

You hate the fact that that's what makes you come undone. The twisting and knotting in the pit of your stomach finally snapping until you're holding on to him like you never want to let him go and he's following soon after.

Because if Guk, Gukkie, Jengukkie was not only able to make you come in less than a few minutes with his fingers or his tongue, but he was also able to make you cum instantly just by calling you a good cum-slut, that means you're fucked. Like, really, really fucked.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

There's a knot in Jungkook's stomach and a suffocating grip around his vocal chords as he caresses your skin. The sun is rising in the distance with the first rays of light entering his room through the window. Your shamphoo is intoxicating him, numbing him and enticing him to bury his nose in the tangled curls pressing against his chest. Your arm is thrown across his stomach, your breathing leavig goosebumps all over his body.

"It's too early. Go back to sleep." you mumble against his heart. He wonders if you can feel it dangerously speeding up.

"I can't." he says, voice struggling to stay balanced. "I have to tell you something."

You hum in response, sleep still interwined with your body, your arm tightening around him. You sigh in content, expecting him to elaborate.

He wets his suddenly dry lips. "I don't want this to end. In fact, ____.... I want more. Need more."

"Jungkook..." your whole body goes rigid right away, untanglling your bodies from each other and sitting up on the mattress.

"No, listen to me." he mimicks your movements, rapidly grabbing your hands to make you look at him. His eyes are expressive, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in his dark irises. "I wake up everyday, and you're the first thing I think of. I go on about my day, and I keep thinking about you, wondering what you're doing and counting down the hours until I get to see you again. I spend every night dreaming about you, and when we'e together, the only thing I can think about is how I wish I could stop time so I don't have to say bye to you the next morning. ____, I-"

"Jungkook, stop please." you shake your head, pushing away from him and in desperate need of air. You press a hand against your chest, beating back the throb of pain while the other curls in a tight fist, the feeling of your fingernails digging into your palm less painful than the ache inside your heart. "This... This wasn't supossed to happen, Jungkook." you start pacing around the room, as if trying to find an exit while avoiding his gaze. "This was just a summer fling. That's all it was, I'm supposed to come back to the city in two weeks and-"

"A summer fling?" a sardonic sneer comes out of him. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again..." he mumbles to himself before rising from the bed. You stop immediately, a shiver quaking through you as his impressive frame intimidates His eyebrows are drawn together and his dark eyes are void of any prior emotion. "You're going back to the city in two weeks? And you didn't care to tell me until now, after I just spilled my guts to you?"

You eyes fill up with uncomfortable tears, reaching one arm towards him. "Jung-"

He flinches, taking one step back. "A summer fling is all I mean to you?"

"Ju- "

"Look me in the eyes, right now, and tell me that's all I mean to you. A summer fling." panic crawls up your throat. There's the need within you to confirm, to stare into his beautiful and stern eyes and tell him that, yes, that's all he is to you. But you've never been a good liar. So nothing comes out. You opt for wrapping your ams around yourself wishing they were his and lowering your eyes to the ground. "I think... I think you should leave."

Those are the last words he says to you, and the last thing you see when you turn around one more time after gathering your clothes, is his back as he looks out the window.

You allow yourself to cry the exact moment you step into Chaelin's apartment. Your friend is sitting on the couch, bowl of cereal in hand and a fresh cup of coffee sitting on the livingroom's table.

"Hey, you're early tod- Baby, what's wrong?"

"Please, don't laugh."

That morning, you lay down for hours on the couch with your head on Chaelin's lap while she softly brushes your hair as you cry, hiccup, fight through the pain in your heart and relate to her as best as you can the latest events.

She doesn't laugh at all.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"She'll come back." Mijoo's slurred words do nothing to put Jungkook's state at ease that night. He simply shrugs, fingers clenching at his sides, frowing into his drink before gulping down the bitter taste of vodka in one shot. "Seriously, I think she's just afraid. My ex was the same."

"Comparing her to your ex is not the analogy you think it is."

"Ugh, shut up. Things didn't work with my ex because she was a bitch." Jungkook gives Mijoo a pointed look which she responds to by rolling her eyes and sipping on her rum coke. "Your girl is not a bitch. She used to be a bitch. What she did this morning was bitchy, but, like I said, she's just being a pussy. If she only wanted sex with you, she wouldn't have been doing couple stuff with you the entire summer."

"Whatever. I don't care." he lies and Mijoo knows he's lying but decides to drop the subject fo now.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

"We can't keep spending our days smoking weed." Chaelin speaks over Blanche's voice on the TV.

"I know. I'm just sad."

"You have to come back and tell him how you feel."

"I know."

There's a beat of silence before your friend kicks your thigh with her feet.

"I know and I will." you mumble through red eyes and smoke clouds.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

It's September first and it doesn't feel like Jungkook's birthday at all. He's been trying to focus on his work, alternating between isolating in full hermit mode and hanging out with friends to drink away his sorrow. The days have gone by and before he could realize it, he woke up today with over twenty text messages wishing him a happy day and a throbbing hangover.

He dresses up on autopilot. First a cotton shirt, then a pair of jeans and lastly, his Nike's. He doesn't bother tying his sneakers just like he doesn't bother taking a shower. He smokes a cigarette for breakfast, the death stick making him feel nauseaus on an empty stomach. And then he goes to work.

He's been repeating the same routing for the past weeks and he's not thinking of changing it, not even on his bithday.

He spends hours drawing, tattooing and drawing some more between yawns. He ignores texts an phone calls and simply waits until the day is over to go home, go to bed and forget about the fact that you're probably on your way to the city and that he hasn't crossed your mind not even once.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━��━━━≾

Inkphoria.

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping cup of ice cream as it melts down your fingers the more you wait. The shop is already empty and it's starting to darken out side, and still you're so hot. Your shorts are heavy and your tank top is sticking to your skin. You didn't even bother to put on any make, although your eyebags definitely needed some concieling and your lashes some dimension to hide the fact that you'd been crying for the last few days.

'You're crazy about him.'

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

You've lost count of how many times your best friend has given your advice, or simply encouraged you to do something you've been too scared to try.

'And he's cazy about you too.'

Chaelin might be wrong about marmite and the movie Cats, but she's definitely now wrong about anything regarding your and Jungkook.

That's it. You briefly close your eyes, inhale a deep breath then release it slowly. You start walking. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing the door open.

The tattoed blonde looks up from the counter the second you come into view. She smiles at the distance between you two. "You can come closer. I won't bite."

You clear your throat, stalking closer to her. "Is he-"

"He's in the back." she replies before you can finish you question. You close your mouth, clear your throat and nod your head.

"Thanks, Mijoo." she gives you a small wink, her smile easing your nerves like she had three months ago.

She watches you disappear. She shakes he head, her smile meeting her eyes. "I told him so."

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

Jungkook ignores the knock on his door at first. It's almost ten and the parlor is about to close. He just has to finish this last fucking sketch so he can grab his shit and go the fuck ho-

Knock knock.

He growls, exhasperation cursing through him. He runs a hand through his messy pile of hair, his rings tangling between the strands, making him wince in pain. "Come in." he grunts under his breath. The door opens. "Mijoo, I really have to finish-"

He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees you.

"Hey." you say after a moment of hesitation.

"Hey." he replies and although there's something inside, deep in his chest, shouting at him to stand up, run up to you and kiss your face while he tells you how beautiful you look right now and how happy he is to see that you're still here, he decides against it. "Listen, ____, I'm pretty busy-"

"No, you listen to me." you cut him off abruptly. He looks taken aback and is already opening his mouth to say something, but you're not having it. "Please, just... Let me talk."

Silence looms between the two of you for a while, a staring contest defying each other to back down. When you take one step inside and close the door behind you, he sighs and leans back against his chair.

You move towards him slowly, your lip caught between your lip going through your mind for the speech you'd been preparing the last few days. Your hands are sticky due to the the sugary treat liquifying in your hand. "I know there's no reason you should give me another chance after rejecting you in high school, and there's definitely no reason why you should forgive me for the way I shut you out a few weeks ago. You've been confessing your feelings to me since we were teenagers, and now it's my turn to tell you exactly how I feel about you."

"Jungkook, the truth is... I like you so much. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone. Ever. I said this was just a summer fling, and I was lying. I was lying because there's no way a simple summer fling could make me feel the way you do. There's no way a simple summer fling could make me want not just summer with you, but also fall and winter, and spring and every summer that comes next."

You hadn't realize when your eyes filling up with tears until the sight of him starts blurrying in front of you. His fingers reach yours, his thumb comforting on your skin. "____, it's okay-"

"I'm not done yet." you sniffle, gathering enough courage to continue. "I brought you a lemon sherbet because you said it was your favourite. But you also implied I was your favourite, and I want to keep being you favourite, but now it's already melted and-"

The corners of Jungkook's lips start pulling upward as he tugs you towards him, his heart loudly jumping inside his chest. "Shhh, come here."

He takes the ice cream from your hand and places it on his desk. Then he's helping you onto his lap, your head tucked under his chin and your arms wapping on their own around his neck.

He doesn't care about your sticky fingers or the wet stains of your tears in his shirt. The only thing he cares about is the fact that you're right there, letting him engulf your frame and drown in the scent and warmth he'd misses so much.

≿━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━≾

The first day of June has Jungkook sweating and wishing for a haircut. Jungkook usually hates summer. He hates the fact that he has to shower at least twice a day, and the fact that the heat is almost unbearable to sleep in and also the fact that he's easily sunburnt.

This year, however, Jungkook likes summer a little bit more.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you have an appointment?" it's the fact that you're starting to wear those summer dresses he loves so much, and the fact that your skin glows under the sun like glitter, and also the fact that he can lick ice cream off of it whenever he desires.

"I am the appointment." your giggle is almost childlike, playing with Jungkook's heart strings. You shut the door behind you, nearing him. You also seem to always have that flush on your cheeks. Although he likes to think part of it is due to him. He doesn't say anything else as he puts his pencil down and instead turns around in the chair to have you immediately on top of his thighs.

Yeah, he also likes the path your lips trace from his cheek, to his jaw, ending at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. It still makes his body quaver to this day.

"Let me see." he murmurs against you forhear, his hand already working on unbottoning the front of your dress.

"Mijoo hasn't left yet." you whisper back, your smile impossible to supress and the faint whimper impossible to hide when his fingers expose your breast and tug at the titanium barbell adorning the already hardened nub.

Jungkook loves knowing he was the one to do that, and also the only one to play with it. He doesn't hesitate when he dips his head. "As if we'd ever cared about that." he adds, wrapping your sole point in his mouth.

He fucks you on his studio table with your legs around his waist and his tongue playing with both your breasts, the tattoo sketches long forgotten, scattered on the floor as he whispers against your flesh something that sounds a lot like 'I love you'.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fic #bts smut #jungkook fic

6K notes · View notes

domesticblisss · 2 years

Text

What You Hoped to Find

Ricky Starks x Female Reader

Rating: Mature (Minors DNI)

Word Count: 1450

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of sex, daddy kink (probably not how you're thinking, just a tiny mention) and stalking.

Summary: Reader is tired of the dating scene and weird dates. A stranger in a bar helps her out.

A/N: Hello! Two fics in a couple of days? Who'd have thought??? Maybe a found a new muse on Ricky. Hope you guys like it!

Being a single woman trying to get lucky on the dating scene fucking sucks.

I’ve lost count of how many dates I’ve gone on in the last couple of months, let alone how many times I’ve swiped and matched on the apps.

It was like there’s only two types of men: the ones that are down right creepy from the beginning and the ones that are nice at first, have a nice conversation on the app and then turn into creeps when you finally meet them face to face.

And of course tonight’s date was the latter.

I gotta admit that my first intentions with Trevor were downright carnal, dude looked like he was an Abercrombie & Fitch model, straight out of the catalogue. He likes to cook, loves animals, sports and seems to be a family guy. You know, the perfect dude, prince charming himself.

Turns out prince charming had a daddy kink and wanted me to call him by his honorific on our first date. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against it, but c’mon, would it hurt to have a normal conversation first and then ask if I was up to it? (Probably wouldn’t say no, to be honest.)

I called it off when he started to push it.

So of course I wouldn’t waste the time I spent getting dolled up. This dress makes my curves look too good to be at home on a saturday night, so I decided to go bar hopping.

And it looks like so did Trevor, because this is the third bar that I go to and he shows up just a few minutes later. He hasn’t approached me yet, only keeps staring at me.

Add mega creep to the list.

I’m not going to lie, I’m getting a little uncomfortable (and scared).

I look around to see if I can find the nearest restroom, which is crowded and impossible to get in, but I do end up spotting a very cute guy sitting alone.

Okay, it’s now or never, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a weirdo.

“Hi! Look, I’ve just left a super weird date and the dude is following me. This is actually the third bar I’ve been to after it and he keeps coming after me. Could you please pretend to know me for a little while so he leaves? He is by the door looking at us.” I spoke so fast that I’m out of breath.

The guy in front of me is beautiful. Glistening terracotta skin, chocolate brown eyes, broad shoulders and the perfect amount of muscles. His forehead is scrunched, and I can see it relaxing slowly as he takes in my words.

“Oh god, of course!” He says as he gestures to the chair in front of him. “I’m Ricky.”

I give him my name as I sit down. Awkward silence engulfs us and we exchange even more awkward smiles.

“He’s at the bar now… still staring at us.” Ricky says after a while.

“Jesus… I’m never going on dates again.” I groan.

“Was it that bad?”

“He wanted me to call him ‘daddy’ instead of his name. On our first date.”

“Oh, baby, I am so sorry.” Ricky’s apology seems legit. “I think we need some drinks.” He says and calls the waiter as I nod in agreement.

He orders a couple of tequila shots for us and some beer to wash it down.

“Thank you by the way, Ricky.”

“No problem.” We clink our shot glasses and down the tequila before he continues, “So, daddy huh?”

“Right?!”

Ricky laughs at my incredulous face.

“Look, nothing against it, it’s cool and all, to be honest I’m more of a sir girl–“

Ricky laughs again, this time spitting a bit of his beer.

“Anyways that’s not the point, that’s not what I signed up for on the first date.”

“And what did you sign up for?” He asks, a sweet but playful smile adorning his face.

“His profile said he likes to cook, is into animals and he seemed like a family oriented guy, you know, the basics to make any stupid woman crazy.”

I can see Ricky holding his laughter, which makes me cry-laugh.

“Ugh, I know how pathetic it sounds, but being a woman trying to get on the dating scene is just so bad.”

“I don’t think it’s pathetic, you’re beautiful and from the little we’ve talked, I can see you’re funny and a genuinely nice person. He’s the fucking weirdo.”

Ricky’s little speech leaves me speechless and I can feel my cheeks heating.

I thank him with a small smile and I know he gets it when he tilts his beer bottle towards me as a nod before drinking.

“Sooo,” I say before awkward silence falls between us again “what brings you here tonight? Any hot dates?”

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend waiting at home?”

“Nope.”

Ricky’s tone of voice changed to something a little slicker, like he wanted to let me in on something. Can’t deny that it didn’t awaken the butterflies that had been long asleep in my stomach, because it did. Oh, how it did.

“So what are you doing here?” I say as I change to a more comfortable position, crossing my legs. Ricky licks his lips.

“Just wanted to chill and visit some old, familiar places here at home before going on tour again.”

“Oh, so you travel a lot?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“So what do you do? Are you like, a rockstar or something?”

Ricky laughs again, and I’m starting to think that I’d never get tired of listening to his laughter.

“I'm a pro wrestler.” He answers and for some reason, he seems shy, like I’d be weirded out by the answer.

“Dude! Ricky, that’s so cool!”

“You think so?”

“Of course!”

We talk some more, he tells me about his accomplishments and I insist on searching his matches. Ricky asks me about what I do and we laugh about how my boring office job has nothing on his super cool one.

We talk for what felt like hours, we laugh until we cry about and we even exchange numbers.

Our conversation is interrupted when a shadow suddenly approaches us. Trevor.

“Can I help you?” Ricky asks Trevor.

“Him? Really? I thought we had something.” Trevor completely dismisses Ricky and turns to me.

“Oh, that was our first AND only date. We never had nothing and we never will.”

Before Trevor opens up his mouth, Ricky stands, squaring him up.

“You heard her. Now take your shit and leave.” Ricky says, the tone of his voice is completely different from what I listened to the whole night.

Trevor grunts and makes his way out in silence, not daring to look back.

I sigh.

“Thank you, Ricky. You really didn’t have to do any of this, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ricky says as he squeezes my hand.

“I think I should probably go.”

“I’ll take you home.” He says, getting up with me.

I stop him. “You really don’t have to. I live like, a couple of blocks away from here. I’ll just walk home.”

“Yes I do. You don’t know if that weirdo is waiting outside. Besides, I don’t live that far from here either. And to be honest? It’ll be boring without you here.”

I nod and smile. “Okay then, let’s go.”

Ricky pays for our bills, even though I protest, saying that I could have paid for my share.

The walk home is quiet, the silence only being broken by Ricky asking where we should turn. We walk side by side, too close for two people who have just met, hands brushing lightly, his right arm going around my waist as we pass by the too crowded entrance of another bar.

