#so yeah cry louder? boohoo

[celestialrealms]

nothing’s funnier than fans of the brothers whining about them not getting outfits too lmao. world’s tiniest violin <3

[aliciameade]

Ready Or Not

Title: Ready Or Not Author: aliciameade Rating: E for Every Lady Gets an Orgasm Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: AND THEY WERE QUARANTINED.

Also on AO3

It’s funny, Beca thinks, how you can live with someone for years going about your separate but intertwined lives that when your government tells you to stay inside, to only socialize with the people you share a home with, how quickly things can change.

“Chloe, will you please turn off the news? I can’t listen to that idiot anymore.”

“Sorry; it’s like a train wreck. I can’t look away.” Chloe finds the remote in the cushions of the couch and changes the channel to the E! Network.

The news isn’t much different there; they’re showing videos celebrities have posted on social media about how bored they are or singing off-key versions of ‘Imagine’ to try to uplift the public only for the anchors, two of them standing six-feet apart, to debate whether or not such things are in poor taste.

“Are we supposed to feel bad for these multi-millionaires being stuck in their mansions with their huge yards and private swimming pools?” is the point being argued.

“Yeah, boohoo,” Beca says as she drops onto the couch next to Chloe. She’d gone to the kitchen to get a new bag of chips but managed to make a healthier decision and came back with a bowl of grapes instead. “We don’t even have a pool.”

“But at least we don’t have a bathtub in our kitchen anymore,” Chloe says as she helps herself to a few of Beca’s grapes.

Beca nods in response. This whole social distancing thing would have been a lot more irritating if it had happened last year when she and Chloe shared an impossibly small studio apartment (if you could even call it that) with Fat Amy. The thought of being locked in that space for weeks makes Beca’s skin crawl. She loves Amy, but she is not the tidiest or quietest of roommates.

She glances at Chloe, fresh-faced and hair damp after the shower she just took, tucked into her couch-nest with a fuzzy blanket and thinks there are about a million worse scenarios she could be stuck in than this one.

It had been nice to get that paycheck from Khaled’s record label. It had been just as nice for Amy to get access to the hundred-plus million dollars she somehow had. They were able to part ways without the guilt and drama Amy was prone to when asked to take responsibility for something. She’d been eager to drop a cool ten million on a house in the South of France. It made Beca’s job of breaking the news that she wouldn’t be renewing their lease a lot easier.

She’s still not quite sure how it happened, though. Maybe it was because Chloe was the only one who didn’t suddenly have an unnecessary amount of money at her disposal. Maybe it was because their orbits were always drawn to one another.

But when Beca moved to Los Angeles and bought a house, Chloe rush-applied to area veterinary schools to beat the looming application deadlines and managed to get into one.

They hadn’t even really discussed it. “Beca moving to LA” was inclusive of “Chloe moving to LA to live with Beca.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t post that video of us playing catch out back,” Beca says as they watch the debate about people who are privileged and whether they are out of touch with reality or if hardship and inconvenience is relative.

“Maybe not,” Chloe agrees.

It’s not that Beca thinks she’d ever show up as a debate topic on tabloid television, but she’d rather not risk it.

“What do you want to do today? And don’t say Monopoly,” she adds as soon as Chloe’s mouth opens to answer.

Chloe immediately whines. “But I want us to play!”

“And I want us to still be friends when this is over,” Beca says with a biting, sarcastic smile.

“Ooh, I know!” Chloe says, unfazed by Beca’s rejection. “Let’s get drunk!”

“That’s not really an activity…” Beca says but she knows she’s going to lose this debate.

Chloe’s already detangling herself from her blanket and heading toward the kitchen. “If getting drunk at 3:00 in the afternoon isn’t acceptable during a viral pandemic, then when  is it?”

Beca just shakes her head. She’s opposed to the idea, it’s just that Chloe is so...Chloe.

Chloe who usually gets her way, not because she’s a good negotiator but because Beca finds it almost impossible to tell her ‘no.’ (Activities that would lead to contempt and arguing like a game of Monopoly are exceptions.)

“Beer or wine?” Chloe calls from the other room.

“I don’t care,” Beca yells back. If there’s one thing they stocked up on far more than she knows was necessary, it was alcohol.

She should have made a choice. She knows better. When Chloe returns, she’s holding a bottle of expensive tequila, a shot glass nestled in one of two tumblers, and a plastic bowl of ice.

“Oh, whoa, seriously?” she says as Chloe sets her wares down on the smooth black coffee table with a smile. Shots of tequila weren’t exactly what Beca had in mind.

“Calm down, I have to make another trip. I’m making margaritas.”

Not that she wouldn’t have done them if that had been Chloe’s intention.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“You know what we should do?”

Beca looks down at Chloe who’s using Beca’s leg as a pillow. “Hmm?”

“We should play hide-and-seek!”

Beca’s not sure what she expected Chloe to propose, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Dude, what?”

“Yeah!” Chloe says, suddenly full of energy after dozing on the couch for a few minutes. She scrambles to sit up. “Come on; it’ll be fun!”

All she can do is stare at her and her dumb, pretty face. “Fine,” she relents (much too easily).

Chloe squeals and immediately covers her eyes with her hands. “I’ll count to 100. Go.”

Beca’s reluctant agreement morphs into nervous adrenaline as soon as Chloe begins counting and she leaps off the couch, stumbling when her foot gets caught in Chloe’s blanket.

She hears Chloe laugh through her numbers and realizes Chloe can hear her route. She mutes her steps, creeping quickly but quietly away as her mind races for the optimal hiding spot.

Then she’s got it.

She walks as lightly as she can through the house until she’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to what will eventually be an office or study (she hates herself a little that she bought a house that will have a study in it). It’s still empty save for a few dozen books on the shelves, some of them novels, some of them old textbooks. The room has a closet and when Beca had been scoping out good storage spots in the house for things like seasonal decorations, she’d found what was arguably a creepy-as-fuck hidden door in the wall of the closet.

She never got around to telling Chloe about it; she’d been at a day-long lab that Beca didn’t want to interrupt with a text and then she promptly forgot about it.

Until now.

She creeps through the second floor, wincing when she hits a squeaky floorboard in the hallway. The rest of her journey is silent, though, and she pops open the push-latch door to slip inside and close it behind her.

She can hear Chloe’s voice faintly yelling, “Ready or not, here I come!” and regrets not bringing her phone with her.

There’s no way Chloe’s going to find her any time soon. Plus, it’s pitch-dark.

Chloe’s voice echoes around the house, taunting Beca as she searches downstairs. It makes Beca snicker because Chloe is way, way off until she can tell she’s making her way up the stairs.

“You could at least make it difficult for me,” Chloe says somewhere in the hallway, still taunting as if it will goad Beca into revealing herself.