“So, this is me.” I say as I stopped by my building’s door.

“Really?” Ricky asks, laughing.

“Yeah, what’s so funny?”

“This is me too.” He says, pulling out the familiar key card that opened the main door.

“Really?” It was my turn to ask and laugh.

“So each one are you at?” he asks as we walk through the lobby.

“804. You?”

“604.”

The ride is faster than expected, and we spent it laughing at the coincidence.

The elevator stops, and the visor reads “6th”.

“So, I guess this is me.” Ricky says as the door opens. He stands right by it so it doesn’t close.

“”Thank you again, Ricky. I really can’t thank you enough.”

“I don’t want to overstep, but breakfast tomorrow?”

“I would love to.”

“Deal. I know where to find you. See ya..”

“See ya..”

I guess the night wasn’t that bad after all.

#aew imagine #aew fanfiction #ricky starks fanfiction #ricky starks imagine #ricky starks x reader #ricky starks #db writes #db fics

106 notes · View notes

oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Text

Their Alright... For A Boomer

Masterlist

Summary: Being a girl with a larger chest always got you attention, maybe having your nipples pierced to try and fell more confident handt been the best idea, but how can you regret it when your latest client; the sexy Mr Cavill was ogling them but could this end up being more then just that one time you were eyed by a hot celebrity?

Warnings: Suggestive, No Smut, Fluffy? Cute and funny, Swearing

A/N: this was a request from @fanficlover91 i hope you like this hun, i tried to keep it hot but sweet and respectful? Which was a struggle but i hope i got the vibe you wanted. And as always i hope you all enjoy.

Taglist: In Reblogs.

You blushed as you looked down the lense at your model. He smirked sweeping his eyes over you non to subtly. You could feel the blues penetrating you with a hot stare. The was the distinctive fast clicks on you camera snapping a burst of shots managing to capture his smirking face and eyes sweeping over your form appreciatively.

You stood tall and smiled pulling away double checking the shoots. You bit your lip. Fucking hell this was both the best and worst job you had. Henry Cavill was the most enticing male you'd ever had the pleasure to photograph. He didn't even have a good side, every side was good! There wasn't an unflattering angle on the man!

"And that's a wrap? I think we have everything we need Mr Cavill" you said professionally making to move away from him and begin to swap sd cards and label them before packing away. Henry gawfed and rose quickly panicked almost.

"I- err no! Wait I was... Well hoping that I could have some more done?" he said chaseing you across the small studio you could hear his agent Leah scoff from the side lines. You frowned and looked to her nervously. The woman had been watching and tutting, scoffing and clicking her tongue through the whole session. It actually made you nervous, wasn't she pleased with the shoot? You were worried, being freelance this was your first time doing a celebrity shoot for a magazine but the usual photographer was in hospital having a stroke a few days prior and you were the only free photographer in the agency that was close enough to take the job. Sure you wasn't well known but still it was a little disheartening to have someone seemingly unimpressed with your work.

But it was when you eyed her you saw she wasn't giving you the evil eye. Her frown was directed at henry, a scolding look you'd give a misbehaving child. You frowned a little puzzled, but shook it off in favour of looking to Henry. Your actual client.

"More? I... I? Thought the piece only needed a few to choose from? They were very ah... How do I put it? Thorough? With the brief" you explained hoping Leah would step in and clarify just what was going on. Because you didn't have a clue.

"I yes but- I'd love to top up my portfolio? You know? I err yeah have a few changes going on and... I mean a few greys and such... Just want to update it a tad... I'll pay obviously- I'd pay anything for more time please?" he pleaded watching you closely eyes wide and bright full of hope.

"I... Err" you shifted swapping your camera from one hand to the other and craned your head around the man trying to spy his agent. But you had no hope of peeking around this gargantuan man. Just like with the camera he demanded your full attention.

"And for Instagram and stuff! There's only so much I can do in a selfie... I'd even recommend you- advertise your work!" he quickly added sounding desperate now. It would help you out if you did have a few shots of him for in your own catalogue. It shouldn't matter but having a celeb under your belt was actually a good thing. It meant you'd acted professionally and been good to work with.

"I suppose so, I do have a few extra sd's here... Tell you what I'll do another shoot for you as long as I can pick a few to put in my portfolio? Then we both update our files?" you nodded to him speaking slowly. He grinned and relaxed nodding quickly pleased with himself for wrangling more shots. You'd never know he was just glad to has more time with you.

"Oh yes absolutly! That's fine here should we get started now or?" he asked biting his lip trying not to stare at you for too long. But it was hard you were fucking stunning!

"Oh yeah sure iv got time, let me just sort these out and set up, need to switch, you've tired my poor camera" you said with a grin trying to ignore the man as he beamed at you looking excited nodding enthusiastically. You backed up and spun around trying not to blush as you felt henry gazing openly at you.

"Right well if the magazine ones are done I will be off then" Leah called packing up her bag with a small chuckle to herself. You froze and spun quickly seeing her seemingly abandoning you with Henry.

"Wha- oh you don't have to you can stay-" you tried to reason unsure why, I mean who wouldn't want to be alone with this huge glorious man? Maybe you just didn't trust yourself with him? He had been 'making love' to the camera all afternoon. Smouldering bedroom eyes that was making it hard to focus. You had been getting hot under the collar all day as you kidded yourself he was eyeing you, not the camera or would be readers.

It didn't help that you had caught him oogling your breasts earlier. But you wasn't mad, it was your own fault. It was the Hight of summer and you had on a string vest with a thin bra, that you could clearly see your nipple bars through. You didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, you didn't blame Henry for looking. You cant exactly ignore your tits.. The were pretty large for your frame. You were curvy but they were as one ex put it 'exceptional'. And besides he had looked not touched and he hadn't been a creep about it. In fact he had done a double take and then blushed when he realised he had been caught looking. But as you said you get that with big boobs, you'd had it your entire life, it was actually one of the reasons you'd got them pierced. It helped with your confidence and you convince yourself that they were looking at the bars. Not you per say.

"Okay aunt Leah I will see you in a few days." henry interrupted you quickly smiling practically ushering the woman out the door. He moved fast ever picking the womans phone and juice bottle to help her leave quicker.

"Yes, behave Henry I'll see you soon" she said with a giggle before calling a thank you and goodbye over her shoulder at you. You swallowed nervously and gave a quick bye as the door clicked behind her and you were left alone with Henry. The man groaned stretching as he spun around a huge grin on his face, making your knees tremble a little. Fuck.

Henry came over and watched you closely as you scribbled the name and date along with the publication name on the sd case label. You tried not to notice as he hovered biting his lip then took off the blazer and threw it on the table beside you drawing your attention as he did grunting a little. The v neck letting the smallest amount of soft looking chest fuzz that had been teasing you all day. He grinned slyly as he caught you eyeing him and crossed his arms over his chest flexing for your benefit. You gasped and quickly looked back to the camera in your hands inserting a new scarf into the new fully charges camera.

"Soo how do you like this kind of work?" henry said casually trying not to seem like a creeper but god damnit he couldn't stop eyeing you. If he had known how sexy you'd be he would have demanded to be doing a bloody swim wear shoot!

"You mean people?" you stuttered trying not to look him in the eye. Not that it helped because the rest of him was just as fucking sexy! You quivered all over desperately trying to remember how to breath, yet didn't want to draw in too deep a breath and make your tits bounce for him and look like a slut. There was a very fine line for a big busted girl, to much wobble will make you look like your trying to get attention.

"I mean celebrities, magazines we were told you mainly do private shoots for events and model portfolios" he offered leaning forward as he leant back on the desk next to you hooking one ankle behind the other. The way he stood placed his crotch in your line of sight as you looked down and worked on setting up the camera. You flushed. Oh god he looked er... Bigger then you'd thought earlier, not that you were looking but... Well you couldn't help notice the package! The man was a fucking serial man spreader! And that thing was huge! With the muscles he was packing he could probably bench press you with his crotch!

"Oh well its different... And you sir popped my celebrity cherry" you froze on the spot as you said that, it had meant to be an ice breaker, a joke but instead had sounded fucking creepy!. You snapped up to him making to apologize as your face flamed mortified but he had thrown his head back laughing. The deep rumble sent chilled down your spine.

"Well I'm honoured to have popped your cherry~" he teased placing a hand over his heart with a cheeky grin making you blush and nod then turned to him with the new camera all set up.

"Soo where do we start?" you said moving on quickly looking up at him trying to forget the whole cherry comment.

"Where ever you want me, i will let you take the reigns command me as you will" he chuckled standing tall once more and looked about the room casually to the various small set ups, different furniture, seats sofas and mini tables dotting the space.

"I... Okay then you said Instagram? How about we start with some facials-FACE SHOTS! Face. Shots. Not facials fuck. Shit" you quickly tried repairing the damage whist cursing yourself wanting nothing more then to be swallowed up by the floor.

"No, no love facials sounded perfect~" he said winking before gliding past you making you stutter and almost choke on your breath. Oh good lord this was a bad idea. You followed as he sat down on a sturdy sofa and looked head on at you and bit his lip once again watching you with a sultry look.

And that was the beginning. You followed him about taking various snaps whislt having small talk. He seemed to be very flirtatious as he spoke, dropping lines and compliments as he made eyes at you. You flushed each time clamming up at his suggestive comments. And rightly or wrongly you flirted back trying to seem cool and suave. But inside you were fangirling unable to belive you were here with this incredibly gorgeous man teasing one another. On a few occasions he even growled as you scampered about him, crouching and taking shots from blow getting some delicious angles that dampened your knickers. Then in between all this he managed to get little tied bits. You'd told him you were on agency freelance and were trying to get into the social media platform as it seemed easier in this day and age rather then to be in fashion photography. You wanted to be commercial not private but no one would really take a chance anymore.

Then you suggested a few shots on the sofa laying back trying to think of something different for your portfolio, maybe a body length shot. He was quick to agree and dived onto the sofa saying he had an idea you swallowed nodding not fully trusting the look in his eyes. But that was forgotten as he relaxed stretching out over the sofa legs crossed and resting on the arm of his hands behind his head and a devilish smirk looking down the lenght of his body. You knelt at his feet trying to get a flattering image of him looking down but cursed as the camera wasn't playing ball. The lense was focusing, this was why you used the other one first, the camera had a few issues and was temperamental.

"What's wrong?" he asked frowning a little at you as you growled pulling the camera away fro your face and began trying to manually focus the lense.

"Oh its.. It wont focus.. It does this sometime, really need to throw it out but.. She was my first I'm sentimental" you said feeling silly as you battled with the camera.

"We all are with our firsts... How about you come closer instead, I really want to see this shot, never done one at this angle.. Out of all my shoots your the first to suggest this~" you froze and looked to him but he just smiled impishly at you. Slowly you rounded the sofa and leant over him positioning the camera at his stomach as he looked right into the lense giving you a definite bedroom eyes, half lidded and burning. Both dreamy and amazingly sexy. It was as if he could see you beyond the lense, as if it wasn't even there!

"You can come closer love, I wont bite, not if you don't want me to~" his voice was low and teasing, luring you in like a siren. You trembled and moved along him but he tutted and moved a hand to your hip and pressed, coaxing you onto the sofa and sat you on him making you straddle him. You gasped squeazing your camera tighter as he moved you easily, warm palms holding you both delicatly and firmly. You could see in his eyes he was weary unsure if he had gone to far but you squeezed him between your thighs and relaxed making him grin up at you getting the message you didn't mind at all. You aimed the lense at him once more and got the shots you wanted.

"Perfect! Mr Cavill" you said actually a little sad that this session was over. It had been nice playing this little cat and mouse game with him. But all good things come to an end.

"Ah now i have a policy love, when a womans on top they can call me henry, among other things~" he said smoothly laughing as you chuckled nervously fiddling with the camera in your hands and shifted over him a little.

"I will try to remember that for next time boomer~" you teased managing to overcome your nerves as you pulled away the camera with a giggle winking at him as he stuttered. For a second you thought you'd gone too far but a quirk to his lips made you relax once more.

"That hurt, that was hurtful" he teased pouting not releasing you from his lap, instead holding you tighter, fingers digging into your sides making you gasp and bit your lip as he pulled you to his crotch and ground into you teasingly.

"I'm so sorry~" you uttered breathless trying to keep yourself together. But this man was something else, like a drug- the devil all fanged smiles and smooth words. God you were fucked, you knew this man could do anything to you and youd thank him for it~

"I doubt that" he cooed and slid his hand higher growing more and more confident. The last few hours of casual flirting had built up his appitite. There was no misconceptions, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Oh yeah?" you said coyly tipping your head to him playing along willing for this to happen, whether it be a one of fuck or something longer. You didnt have any complaints~ this was your body and youd enjoy it with who ever you wanted to!

"Yeah prove it!" he hissed and moved quickly sitting up and swinging around planting his feet on the floor. You yelped as he moved surprizingly fast and managed to keep you in his lap now face to face with you eyes roaming your face settling on your lips.

"And how should i do that" you teased tilting your head skimming your lips with his as you spoke. He groaned and held you tighter making you whine breathlessly willing this to happen. You wanted him and you wont deny yourself the chance.

"Make and old mans day" he said plainly and leant back resting on the back of the sofa, you watched him closely and brought your hands to his shoulders prodding at the neck of the t shirt and drew your fingers down slowly feeling him shiver at the light skimming fingertips.

"Oh really Boomer? And how would i make and old mans day?" you teased once more making him grunt but he quickly caught himself as your fingers smoothed over the teasing curls that peeked over his top. You scratched over them lightly with your nails making him draw a needy breath and chuckled at him. He was sexy and cute~

"By accepting a job offer?" he said before smileing smugly as you paused and frowned. Had you missed something? Was he after a freebee?

"Job offer? Really another shoot?" you snorted suddenly not feeling sexy, more like he was trying to butter you up for some fuck for parts shoots or something. He sighed and began speaking before you could get yourself all twisted. But then again you could have taken his offer wrong.

"Manage my social media. I have many companies and brands reach out to me for endorsements. They want me caught wearing their brands. But I'm to busy most of the time I cant make it to the locations they want. It actually doesn't seem worth it most of the time, with cost of flights and time lost travelling to and from studios itd be easier if I had my own personal photographer that travelled with me its be easy, slip on the clothes and what not take a few snaps and then you touch them up and post them on my social media." he explained watching as it sunk in that he wasnt trying to pull a fast one. Well he was but not trying to fuck you over... Just fuck you... And keep you because you were fantastic and he wants nothing more then to have you around hime as much as possible. In the single dat he had spent working with you, you had enchanted him, not only were you sexy but you were good at your job and easy to work with but also funny and cute and he needed to get to know you.

"Of course its a very big venture and we'd have to have a few dinner and lunch dates to work out all the nitty gritty" he added after a few beats of silence trying to make it clear he was interested... Very interested~ it worked as you fluched and a playfull look donned your face your fingers began stoking his chest hair once more. He relaxed shuddering under the nails as they teased his curls.

"Is this a big ploy to get a date Boomer?" you purred his new nick name making him groan when you squeezed him between your thick thighs once more grinding on him and the considerable bulge below you that twitched.

"No... Maybe is it working?" he said quickly hissing at you shifted in his lap once more, his hands snapping to your hips trying to still you before he came undone in his boxers. You were a very dangerous woman and something told him you knew.

"Well it sounds like an offer I'd be very, very interested in taking further~" you clarified giggling when he swallowed dryly and eyed you surprized that his plan had seemed to work.

"Good to hear~ so got anything planned after this?" he asked feeling a wave of confidence at the prospect of snagging a date with you. He hadn't meant to sound so eager but... He was eager and that was that.

"Yes" you said with a straight face and got up off of him spinning around heading to the table with your camera bags. You gave him a glance and giggled seeing him still sitting there gobsmacked legs wide open and his crotch that was now definitely bigger then it had been earlier.

"O-oh" he stuttered seemingly unsure how to proceed. You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Then decided to grant him some mercy and began speaking whilst popping out the sd card from the camera labeling it like the previous one.

"You see I had a very cheeky client today who asked for a shoot last mineut. But I wasn't to bothered he was very very sexy even if he was a boomer, but get this out of nowhere gave me a job offer? And we're having dinner- he promised pizza~" you giggled glancing at Henry as he slumped in the seat realising halfway through that you were talking about him. He smoothed his hands over his face and jumped up coming over to you shaking his head.

"You know I'm not actually a boomer?" he quipped folding his arms. You rolled your eyes at him as you packed your stuff away making sure to recheck everything.

"Have you seen your selfies? Your a boomer, boomer" you teased making him scoff but laugh at the name that has now stuck.

"Wait you've seen my selfies? What do you think?" he asked wanting feedback on the silly shots he took. You paused halfway through zipping up your bag and turned facing him fully giving him a thoughtful look then shrugged

"Their alright... For a boomer" you giggled when he preened for a second then his face dropped into a pout when you finished the comment.

"I repeat...That was hurtful" he said covering his heart with a kicked puppy look making you laugh and hoist your bags over your shoulder and make for the door with him hot on your heels.

"Its fine boomer a second date will make up for it I'm sure~" you sniggered at him playfully looking back at him as he followed you out of the door.

"A date for each time you call me boomer? Deal" he quipped walking along side you offering you his arm like a true gentleman unlike the teasing horny little shit he had been all day. Not that you minded either. Gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets and all that jazz.

"God we may aswell marry now then boomer" he laughed nodding in agreement the banter from the day still in play as you both left the building.

"Seems so, I mean were at ten that's what the kids consider boyfriend girlfreind territory" he anounced with a sigh playing on the 'boomer' joke making you giggle and roll your eyes as he mentioned the tally. Then you frowned and quickly counted your 'boomers' and opened your mouth you correct him, arguing that ten was incorrect.

"I think its nine boomer- ah see what you did their sneaky boomer!" you cried pushing him playfully at his little trick. He roared with laughter and quickly tangled his fingers with yours dragging you back alongside him guiding you down the street towards a place he knew served pizza, he didn't remember but apparantly he promised pizza...

#henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n

418 notes · View notes

333sth · 3 years

Text

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl.

rating: mature wc: 1.8k

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?”

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs.

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name.

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be.

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact.

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.”

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince.

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company.

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long.

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!”

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder, “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #dove #Santiago Garcia #Benny Miller #Will Miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters

112 notes · View notes

stiltonbasket · 3 years

Note

Nielan fathers day prompt! Sorry if its late, but how about finding out they're going to be parents on Fathers Day? (mpreg, adoption, surrogacy, your choice).

anon: the first fathers' day after jingyi is born, modern lxc and nmj both set up a present for each other "from Jingyi." It's very cute. Baby Jingyi magnanimously chews on his foot and accepts giving two presents and meals.

this is for the art thief au, so lxc is trans here!

(ao3 link)

----

What should I give Xichen for Father’s day?

Nie Mingjue has been puzzling over gift ideas for the past two weeks, with no luck whatsoever. Jingyi is still too small to make them gifts, so he and Xichen use the occasion to exchange presents with each other and label them with their little boy’s name; Xichen probably picked out his gifts already, since he knows Nie Mingjue’s tastes like the back of his hand, but Mingjue keeps flipping through mail-order catalogues and crossing off their entire inventory as he goes.

“I have present,” Jingyi insists, as Nie Mingjue carries him down yet another aisle of their local department store. “A-Die, look!”

Mingjue looks. A-Yi is holding a six-pack of orange bath sponges, since Xichen mentioned that they needed some more earlier that morning.

“That’s not a Father’s Day gift, A-Bao,” Mingjue chides, kissing Jingyi’s forehead. “Last year, I gave your Ba a brooch with his initials on it, remember? It has to be pretty.”

Jingyi wrinkles his tiny nose. “Starfish?”

“Mm, the starfish brooch.” Lan Xichen has an impressive collection of jewelry, with most of it coming from gifts Nie Mingjue gave him over the course of their fifteen years together; and nearly all of the pieces are sea-themed to go with his husband’s wardrobe and his clear, moon-white skin.

Perhaps he could buy pearls, this time?

“A-Yi,” he says slowly, “what do you think about going to the discount shop across town?”

A-Yi is happy enough to go wherever his father goes, so Nie Mingjue drives to the discount store--full of discarded, overstocked, and secondhand merchandise from all over the city--and digs through the bins of jewelry until he finds an antique bracelet, strung with pearls carved into the shapes of starfish and clam shells. Jingyi nearly loses his little mind at the sight of it, and he squeals at the top of his lungs while Mingjue pays for the bracelet and bundles him back to the car.

“I know them,” he declares, when Mingjue gives him the bracelet to play with on the way home. “Diedie, it’s a clam!”

Mingjue glances up at his son’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Can you count how many clams there are?”

Jingyi flings himself headlong into the task, counting twelve starfish and eleven clams, and then he peruses the Learning Reader books Xichen keeps in the back seat until Mingjue carries him into the house.

His husband runs to meet them at the door, and it is this, not the driveway or their well-worn doorstep, that means Nie Mingjue has finally come home.

______

To Nie Mingjue, stepping into his woodworking studio feels like stepping into another world.

It isn't that the studio looks very different from the rest of the house--in fact, Nie Mingjue had a tiny nursery built into the north corner, since he set the studio up with A-Yi’s needs in mind--but Mingjue feels different here, more sure of himself, and aware of his own thoughts and hopes as he scarcely is anywhere else. He had only to enter, and he was changed: his hands steadier, his heartbeat slower, and his mind somewhere distant and immediate all at once. It is here that he pays homage to his heart, his muse, and the dearest friend he has ever had, or ever will. It is here that he pours pieces of his love for his husband into everything he touches, and everything he makes, and emerges with pieces of polished art like testaments to the husband he vowed his life to.

“That isn’t a metaphor,” Nie Mingjue said once, when Huaisang asked what he meant. Mingjue has carved everything from furniture to lamps into shapes reminiscent of his husband’s lips, perfected the stems of wooden sunflowers to match the sweet arch of Lan Xichen’s neck, and burnished every last one of his creations until they shone like sunlight falling on the apples of his husband’s cheeks. He etches A-Huan’s expressions into the faces of statues intended for the foyers of upscale hotels, and into a thousand quarter and sixth-scale figures commissioned by model collectors, since he rarely has any excuse to sculpt his husband directly. But today he does, so he sits down at his bench and gets to work with a block of oak and his favorite gouge and chisel.

He will love this, Nie Mingjue thinks, as two bowed heads and a pair of smiles take shape under his hands. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever made.

He glances over his shoulder at Jingyi, fast asleep in the glass-walled nursery with his feet up in the air, and turns back to the sculpture with his heart quivering in his chest.

______

The sculpture takes about a fortnight to complete, almost exactly the span of time between the day Nie Mingjue begins working on it and the holiday it was intended for. Nie Mingjue wakes up early on Father’s day, leaving Xichen asleep behind him, and bundles A-Yi out of bed and down into the studio. They wrap the sculpture up together in Jingyi’s favorite gift wrap, and then Nie Mingjue carries him to the kitchen just in time to catch his husband as he comes stumbling down the stairs.

“Good morning, love” Lan Xichen sighs, burrowing into Nie Mingjue’s arms. “What should we have for breakfast?”

“Eggs?”

For some reason, Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“Noodles, then?”

This suggestion is met by a drowsy nod, so Mingjue goes to the fridge to dig out�� a few ingredients while Lan Xichen hops onto one of the bar stools with Jingyi in his lap. He chops the scallions and garlic for plain noodle soup around their son’s little body, leaving Mingjue to boil noodles in one pot and stock with soy sauce and sugar in another until three blue bowls of yang chun mian are steaming on the counter.

“Smells yummy,” Jingyi yawns, while Xichen spoons fresh green onions into his soup bowl. “Baba, feed A-Yi?”

“He’s forgotten about the presents,” Lan Xichen mouths, as Nie Mingjue tries not to snicker. They eat quickly, slurping down the noodle soup with cups of soy milk on the side, and then Jingyi scrambles to the other side of the room before running back with Mingjue’s wrapped box in his arms.

“Father’s Day gift!” he squeaks, wriggling like a happy worm as Xichen laughs and tries to remove the gift wrap without tearing it; because Jingyi never lets either of them cover gifts with anything but Pingu penguin-printed paper, and he cries if anyone rips it up in front of him.

Mingjue used the weakest tape he could find, so that Xichen could extract the box with the paper left mostly whole. He hands the paper to Jingyi, watching as his husband’s slender fingers close around the base of the sculpture, and then--

“Oh!” Lan Xichen gasps, pulling it all the way out into the light. “A-Jue, I--”

The sculpture depicts him and Jingyi at the beach near their house--in fact, at the same beach where Mingjue and Xichen first met. Mingjue was sitting on a sandy rock, catching his breath after running around behind a hyperactive Nie Huaisang all day, and then he looked out over the foggy water and saw what looked like a water spirit drifting out of the darkness in a rowboat.

He sculpted Xichen seated on that very rock, with his long hair tangling in an invisible gale, and a little heap of shells (the pearls from the old bracelet he found at the discount store) piled up in his lap. Jingyi is standing on the ground at his feet with a wave of seafoam brushing his ankles; and in his hands is a small pearly starfish, offered up to his baba as Lan Huan leans forward to cup A-Yi’s cheek in his palm. Both father and son are smiling, with heart-breaking happiness in A-Huan’s eyes, and sheer pleasure at finding the starfish in Jingyi’s.

Nie Mingjue looks up at his own flesh-and-blood husband, tearing his eyes away from the wooden figure, and finds Lan Xichen sitting there, frozen, with tears rolling down his face as he traces the tiny ridges and dimples of stone and sand and water.

“It’s beautiful,” he chokes, rounding the corner of the table to throw his arms around Nie Mingjue’s shoulders. “It’s the most precious thing you’ve ever made, sweetheart.”

“The most precious thing I helped make is over there,” Nie Mingjue teases, tilting his head at A-Yi. “But I think this one comes pretty close.”

Xichen opens his mouth, and then closes it again; but Jingyi interrupts before he can say anything else, impatient to present his diedie’s gift from his baba.

“Now this one!” he shouts, diving into Xichen’s pocket for a small present in a wooden box, labeled with Jingyi’s name just like Nie Mingjue’s gift was. He all but shoves it into Mingjue’s hands, leaping up and down on the spot while he snaps the lid open--and then he screeches with delight as Nie Mingjue goes crashing to the floor, staring at the contents of the tiny box until his eyes blur over.

He had expected some kind of memento or trinket, like he usually gives to Xichen. But the box was so light, impossibly light--and it holds a pair of hand-knitted baby socks, set neatly on top of a black and white photograph with his husband’s name printed in the upper left corner.

Nie Mingjue has already been a father, already accompanied his husband through the endless doctors’ visits and checkups that came before Jingyi was born. He saved all of Jingyi’s ultrasound pictures, even the ones where A-Yi looked like a chubby white bean on the sonogram, and he stared at every photograph for so long that reading them comes as second nature to him.

"A-Huan,” he says, after a long pause. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming this.”

“You’re not,” Lan Xichen laughs, wiping Mingjue’s face. “I had my first doctor’s visit last week when you and A-Sang took Jingyi to the park. And the clinic ran a few blood tests just in case, so I already know it’s going to be a girl.”

“And you’re okay? Both of you?”

“Very okay, darling. I haven’t even had any morning sickness yet, and the baby’s perfectly healthy.”

Nie Mingjue only cries harder, at that; but Xichen is crying too, clasped in his arms while A-Yi climbs all over them, so perhaps it doesn’t really matter.

All in all, this is the sweetest father’s day he has ever had.

#nielan #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #nie mingjue #lan xichen #lan jingyi #art thief au #my fic #AH this was a long one

101 notes · View notes

twopoppies · 3 years

Note

hi!! i looked in your fic rec MP and i didn't see it, so i thought I'd ask. i read In Vogue recently and LOVED it and then I've been binging project runway episodes (bc why not) and now I'm craving good fashion fics. maybe even a project runway one. have you read any good ones? and could you maybe rec some?

Hi sweetheart. Ohhh, I love that fic. And yes, I’ve got a few that have to do with fashion.

In Vogue by otpwhatever / @thecelineharry (M, 121K) This one is just….so much. The intensity of the characters, the crazy hot smut (oh god, the window scene), the FASHION, the angst (I had to take a walk around the block after reading it), the epic love story between two men who could rule the world if they could just figure their shit out. The fic has been deleted, but the link is to a download.

These Constant Stars by stylinsoncity (M, 31K) This author has written so many great fics and this one is really lovely. I also always like when one of the boys is not what he seems to be on first glance. There’s also a second part, told from Harry’s POV.

Three French Hems by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews (M, 20K) the characterizations and set up for this fic are sharp and funny, making this a really fun read. Plus there’s a lot of talk of Louis worshipping Harry’s thighs. LOL!

Fading by tothemoonmydear (M, 202K) Let me start by asking you to please read the tags on this one. It’s a very well-written fic, but it deals very graphically with Louis’ character’s eating disorder. At the time it was written some people felt it did not portray ED recovery accurately, so if the subject is at all triggering for you, please don’t read this one. Of that’s not an issue for you, make sure you have tissues ready because I ugly cried through almost all of this. I read it years ago and loved it at the time, but it’s not one I could handle reading twice.

sweet, where you lay by @infinitelymint (E, 27K) I read this ages ago and my notes only say that it was “sweet and sexy”, which is not terribly helpful. But this author is a good one, in general, so I feel safe including it here.

The rest of these were suggested by @cuethetommo who generally likes the same sort of fics I do. I either haven’t read these, or don’t remember enough about them to have an opinion! 😆 But I trust her.

Put It All On Me by LoadedGunn (M, 15K)

"Yeah, yeah, give it to me, that's it, spread your legs a bit, there you go."

The camera follows Louis as he does. Maybe if the modelling thing doesn't work out, he could try the porn industry. Then again, he's a bit too stocky to be twinky and a bit too twinky to be anything else. He likes that about himself, though. Well, directors and photographers like that about him. He could pull off pretty and edgy, could do GQ in the morning and a perfume commercial in the afternoon. Right now he thinks he could pull off anything, because it's Harry fucking Styles directing him.

Or, a Top Model AU where Louis is accidentally there to make friends, not become Britain's Next Top Model. (Also Zayn is the supermodel host.)

you pull me in by yoursongonmyheart (NR, 7K)

“Did you really wear silk jammies to meet him?” Fizzy is almost in tears.

He’s going to kill them.

He’s really going to kill them.

Ernie throws his backpack on the floor before telling Fizzy, quite loudly, “Mr. Styles looked at Achoo like this” and making an exaggerated jaw dropped face.

“That is not what happened!” Louis protests.

“And Achoo looked at Mr. Styles like that, too!” Doris pulls the same face before laughing.

------

//or the one where Louis is a model, Harry teaches Doris and Ernie at primary and now might be a good time to fall in love.

This Road Leads Where Your Heart Is by LittleLostPieces (E, 15K)

Alright, so Louis has a bit of a type is the thing. And as fit as his supermodel flatmate (Harry) may be, he isn't what Louis is looking for in a potential partner. That’s all. He’s not Louis’ type, with his miles of lanky limbs and his bright, boyish eyes. His impossibly tight, little body and infectious laughter are not what Louis wants. They're not. Really.

swimming in a champagne sea by delsicle (E, 17K)

Louis is a supermodel. Harry is a celebrity photographer known for capturing the brightest up and comers in their most candid moments. They meet at London’s most exclusive New Year’s Eve party.

An alpha/alpha fic filled with confusion, banter, Ubers, and glitter

Life at Shutter Speed by zarah5 (E, 20K)

AU. Having landed a job modelling for an outdoor clothing catalogue, Harry certainly wouldn’t mind doing some extracurricular work for photographer Louis Tomlinson. Say, a private photo session? Yes, please? Good thing that Harry has ten days and three beautiful locations -- Morocco, Indonesia and the Swiss Alps -- to make Louis see just how good they could be.

Special Topping by LoadedGunn (E, 20K)

'Who would even want so many pizzas so late at night?' Harry wonders before the door opens.

Oh. Apparently short guys with shaggy brown hair and a scruff and bright blue eyes and heart-stopping smiles. That's who.

Harry's not even ashamed of how he nearly drops all the pizzas. This guy is gorgeous and Harry hasn't noticed anyone like that in ages, let alone provided services to them. If he opened his mouth right now the only thing that would come out is, "By special topping did you mean my dick?"

Or, the AU where Harry delivers pizza and Louis really just wants Tim Gunn to spank him.

everywhere (i want to be with you) by itiswhatisbutterfly (E, 42K)

Harry and Louis meet because they have terrible friends, they fall in love because something feels right in a world of uncertainty and shifting grounds. Louis is an actor and Harry is a model at the top of his game, the best things in life are the most unexpected ones and the things that hit you when you are least expecting it.

Featuring winter in London, nights in Paris, early mornings in New York, burning heat in Monte Carlo and an enduring love spent transcending four corners of the globe.

Young Gods by sincewewereeighteen (E, 77K)

“Why don’t you stay?” Harry looked down at him and snorted. “What?”

“You’re not my type, Louis”, the boy rolled his eyes sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

“Says the man you just had sex with”, Louis pointed feeling smart, but Harry was one step ahead of him, with the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“You see, if you were my type, I wouldn’t have”, Harry winked, cheeky as hell. “I would’ve gotten to know you first.”

“Bullshit”, he accused the boy not letting it show how intrigued he was. “How can you know I’m not your type if you don’t know me?”

“How about I list five things about you to prove I’m right and if any of them are false I’ll lie down again.”

“Ok. Go.”

[Or: the one in which Louis is a model and Harry's supposed to be a normal guy... Until he isn't.]

#fashion fics #my fic rec #Larry fic rec

382 notes · View notes

ifuckinglovestvincent · 3 years

Text

THE FORTY-FIVE: ST. VINCENT

Sleazy, gritty, grimy – these are the words used to describe the latest iteration of St. Vincent, Annie Clark’s alter ego. As she teases the release of her upcoming new album, ‘Daddy’s Home’, Eve Barlow finds out who’s wearing the trousers now.