She can hear her opening and closing closet doors in the hall and the other rooms but she remains confident even when she can hear Chloe’s voice quite clearly from the study a few feet away.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Chloe sing-songs and Beca hates that it makes her anxious. Her voice is louder like she’s just outside the door that Chloe doesn’t even know exists when it suddenly pops open, blinding Beca with a flood of light.

“Gotcha!” Chloe says with a jump of victory but Beca’s too quick for her, something her petite stature is good for. 

She scrambles out of the closet and past Chloe. “You didn’t tag me!” she yells, grinning as she launches into a full sprint, nearly sliding down the stairs to make it back to the couch in time.

“We didn’t declare a home base!” Chloe shrieks behind her and Beca can hear her running, too.

“It’s the couch!”

“Not fair!” Chloe yells and Beca hears her on the steps.

It makes her launch herself onto the couch, right over the arm of it and she scrambles for the blanket to hide under even though she’s already safe; it’s silly adrenaline and she can’t stop smiling as she hears Chloe in a full-out run through the living room.

“No!” Her cry of defeat is nearly a wail and Beca’s still savoring victory when the wind is nearly knocked out of her.

“Dude!” she says when Chloe lands right on top of her. “I made it back, you can’t tag me!”

She fights to hang on to the blanket as Chloe tugs it away until it’s off her face, leaving Beca to sputter and try to blow hair out of her eyes. She stops when she sees Chloe above her, face flushed from excitement and exertion smiling down at her. But the smile is fading, bit by bit, into something else and it feels like the air around them shifts.

“You cheated,” Chloe says.

Beca has to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “Not my fault you don’t know the rules.”

She keeps waiting for Chloe to move off her and let her up, to tell her it’s Beca’s turn to count and Chloe’s turn to hide, but instead, Chloe seems to get heavier, to press Beca further into the couch beneath her.

An eternity seems to pass. She struggles to keep her gaze steady; it’s hard to hold eye contact with Chloe in a normal setting: they’re so bright and full of life. It’s a relief when Chloe’s are the first to break eye contact but only until Beca realizes Chloe’s focus shifted, albeit briefly, to her lips.

Her heart had been racing from the excitement of the game and the thrill of the win but suddenly it’s for an entirely different reason.

When Chloe looks up again Beca can’t help but let her own eyes flick down, almost feeling like if Chloe was allowed to, Beca should be allowed to, too. It’s subconscious for Beca to wet her lips when she sees the way Chloe’s are parted the tiniest bit.

Her mind races as quickly as her heart. She’s thought about this so many times over their decade of friendship. The way they’ve always danced around each other (while still dancing with each other all the time). How it wasn’t even up for debate that Chloe would move to Los Angeles, too. How she didn’t hesitate to put the house in both their names, not just her own. How she’s been a little bit (a lot) in love with her friend for so many years.

She wonders if Chloe’s moving closer or if it’s her imagination. If she is, she’s moving so slowly it’s almost indiscernible, but her eyes keep flicking down and back up. It’s excruciating to wait to find out what is about to happen. What Beca thinks is about to happen.

What Beca decides to make happen as she lifts her head and presses her lips to Chloe’s.

It’s another eternal moment but it passes in the blink of an eye.

There’s some kind of sound from Chloe, maybe a whimper?, and Beca’s not quite finished regretting her actions that will surely make things super weird between them when Chloe’s tongue slips across her lips and into Beca’s mouth.

It shouldn’t happen so fast. It shouldn’t be so natural for Beca to tilt her head to the left just as Chloe tilts hers. She shouldn’t feel so hot so quickly; Chloe helps as much as she contributes to it, suddenly tugging at the blanket between them to let it fall to the floor. It gives Beca a second of cool air before Chloe’s body is on her instead. It shouldn’t be so mindless for her to twist her hips and part her knees so Chloe can fit against her more comfortably.

It shouldn’t be a lot of things, but Beca stops listing off all the things it shouldn’t be in favor of all the things it is.

Like how desperate and heated their kiss has become. How Chloe doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands since this began in a slightly awkward position but doesn’t quite want to stop to rearrange herself so instead her fingers bury themselves in Beca’s hair.

Beca doesn’t have the same problem. Her hands are free to roam, and she lets them roam.

Chloe’s back is solid beneath her hands. She can feel it every time Chloe takes a breath. They’re uneven and deep and in synch with Beca’s because the only chance they have to take in air is when Chloe lifts her mouth from Beca’s. Even the few seconds they spare for oxygen feel like too much time apart for Beca and she finds herself chasing Chloe’s lips even though they’re both breathing hard.

She catches Chloe off-guard, cutting into their oxygen break with her tongue. She’s thought endlessly of what it would be like to frame Chloe’s perfect face with her hands, tilt it to the angle she wants, and keep her there to make her submit to whatever Beca wants to do to her mouth.

The moan that escapes Chloe when Beca does just that, tongue pushing far into Chloe’s mouth to explore before retreating to start licking over Chloe’s makes a sound escape Beca, too.

It’s as though the mutual audible release is gasoline to a lit match.

Chloe’s entire body shifts forward into Beca and it makes Beca moan again and give up the brief control she had as Chloe kisses her so hard her head presses uncomfortably against the arm of the couch. Her neck is going to be killing her tomorrow but she doesn’t care. There’s only one thing aching right now and it’s between her legs where Chloe’s hips are resting, though they’re hardly at rest.

Beca doesn’t know at what point they started moving together but her hips are lifting to meet Chloe’s every time Chloe’s rock forward into her. 

She parts her knees further until she finally just gives in and hooks her left leg, the one not pinned against the back of the couch, around Chloe’s waist.

She hears her name on Chloe’s lips, an exhale between kisses that somehow keep getting hotter and wetter...just like she is elsewhere. Chloe’s hips shift their angle; it’s subtle but the difference is immense and the moan that escapes Beca when Chloe rocks into her in the exact right place is almost embarrassing.

She doesn’t have time for embarrassment, though. Not when Chloe pulls back from the kiss to look down at her. Her slow, steady pace doesn’t let up, though, and Beca knows she just wants to see Beca’s face while she does it. She knows because if their roles were reversed, she’d want to see Chloe’s reaction, too.

It’s intense to be watched this way. She wonders if Chloe is fully aware of just how much she’s affecting Beca, if she’s thinking about how far this could go or how quickly. If she wants it to.

The way she’s looking down at Beca, though, her eyes dark as she finally starts to adjust herself so her arms aren’t trapped, tell Beca Chloe isn’t thinking about stopping.

Beca’s fine with that.

She moves with Chloe, both of them shifting down on the couch so Beca’s neck isn’t stuck at a terrible angle and so Chloe can finally prop herself up on an elbow. She watches—and feels—Chloe’s hand ease out of her hair, fingertips drifting along Beca’s cheek and jawline to her neck. They stroke softly there, along her throat and Beca swallows. Chloe’s watching so intently, both where her fingers travel and how Beca responds to them.