Photos: Zackery Michael

Yellow may be the colour of gold, the hue of a perfect blonde or the shade of the sun, but when it’s too garish, yellow denotes the stain of sickness and the luridness of sleaze. On ‘Pay Your Way In Pain’ – the first single from St. Vincent’s forthcoming sixth album ‘Daddy’s Home’ – Annie Clark basks in the palette of cheap 1970s yellows; a dirty, salacious yellow that even the most prudish of individuals find difficult to avert their gaze from. It’s a yellow that recalls the smell of cigarettes on fingers, the tape across tomorrow’s crime scene or the dull ache of bad penetration.

The video for the single, which dropped last Thursday, features Clark in a blonde wig and suit, channeling a John Cassavetes anti-heroine (think Gena Rowlands in Gloria) and ‘Fame’-era Bowie. She twists in front of too-bright disco lights. She roughs up her voice. She sings about the price we pay for searching for acceptance while being outcast from society. “So I went to the park just to watch the little children/ The mothers saw my heels and they said I wasn’t welcome,” she coos, and you immediately recognise the scene of a free woman threatening the post-nuclear families aspiring to innocence. Clark is here to pervert them.

She laughs. “That’s how I feel!” From her studio in Los Angeles, she begins quoting lyrics from Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Red House’. “It’s a blues song for 2021.” LA is a city Clark reluctantly only half calls home, and one that is opposed to her vastly preferred New York. “I don’t feel any romantic attachment to Los Angeles,” she says of the place she coined the song ‘Los Ageless’ about on 2017’s ‘Masseduction’ (“The Los Ageless hang out by the bar/ Burn the pages of unwritten memoirs”).“The best that could be said of LA is, ‘Yeah it’s nice.’ And it is! LA is easy and pleasant. But if you were a person the last thing you’d want someone to say about you is: ‘She’s nice!’”

On ‘Daddy’s Home’, Clark writes about a past derelict New York; a place Los Angeles would suffocate in. “The idea of New York, the art that came out of it, and my living there,” she says. “I’ve not given up my card. I don’t feel in any way ready to renounce my New York citizenship. I bought an apartment so I didn’t have to.” Her down-and-out New York is one a true masochist would love, and it’s sleazy in excess. Sleaze is usually the thing men flaunt at a woman’s expense. In 2021, the proverbial Daddy in the title is Clark. But there’s also a literal Daddy. He came home in the winter of 2019.

On the title track, Clark sings about “inmate 502”: her father. He was sentenced to 12 years in prison for his involvement in a $43m stock fraud scheme. He went away in May 2010. Clark reacted by writing her third breakthrough album ‘Strange Mercy’ in 2011; inspired not just by her father’s imprisonment but the effects it had on her life.“I mean it was rough stuff,” she says. “It was a fuck show. Absolutely terrible. Gut-wrenching. Like so many times in life, music saved me from all kinds of personal peril. I was angry. I was devastated. There’s a sort of dullness to incarceration where you don’t have any control. It’s like a thud at the basement of your being. So I wrote all about it,” she says.

Back then, she was aloof about meaning. In an interview we did that year, she called from a hotel rooftop in Phoenix and was fried from analytical questions. She excused her lack of desire to talk about ‘Strange Mercy’ as a means of protecting fans who could interpret it at will. Really she was protecting an audience closer to home. It’s clear now that the title track is about her father’s imprisonment (“Our father in exile/ For God only knows how many years”). Clark’s parents divorced when she was a child, and they have eight children in their mixed family, some of whom were very young when ‘Strange Mercy’ came out. She explains this discretion now as her method of sheltering them.

“I am protective of my family,” she says. “It didn’t feel safe to me. I disliked the fact that it was taken as malicious obfuscations. No.” Clark wanted to deal with the family drama in art but not in press. She managed to remain tight-lipped until she became the subject of a different intrusion. As St. Vincent’s star continued to rocket, Clark found herself in a relationship with British model Cara Delevingne from 2014 to 2016, and attracted celebrity tabloid attention. Details of her family’s past were exposed. The Daily Mail came knocking on her sister’s door in Texas, where Clark is from.

“Luckily I’m super tight with my family and the Daily Mail didn’t find anybody who was gonna sell me out,” she says. “They were looking for it. Clark girls are a fucking impenetrable force. We will cut a bitch.”

Four years later, Clark gets to own the narrative herself in the medium that’s most apt: music. “The story has evolved. I’ve evolved. People have grown up. I would rather be the one to tell my story,” she says, ruminating on the misfortune that this was robbed from her: a story that writes itself. “My father’s release from prison is a great starting point, right?” Between tours and whenever she could manage, Clark would go and visit him in prison and would be signing autographs in the visitation room for the inmates, who all followed her success with every album release, press clipping and late night TV spot. She joked to her sisters that she’d become the belle of the ball there. “I don’t have to make that up,” she says.

There’s an ease to Clark’s interview manner that hasn’t existed before. She seems ready not just to discuss her father’s story, but to own certain elements of herself. “Hell where can you run when the outlaw’s inside you,” she sings on the title track, alluding to her common traits with her father. “I’ve always had a relationship with my dad and a good one. We’re very similar,” she says. “The movies we like, the books, he liked fashion. He’s really funny, he’s a good time.” Her father’s release gave Clark and her brothers and sisters permission to joke. “The title, ‘Daddy’s Home’ makes me laugh. It sounds fucking pervy as hell. But it’s about a real father ten years later. I’m Daddy now!”

The question of who’s fathering who is a serious one, but it’s also not serious. Clark wears the idea of Daddy as a costume. She likes to play. She joins today’s Zoom in a pair of sunglasses wider than her face and a silk scarf framing her head. The sunglasses come off, and the scarf is a tool for distraction. She ties it above her forehead, attempts a neckerchief, eventually tosses it aside. Clark can only be earnest for so long before she seeks some mischief. She doesn’t like to stay in reality for extensive periods. “I like to create a world and then I get to live in it and be somebody new every two or three years,” she says. “Who wants to be themselves all the time?”

‘Daddy’s Home‘ began in New York at Electric Lady studios before COVID hit and was finished in her studio in LA. She worked on it with “my friend Jack” [Jack Antonoff, producer for Lana Del Rey, Lorde, Taylor Swift]. Antonoff and Clark worked on ‘Masseduction’ and found a winning formula, pushing Clark’s guitar-orientated electronic universe to its poppiest maximum, without compromising her idiosyncrasies. “We’re simpatico. He’s a dream,” she says. “He played the hell outta instruments on this record. He’s crushing it on drums, crushing it on Wurlitzer.” The pair let loose. They began with ‘The Holiday Party’, one of the warmest tracks Clark’s ever written. It’s as inviting as a winter fireplace, stoked by soulful horns, acoustic guitar and backing singers. “Every time they sang something I’d say, ‘Yeah but can you do it sleazier? Make your voice sound like you’ve been up for three days.” Clark speaks of an unspoken understanding with Antonoff as regards the vibe: “Familiar sounds. The opposite of my hands coming out of the speaker to choke you till you like it. This is not submission. Just inviting. I can tell a story in a different way.”

The entire record is familiar, giving the listener the satisfaction that they’ve heard the songs before but can’t quite place them. It’s a satisfying accompaniment to a pandemic that encouraged nostalgic listening. Clark was nostalgic too. She reverted to records she enjoyed with her father: Stevie Wonder’s catalogue from the 1970s (‘Songs In The Key Of Life’, ‘Innervisions’, ‘Talking Book’) and Steely Dan. “Not to be the dude at the record store but it’s specifically post-flower child idealism of the ’60s,” she explains. “It’s when it flipped into nihilism, which I much prefer. Pre disco, pre punk. That music is in me in a deep way. It’s in my ears.”

On ‘The Melting Of The Sun’ she has a delicious time creating a psychedelic Pink Floyd odyssey while exploring the path tread by her heroes Marilyn Monroe, Joni Mitchell, Joan Didion and Nina Simone. It’s a series of beautiful vignettes of brilliant women who were met with a hostile environment. Clark considers what they did to overcome that. “I’m thanking all these women for making it easier for me to do it. I hope I didn’t totally let them down.” Clark is often the only woman sharing a stage with rock luminaries such as Dave Grohl, Damon Albarn and David Byrne, and has appeared to have shattered a male-centric glass ceiling. She’s unsure she’s doing enough to redress the imbalance. “There are little things I can do and control,” she says of hiring women on her team. “God! Now I feel like I should do more. What should I do? It’s a big question. You know what I have seen a lot more from when I started to now? Girls playing guitar.”

If one woman reinvented the guitar in the past decade, it’s Clark. Behind her is a rack of them. The pandemic has taken her out of the wild in which she’s accustomed to tantalising audiences at night with her displays of riffing and heel-balancing. Instead, she’s chained to her desk. Her obsession with heels in the lyrics of ‘Daddy’s Home’ she reckons may be a reflection of her nights performing ‘Masseduction’ in thigh highs. “I made sure that nothing I wore was comfortable,” she recalls. “Everything was about stricture and structure and latex. I had to train all the time to make sure I could handle it.” Is she taking the heels off when live shows return? “Absofuckinglutely not.”

Clark is interested in the new generation. She’s recently tweeted about Arlo Parks and has become a big fan of Russian singer-songwriter Kate NV. “I’m obsessed with Russia,” she says. In a recent LA Times profile, she professed to a pandemic intellectual fixation on Stalin. “Yeah! I mean right now my computer is propped up on stuff. You are sitting on The Gulag Archipelago, The Best Short Stories Of Dostoyevsky andThe Plays Of Chekhov. I’m kinda in it.” The pop world interests Clark, too. She was credited with a co-write on Swift’s 2019 album ‘Lover’. At last year’s Grammys she performed a duet with Dua Lipa. It was one of the queerest performances the Grammys has ever aired. Clark interrupts.

“What about it seemed queer?!”

You know… The lip bite, for one!

“Wait. Did she bite her lip?”

No, you bit your lip.

“I did?!”

Everyone was talking about it. Come on, Annie.

“Serious? I…”

You both waltzed around each other with matching hairdos, making eyes…

“I have no memory of it.”

Frustrating as it may be in a world of too much information, Clark’s lack of willingness to overanalyse every creative decision she makes or participates in is something to treasure. “I want to be a writer who can write great songs,” she says. “I’m so glad I can play guitar and fuck around in the studio to my heart’s desire but it’s about what you can say. What’s a great song? What lyric is gonna rip your guts open. Just make great shit! That’s where I was with this record. That’s all I wanna do with my life.”

More than a decade into St. Vincent, Clark doesn’t reflect. She looks strictly forward. “I’m like a horse with blinders,” she says. She did make an exception to take stock lately when the phone rang. “I saw a +44 and that gets me excited,” she says. “Who could this be?” Well, who was it? “Paul McCartney,” she says, in disbelief. “Anything I’ve done, any mistake I’ve made, somehow it’s forgiven, assuaged. I did something right in my life if a fucking Beatle called me.”

Now there’s a get out of jail free card if ever she needed one.

Daddy’s Home by St. Vincent is out May 14, 2021.

#‘I HAVE NO MEMORY OF IT’#LOOOOOL #WHY ARE U LIKE THIS #st vincent #full of shit #annie clark #Annie Clark on beds #yellow is the color for dull ache of bad penetration?

68 notes · View notes

alwaysfangirlingish · 4 years

Text

One shot:

Title: Not everything is about new and fancy dresses.

Word count: 1203 <3

Warning: Nope

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

Hi! This was an anonymous request~, although I think I changed it a bit... 😊

I tried to write this as best I could, I really apologise for any grammatical or vocabulary errors. This one-shot made me realise how difficult it is to write in another language lol. I need to keep practicing and learning, yup~

I hope everyone enjoys it. Please consider reblog, comment and a like,thank you so much for reading and doing requests!✨💕

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

I entered my room, throwing my backpack on the bed while taking off my shoes, letting out a little moan of relief at having my feet free and on my soft carpet. I had just arrived from shopping at a thrift store, in the company of my boyfriend, who since the morning was trying to convince me to go buy new clothes.

“You realise I could buy you new clothes, right?” He repeated those words he had been saying since early, while he leaned against the door frame, following me with his eyes all over the room as I changed into something more comfortable to be in my apartment.

“And you realise that I've already told you it is unnecessary?” I replied, giggling while tying my hair, before approaching him and giving him a small kiss on the lips.

“It is an offer I will never stop making you, Y/N,” he responded, staring at me as I walked towards the bed, picking up the backpack. “Besides, lovely and fresh clothes are what you deserve,”

“You're impossible, Elijah,” I said, shaking my head “You all Mikaelson are impossible, except Freya,” I replied, starting to pull out the clothes I'd gotten from the thrift store, “I mean, I know Kol wants me to go shopping with him and ‘his good fashion sense’. Also, Rebekah wants to treat me like her little doll,” I looked at the man in front of me, who had a brief smile on his face “And Klaus… Well, I think he doesn’t even care”

“Well, you definitively can’t deny that my family has this… Exceptional sense of fashion,” Elijah said, a bit proud.

“Yeah, I mean… You are good looking, and wear good clothes, but the thrift store is not equal to horrible clothes,” I replied, getting up from the bed and walking towards him. Once in front of him, I kissed him on the cheek and gave him a gentle push while saying “Now, sir ‘I'm a Mikaelson so I have a good fashion sense’ maybe you should go and let me do my magic with the clothes, you know... And after that, you and your siblings will learn that not everything is about new and fancy dresses,”.

“Of course,” He nodded, walking towards the front door “Oh, and I'll come for you tomorrow at five, if that it's ok with you” I nodded at his words. He smiled at me and disappeared, leaving me alone with my ideas and the clothes. I sat back on my bed, picking up a piece of clothing, sighing as I looked at the old jean I had in my hands and murmured, “I will let the fancy family speechless” I declared before starting.

>>> Next day <<<

I looked at all my outfits lying on the bed, proud of myself. Despite having done them in a hurry, blinded by the excitement, the clothes looked like something out of a fashion catalogue to me. I sighed, going into the bathroom to shower before Elijah picked me up to take me to the compound.

After I finished my shower, while I was getting dressed, I heard Elijah's voice outside the room, looking for me. I yelled at him I was in the bathroom, and to wait a few seconds for me to finish getting ready. When I was ready, a few -many- minutes later, we headed to his home, not without first having my backpack, where I had my clothes.

Upon arriving at the compound, Freya welcomed me with a hug, just like Hayley and little Hope, who only clung to my legs so as not to fall, as she was still learning to walk more than three steps.

"Okay, it's showtime, ladies," I announced them, carrying Hope, and heading to a room. The witch and the hybrid helped me to organise the little show that I had been planning two days ago. In less than an hour, everything was ready, and we gathered the family around the fountain, waiting to see my creations.

“Well, everybody is aware of the clothes I bought yesterday, and you all know how they looked because I sent a photo to the group chat I created,” I explained, as I walked to the room where the clothes were “Now you are going to observe how they look now,” I closed the doors to change as quickly as possible.

As I walked through space, I noticed their gazes on me. Hayley and Freya applauded, making very nice comments, prompting the other Mikaelson to do so. I could detect a flash of sorrow on Rebekah's face at the drastic change of clothes, and the smile on Kol's face was not fooling anyone who knew him well.

"I want to see another one!" Freya said, inviting me to keep up the little fashion show. So time passed, I modelled all my dresses to the vampires, who stared and applauded saying nothing, only Klaus and Kol released some jokes or laughs at the endless comments of Hayley and Freya. Even Hope was giggling and clapping, seeing her entire family do it.

When the show ended, Niklaus walked up to me and placed his hand on my shoulder, saying "Well, Y / N, lovely clothes, but I must go, if you'll excuse me ..." before disappearing, leaving me with a smile, perceiving he meant what he said.

"And you, guys? Anything you wish to tell me? " I asked innocently, looking at Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol in front of me. The older of them settled next to me, leaving a kiss on my head, hugging my waist.

"I must admit that those outfits were admirable, and you were fabulous, y/n," he said, also looking at his brothers with narrowed eyes, waiting for their words.

“Well now, I must admit that you must be very talented to turn those scraps of clothes into something like that cute tight jean,” he said flirtatiously, walking and shaking my hand with his under Elijah’s heavy sight “Excellent job, y/n, but now you have to put up with Bex and his hurt pride,” he laughed, crossing his arms and giving the least of the Mikaelson a fresh look, before he excused himself and leave the house.

"Come on, Bex, what do you think of the clothes?" I asked, approaching her with a small smile, separating myself from Elijah. Rebekah, who had her arms crossed, uncrossed them and also held out her hand to me.

“They were beautiful, y/n. I'm sorry I said they wouldn't” she said with a small smile on his lips, I accepted her hand and hugged her, saying: “If you want, I can lend you some outfits” I suggested, trying to make her smile, and I did.

"I'd like to try one too ..." spoke Hayley, who had been quiet and executive about my victory over the original family.

“Oh, I want to try one too, y/n!” Freya added, making us laugh a bit. Then I turned around to see my boyfriend, who was playing with Hope and I said, “What about you, love? I think the jean that Kol liked would suit you very well.” After that comment, Hope laughed out loud this time, looking at us as if she understood perfectly what I suggested.

255 notes · View notes

coepiteamare · 3 years

Text

you feel like a holiday

pairing: namjoon x female!reader genre: mostly fluff, a tinge of angst, a lot of mishaps, mall workers warnings: language, mentions of mild burns, not using oven mitts, lapslock, a lot of mentions of falling because we’re clumsy word count: 5.8k

summary: floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. you can’t help but fall for the one temp worker who’s as clumsy as he is good looking.

notes: merry belated holidays ellen @joontella! it’s peppermint, finally delivering your present to you because i am an excellent procrastinator. this was inspired by my friend commenting on how the majority of holiday movie leads seem to be mall elves, so i present to you...a mall elf! in all seriousness, i hope you like it! i also wanted to add your answers to the character (about your favourite and least favourite part of the holidays) so i put those in here. 💕

the moment the clock strikes midnight on december 1st, the mall changes: it shifts from plain decorations and advertisements into a winter wonderland, with fake snow and garlands and tinsel wrapping every square inch of the mall. twinkling snowflakes hang from the ceiling, a cascade of light fragments spinning over the white, mall floor, and the railing are covered in boughs of holly and streams of glitter. it’s absolutely magical. or so every customer thinks.

in reality, all the mall workers are contractually obligated to work after the mall closing hours, to file in through the glass doors and haul decoration after decoration out of the mall storage room, put in elbow grease to transform the mall into something vaguely resembling the north pole and distinctly looking like a christmas catalogue display, only with more glitter and more snowflakes and too much tinsel.

you absolutely despise it.

to be fair, working a graveyard shift to help “build the holiday magic and festive cheer” was written in the job description when you signed on for the job, in fine tiny print you skipped over as you signed your name on the bottom of the paper, forgotten and ignored in the thrill of having a job that pays more than minimum wage. of course there was a catch; there was always a catch.

you kick a plastic reindeer, watch it clatter on to a pile of fake snow from your annoyance. jungkook, the head mall—santa’s elf, you correct yourself—snaps his head in your direction, before running over and propping up the reindeer. “oh no! are you okay, vixen?” he pats the reindeer gently, brushing off glittery cotton fluff from its body before frowning at you. “please be careful with the props! all of these are essential to the holiday magic we provide to the children and mall patrons! what would they think if they came into the mall and we only had 8 reindeers instead of all 9?”

you blink twice, trying to bat away the sleep that’s weighing down your eyelashes and mingling with the glitter from all the ornaments. “that we have 8 reindeers.”

there’s another frown on his face, eyebrows pinching together as he opens his mouth when there’s a loud crash on your right.

there’s a tall, broad man on the floor, tangled in tinsel and lights, next to a ladder, as another tall, broad man and a short, soft looking blonde come rushing out of the floral fantasy cafe doors. the blonde starts cackling immediately—peals of laughter slipping out of his lips as he props himself against the ladder, doubling over at the unfortunate christmas decoration accident—while the tall broad one (the one not tangled up on the floor), sighs and crouches down to try and untangle the other one.

“i swear, i don’t even know how this happened,” you overhear tinsel boy explaining, “i was up on the ladder trying to unwrap the lights and i guess i pulled too hard? i fell over.”

blondie cackles even louder as both of the boys give him a look: tinsel boy looks confused, a little apologetic like he’s done this before, while the other tall, broad one sends him an exasperated look. “yoongi, come help me, so we can all leave early.”

ah, to leave early. you’d like that.

jungkook lets out a tsk and hands you a box of snowflakes to hang from the roof of santa’s workshop, deeming you high risk to the reindeers, and moves on to the next poor, tired santa’s elf who is—heaven forbid—letting the garland hang an extra inch longer than protocol.

you shift your gaze back to your right and meet eyes with tinsel boy who’s looking right at you. a flicker of heat rushes up to your cheek, as he looks away, back to the tall broad one who’s trying to untangle him.

“namjoon,” the broad one sighs in relief when his hands finally find the right loop, “maybe you should try the stickers.”

“absolutely not,” blondie glares, points to the glass window of the cafe, and even from where you are, 2 stores down and 2 across, you can see the abysmal state of the stickers, air bubbles and stuck together where it’s not haphazardly slapped on to glass. “we are two stickers down and tae is going to have my head when he finds out.” his tone softens, eyes as gentle as his smile, when he sees that namjoon has deflated a little, spirit a little squashed like the tinsel around him. “maybe you can decorate the counter namjoon. i think you’d be good at that.”

namjoon brightens up, dimpled smile illuminated by the string lights dancing across his face, and hands yoongi the lights. he gives a mock salute. “yes, sir.”

you bite down your laughter as he skips into the store, nearly tripping over his shoes. at least you’re not alone in your lack of holiday decorating luck, you think as you reach your hand into the box of snowflakes and cough, a storm of dust and glitter puffing up into the air.

god, you hate your job already.

in all fairness, after a 5 hour shift and glitter congested lungs, the mall looks lovely, a christmas card come to life with enough lights to rival a hallmark christmas movie or those drive through holiday light tunnels. if you were a customer, you’d stand gaping at the front entrance too, breath caught in your throat at the festivities. but instead, you’re rubbing bleary eyes from the lack of sleep, back at the steps of the mall less than 6 hours after the nightmare of the graveyard shift. lethargy clings to the edges of your thoughts, smudging cohesion into a whirlpool of fatigue, so you collect what little of yourself you can and trudge your way to floral fantasy.

floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. there’s a whisper where you live, small talks through the grapevines, about how the requirement to work there is to look like someone who’d make models cry. rumour has it every single worker has been recruited by a talent agency, only to all be turned down for reasons unknown. you believed it when you first stepped foot into the cafe, mouth agape and words lost at the sight of the pretty workers at the register, but the speculations hit you twice as hard right now, when you’re clutching on to the last bit of your sanity.

tinsel boy is in front of you. you knew he was pretty yesterday, wrapped in twinkle and catching the light, but he’s even prettier up close, skin shimmering in soft pastels, and you wonder for a moment if he’s actually this pretty or if it’s just an optical illusion, a trick of your mind bending the light to create a pretty ringlet around his head. you almost run your mouth, almost let your mouth run without its filter. almost.

instead, there’s a crash, an angry hiss of steam, and the distinct sound of someone yelping in pain that cuts through the fog of your wonder. blondie rushes out from the back (yoongi, you think his name was), door swinging behind him. “goddamnit namjoon, i leave you alone for thirty seconds! thirty seconds!”

namjoon shrugs sheepishly. there’s a grimace on his face as he nurses a palm, red and angry. yoongi rushes over with a wet towel and wraps it around namjoon’s palm, another hiss seeping from namjoon’s lips. “i got-fuck-distracted by something,” he looks at you, cheeks tinged pink, and tries to put on a smile, though it resembles more of a grimace. “welcome to floral fantasy.”

yoongi follows his gaze to you too, blinks twice before a smile spreads on his mouth too. “we’re usually a lot more composed than this.”

“i’ll take your word for it.” you laugh, remembering last night. “the place looks nice. it looks like you’ve done a wonderful job.”

the cafe, normally in theme to its name as an everblooming wonder, is decked with evergreen wreaths and red ribbons, a brilliant fantasy of lights. the wall filled with paper flowers is replaced with white and silver paper snowflakes, just as photo ready as the people inside.

“thank you,” yoongi smirks, looking over at namjoon before pushing him towards the register. “we tried.”

“i’m sure you must be tired from last night,” you smile at namjoon.

“you must be too. i know the mall elves had to stay even longer than we did.” he smiles, dimples blooming. “what can i get you?”

you look at the menu over his head, the words blurring together the longer you look at them, mind too sleep deprived to focus. “i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure what’s good. what would you recommend?”

he opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle, hand rubbing the back of his neck. your eyes follow the movement. “i’m actually new here. my friends own the cafe and i’m just here to help for the holiday rush.” he side eyes yoongi who’s running the coffee machine with precision and ease, grace in each movement as he fixes namjoon’s mistakes. “i feel like more of a nuisance than of help though.”

“i understand that feeling,” you motion towards your attire, a bright splash of green, red, and white that’s as cheerful as you are tired. “i most definitely am not as perky as my job requires.”

he laughs at your statement, a genuine bubbling laughter that tickles one out of you. there’s a sparkle in his eyes—a trick of the light, you tell yourself—as types something on to the screen. “i have just the thing for you.”

you start to fish around your bag, trying to find your card in the mess of old receipts and chewing gum, when he speaks again. “it’s on the house. my treat.”

you furrow your brows, lips quirked. “are you allowed to do that?”

“i get free coffee everyday,” he shrugs, “and i do enough damage without caffeine in my system. consider it a gift from a fellow new mall worker, a comrades in agony.”

you can’t help the worry that spreads across your face. “will you be making it as well?”

“god no.” “absolutely not.” namjoon and yoongi speak at once, twin looks of pain on their faces.

namjoon holds up his palm as the printer makes a whirring noise. “i think it’s safer for all of us that yoongi makes your drink.”

the coffee is good, coats your tongue in mint and just the right amount of bitterness. the caffeine sinks into your bloodstream, wipes the film of sleep from your eyes, and gets you through seven hours at the mall. by the end of it, your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard, voice a little hoarse from the high pitch elf voice, but there’s a warmth from the coffee that lingers, settles into your bones and stays despite the frosty air that blasts a little too hard through the itchy material of your elf dress.

you find yourself back at the doors of floral fantasy the next day, still in your bell hat and jingling shoes, less tired but sleepy nonetheless. it’s a little before the mall opens, but the doors are unlocked when you push, a little bell chime ringing through the empty store. the smell of baked goods fills the air, a cozy warmth juxtaposing the white winter wonderland theme, and you take in a deep breath, let it fill your lungs.

“wow.” you whip around to see namjoon holding a tray of scones and muffins. “you look like you fit right into the store.”

you snort as you twirl, the pom poms twirling as your dress swirls with your turn. “i’m a christmas card come to life, the splitting image of cheer and festivities. though i can’t really say i’m quite into the look.”

he opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a ringing that permeates and breaks the moment. “oh shit,” he drops the tray down on the counter, “seokjin told me to watch the macarons. i’ll be right back” he races off, the back door swinging to the tune of his panic.

you giggle and look at the menu properly this time, at the pretty penmanship curling across the black chalkboards. there’s candy canes and hollies drawn on the borders and tiny wreaths pinned to every corner, ribbon on the bottom, and you try to match the baked goods to the menu names when there’s a muted yelp and crash coming from behind the doors.

“i swear to god, kim namjoon! the oven mitts are not decoration!” you hear, and you grimace, mind already picturing the damage his clumsiness has caused.

namjoon and seokjin, you assume, come out of the backroom a few moments later, another wet towel on namjoon, on both hands instead of one this time.

“oh,” seokjin says. “hello.”

“hi,” you wave awkwardly. “i’m guessing this is bad timing?”

“no, it’s not,” he pulls out a medical kit and starts applying burn cream on namjoon’s hands, sending daggers every time namjoon inhales sharply in pain. “yoongi should be here in a couple of minutes if you want coffee.”

“did you like the coffee yesterday?” namjoon asks, hope sparkling in his eyes.

“i did!” you beam back. “it was good, so i came back to see if you had any recs.” you look at the tray behind the two. “and to try a baked goods. a fellow elf told me they’re quite spectacular.”

seokjin brightens at that, perks up and puffs his chest as he finishes the final touches on the bandages on namjoon’s hands. “you heard correctly! just wait a moment!” he rushes off to the back, and it’s just the two of you again.

“you seem to be catching me at my worst, but i swear, i’m more put together than this,” namjoon chuckles, lifting his palms “how was your first shift?”

you laugh, caressing your elbows to your body. “it was okay. a lot of happy kids, which was nice, but there were also a lot of crying ones. by the end, i was just ready to go home. i did, however, like the coffee from yesterday and figured i would come back to see if you had another recommendation, from a fellow second day-er to another. it was the one thing that got me through the shift.”

he beams again, and it ignites a warmth in you, much like the coffee from yesterday, that spreads gently across your body, on your cheeks, on your mouth. his smile is pretty, like a warm breeze on a spring day, like cherry blossoms fluttering gently in the wind. the coffee is good, but you think the reason for the lines outside the cafe, the loyal customers, is partly due to the way the smiles here feel like love letters.

“i have something in mind for you today,” he smiles at you as yoongi walks in, nodding at you in greeting. “just wait a moment.”

you walk out of the cafe, a coffee in one hand, box of baked goods in another, and a heart that feels a little like a snow globe, glitter and snow gently falling down after being shaken by a cute pair of dimples.

it becomes a routine of sorts: almost every shift begins with a visit to floral fantasy, even on the days namjoon isn’t working, and you build up a small friendship with everyone who works there, though it’s mostly seokjin and yoongi and namjoon you see. there always seems to be some mishap with namjoon when you walk into the store—it’s mostly limited to small things like jammed display doors, smooshed pastries as he reaches for another, and misshapen ice cream swirls—although seokjin and yoongi tell you he’s not as clumsy as he presents himself when you’re around.

“he’s actually quite brilliant,” seokjin tells you as he packs in an extra macaron in your gift box, smiling as you light up in glee. you really shouldn’t be spending your paycheck on pastries, but seokjin’s culinary training at le cordon bleu makes them a little too good, a little too addictive, and has you asking for one (or two) on the days when your shifts are a little too long to bear without coffee and sweets. “he’s double majoring in literature and philosophy, minoring in greek and latin to gain deeper understanding of the classical philosophers, and takes french in his free time. he wears himself a little too thin, if you ask me, but he likes what he does. he’s a sweetheart, even when he’s clinging to the last thread of his sanity, muttering on and on about paradoxes and something about beds.”

“he just needs to get a better understanding of his strength,” yoongi tells you when you come in after your shift one day, over the hiss of the steamer as he makes you a cafe au lait. you don’t have the heart to tell him that you prefer your coffee sweet after remembering how his eyes lit up as he told you about his barista training, raved about coffee done correctly rather than frappes and awful starbucks beans. the resentment on his tongue made you promise yourself to never step foot in a starbucks, lest you find yourself the subject of his bitterness. “sometimes he gets a little too excited and forgets about things, like how fragile objects can be or safety concerns” he and seokjin exchange a knowing glance before he smiles down at the coffee, blank canvas coming to life as he pours in the steamed milk. in the matter of seconds, there’s a cute bear hanging on to the edge of the cup, and you gape in awe at his skills. “he means well though.”

namjoon presents himself a little differently than his friends do when he catches you on your lunch break, keeping you company as you eat your sandwich in the cafeteria. “i don’t really know how these things keep happening, but they do. i’m a magnet for trouble like bella swan.”

you cackle out loud and, in the process, almost spit out your coffee, courtesy of namjoon. “i’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“well, i don’t have a creepy, emotionally unhinged vampire that lusts after me, so yes, my situation is a bit better.”

he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes all sad and tugging at heartstrings. you find yourself reaching a hand out, patting his arm. “there, there. i’m sure santa has you on the nice list despite it all. for not interacting with a god-forsaken, toxic vampire.”

“good. i was awfully worried i was on the naughty list.” he tries to keep a straight face, hold his laughter in, but it seeps and bubbles out and his eyes crinkle into crescents. “do you not like the holidays?” you tilt your head at his question, a silent ask to elaborate. “you seem to not be in the holiday spirit when i ask you about it. unless, i’m reading incorrectly and it’s just your job you despise, which i totally understand. i love kids, but they can be hard to deal with.”

you chew on your sandwich for a little longer than you have to, feel it go down your esophagus while the sorrow sticks in your throat. “i like christmas. it’s just a bit lonely on my own?” you put your sandwich down gingerly on to your tupperware. “i think the best part of christmas—the holidays in general, really—is spending time with family and loved ones, but i don’t get to see them very often. not since i moved for college and everyone is busy with their own lives. i love christmas dinner and celebrating together, watching the clock strike midnight on new year’s. i still send gifts to them, but it’s not the same as watching them open it, watching eyes light up and twinkle in delight as they see the stockings and rip the wrapping paper.” you stick a grin on your face, as cheerful as the one you put on for your job, but your laughter sounds weak, even to your ears, and you shift your gaze on to the sandwich in your tupperware, trying to hide your tears. there’s a comforting hand on top of yours, gently squeezing like he’s trying to pass his strength on to you. “i mean, it’s fine. post-holiday depression can’t really hit if you don’t feel the holiday cheer to begin with.”

he doesn’t say anything as you blink furiously, trying to clear out the fuzziness in your vision: he rubs his thumb against the back of your hand, a gentle reminder that he’s there and listening to what you’ve holed up and deemed too stupid to tell other people.

“maybe this holiday season will be different,” he offers.

there’s a flicker of hope that burns in your chest. “yeah, maybe it will be.”

it’s a couple of days later when you step back into the cafe, having been too tired to come by after your shifts, and you’re nursing the desire to knock down every single reindeer and the stupid gingerbread house just to spite the kids. (and maybe see the look on jeon jungkook’s face, savour it slowly. god, his love for christmas cheer and order drives you mad, though you’re sure you do the same for him, every time you slip out of character when there’s a particularly nasty child in line.) you must look as exhausted as you feel because when namjoon turns around at the sound of the bell twinkling, thirty minutes before the cafe closes, he drops the tray and you watch as the pink coffee cups and pretty plates fall to the floor, shatter into pieces.