She wants to ask for more but isn’t quite sure. Isn’t quite sure if this is cabin fever and a brief (it has been anything but brief) make-out session between bored, tipsy close friends. Isn’t quite sure what it will mean for them if she lets go of what little self-control she’s maintaining and rocks herself into Chloe until she comes.

She lets her own hands roam again, beyond Chloe’s back and neck and shoulders and hair to her throat, mirroring with both hands how Chloe’s fingers are touching her. Her skin is hot beneath Beca’s fingers and she can feel under her jaw the way her heart is pounding. She can feel how she swallows when Beca’s fingers find the dip between her clavicles and how her breathing speeds up after easing during their momentary break from kissing as Beca’s fingernails trace along the smooth skin along her décolletage. There’s so much of it on display.

Chloe’s touch is now following Beca’s, drawing lines and circles along the edge of her V-neck tee. 

Beca gets stuck, though; Chloe’s skin feels so nice under her fingers and she’s never touched her, not like this, along the lines of her collar bones and the tendons in her neck and the slight dip that will give way to cleavage if she were to follow it. She gets stuck but Chloe doesn’t. Chloe’s touch finally breaks past the collar of Beca’s shirt to travel lower, over the thin material. It only takes a second or two before her fingers are grazing over the curve of Beca’s left breast.

Beca’s entire body tries to arch into it, a reaction that makes Chloe’s jaw drop, which is the last thing Beca sees before her eyes close when Chloe leans down to start kissing her again.

She whines a little, starting to feel desperate (an understatement) for release. 

The sound seems to spur Chloe on, her kiss quickly returning to the deep, passionate exchanges they’ve been sharing. The hand at Beca’s breast gets more daring, more exploratory and Beca knows when Chloe finds its peak, not because she feels it (God, she feels it) but because Chloe’s touch slows, circling the surely visible rise.

Beca’s hands just fall away from Chloe, not because she doesn’t want to touch her but because her brain’s ability to do more than one thing at a time is being reduced. Meeting Chloe’s tongue and lips and pushing her hips into her, again and again, is about all she can manage.

Chloe must read her mini-collapse as further surrender (it was, really) because her exploratory touch, circling Beca’s nipple again and again with the edge of her fingernail, suddenly changes. Her fingers close against it and Beca’s thin bra and shirt might as well be nonexistent for as much as she feels it. Beca groans and her hips throw themselves up into Chloe with needy force and Chloe echoes her, pushing into Beca harder, her pace suddenly increasing.

It’s so difficult to breathe with Chloe’s tongue filling her mouth again and again but Beca’s ready to suffocate before she gives it up.

She also knows she’s going to come. Soon. She’s resigned herself to it and will deal with the consequences later; she feels she has a solid defense: Chloe tonguefucking her mouth the way she has been is a pretty stellar excuse.

She doesn’t know where the fuck she learned to kiss like this, but Beca is so, so grateful.

She can hear herself moaning, can hear how often it’s happening. She can hear Chloe, too, and the sound is turning Beca on almost as much as the way Chloe’s touching her.

The incessant attention to her nipple disappears and she whines in protest but all Chloe does is shush her and then kiss her more deeply. She feels Chloe’s hand on her stomach and sucks it in not out of vanity but because it almost tickles. But her hand is steady; it doesn’t linger to risk bumping into what are Beca’s few ticklish spots (Chloe knows them well). It moves confidently lower and Beca gasps when she feels her fingertips move over the waistband of her leggings because there’s only one reason Chloe’s hand would be moving in that direction.

The sound she makes when Chloe’s fingers graze between her legs, over the thin, form-fitting material of her pants, is obscene.

It makes Chloe’s mouth rip away from hers. “Fuck, Bec, you’re so wet.”

Beca hadn’t thought of that; she hadn’t thought about the fact that she was in leggings and nothing else because why did she need to be for a day of lounging around and what would happen if she ended up grinding with Chloe on the couch.

If Chloe means for her to respond she doesn’t give her enough time to do so. Her mouth is on Beca’s again to swallow Beca’s pitiful groan as fingers press down firmly against her. Now she can feel what Chloe felt, the soaked fabric slipping against her body with every lift of her hips.

As suddenly as Chloe cut her off her kiss ends again and Beca watches her lift herself a little higher; she wonders what she’s doing until she realizes Chloe’s not looking at her. 

Well, not looking at her face, anyway.

Her focus now is between their bodies, specifically between Beca’s legs where her fingers are starting to rub and stroke, cutting the time Beca knows she has to wait to come in half, if not more.

She tries to say Chloe’s name but it gets caught in her throat when Chloe shifts from watching, awestruck, as her fingers touch Beca to dropping her hips to pin her hand between them and against Beca.

She moans in Beca’s ear, not quite making it back to her mouth. Beca knows her supporting arm has to be tired but Chloe not stopping is so hot and sexy. Her own arms finally work and she yanks them out from between their bodies to wrap them around Chloe, to run them up her back and into her hair to hold on.

She has to hold on because Chloe’s hips are bucking into her like she’s really fucking her (and she is really fucking her) and the urgency of her moans and gasping breaths in Beca’s ear make it register that not only is she fucking Beca now, with her hand where it is, she’s fucking herself, rutting against the back of her own hand.

It’s hard and fast now; there’s no teasing or precision touching. It’s contact and friction and neither of them need more than that.

Beca’s first to slip, the nonstop assault on her senses becoming too overwhelming. Chloe moaning in her ear on the verge of ecstasy. Chloe’s hips and Chloe’s fingers grinding and rocking against her. The now phantom memories of Chloe’s tongue twisting around Beca’s and fingertips pinching and rubbing her nipple.

She holds on, not thinking about whether or not her fingernails are scratching Chloe’s shoulders or if she’s pulling too hard on her hair, as her body rocks into an orgasm she’s been waiting to experience for ten years.

She hears Chloe and knows they’re coming together, an uncoordinated yet simultaneous release of energy and stress and tension that somehow increases in intensity as it unfurls between them until there’s what could be a sob in her ear. It’s not, though; it’s just Chloe coming down from her orgasm.

Something Beca never, ever thought she would actually bear witness to.

Chloe’s body is heavy on hers, no longer holding herself up at all but Beca doesn’t care. She just pushes Chloe’s hair out of her face and over Chloe’s shoulder so she can turn her head and put her mouth on Chloe’s heated neck, immediately sucking a mark into it. Everything feels so primal, so raw, even in the increasing afterglow but she’s spent.

She’s so, so spent.

If Chloe’s delay in moving at all, in any way other than her fingers which are still rubbing against Beca, is any indicator, she’s spent, too.

There’s a long, heavy sigh in her ear and Beca releases freshly purpled skin and feels her body fully sag into the couch, Chloe’s pleasant weight keeping her from floating away.

Chloe does start to move after a few minutes of quiet sighs and slow, sometimes chaste, sometimes sensual kisses and when she finally removes her hand its absence leaves Beca feeling cold and needy, despite what just happened.

“Bec—” Chloe starts and something about her faces tells Beca she’s about to apologize or in some way dismiss what just happened.

“That was amazing,” Beca says to interrupt whatever Chloe might have been thinking about saying.

A smile of relief breaks on Chloe’s flushed face and she drops down to kiss Beca again, hard and happy before she’s pulling away with finality. They’re a fair bit entangled and they’re both laughing by the time Chloe tiredly gets back onto her knees to fall back onto her ass at the other end of the couch.

She doesn’t offer Beca a helping hand to sit up, but Beca honestly doesn’t blame her. Chloe just did all the work; it’s the least she can do to push herself up until they’re sitting, both still red-faced and not quite breathing normally, on opposite ends of the couch.

“Just...give me a minute,” Chloe says before her head lolls back to rest on the couch and her eyes close.

Beca gives her the minute and uses it to take in her appearance: the flush of pink on her chest, the hardness of her nipples, the (Beca can’t help but look with curiosity) obvious dark patch between her legs on the gray sweatpants she’s wearing.

The need to touch—and taste—Chloe is suddenly overwhelming. She’s about to make her move when Chloe lifts her head, eyes sparkling and clear and a smile starts spreading across her features. There’s tension in her limbs and Beca wonders if Chloe is still as turned on as she is.

“Tag,” Chloe says, suddenly reaching out to slap her hand against Beca’s foot before bolting off the couch and heading for the stairs. “You’re it!”

Beca’s dumbfounded for several seconds until she bursts out laughing. It’s a different kind of release than she just experienced, one of pure joy. “I’m giving you 60 seconds!”

“I gave you 100!” echoes back to her.

“I can’t wait that long,” she says to herself. She hopes Chloe’s not actually hiding; she hopes she’s going to one of their bedrooms so they can keep doing what they’ve started.

She knows their future is unknown in many ways, what this means for their friendship, for their relationship with one another. She doesn’t know how much longer they’ll be required to spend all day, every day inside together.

But, she thinks as she finally makes it to the top of the stairs and to her room to find Chloe sitting in the middle of her bed half-naked in only a bra and panties, they have plenty of activities to pass the time.

The End

[angstchim]

Divine Canvas | kth

Painter Taehyung x Reader 

➻ Oneshot

➻ Inspired by Meddle About - Chase Atlantic 

➻ Words: 6142

➻ Rating: M 

➻ !!: SMUT, language,  Paint play? Is that a thing? I'm making it a thing, Dirty talk, Casual Sex, Sex in public, Teacher/student but not what you expect, some peer pressure? Unprotected Sex, Comedy, Crack but not crack?  

Summary: Lisa is your best friend. She’s a little eccentric and impulsive at times and when she deems you a bore.  She makes a few arrangements. She has you take a single art class, alone, one on one with the handsome instructor. Whom specializes in a unique kind of art.  

Preview

"Which is better? Watercolor or acrylic?" Your eyes going back and forth from the watercolor palettes, and acrylic paint bottles. Hand on your hip, eyes focused, waiting for the feedback of your dear friend. Popular music blaring over the intercom, aisles of the craft store empty.

"Only you would find going to a craft store fun!" Lisa gripes, the blonde, busy tapping away on her phone, dressed in clothes more suited for a shopping spree, her crop top and shorts contrasting greatly from your baggy pants and an oversized sweater.

"Watercolor or acrylic?" Voice monotonous, used to her complaints, eyes bouncing from the watercolor, to the acrylics, and back to the watercolors. "Y/n, you know I can't even paint, the only painting I do is wiping my Cheeto dust fingers on your walls." Her gripes coming off in a breathy tone, leg outstretched, her arms crossed over her chest, head tilted staring at you.

"You're a little bitch for that. Next time you do that I'm making you lick that crusty shit off the wall. Now, Acrylic or Watercolor?" Your voice stern, eyes shooting bullets at the blonde.

"Oof, that's kinky, and watercolor I guess?" Grabbing a watercolor palette, "Alright let's go ya weirdo." Letting out a sigh, paying and exiting the store, making your way over to the mall, Lisa at your side, griping and complaining about how boring of a person you are. "Spice it up hun, you wear the same brand my grandpa does!! This is 2018, and my best friend is not going to have some boring maiden's tale." Her voice a little loud, her manicured hands flying through the racks as she hangs clothes on her arm. "I'm not a grandpa.." Your voice unconvincing, your plain nails grazing the soft fabrics, eyes glossing over clothes you'd never reach for yourself.

"Tell ya what hun? I'm going to set you up a little art class. One on One, I heard the teacher is a god among men and since getting you to go to a party is like baptizing a cat, I think you won't mind spending time at an art class. Doing something you enjoy." Lisa's voice carrying a loving tone, "One exception though.." an evil grin on her face, "You have to wear an outfit I pick out."

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, a soft huff leaving your chest, "I could just say no and it won't happen, but fine, just this once. If it gets you to stop wiping Cheeto dust on my walls."

Lisa's lighthearted chuckles filling the store, "Go for me and I swear my stubby little fingers will never smear Cheeto dust on those walls ever again." You smirked, "Done deal then." Eyes looking at the pile of clothes weighing down her arm. "What the hell? Is all this for me?" A mischievous glint in the blonde's eyes, "Maybe, we have lot's of outfits to go through before I let you go to that class." Heart sinking, your inner grandpa coming out. "I'm too old for this shit, my bones pop you know? Do you know how much bending this shit takes?!" Looking at her ludicrously.

"Boohoo whore, do you know much bending I do when I get laid?"Lisa mocks, swiping her blonde hair over her shoulder, picking out a skirt and top for you. Sending her a glare, "No because I'm a child of God." Lisa's eyes narrowing at you, "Because I'm a child of God!!" She mocks in an incredulous voice that's supposed to be yours, "I've seen the shit you look up Boo, you aren't innocent, far from it." Her lips smacking while she picks out shoes for you, your eyes burning holes into the back of her perfect head, "How so?"

Her dark browns staring into you, "Hun, you were looking up the ovipositor toy. We both know that's like some kinky shit that not even 50 shades touched upon." Your cheeks a flaming scarlet, "Why are you using that against me? How many times do I need to explain that Namjoon is the reason I ever made that Google search!! We both know that when it comes to Namjoon we don't question it!" Your whines and pleas to justify yourself falling upon Lisa's deaf ears.

"Yeah, Yeah Hun." Her voice carrying humor, satisfied with her finds, shoving the articles of clothing your way, "Go try those on for me okay?" Sighs of annoyance escaping you but you listened, hailing down a clerk, you got a room and tried on the outfit. Your eyes traveling over your form in the skirt and top, cheeks a dusty pink. You looked so different, you looked..good. Way better than your usual grandpa ensemble. As much as you wanted to not like the outfit you couldn't just ignore Lisa's exceptional taste. She might be a brat who wipes her Cheeto dust fingers on your walls but at least her majoring in fashion isn't just for clout.