“fuck,” namjoon looks at the floor in dismay, crouching down to collect the pieces.

“be care-“ you start, but his voice cuts through before you can finish.

“ow, fuck.” he staring at the rose blooming on his thumb, cut quickly filling with red.

you grab a napkin from the counter and hand it to him, gently pulling him up and aside, out of harms way. “i don’t know if your hands will be okay by the time your stint here ends.”

he snorts at that, heading behind the counter and reaching for the medical kit again. “i’m quite resilient.”

“is it weird that i believe you and don’t at the same time?” you smile at his pout, wincing when it causes your cheeks to twinge in pain. “are you manning the store alone today?”

“i can be responsible! is that so hard to believe?” he laughs and motions to the store. “this is seokjin and yoongi’s baby. seokjin has always wanted to do something with food and yoongi’s always loved coffee, so this is their brainchild. i’m guessing they trust me enough to not burn the place down, or at least try not to.”

he fumbles as puts a bandage on the cut and you can’t help but smile as you remember the stickers he tried to put on the cafe door. you take the broom from him when he makes his way over. “here, let me help.” he tries to protest but you move the broom out of his reach. “consider it my way of saying thank you for the great coffee recommendations.”

namjoon’s dimples are back, shining in full force, and you start sweeping, telling yourself you’re focusing on the pieces of china and not averting the warmth of his smile because it does not feel like a sugar rush, like the warmth of the holidays you haven’t felt in a while. you feel something creep up in your throat—loneliness, sorrow, exhaustion—so you force it down and stare at the tiny pieces on the floor, watch the little fragments twinkle as you push them around with your broom.

“are you okay?” there’s a hand on your arm and pair of warm brown eyes looking at you, concern brimming in the light. you let yourself get lost in them for a moment, let it wash over you before you respond.

“yeah,” you smile, “just tired.”

he gently takes the broom and dustpan from your hands, and gives you his hand instead, leading you to the behind the counter and to the backroom. “i have just the thing for you.”

“am i allowed to be back here?” you quirk your head in amusement, letting him lead. “better yet, what are we doing?”

it’s strange—to the say the least—to be in a place you’re so accustomed to but have it looks so different than what you’re used to: steel and silver replacing marble and white, ovens and storage racks in place of glass displays case and chalkboards. but there’s still the same magic: the same kind of warmth and care you’re greeted with at the entrance lives in the backroom, with the ovens and fires, with the stand mixers and ingredients, with namjoon flitting around the stove. there’s a tick-tick-tick as the stove flares to life, a clang as it meets pan.

“yoongi taught me how to make hot chocolate, back in high school, because he was so fed up with how much i loved it, how much i would ask for it.” you can feel the smile on his face, even as his back is to you as you lean against the counter. “it’s one of the few things i know how to make from scratch, albeit a little labour intensive. once you try it, there’s no going back to instant packets.”

namjoon motions you over, handing you the whisk, and the two of you settle in to a comfortable silence as he scrapes in vanilla, sifts in some spices, adds in heavy cream and milk. it smells heavenly, lingers on the edges of his white shirt. the two of you are so close, you’re scared he can hear the vivace of your heartbeat over the whisking, so you whisk a little faster, let the cream splash on the edges until he gently takes the whisk from you. “wow, maybe you should work here. we could have you as back up if our stand mixers ever break down.”

he pours the mixture into two orange mugs, topping it with something white and fluffy before handing one to you. “hot chocolate a la namjoon.”

you close your eyes and let the mixture settle on your tongue, sweet and warm. it settles in your bones, distilling and coating the exhaustion and loneliness until all that’s left is the warmth of spending the moment with a loved one. the effort and time comes through. “colour me impressed.”

the smile on his face is as warm as the drink in your hands.

the two of you bask in the silence, in the warmth, in the comfort of each other’s presence, as you sip the rest of your hot chocolates.

there’s an unspoken rule: the closer it gets to your last day of work, the slower time moves, like it’s waiting to prolong your misery. the kids aren’t awful—they get nicer as it inches closer to christmas, too well aware their gifts depend on their behavior—but no matter how many kids you entertain, how many photos you snap, how many smiles you pinch out, nothing makes your shift go by today. you’re so close to throwing down your elf hat and walking out the door, freedom so close yet so far.

it’s christmas eve and the mall is busier than usual, packed with folxs trying to get their last minute christmas shopping done. you can’t say the same for the santa’s workshop line: there’s a lull like no other, and while you would be grateful, jeon jungkook has been watching over everyone like a hawk, squawking at every elf to “keep up the magic!” just until 10 minutes ago when he left for lunch. you just want to go back to your apartment and settle under your covers and let yourself enjoy the measly number on your paycheck.

“you look like you’re having the time of your life.”

a voice comes up from behind you and you startle, relief only settling in when you see who it is.

namjoon is holding a tray of cupcakes that looks like christmas trees, dusted in powdered sugar and topped with a fondant star, and you “ooh” over them as he laughs. “seokjin was experimenting with flavours and i figured i would bring some over to the north pole.”

you frown in mock anger as you pluck a cupcake off his tray. “it’s santa’s workshop, not the north pole. i don’t even want to think about how much more fake snow we would have to bring to call this the north pole.” you take a bite into the cupcake, moaning as the sugar hits your tongue. “these are so good.”

namjoon blinks at you, looks down at your lips and laughs with pink tinged cheeks. “you have frosting on your lips.”

“oh,” you lick your lips, “is it gone?”

he brushes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, fingertip lingering a second too long as he drags it down. “all better.”

there’s a long, awkward silence between the two of you, seconds dragging by as you fumble to string a cohesive sentence together.

“do you-“

“it’s my-“

“you can go first,” namjoon offers.

“it’s my last shift today, so i won’t be able to visit as often anymore.” you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, try to dampen the disappointment as you kick at the floor. “so i wanted to say thank you. for everything.”

“oh.” he doesn’t say anything else and anxiety pools in between every beat of the song that’s blasting through the mall speakers. you try to find something to fill in the conversation, anything but what you want to ask him, when you hear your coworker’s voice.

“jeon’s making his way down!”

“i have to go. thank you for the cupcake!” you wave the treat in your hand and start to get back into position.

“wait! y/n!”

as soon as you turn around, there’s a giant weight on top of you, and both you and namjoon come tumbling down, back knocking against the floor. namjoon’s foot, caught on the wire, pulls out the string lights from the socket and brings a snowman to the floor. the poor snowman, in turn, knocks over the reindeers one by one, like a set of dominos, each one falling to the floor with a graceful “thump.”

you let out a groan, crushed by namjoon’s large frame. there’s something wet smudged against your cheek, and the tray that once was in his hands is now uncomfortably sandwiched between your stomachs, digging into your ribcage.

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” namjoon scrambles to get off of you. “this keeps happening around you. are you okay?”

when you prop up your weight on your hands, you see that your elf costume is smeared with dark green frosting, the white trim matted together with pieces of the chocolate cupcake. you can’t help but laugh: it seems awfully fitting that namjoon’s fall, which marked your first shift, would laso be the highlight of your last one.

“i’m alright. you?”

he nods, motioning towards your elf costume. “i don’t think your costume is though.”

“i kind of like it better this way,” you laugh as you start to pick up the reindeers, “it feels much more festive.”

“i feel bad.”

he sends you an apologetic look, puppy eyes and pouty lips, and something in you says fuck it. “you were right about the hot chocolate. i tried to drink instant mix and it didn’t taste the same. you could make it up to me with another cup?”

something flashes in his eyes as he smiles. “i’ll do you one better. what are you doing tomorrow?”

you furrow your brows, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “nothing?”

“i’m off too, if you wanted to go on a date? most of the city is going to be closed, so we could watch a movie, have dinner at my place? and i could make you hot chocolate?” he bites his lip at your silence, at the way your eyes go wide. “or not. i’m sorry; i just thou-”

you press your lips against his and put your hands on his shoulder when he kisses you back. it’s a short kiss, sweet and gentle like he is, and it’s over all too soon (you are in public after all), but it leaves a trail of butterflies in your stomach and a dazed look in his eye.

“a date sounds good.” you tell him as he stands up, tray in hand.

“tomorrow then.”

you nod, the smile on your face as sweet as the frosting on your outfit, as he runs back towards floral fantasy.

“looks like someone has holiday plans after all,” your coworker nudges you.

the smile on your face refuses to dissipate, even as your cheeks feel the tender ache. “i guess so.”

“you know, the first time i saw you, you were wrapped in tinsel because you fell off the ladder trying to decorate the outside of floral fantasy.” you tell him on his couch, over hot chocolate.

he chokes and sputters. “i was distracted.”

the statement sounds vaguely familiar, mind hazy from time. “by what?”

he looks at his mug of hot chocolate intently, like the surface is reflecting his answer to him. “You.”

It’s your turn to choke on your drink. “I’m sorry?”

his ears and cheeks are dusted with pink, a sunset on his face. “You were so pretty that i forgot i was on a ladder, and i fell.”

it takes all of your willpower to iron out the smile that threatens to slip through, but one look at his face--at his pretty, pouting face--and you burst out laughing, laughing even harder when he joins in.

“I’m clumsy when i get nervous,” he continues, when both your laughters simmer into giggles, “and everytime you came into the cafe, i was so nervous that i made silly mistakes like burning my hands and forgetting oven mitts. The one time you came in and i dropped the tray? The light was hitting you at the right angle and—god—it made you look like an angel.”

you hide your grin behind your mug, take a sip before you let him know. “the coffee was good, but i mostly came in to see you.”

his eyes light up at that, brighter than the christmas tree haphazardly wrapped behind him, and you kiss him, mouths moulding together. he tastes like goodness and hot chocolate and the warmth of the holiday season, like the thrill of opening a present that’s been under the tree for so long.

maybe he was right. maybe this holiday season will be different.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x oc #namjoon fic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bwcssy2 #bts fic #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts fluff #namjoon fluff

66 notes · View notes

bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

A/N: Timeskip Lev make me go BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF AAARF ARF. P.S: For double the experience, read while listening to this

diapason. | haiba lev

summary: in which lev meets you again and you develop some sort of warm reconnection with your past underclassman. (Continuation of this fic)

word count: 4402

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) a full, rich outpouring of melodious sound

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

The Danube Canal in mid-winter reminds you of a lot of things:

The Shakujii River flanked with its timeless parade of cherry blossom trees. Christmas celebrations spent at home with your family, popping bottles of soda and whining about misshapen gifts. Your piano recitals played in utter devotion, like the winter would never end.

You’re a long, long way away from home, and you start to hope if anyone is missing you. If there’s a hole in your figure carved into someone’s heart back in Japan or some place in the other side of the world—

What am I thinking... you sigh, bashfully urging yourself to keep on walking.

Nestling deeper into the warmth of your wool scarf, you wonder if it’s the cold ambience of the night that’s making you feel all sappy. Twinkling lights, murmured chatter from late-night cafés, the occasional gust of wind against your cheeks. You never thought you’d get so nostalgic on your “vacation”, but perhaps you’re just like any other hopeless romantic.

“Come to Vienna! A whirlwind of budding love!”

You’d read that advertisement in one of the catalogues your symphony’s personnel manager had excitedly dumped into your lap the day she announced your personal invitation to spectate the Vienna Philharmonic live a few weeks ago. You didn’t think much of the slogan, but even so... you have to admit you’re a tad bit lonely, aren’t you?

You can barely remember a moment where you didn’t feel lonely. You had your family at home, but you’d considered it your fault for being such a shut-in for the most part of your life. The neighborhood kids weren’t exactly the nicest people. And school life hadn’t been much of an improvement either.

Of course, until him.

A colossal first year stumbling into the desolate Orchestra Club room, with a mouth just as big as his stature. Haiba Lev who had been anxiously lost that day you’d met. With such little sense of direction, you can’t help but laugh at how much times he’d managed to find you in that maze of your high school.

He’d find you, talk to you, laugh with you. And you’d never felt all the rushing feelings you’d felt when you were with this dewy-eyed boy. He was the perfect image of confidence—radiant, ambitious and all the more charming.

If only you can thank him. Your hero of sorts. Haiba Lev who poured into you all the faith he had so you could move forward—

“A-ah, excuse me?”

Whipping your head into the direction of the choppy English, a seething blush rises onto your cheeks when you zero in to the large camera lens pointed right at you.

The bearded man speaks again. “Eh... you’re Japanese, aren’t you? Sorry, but we’re having a photoshoot right now, and you’re in the way of our model. Could you maybe...”

Oh dear, you frazzle. Prostrating yourself incessantly at the camera crew, you blunder. “I’m v-very sorry! Waah, I must’ve ruined your picture!”

“It’s fine,” the man smiles kindly. “Things like this often happen anyway. Ain’t that right, Hafu-sama?”

The lean figure behind you laughs, and for a second, you feel your chest flutter in your throat when you hear him. “Yep! Don’t worry about it, Miss—”

You really wish you hadn’t turned around because the moment your eyes locked with a pair of emeralds, you swear that your heart leapt out of your chest. All feeling of chilliness lamented, you feel red heat stretching out across your skin.

“H-Haiba-kun?!”

Unable to keep your footing steady, a stagnant lump rises in your throat when the familiar man grins at you with galaxies in his eyes.

“Fairy-senpai!!”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. October 2012.

“Senpai!”

Footsteps echoing down the corridor, a wave of frightened third years part to let the gigantic creature of a first year through. Haiba Lev, age 16, is excited. Haiba Lev, 194.3 centimeters tall, is burning with so much resolve that he pays no heed to the Discipline Committee member who is resentfully yelling at him to “stop running in the hallways, you hoodlum!”

But who could blame him?

When you turn around and jolt in surprise, Lev drowns in the tiny fairies that flutter in his chest.

“Haiba-kun? What are you doing here?” you take a moment to register his full presence—considering his substantial size, Lev would probably understand your current disposition.

Finally, you whisper in a low tone, highly aware of the crowd that’s pivoting towards your conversation. “... Did you get lost again?”

“Of course not!” Lev replies rather gruffly. “I wanted to look for you to give you this so I can thank you for when I got lost.”

Thrusting a daintily wrapped bento towards you, the tall boy is rather unabashed about the entire situation—lace cloth and all. There’s a fragrant steam seeping out from the gaps of the box, spooling and wafting (and you think your ears pick up the noise of someone’s rumbling stomach).

You’d thought of spending your lunch alone in your club room, or maybe even the rooftop if you were up for it... like the usual. But the moment Lev starts talking again, you completely forget the idea as a whole.

Innocently grinning, he asks, “Do you want to eat lunch together, L/N-senpai?”

How could you say no?

And thus, here you are in the courtyard with a titan first-year who is nearly twice your size, jovially chattering about as you quietly eat your lunch.

When was the last time you ate something so cute? Your parents stopped making you character bentos since you got into middle school (“Aah... sorry, Y/N. Dad’s hands aren’t as artistic as they used to be,” your father had told you that day, an utter look of guilt dancing across his face). You weren’t too confident in your own skills either, so bentos with endearing faces and shaped cut-outs of vegetables were simply a fragmented piece of the past.

First-years today are so talented, you think, shoveling down your meal in sheer politeness. “This is delicious, Haiba-kun! The chicken is so tender and the rice is so well-seasoned! I wish I had your sense for cooking...”

“My sister made it, actually. I tried to help her cut the eggs, but it ended up being a mess and she told me to just sit and wait in the dining room,” he replies sheepishly, a bubble of laughter slipping from between his lips. “I’m glad you like it though, Senpai! Just wait ‘til my sister hears about your reaction!”

“Does your sister always make your lunches for you?” you ask, curiosity subduing your reserve.

Lev takes a moment to swallow the lump of rice in his mouth.

“Mm, sometimes. If she’s not having a lecture in the morning, she’ll make breakfast. Otherwise, the teriyaki set at the cafeteria is just as good!”

Cafeteria. You shiver. That hellhole of shoving and scrambling and incessant talking... You’re thankful the school had decided to set up a few more vending machines close to campus when you entered your second year.

And then you think of Lev. With that extreme height and intimidating presence, he wouldn’t have to put his foot on the line every time he wanted melon bread, right? And he is definitely the type of person to be able to talk to the loud cafeteria lady without dropping his change.

Confidence. Recklessness. Bliss. All the prime features you wanted, right in front of you—and yet...

“Hey, L/N-senpai?” you snap awake from your thoughts. A dash of concern flashes over your underclassman’s features before he repeats his muted question. “Can I have one of your sausages?”

Peering down at the cluster of uneaten octopus sausages, you quickly nod, face reddening once you realize how close Lev is breathing near you. “G-Go ahead.”

Chirping out a “thank you for the food!”, the silver-haired boy swoops down on a miniature octopus, a sound of immense satisfaction humming in his chest. He’s like a child, you laugh to yourself. A young boy with no sense of care of the world, no concern of what’s going to happen to him unless he really does it.