Lisa standing outside the door of the dressing room. "I'm taking the silence as 'Oh Lisa my dear best friend you make me look sooo good!" Her incredulous voice she uses to mock you making an appearance again. The scratchy and high pitched voice piercing the walls of the dressing room, making your insides crawl. "You know Lisa? I was going to say just that, but fuck you." Your voice lighthearted, giggles escaping you. "Awe thanks Boo." Her comment sounding scarily genuine.

**

stop by my house before we go out for coffee <=====3

Eyes glossing over the message you received from Namjoon, a reluctant sigh leaving your lips. Going to Namjoon's house was always a risky business, you never knew what you were getting. Namjoon is viewed by many as the sophisticated psychology major he is, but when he's around you he shoves his 4.0 up his ass and all his brain cells disintegrate. Feet lugging their way up the steps to Namjoon's dorm, light-handed knocks hitting his door. Blood turning cold when the door opens to reveal a figure in a patent leather suit, face entirely covered in the black material, eyes being the only thing visible.

A loud shriek escaping you. "Wrong dorm!! I-I'll go elsewhere" voice shaky, feet unresponsive, frozen in place when the figure abruptly grabs your arms tugging you inside, your shrill cries becoming louder and louder. Fear filling your being, "Shut Up!" A deep, muffled voice erupting from the mask, this only made you cry out louder. "Shut up!! You're  going to make people think I'm hurting you!" A familiar voice coming from under the mask. Kicking the door shut with his leg, peeling the mask from his face to reveal none other than Namjoon.

Eyes drilling into him, bringing your hand to his head you gave him a good swat, making sure he felt it. "The fuck was that about you lunatic?! You trying to kill me ?! Fuck this, the cafe date is canceled !" The larger male looking down at you, his face trying to conceal his amusement, your glare doing nothing to diminish his spirits. His long arms blocking your futile attempts to swat him. "Relax, I didn't mean to scare you."  Scowling, "Didn't mean to scare you." Voice dropping down an octave so you could mock him. His coffee browns narrowing at you, "I don't sound like that."  Shrugging, giving him one last swat, "What's the kinky suit for?"

Your small hands roaming free over the leather on his firm chest, "Remember the first season of American Horror Story?" A smirk on his face as looks down at your hands on his chest. "Murder House?" Eyes narrowing as you peered into the older's eyes, "Yes Murder House, remember the suit ?" You let out a sigh, "Yeah, I remember the creepy gimp suit."

"Tada!" His voice light, fingers wiggling as he gave jazz hands. "Why?" He set his large hand atop your head, "Halloween, and maybe some other stuff." Voice deepening to a sultry tone, giving a flirtatious wink. "Joon,  I swear if you go chasing the freshmen around in a gimp suit.." you began. "Nothing's wrong with chasing the freshmen." He shrugged. "I can't believe you're a psychology major..." Namjoon  letting out a humored sigh, " Only you see me like this." The taller dipping down, nuzzling his nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss. "I'm gonna peel this thing off me, it really sticks to the body."

"It's a bondage suit, that's the point." Letting out a sigh, eyes trailing over his body, The suit sticking to every muscle and joint on the man. "Checking me out over there?" Eyes rolling to the back of your head, "As if."

"Ow, so cruel." The older fakes hurt, heading off to his room changing. Being fairly familiar with Namjoon's apartment it takes very little for you to already be slouching on his couch, finding a random hentai novel laying nearby. "He doesn't even attempt to hide his porn...we love a queen." You muttered to yourself. The anime girl on the cover sparsely covered, slimy appendages which you can only assume are tentacles spread her legs open revealing her...special parts. Joon walking out in shaggy brown pants with a matching large shirt, strapped sandals on his feet.  "Good book isn't it?"

"Riveting." Getting up from the couch, "Ready Bud?" Gathering your belongings heading to his entryway, "Yeah, let's get going." Grabbing his wallet the two of you exiting his apartment. "Do you know it took a whole bottle of lube to get into that suit?" You let out a sigh, "Did I need to know?"

**  

"So what's this art class you're me telling about?" His deep voice slightly muffled as he took a sip of his ice coffee. His messy locks framing his face, dimples slightly moving as he sucks on his straw. "Lisa wants to dress me up for this art class, she said I'm boring and maybe an art class will make my life exciting since I don't go to parties." The bitter taste of coffee on your tongue, fingers busy picking flakes of your croissant. "She's not wrong about you being a bore, but what kind of art class is? This seems a little strange." His thumbs gliding along the screen of his phone as he typed up an essay for his psychology class.  "She said it was a one on one painting class with this guy named Kim...Kim Taehyung? I think?"

"One on One?" his eyebrow-raising, taking an obnoxious sip of his coffee. "They offer those? And who did you say the teacher was?"

Finger flaking the croissant, "Apparently they do and Kim Taehyung why?"

"I've heard that name before." His voice nonchalant and cool. "Kim Taehyung. You recognize the name or not Namjoon?" Your groan evident in the cafe. The darker haired male, rubbing his chin like a philosophical thinker from Ancient Greece, "Hush, I recognize the name. Used to go to high school with em." His voice blunt. Eyes narrowing, "That's it? That's all you remember about the guy?"

Namjoon's dark eyes staring into you boredly, "I mean the guy didn't stick out much, he liked to paint so I don't see it as a surprise that he's an art teacher.." His voice trailing off, "however I remember one strange rumor about him." The larger male leaning closer, whispering in your ear, suspense building the longer you waited for an answer. Joon's husky voice tickling your lobe, "He was pretty popular with the girls, quiet guy, probably a hipster, he made his rounds though, heard he's packing."

Your face stretching into one of disgust, "Really Joon? Really?" Your voice void of emotion, "I ask you for some useful information but all you do is make me regret my friendship with you." Eyes narrowed, growling at the male.

The older laughing, "He's packing, maybe he can raw your ass all the way to P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney."

"...Joon.."

The older scrunching his nose in amusement, "Alright, Alright, well I honestly don't remember much about him, he was an underclassman so I didn't really talk to him, I remember all the girls in my grade raved about him, talking about how he seemed so aloof and innocent but in reality he was just a playboy disguised as a prince. I mean he gave off good boy vibes, he was in in a few of my classes, advanced placement and he stuck to himself, he was chill when you asked him something." He took another sip, " That's all I can offer toots."

Nibbling on your croissant, "He doesn't seem too interesting, well the class is later on tonight. Might as well get it over with so Lisa stops badgering me. Also, don't call me toots."

The older letting out a groan, " I need a nickname for you. I hate calling you by your name all the time. I'm special." You watched the older pout, his dimples moving as he sucked on his straw again.  "Who said you were special?" He shot you a glare, "Alright fine, but why Toots?"