Leaning back on the bench, you sigh, a smile dawning on your face. “You didn’t have to force yourself to eat lunch with me, you know. I usually eat by myself anyway.”

You’re being apologetic again. You want to punch yourself for even thinking of it. But your habit precedes your intentions, and you can already feel the mood turn sour—

“Why not though?”

Looking up at him incredulously, you can barely string together a coherent response before Lev pipes up again.

“Isn’t food always best when eaten together?”

How pretentious.

There are already valleys of flowers blooming in your stomach at his innocent reply. The same kind that sprouted the day he’d burst into your private practice room. You really hoped you wouldn’t get ahead of yourself anymore. Not with the risks that it carried. But this guileless first year was a much more difficult case than you’d imagined, and thus the flowers go into full blossom.

You smile, the faint blush on Lev’s cheeks going unnoticed. “Yeah. We should eat together more often.”

And so you did. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. The passage of time a trivial shadow beneath your budding happiness.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

“You work in a symphony?! Senpai’s job is super cool!”

Under the amber light of the cafe’s chandelier, you can’t help but feel a certain déjà vu at your current situation. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re having tea with your high school underclassman, or maybe it’s simply the residue of your more recent wistful thinking.

Yet again, it still hasn’t registered into your mind how you’d miraculously manifested Lev into proximity just from your sheer yearning... You kind of feel selfish.

“It’s just a freelance job though, it’s probably not as impressive as being a model,” you say.

Lev crosses his arms huffily, and you worry if you’ve started to offend him. Until he opens his mouth again. “Modelling is suuuper embarassing. Sometimes, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that ‘that’s my face!’ or ‘I made that pose with that other model’. The agency’s really harsh on the way I dress too—I mean, what’s wrong with wearing a shirt that says ‘HERBIVORE’ to go to Lawson’s?”

You stifle a giggle as he rambles on about “the time I had to cross-dress as a woman because the female model quit on the day of the shoot”. For someone who had grown up to be a lean, rather attractive figure, you can’t shake your head away from the thought that the 16-year old Haiba Lev is still stuck inside the body of a corporate slave. There’s a sense of relief that accompanies the feeling, and memories of your high school days slowly come into picture—

“One black tea and a latte for the lovely couple?” a kind-looking waiter gently sidles in between you, cutting Lev off from his rant, and you from your reflection.

Turning a vivid shade of crimson, you stutter, “O-oh... we are not—”

“Thank you,” Lev grins dashingly, enough to make your heart race and a few passers-by to stop in their tracks.

Once the waiter retreats back into the pantry, the man across you slowly leans forward to whisper endearingly. “My sister wants me to practice my English while I’m abroad. You think I got my message across, Senpai?”

“You did well, Haiba-kun.” There are a lot of things you want to ask him really. If he really knew the meaning behind the waiter’s sentence. Or if he realized he’d nearly pronounced ‘you’ with an extra ‘th’.

... Or why he’s pouring in a mound of sugar into your cup of tea.

“H-Haiba-kun, that order’s mine...”

“Hm? Yeah, I know,” he mutters, the soft clinking of the spoon against glass echoing in your head. “You like your stuff really sweet, right? Man, I used to be really worried the first few times we had tea together.”

That’s right, you gulp. The endless hours you’d spent together in the Orchestra Club room... he really did learn a lot of things about you that time, didn’t he? Although you had merely been friends, Lev had grown on you, as if he’d always been there from the start. And you wonder: what else does he remember about you?

“Ah, by the way,” Lev starts. “Are you still thinking about setting up that music store you wanted?”

“Of course,” you mumble. It was only a naïve dream was what you meant to say, but in the presence of such a captivating man, all the gears in your head seemed to... dislocate.

Lev smiles a simple smile. Boyish at best, but still enough to enrapture you into his lingering gaze.

“I’m glad.... I’m glad you haven’t given up. You know, the old L/N-senpai would’ve called it quits because you thought you weren’t good enough. But look at you now! Soon enough, you’ll be off to teach music to the world.”

Your heart is already doubling in size at his words. Any more and you’d probably explode... You’d lost it. You’ve lost all the capability to keep your heart in control, and now you are smiling like a maniac in front of the last person you wanted to see in this state.

But he only laughs. Youthful and full of color. Unchanging from all those years ago.

“Wahahaha! You finally smiled! We should celebrate, you know. Just a small holiday from all that hard work. Say... are you still going to be in Vienna in the weekend?”

“I’m free on those days. But what’s all this about?”

Hiding his bashful smirk behind his cup of coffee, Lev murmurs. “We have some catching up to do, don’t we—Uwaah! Hot!”

Unchanging indeed, you shake your head, calling over the waiter for an extra set of napkins.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. February 2013.

There is a tea party set stashed between the two cardboard boxes filled with sheet music and spare melodicas. They’ve been left behind by your graduated seniors, who insisted that tea, “as the prime component to a good host”, was to be kept in the club room at all times, case there were any visiting guests.

...Of course, such things never happened. And you always ended up drinking the tea by yourselves. But even with the departure of your beloved seniors, you can never shake off the habit of drinking and restocking the supplies whenever required.

So you wonder if you should really be thanking your tea-loving upperclassmen for the free beverages.

“That’s a lot of sugar!” Lev gasps in awe, the emeralds in his eyes twisting and shining with the cascade of crystals falling into your cup of tea. “I bet you have a lot of cavities in your mouth, Senpai.”

“I brush my teeth very well so I don’t think anything like that’s every happened to me,” you say, irritably trying to ignore the tactless comment from your starry-eyed underclassman. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in my club room, hasn’t it? I’m glad you didn’t get lost trying to get here.”

He grumbles, crossing his arms in faux-anger. “Geez! I won’t get lost like that so easily! Besides...”

Lev takes a moment to drink in the warmth of the club room’s solace. The grand piano in the corner. The orange light streaming through the open curtains. Your curious face, like something out of a fairytale book.

“This place is full of good memories, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll ever forget something like that.”

You chuckle at his monologue. “You sound like my grandfather, Haiba-kun.”

Lev’s face warps into something reminiscent of a prune.

“Senpai, we’re only two years apart!” he fumes. “You didn’t invite me here just to crush my self-esteem, right?! C-Come on, aren’t you going to show me the audition piece you wanted me to hear?”

There is a burning urge inside of you that’s telling you to “pull at his leg just a little more...”, but nevertheless, the artist within you says to keep your audience at bay. And so, the curtains open and your fingers dance on familiar keys.

You’ve played for him before. Songs like ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ or ‘Ma Mère L’oye’. Songs that you love, much like the one you’re performing for him right now. But you’re shaking in your seat. Wondering, anticipating, fearing.

He’s staring so much, you bite your lip, trying to avert your focus from Lev’s unbreakable gaze.

A single spectator wracks your brain even more than a theatre full of different kinds people—enthusiasts, university scouts, onlookers. But in your dismal, little club room, there is only your underclassman. Someone who knows nothing of music, but lacks so much knowledge that you know any of his critique would come from honesty alone.

...Why do you care so much about one person’s opinion?

You don’t realize how long you’ve been pondering until your train of thought is abruptly thwarted by the end of your song. You finish on a satisfying note and your endearing onlooker suddenly springs on his feet to shower you in applause.

“What the heck—that was so cool! I’ve never seen anyone play like that before!” Lev stumbles, everything and anything he’d planned to say pouring out as a blubbering mess as your face grows hotter from the attention. “Senpai, you’ll definitely pass the audition if you play just like that.”

“Y-You really think so?” he’s probably just being nice, you think. But for a spare moment, could you simply imagine that he means every word?

“I know so!” he smiles, the palpitations in your chest growing intense by the second. “You just have to keep going, won’t you?”

Even if you’re not brave enough to believe it, you want to believe that there’s a single Haiba Lev in this unyielding universe who believes that you, a mere side character who wishes for more, can and will.

You feel invincible.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

Did you know that swans mate for life? As a symbol of love and affection, they’re widely known to curve their necks together in a shape of a heart when courting. A form of elegance at its finest... until they start hissing.

“They’re so big! Senpai, come take a look at the swans!”

Folding the brochure into a tiny square, you return to your companion’s side, peering over the railings of the bridge to catch a glimpse of the thrush of white feathers down below.

You gulp. They are much larger than you expected.

“They’re surprisingly loud, aren’t they?” you mutter, watching a cygnet waddle its way out of the water onto the banks of the canal. You didn’t want to say, but it slightly reminded you of Lev the first time he’d waddled his way into the the Orchestra Club room.

With the constant squawking of the swans, the both of you find yourself in silence. For you, at least, the past two days viewing all sorts of Austrian sights with Lev had been strangely more gratifying than you’d fathomed. Lev, who’d been as excitable as he’d always been, breathes in peace, plumes of white forming from his mouth.

“This weekend’s been nice, hasn’t it?” you break the silence, observing the smooth junctures of his face. Lev turns to you slowly, his voice squeezing out.

“Don’t say that.”

Your blood freezes. “What?”

“Saying things like that...” Lev sighs wilfully and turns back to the view of the canal. He frowns. “I don’t want to think that this weekend is going to be over soon.”

You want to cry out. Me too. Me too, me too, me too. Your entire body is so full of butterflies you want to double over and pass out. But he continues.

“Travelling and talking with you is so fun, I never want it to end... It’s kind of embarrassing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “D-Do you think so too? Am I a selfish person for thinking that?”

You shake your head. “It’s not embarrassing, Haiba-kun. I—”

Are you red? Are you blushing? Your face feels so hot, you can’t even finish your sentence. He’s so close. So close to you. You want to be reliable, you want to reply, but you can’t. Under his bewitching gaze, you’ve fallen so deep.

When Lev opens his mouth again, it’s like everything around you—the bridge, the people, the swans have entirely vanished. “L/N-senpai, c-can I tell you something? Something I wanted to tell you for a long time.”

Eh?

“I’ve always liked you, Senpai. I really, really like you.”

Blank. Your mind goes blank, even when you whisper a small, “Really?”

You’re happy, you’re so happy you want to jump and shout to the world that you love him. Awfully. Dearly. It’s all like a train had crashed into you headfirst, and you can’t settle on a proper response before the floodgates burst open.

“Wh-Whoa! Don’t cry!” he flails his arms in panic as more tears dribble down your cheeks. “Geez, Senpai, at least reply to me first...”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you laugh, wiping your eyes with the edges of your scarf. “I’m just so happy, I didn’t know how to react.”

Lev’s chest inflates for a moment before he lunges forward to encapsulate you in his embrace. Between the persistent layers of clothing, the beating of his heart resonates deeply against your face. It’s quick and lively, warm enough to remind you of the swirled feelings that you harbor for one another.

“Oh, thank god...” Lev grins, burying his face in your shoulder. “You feel the same way...”

Humming calmly into his ear, you revel in the closure. “I really, really like you too, Haiba-kun.”

And none of you lets go—save for when a swan makes its way up to the bridge to peck at Lev’s boots.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. March 2023.

“... Lev, wake up.”

Feeling a slight nudge on his cheek, Lev tethers over opening his eyes to wonder at your beautiful smile or bury his face even deeper into the sheets.

It’s not like he didn’t favor you, but as of now, the comforts of your shared bed was more important. And thus, Haiba Lev, age 26, shrouds himself under the plush duvet and focuses himself on the sweet dream he was having about you.

“Lev, I know you can hear me...” he hears you sigh, long and airy, just enough to lull him back to sleep. “You have a fitting today, don’t you? You’re going to trouble Matsuyo-san and Alisa-nee if you arrive late.”

Isn’t that on Thursday? Actually... what day is it today? He isn’t very good with dates and formalities—that’s why he considers himself lucky to have you! A cute lover to bring him back to land during the day, and to shower with love and to cuddle with during the evening.

Yawning widely, Lev owlishly wrenches his eyes open, the crystalline sunlight from the bedroom window illuminating your face like a halo.... and was that his shirt you were wearing?

Lucky me~ he grins goofily.

Pressing his lips together, Lev pulls you by the wrist and before you can avoid the sudden attack, you’ve collapsed once more into a tangled mess of limbs and crooked sheets, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Let’s just stay in bed today, Y/N-san~” he slurs, nuzzling closer to you. How catlike, you think. “I want to be lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy again...”

He yawns again, a few stray tresses of silver falling over his face. As if he wasn’t as attractive every hour of the day, you really have learned how to take control of your extreme heart palpitations around him.

Your adorable younger boyfriend, ah... he really is your weakness, isn’t he?

“I’m really sorry, but I have to open up the shop soon,” you reluctantly peel yourself away from him, eliciting a small whimper from the Leviathan in your bed. “I’ll make it up to you when I finish teaching my evening lessons and when you come home, okay?”

Stubborn as a goat, Lev grumbles. “I’ll come back early, you know. Can you not do your evening lessons today?”

“Hm? Why not?” your raised eyebrow is cynical, but is juxtaposed by the gentle strokes of your palm on the crown of his head.

As much as Lev loves you (he does, he really does!), it’s rather annoying when he can’t tell if you’re seriously being oblivious or simply teasing him. He hopes for neither, but in his case, you’re an addict to his gags and without a doubt, you’re definitely messing with him right now.

“Those damn brats... I don’t like the way they stare you up during your classes.”

You laugh, raucously. And Lev considers leaving you to catch a break from the constant jeering. When you finally pipe down, you shift closer to him and press your head onto his bare chest.

“Lev, they’re nine. How else are they going to learn to play if they don’t watch me do it first?” you chuckle. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me. You should be worrying about that fitting you have in a few hours.”

“Geez, fine,” he groans. “A kiss before I shower?”

You know exactly where this is going. “Just one.”

Lighting up like a Christmas tree, Lev makes quick work of his hands and tenderly cup your cheek before placing a timid kiss on your lips.

No morning breath, you notice. As expected of a professional model.

“One more...” he whispers, swooping down on your lips once again.

Two, three and maybe seven kisses later, Lev has you caged between his arms, his looming figure propped proudly over you as he continues to pepper you with affection. The moment he starts to lap up your bottom lip, you know you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

“It’s so early, Y/N-san,” he mumbles, pleading eyes making your heart turn to jelly. “We have a few more hours before we really have to go, don’t we? So... in the meantime...?”

Sighing, you can only turn a deep red—he really has you around his finger, doesn’t he? Oh well. You suppose it won’t hurt to push back your morning lessons for a few minutes, right?

178 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 77 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet had to come to terms with Sutan’s past. Courtney got whisked away for a luxury vacation. Fame enjoyed entertaining Juju and Detox’s youngsters.

This Chapter: Courtney tries something new, Sutan and Raja chat, Violet gets an intriguing invitation, Adore and Tati catch up on the hot goss, and Dahlia has an embarrassing run-in.

***

“See anything you like?”

Bianca had just dumped the contents of a canvas bag onto the bed, and was looking down at Courtney with a half smile, clearly waiting for some kind of response. Courtney blinked, her mind still a bit addled from drinking all day, wondering what those objects were.

“What are…” Courtney trailed off, heat creeping into her cheeks as it slowly dawned on her what she was looking at: a large and varied collection of colorful sex toys. She bit her lip, touching one of them, heart pounding.

“Well?” Bianca sat down beside her on the bed, a grin deepening her dimples as she watched Courtney’s face.

“Um...I guess I’ve always wondered what a vibrator’s like,” Courtney admitted, looking closer at the various toys, taking in their shapes and textures. “I’ve never actually tried one.”

“Never?” Bianca asked, and she sounded so incredulous that Courtney found herself blushing even more.

“Well, I...I lived with my parents, and then in college I had roommates, and...I dunno. Shut up.”

“You’re adorable,” Bianca said, kissing her cheek. “But, okay...anything you see that piques your interest?”

The good thing about the liquor still strong in Courtney’s blood was that it helped ease her self-consciousness. It allowed her to blurt out the first thought that came into her head, even looking boldly up at Bianca with a naughty expression.

“Why don’t you show me your favorite?” she asked, leaning back on her elbows.

Bianca held her gaze for a few seconds before nodding, grin deepening into a confident smirk.

“Alright.” She chose one of the toys, sweeping the rest off the bed. “This...is called a Magic Wand…”

She placed the toy between Courtney’s legs, the rounded, velvety-soft top just barely touching her. Courtney arched forward, trying to edge closer.

“Uh uh...not so fast, my love…” Bianca began to kiss down her throat, smiling into her skin as she listened to Courtney’s pained whimpers.

Everywhere Bianca touched her, Courtney felt tingles on her already heated skin, a hunger for more blooming inside her as she dug her fingers into Bianca’s shoulders. When Bianca’s lips ghosted over hers in a teasing kiss, she summoned the strength to grab her hair and pull her in closer.

“You ready, angel?” Bianca moved her hand down to the wand, the back of her fingers brushing against Courtney’s thigh as she gripped it tightly.

“Yes,” Courtney breathed, praying that whatever the toy did, it would relieve the unbearable pulsing between her legs, satisfy the ache spreading in her core.

“Okay…” With one last kiss pressed to the corner of her mouth, Bianca turned on the wand, and Courtney was immediately electrified by the quiet buzzing against her, a gasp leaving her lips. “You like that, baby?”

“Y-yes…oh god…” Courtney threw her head back, her hips thrusting up again and again, unable to get enough. “More...please…”

Bianca turned up the vibration, pressed the toy harder against her, and Courtney let out a moan, full-throated and shameless, unable to hold back.

“That’s right…” Bianca purred into her ear, shifting slightly, now using her own weight to press the toy against Courtney’s clit, freeing up her hands to wander higher, fingers skating over her skin.

Courtney squeezed her eyes tightly closed, thighs around Bianca’s hips, arching up to match her rhythm. And then, something incredible happened. First, Courtney heard Bianca’s breath begin growing ragged in her ear, felt her touch change from light and teasing to intense and urgent as she wrapped her hands around Courtney’s waist.

Her hips were rolling faster now, pressing Courtney down into the mattress, choked whimpers unlike anything Courtney’d heard from her before sounding from her throat. Courtney took Bianca’s face into her hands, wanting nothing more than to witness the look on her face as she came. She watched with rapt attention, positively enthralled by the way her eyes rolled back as her whole body shivered with pleasure. She brought her face closer, brushing their lips together, swallowing up her beautiful broken moans with kisses.

When Bianca’s hips finally stuttered and then stilled, she almost immediately started squirming uncomfortably.

“Too much,” she gasped, and Courtney somehow knew exactly what she was trying to say.

She reached down and pulled the toy out from between them, switching it off and then tossing it aside before wrapping her arms around Bianca once more, holding her close.

Courtney couldn’t help but feel like seeing her fall apart like this was a rare honor, in spite of the number of women she’d slept with. She took that privilege seriously, cradling Bianca in her arms, stroking her cheek lightly with a finger.

It was awhile before Bianca spoke again, clearing her throat, almost embarrassed. “Uh, I didn’t plan on that…”

“You’re so beautiful,” Courtney responded, placing a light kiss at the corner of her mouth.

Bianca bit her lip, and the look in her brown eyes seemed adorably vulnerable, almost self-conscious, as she curled back up in Courtney’s arms, for once at a loss for words.

***

“You know, I think we need a discussion about what constitutes an emergency,” Sutan tapped the side of the coffee grinder, pouring the last bit into the porta-filter, “Because you forgetting how to work your espresso machine isn’t one.”

“Oh shut up,” Raja groaned, and Sutan chuckled, clicking everything into place and turning the machine on. Raja was hungover, the wine glasses in the sink and the empty bottles telling their clear story of what his sister and Raven had gotten up to last night.

Raven had left for the gym, which was why Raja wallowed in her misery, but Sutan had to admit that it was kind of adorable, Raja so rarely giving into her brattier side.

“All I’m saying sister dear,” Sutan took the fresh cups of coffee, Raja always taking it black, and followed behind her into the living room, “is that I might hesitate the next time you claim to be in distress.”

“Please,” Raja dumped down on the couch, holding out a hand for her cup. “Like you’re ever going to not be there.”

Sutan sat down, a little ball of warmth happily nestled in his chest as Raja put her legs in his lap. He didn’t say it often, but he loved Raja so much that it hurt sometimes.

“Mmh,” Sutan took a sip of his coffee, the beans perfectly roasted. “Have you heard from Bianca?”

“No.” Raja didn’t elaborate, and Sutan had to hold back an eyeroll. Seemed like he shouldn’t tell Raja that he had been texting with Bianca, asking her to bring back a bottle (or several) of pitorro when he had learned that she was in Puerto Rico, not that he wouldn’t share said bottles with his twin if Bianca brought them back.

Sutan didn’t have any cards in the latest game of drama amongst his friends, his position as neutral as possible since he genuinely didn’t care about the girl Bianca was dating, her name already forgotten once again, but he had to admit that he had hoped the entire thing would have blown over already.

“Where’s Violet? Still asleep?”

“Work.” Violet had kissed him goodbye after breakfast, saying that she’d text him when she left the office, but being alone suited him fine since Sutan had actually planned to work himself before Raja had called, his fingers itching with the need to truly get going on launching Gigi as a model.

He leaned back, watching Raja take one of the wrapped chocolates from the crystal bowl on the couch table, the desire for sweets truly cementing his twin's hangover.

“Actually,” Sutan drummed his fingers on Raja’s shin, the lounge pants she was wearing the softest gray jersey. “Speaking of Violet...”

[Speaking of Violet what?]

Sutan had to fight not to shrink at Raja’s instant switch to Indonesian, the conversation suddenly that much more serious.

[Speaking of Violet...] Sutan bit the inside of his cheek, wondering for a moment if he should continue. [She apparently didn’t know that I have been married.]

[What?] Raja raised an eyebrow, disbelief thick in her voice. [Seriously?]

“Yup.” Sutan popped the P. [I think I figured she had googled me, read my wikipedia or just…] He could honestly not remember the last time he had dated a woman who didn’t already know all about him, who hadn’t dived into the catalogue of his past. [I don’t know if I should feel bad about it, or if-]

[Feel bad?] Raja huffed, taking a sip of her coffee. [Why on earth would you feel bad?]

[It seems like something I should have told her,] Sutan sighed, crossing his arms. [I’m always-] He cut himself off. He had wanted to talk about Violet’s past, about how jarring it felt each time he discovered another layer of the woman he was dating, but it didn’t feel right to tell Raja, didn’t feel like his story to tell. [Do you think we’re too self absorbed?]

[Who? Us?] Raja smiled, a teasing tone in her voice and Sutan nodded. He knew his world began and ended with Raja, that she and their friends had been at the center of his universe for literal decades.

[Yes.] Sutan thought he had loved some of his past girlfriends, had genuinely believed that there was something special there, but as he continued to get to know Violet, as they continued to grow closer, the feelings of his past faded at an alarming rate.

[Well brother dear, I’m not the one who assumed my girlfriend read my wikipedia.]

“Oh fuck off!” Sutan groaned, pushing Raja’s leg, making his twin sister laugh. [Don’t twist my words!]

[Never.] Raja smirked, reaching for the remote to turn on the TV.

***

Violet swiped her card, doing her best to balance as she opened the door to the design floor.

Galactica was completely empty, a single security guard on the ground floor the only other person she had seen. It reminded her of when she was an assistant, so many of her mornings starting before anyone else was even in the building.

Violet didn’t miss being an assistant, at least not really - what she was doing now so much more creatively fulfilling, but there had been a rhythm to being in Fame’s office, a way things were done that was easy to understand and to follow, Fame consistent and even predictable in her own way.

It was simply a matter of delivering perfection, and as someone who used to dedicate her life to ballet, she understood.

Violet maneuvered her way through the door, the new crossbody Yves Saint Laurent Sutan had gifted her for Christmas perfect for when she needed her hands on her crutches, the thin layer of ice outside treacherous terrain.

She had come in to print the pictures she had found of Raja at the MET, to get started on the folder she’d bring for the first meeting that was already plopped into her calendar by Ivy before the holidays.

She had a vague idea of a color palette, and she was pretty sure she had seen some stones in the warehouse that she could maybe use, but she knew she couldn’t move forward with sketches until she had physical samples of fabric.

Violet had expected the design floor to be empty, but the light was on, the sound of a sewing machine greeting her.

She paused, looking around the floor, closing the door behind her. “... Hello?”

“Chachki!” Violet looked over, only to see Bob sitting at Maxwell’s machine, a bright grin on his face. He was wearing a patterned sweater, a gigantic cup of coffee and a half-eaten blueberry muffin next to him. “Hi!”

“Hi?” Violet smiled, the fact that Bob seemed genuinely excited for her to be there filling her with warmth. She walked over, her curiosity too great to ignore. “I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” Bob smirked, pushing his tortoise shelled glasses onto his head. “I can’t sew like tailoring, or even you guys, but this apparently tore the last time I wore it.“

For the first time, Violet looked at the project Bob was working on. It appeared to be a gigantic almost Barbie-like orange dress, the size of it supporting Bob’s claim that it was his own dress.

“And Maxwell won’t be back from Seattle until tomorrow, so here I am, trying to put it back together.”

“Let me see,” Violet took a seat on the edge of Maxwell’s desk, putting her crutches aside to pick the costume up. The dress was a beautiful deep orange, silver thread woven into the fabric, it ended in a mermaid tail that had layers upon layers of orange feathers, and that was where the problem was, a tear going through two of the layers which had destroyed the integrity of the entire tail. “I can help.”

“You can?” Bob shot a quick look at her cast, and Violet had to fight not to roll her eyes.

“Yes.” She pushed out from the table, Bob getting up from his chair so Violet could take a seat.

Sure, it was bulky and annoying to work a sewing machine with a broken ankle, but it was all about swallowing the pain, which was something Violet excelled at.

“You know...” She grabbed the tray of needles, quickly flipping the tail so she could redo what Bob had done, his work adequate, but she prefered things her way. “I can’t wait for people to stop treating me like an invalid.”

Sutan had gotten better at it, her boyfriend almost believing her now when she said she could do something by herself.

“Sorry,” Bob grinned, the coffee cup in hand as he watched, “but hey, if you’re not an invalid, you should come see my show tomorrow.”

“Your drag show?”

Everyone at Galactica knew Bob did drag, his drag name - creatively enough - simply Bob the Drag Queen. Violet had never seen him in action, but Jovan had shown her pictures, and Blu had entertained her with the story of how Bob had made her snort vodka out of her nose. She had never been to a drag show, but during her time at school, both at the Ballet Academy and at Parsons, several of her fellow students had been big fans, a few of the guys even dabbling in drag themselves.

“Yeah! It’s going to be great!” Bob smiled. “Comedy, dance, the whole shebang.”

He was certainly selling it, and Violet would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about what Bob was like as a performer. “Can I bring Sutan?”

“Would I ever say no to that?”

“Then yes.” Violet smiled, “Yes, I’d like to go.”

***

“Ah!” Raven moaned, throwing her head back, her legs cramping and catching Raja’s hand between them, water and bubbles splashing over the edge of the tub as she came.

Raja grinned, pressing a kiss against Raven’s temple, her thumb slowing down to lazy circles over Raven’s clit, her other hand still pinching her nipple. “Hey princess.”

“Mmh,” Raven groaned, her eyes still closed, a sated smile blooming on her lips, her nails digging into Raja’s arm a little whine leaving her as Raja pulled her fingers out. “Fuck you’re good.”

“So I’ve been told,” Raja smiled, reaching out with her foot to turn the warm water back on.

It was rare for Raja to have time like this on her hands, to luxuriate in a bubble bath with Raven, to know that she didn’t have to hurry, that they didn’t have to be anywhere or meet anyone, and Raja loved it.

***

VIOLET: Bob has invited us to a drag show tomorrow

SUTAN: Bob who?

VIOLET: Bob from work

SUTAN: Tall?

VIOLET: Yes.

VIOLET: He’s performing. In the show

SUTAN: Cool. Sounds fun

SUTAN: I’m in! ;)

***

“Ughhhhhh…” Bianca whined, flopping heavily onto the bed. “Everything huuuurts.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Courtney giggled, climbing in after her.

At her beautiful girlfriend’s request, they’d spent a large part of the day going on a guided paddle boarding tour around a nearby lagoon. It was all very nice in theory...looking at sea creatures and enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, not to mention Courtney’s ass in skimpy bikini bottoms. But Bianca was just, simply put, not in the same shape as Courtney, and after trying to keep up with her all day, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck.

“I’m a little past my athletic prime, sunshine,” she said.

“Well, I think you did great,” Courtney said. She pressed a kiss to Bianca’s cheek, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Bianca offered only a grunt in response, making Courtney laugh and hold her tighter. The ruffles from her dress brushed against Bianca’s thighs as she slid her leg in between them, and while Bianca was not about to admit how good it felt to be wrapped up in an embrace, she did feel her muscles softening a little at her touch.

“I’m serious, it was very impressive…” Courtney added, then cooing, “My good girl…”

Bianca cracked open one eye. “Why do I feel like I’m being patronized?”

“Well…” At first, Courtney looked like she was going to deny it, but then she changed her mind, a charming smile spreading across her face. “Do you hate it?”

“Mmm...not completely,” Bianca admitted.

Courtney giggled again, holding her close. “So...do you want a special reward, for being such a good girl?” she asked.

“Yes. Alcohol.”

“We can do that,” Courtney laughed, nuzzling into her. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, how about we make tomorrow a spa day?”

“You got it.” Courtney pressed a kiss to her jaw, her lips lingering, arm tightening around her waist.

When Bianca breathed out a contented sigh, she felt Courtney smile against her skin.

“And also…”

“Yes?” Courtney asked, voice lilting teasingly.

“Use your imagination,” Bianca said, pushing her on her back, hand sliding up under her dress.

***

“Hi! Can you hear me?” Adore waved, grinning at the camera, her voice much louder than it needed to be. She wasn’t that much older than Tati, but she was an absolute Grandma when it came to technology.

“Guuurl omigod I have a headache like you wouldn’t believe. When are you back in town?” Tati asked, settling on her bed, iPad propped against her knees.

“I fly back in 2 days, why?” Adore asked, laughing.

“My cousins got the new PlayStation for Christmas and it’s been non-stop screaming and cursing from the den, which is like...literally the other side of my wall,” Tati moaned. “I was hoping I could crash with you in the city for a couple of days, at least until they go back to school.”

“Baby, you know you’re always welcome!” Adore said.

“Thanks. Tyra’s not coming back until after New Year’s and you know Morgan’s roommates are cunts about overnight guests. And Courtney...well, I’m not trying to set foot in that dungeon anytime soon.”

“Courtney might not be in the dungeon much longer,” Adore laughed, fluttering her lashes.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that bae has my sister wrapped around her little finger,” Adore said. “I’ve actually never seen Bianca like this. And Courtney...well...she’s fucking gone, you already know that.”

“I do, I do,” Tati laughed. “Her posts have been...extremely extra. But you really think they’re gonna be breaking out the U-Haul so soon? Kind of a cliché, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know for sure. But it wouldn’t surprise me if Courtney was moving on up to a dee-luxe apartment in the sky sometime soon,” declared Adore.

Tati laughed. “Wow, and to think we knew her when…”

“Ha!” Adore snorted, some of whatever she was drinking coming out her nose.

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any hot girls on the horizon?” Tati asked, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

“I mean, hopefully,” Adore chuckled, “But nobody’s made their presence known in my universe at the moment. Well, except this waitress that I proposed to the other day. But I think that affair is over.”

“Aww, RIP.”

“Yeah…” Adore’s smile faltered slightly and she sighed. “Honestly, it’s been a bit bleak.”

“You’ll find someone,” Tati insisted. “You’re like...the most lovable person on the planet.”

“Awww, thank you baby…” Adore’s grin returned in full force, and Tati grinned back at her.

“COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKER!” screamed one of her cousins.

“Sorry, when did you say you’re back?”

***

It had seemed like a sexy idea, in Dahlia’s head. Showing up at Pearl’s house after her shift, still in costume, with only a winter coat thrown over it. It probably could have been sexy, if Pearl was the one who answered the door.

Instead, as she posed in the doorframe, the door swung open to reveal a bald white guy wearing an Aloha shirt over a purple turtleneck.

Shit.

It somehow hadn’t occurred to Dahlia that Pearl’s roommates would be home up and about at this time of night. She immediately straightened up, hands going reflexively to the belt of her coat, making sure it was securely tied. The last thing she needed was a tit to fall out in front of this man.

“Um...hi,” he said, a slightly puzzled but still friendly smile on his lips. “I assume you’re a friend of Pearl’s?!

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Come on in. I’m Trixie, by the way.” He opened the door to let Dahlia through, then gestured to a pretty blonde on the sofa, who was sitting in front of a TV that was paused in the middle of The Nightmare Before Christmas, her lap filled with some knitting project. “That’s Katya.”

Katya waved cheerfully, calling out, “Hi!” and then, “PEARLIE!”

“WHAT?!”

“COME OUT HERE!”

“Whaaaaaat?” After a few moments, Pearl’s bedroom door opened and she appeared, looking slightly disheveled and extremely hot in that just-woke-up way she had about her.

“Company,” Trixie informed her, and the pout faded from her lips as she spotted Dahlia.

“Oh, hey!”

“Can I take your coat?” Trixie asked kindly.

“No! Uhhh...I mean, no thanks. Sorry. I just…”

“Why don’t we hang out in my room?” Pearl suggested, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her sleepy bedroom eyes had a mischievous glint, promising an evening of fun.

“Okay,” Dahlia said, breathing a sigh of relief. Before she disappeared behind Pearl, she remembered to say, “Um, nice to meet you. Both.”

Trixie offered a still-slightly-puzzled wave as Pearl yanked her inside and shut the door firmly.

“Jesus. Sorry. I didn’t realize the’d be-”

“Whatcha got under the coat, pumpkin?”

Dahlia pursed her lips, amused at how Pearl had caught on so quickly to her game. “Well I...didn’t exactly change from work.”

“Show me.”

“Say please.” Dahlia smiled, fingering her belt.

“Please,” Pearl said immediately. She settled on the bed, leaning back to enjoy the show she so clearly expected. “Please show me…”

6 notes · View notes