"Short for Toostie roll." Smacking your lips, "I don't like tootsie rolls though.." His long digit flicking your nose, "Buttercup then?" You smirked, "Nice to see you use that brain of yours."

"You could've just said yes." He sighed, going back to writing his essay on his phone. "You could've  just said buttercup, you know that's my nickname Joon.." Voice muffled as you took another bite of your croissant.

"So mean buttercup.." He pouts, eyes looking down at his phone screen while he wrote his essay last minute. "So whiny Joon.." You mocked.

**

Hair damp, your breath light, eyes peering into the mirror as you slathered on your favorite lemon-scented lotion, hands running over the soft, supple flesh of your arms, legs, and thighs. The cold cream slathering over the mounds of flesh on your chest making your nipples pert, music blaring from your phone's speakers. Sliding on the skirt, and top Lisa picked, hair lightly styled you looked in the mirror. Staring back at you was a new you, a more put together you.  Cheeks cherry tinted, you gave a twirl, grabbing your bags, slipping on ankle boots. You took off.  

Skipping to the train station. Your steps light, canvas in hand, eyes reading over the address to the studio while you walked. "Block 42..1st floor?" Bottom lip victim to your teeth's gnawing as you searched for said building. Eyes roaming over the minimalist buildings surrounding you, a small window with a lovely canvas sitting on its sill, catching your eye.  The color red emphasized in the painting,  a red lycoris caught between the lips of a distorted but angelic looking male. You looked in awe at the canvas sitting in that small window, the colors, the brush strokes, the details. It was captivating.

A soft pair of almond eyes watching you, wispy red hair obscuring his vision of you, loose cardigan wrapped around his slim frame, black pants hanging loosely from his toned legs. Long arms crossed, a gentle smirk stretching across the painter's face. "It's a neat painting isn't it?"

A deep, suave voice ripping your eyes from the canvas in the window. Eyes gliding over the ethereal face of whom you believed to be your teacher for the evening.  "Did you paint it ?" Gulping slightly, shivering, looking at the male.

"That I did." His nose scrunching a little while he let out a chuckle. His long delicate digits waving you close, "Come inside, I take it you are my last class for tonight" His voice deep, his thin pinks pulling into a smile. "Yeah that's me" voice light, taking timid steps inside the toasty studio, Leonardo Da Vinci paintings bordering the entry of the studio, statues and abstract art decorating the walls. "This place is ..." Awe in your voice, eyes wandering over the room. "Amazing..?" He finished your sentence, deep purrs erupting from his chest as he closed the door to the studio. His gentle footsteps heading over to the sink, washing brushes, grabbing fresh canvases. "It's more than amazing." Taking a seat, excited for the lesson, "What will we be doing today? Watercolor, acrylic, will we even be painting?"

The redhead setting down the canvases, along with two sheets of scrap paper and pencils. "You're eager and I want to try something new." His dark almonds boring into you while he set down bottles of body paint. "Can I use you as a canvas"  Your eyebrow-raising, "Use me...as a canvas?" His cedar wood scent more prevalent the closer he leaned his face to yours.  Your cheeks a bright crimson, his breath tickling your lips as he pulls away, pencil in his hand. "I want to sketch out a design and paint it on you. I'd like to post it on my social media, you can say no of course."  No pressure in his voice.

Your timid eyes meeting his, his brown almonds looking over the supple flesh of your thighs. Your skirt letting his eyes ravish your thighs, his looks lingering.  "Where do you want to paint.?" Your cherry cheeks and timid eyes looking into his. "Your thighs, if you don't mind?" His deep voice trickling off the walls of the studio. You felt as if you could roll in it, his deep soothing voice calming your nerves. "My thighs?" A little surge of confidence running through your veins. "You'd let me?" His tone curious. Lisa's voice ringing in your ears, her snooty voice saying bore. "Might as well." Voice confident, only to spite the imaginary Lisa that was whispering in your ear, reminding you of how much of a bore you were. "Lift your skirt a little for me darling, let me  map this out." His deep voice letting out a subtle grunt.

His large hands holding the paper up to your thigh for size, a soft hum rumbling from his throat. Cheeks cherry tinted, his soft hands grazing the skin of your thighs, his bottom lip ensnared in his teeth while he worked, his pencil tickling you as it's tip drew out curves and points on the paper. His eyes wandering from the papers every now and then as he caught a glimpse of your mesh panties. The fabric did little to conceal your pink nub from his peripheral, his steady hands working as he continued to map out an intricate galaxy design on the scrap piece of paper, his almond eyes a shade darker.  

Marker in hand he begins sketching out his design, tongue swabbing the inside of his cheek while he worked. His clement, fluid hands brushing against you. The felt tip marker ticking your sensitive skin. His eyes every now and then staring at your twitching nub. "Your skin is really soft you know?" A small hiccup erupting from you, "..No?" Deep chuckles erupting from his chest, "Cute." His messy sketch finished, his almonds focused on the array of body paints on the table. "Mhm, tell me little Dove. What color palette suits you?" His fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt, "Warm?" Smirk on his face, "Cool?" His breath ticking your chin as he looked up at you, "or a nice Pastel?" His fingers tentatively inching further and further up your thigh.

Breath hitching, your eyes traveling down his loose blouse to his sun-kissed torso, a smirk on his face, "Like what you see?" Face crimson, "I do." His finger pushing your skirt up, a gentle flick to your clit. "I like what I'm seeing too." His voice deep, hand grabbing a bottle and paint brush. "I think pastels suit you best little Dove."  Gathering the light colors he starts building and mixing. Your eyes watching his long digits stir and mix. The way his delicate fingers held the brush, his long thin digits. You bit your lips, impure thoughts popping into your head.

Rubbing your thighs he starts painting, brush bristles moving lightly across your skin. His eyes focused, a soft hum rumbling from his chest. You watched, his beautiful features accentuated as he concentrated, paint wet and cold against your thighs. Light hisses escaping you. "It tickles." His brush strokes delicate, his eyes focused on the supple skin of your thighs, "Stay still for me Little Dove, I know it can be ticklish, but be a good birdie and stay still?" His voice gentle, his soft breaths echoing through the room as he worked.

Legs inching open while he worked, his brush strokes becoming soothing, slight shivers trailing up your spine each time he added more paint. "A little wider for me Dove." His free hand gently trailing up the opening to your skirt, your nub temping him. "Can I?"  Cheeks blossoming a pink tint, it had been a long time since you slept with another and to have someone like him take interest in you was daunting. "Y-Yes..." Voice barely a stutter, his almonds meeting yours, his brush strokes coming to a halt. "I need a clear, confident, answer Dove."

"Yes." Your eyes meeting his, you could feel yourself getting lost in their beauty. "That's more like it Little Dove." His tone affectionate as he continued his brush strokes, one hand elaborately mixing and painting on the supple flesh of your thighs. The other hand sliding your panties aside, his forefinger and thumb mercilessly teasing your clit, pinching and rubbing the poor nub with the pad of his thumb.  Your squirms making him smirk. "Stay still Dove, I'm almost done." His other hand reaching for a sponge and fine detail brush, his bottom lip ensared in his teeth. 

A few more minutes of this passing by before be leaned back admiring his work, "Perfect." His hands grabbing a mask on the table, "Slip this on for me Dove, and spread your legs for me." Giving him a coy nod, you did as you were told, slipping on the mask and spreading your legs. His tepid hands adjusting your skirt to conserve your modestly, the sounds of a camera's shutters meeting your ears, several clicks echoing throughout the room. "So perfect, I'll be posting these. You don't mind, do you?" Voice light as he removed the mask from your face. 

"Of course not." A smile on your face, blush dusting your cheeks. Paint wet, his large hands carefully tugging your skirt from your hips. Your hands pushing away his button up, letting the fabric hang from his shoulders while your hands traveled his shapely torso.  "So eager, I love it." His lips delicately kissing your lobes as he muttered his praises in your ear.  His deep whisper sending electric shocks down your spine,  light mewls escaping your lips when his delicate digits began to rub over your clothed slit.  Fingertips tracing the outline of a circle over your clothed heat, purposely avoiding your center. "Don't tease me." Your small pout coming out as a moan, the redhead looking up at you with a satisfied grin on his face. "Be patient Little Dove, sex is an art and art takes time." A low growl escaping him as you rubbed your knee against his sizeable bulge in protest.

His almonds darkening, his hands gripping your hips with force and he pulled you bottom half against his, his bulge harshly coming into contact with your heat. "Listen to what I say, Little Dove, don't make me angry." Voice sharp, a light trickle escaping your folds. The friction causing your body to tremble with pleasure, light pants making your chest heave. A harsh red dusting your cheeks, lips beginning to swell from your relentless biting. "That a girl, keep being a good Little Dove and I might reward you."  His lips connecting with yours, his tongue quickly claiming your mouth as his. Tongues caressed in wet, vehement battle. Languid, slow strokes complemented with guttural growls escaping the lewd artist. Bulge creating a steady friction between the two of you as he ground his hips against your hungry core.

"Fuck, such a good girl." Eyes lidded, his ivories tugging on your bottom lip leaving the flesh bruised and abused. "Tell me, Little Dove." Hands pulling your panties down, mindful of the still wet paint on your thigh. "Do you like it rough?" A deep growl following his inquiry, a harsh but landed smack grazing your clit. An abrupt squeak leaving your lips rushes of adrenaline shooting through your abdomen. "Or, do you like slow and soft." His voice lightening as he lovingly rubbed his bulge against your swollen and sensitive love. Blood rushing to your poor love button as it puffed and twitched under his ministrations. "Ahh!" Abdomen trembling under his weight, no matter how minuscule the ministration you felt it in every part of your being, his touches overwhelming.

An evil chuckle escaping the mahogany-haired male, he took pride in his work. He knew how much control he had over you and he loved every second of it. "Tell me, Dove," He leaned close to your ear, breaths tickling your lobe, "Do you like being told of how of slut and dirty whore your being? Do you like being told how tight your pink little pussy is? Would you like me to tell how I'm going to stuff my cock into that dripping cunt, how I'm going to make your pussy weep. How we'll make this table shake?" His wet muscle gently nipping your ear, saturating your lobe with a loving lick. His hot muscle feeling cool against your scorching skin.

With his thumb persistently torturing your nub, the merlot haired male used his free hand to lower his dress pants, a large, veiny and swollen length springing free from its cotton confines.  Fingertips dipping into your core, spreading your folds, your slick spreading down the length of his fingers. His cock gave a twitch at the sight of your liquids. Lips latching to your neck, tongue smoothing over the supple skin, "Or, do you like being a pampered baby. Do you like me worshipping your body, every nook and cranny being cared for." His voice gentle, plush lips feathering kisses down your shoulder, hands swiftly flinging your shirt to an unknown corner of the studio.  His tongue giving curious licks to your pert buds, "Mhm baby? Want to treat you like a divine canvas?"  His voice deepening, eyes dark he latches himself onto your pert bud, his digits curling inside your heat.

 Fingers increasing their pace while he sucked your delicate mound, moans, and cries leaving your lips as you felt a build up in your abdomen that you hadn't felt in years.  However, just as you started to see stars the sensation was lost when he pulled his fingers and lips from your body. "Shh baby, I can't have you feeling euphoria when we haven't even gotten to the main part of today's lesson." Letting out a cocky grin, he led himself into you, his aching crown spreading the wet walls of your core, your chest heaving, groans escaping you while your core stretched to accommodate his intrusive size and wide girth.  "S-So tight!" His grunt shaky as he hunched over you, the pastel paint along your thighs, still damp, smearing against both of your abdomens, the cold textures covering the two of you in goosebumps.

 Back arching, hands finding their way to his fiery locks, your digits intertwining with his tresses, your soft squeaks echoing in his ears. His hips giving a curious thrust, your walls tightening around him as pleasure shot through your body, thighs wrapping around his waist, paints smearing and racing along your bodies. The cool textures doing little to lower the temperatures, of scorching skins rubbing against each other as he picked up the pace. Length pulling out completely before sliding back into you, guttural grunts escaping him as he held your hips in place, teeth latching themselves to the crook of your neck. spreading your thighs apart he continued, hips pistoning themselves into your tight core. Length reaching the innermost corners of your heat, his crown giving you an immense pleasure you had yet to experience in your sex life.

 "Ahh, more, give me more!!" Your cries took into account, his teeth tightening on your neck, huffs escaping his chest causing his nose to flare.  Adjusting the position slightly, lips pulling away from your neck, his dark browns staring down at you. His sun-kissed torso on display for your eyes to ravage, the pastels painted on your body now smeared and mixed along with his lean abdomen, clit twitching at the sight. "You're going to want to hang on Dove" Pecking your lips, "I'll pull out, trust me." He murmured against your neck. Your hand dipping itself into the paints, curiously pressing your handprint against his firm chest, his lips curling into a smile as he does the same placing a set of handprints on your breasts. Hips slamming into you, the table supporting the two of you wobbling, it's legs letting out subtle creaks that could vaguely be heard over the clapping sound of flesh that rang throughout the studio. 

His eyes darkened as he looked down at you, taking in your handprinted breasts, your walls clenched tightly while he spread them. His free hand dipping in paints as he lightly smacked your chest, watching your mounds shake as he slammed his length further and further into your core. The lighthanded smacks ringing in your ears, you watched the paints melt into an ombre as they slithered from your mounds to your stomach. Loud grunts escaping him as he continued to slam his cock further and further into your heat. Not leaving an inch of space between your core and the tip of his cock as he continuously pierced it. His sunkissed torso now splattered with pastels, creating a lewd contrast. The way the wet paint dripped along his chest, his nipples slightly perked as the paint raced down to his abdomen.

"S-Such a dirty girl." A guttural groan escaping the hunched male, his eyes trailed down to where the two of you connected, his bottom lip ensared in his ivories as he watched his cock spread your cunt, a pearly froth coating his shaft. "Who said you could cum around me, Little Dove?" His snarl ringing in your ears as his grip begins to bruise your hips, his trusts becoming increasingly heavier. Animalistic grunts and groans escaped his lips as he slammed his weight into you, your hands flying to his torso for support. The pastels beginning to dry with a beautiful sheen,  a stunning blend of colors coating the two of you. Your nails scratching his chest. Gently scraping away the paints, his cock stirring a familiar feeling in your abdomen. Back arched, your bud twitching the more his crown hit that one spot that made you see stars.

"Ah-hh T-Tae!!" Toes curling, fingers clawing his chest, walls suffocating his member as you released yourself around him, another pearly layer coating his shaft. "H-Holy shit!!" He falters, quickly separating himself from your core, he wraps a hand around his shaft, pumping himself. His hand vigorously running along his length, tip an angry twitching red,  a loud cry of ecstasy filling the room as thick ropes of cum splattered against your abdomen.

The milky substance exuding a warmth against your skin. "Mhm," His lips swollen, eyes looking down at your paint covered body, giving your nipples a light pinch he trails a hand down to his puddle on your abdomen. His forefinger dipping in the pearly puddle, a ticklish feeling as he etches into the puddle. His signature. "You're the most beautiful canvas I've ever gotten the pleasure to paint on." He smirks, dipping down he brings his mouth to your ear, "I just had to leave my signature."

A light gasp escaping you when you looked down to his signature written in the splattered cum on your abdomen.  A pink dusting your cheeks. "L-Let's get cleaned up." Eyes trailing over the pastel mess covering the two of you. "I have a shower over there." He nods over to the shower head in the corner in the studio, a drain on the floor nearby, no curtains or stalls. "Shower?" Planting a kiss on your nose he smiles, "This studio used to be a chemistry lab so they needed the shower for safety reasons, however, since I converted this place into an art studio I never really had the chance to get rid of it."

"I'm glad you didn't get rid of it, going home in this mess would be quite the task." You giggled, getting up from the wobbly table. Looking down at the damage, cheeks flushing at his signature on your body.

"Mind if I shower with you?" He chuckles as he gathers towels, letting the shower run.

"After this evening it'd be a little strange for me to tell you 'no' wouldn't it?" Your giggle echoing throughout the room. His paint covered hand waving you over. "That's now come mere baby." His tone loving as he pulled you under the steaming water. His large hands roaming your body as the two of you scrubbed away the paint from your bodies. Splattering water was all that could be heard, the warm liquid warming the two of you.

"Will I see you again?" Your voice coming off as a gentle plea. His chin rested atop your head. "I don't see why not, next time we should meet under normal circumstances don't you think so Dove?" An almost immediate nod coming from you, "I'd like that, to see what you're like outside of the studio." A small smile tugging at your lips, the water showering the two of you in a layer of warmth. Large hands roaming your body down to your hips, his palm cupping your core. "Until then.." He smirks, "Can I play with you a little more baby?" The red-headed male dropping to his knees as he spread your thighs open.

Carefully leaning against the back wall, head tilted back as his skilled tongue began to trace over your slit. Gentle licks and sucks attacking your nub,  your hands quickly latching themselves to his scalp. Tugging at his red locks as his pace picked up. His lewd slurps causing your cheeks to darken to a crimson shade. His tongue paying special attention to your clit as he began to softly hum. The vibrations sending shivers along the length of your spine, the once hot water now becoming cool against your skin.  A soft whine of protest escaping you as he pulled away. "I have to close up the studio baby, next time we will continue this." Standing at your level he gave you heated kissed, one that was a mixture of emotions. Lust, attraction, curiosity, and longing. You already missed him and you haven't even left yet.

**

The cool fall breeze knocked on the windows to your apartment. Leaves and sticks brushed against your door. Namjoon spamming your phone with every passing minute. He was coming over later on for a movie marathon, Lisa was joining too. You were in limbo. Ever since you saw Taehyung that evening last week you hadn't been able to erase the redheaded man from your memory. He hadn't contacted you since. Was it your fault? Did he even know your name? He only referred to you as 'Dove'. You missed him. Every day since you had to reframe yourself from walking to his studio, to push him against the wall and ask him where he had been. Ask him why he hadn't said anything. Why he didn't keep his word.

A soft knocking shattered your thoughts. "I'm in the middle of having a pity party, who the hell is bothering me." You let out a low growl as you trudged yourself to the front door. Peaking through the peephole seeing no one on the other side. "I swear Joon if you are playing tricks on me again!!" You shouted, opening the door preparing yourself to be tackled by Namjoon in his gimp costume but there was no one there. Just a piece of paper sticking out from your mailbox. "The mailman doesn't come by on Sundays.." Your eyebrows furrowing. Carefully taking the paper from the mailbox, you unfolded it. You're stomach fluttering, blood running to your cheeks. Painted in watercolor was you.  A painting of you nude, covered in a gradient of pastels, along with a pearly puddle on your abdomen. Written in a sloppy black cursive was a message.

"I had a hard time tracking you down Little Dove. Haven't been able to stop thinking about you since. How about dinner next time?"  Clutching the painting against your chest, the heat in your face making it a little hard to breathe. "W-What did I get myself into.."

[artificialqueens]

Throwing Books At Poorly Constructed Walls (Bitney) -Lemonade

AN: Based on the prompt: “We live in adjacent apartments/hotel rooms and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall.” I think I deviated a bit from the original idea, but it laid the foundation for this fic. Most of the italics = inner monologue. Hope you guys enjoy!!! (also sorry to biadore shippers i got y'all next time) 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Roy rolled his eyes, head falling back in frustration. “Does this kid ever take a fucking break? This is the fifth day in a row.” He sputtered under his breath as he stomped angrily across his bed room floor. “Hey, douchebag!” Roy pounded his fist against the dingy white wall. “These walls are paper fucking thin; You’ve kept me up for the past week, asshole.” There was a fleeting moment of silence which fooled Roy into thinking he’d actually be getting some sleep tonight. Keep going, was huffed out on the opposite side of his wall before the obnoxious moaning continued louder than before. Roy’s mouth dropped open. Now he was certain that his new neighbor was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making his life a living hell with a porno playing in the background. So for the fifth day in a row, Roy gathered up his pillows and blankets, headed for the living room couch. He was sure to throw the closest item, a book he never had the time to read, against the wall before exiting.

—

“Oh hell no.” The gross moaning almost everyday was one thing, but this? Absolutely not. Roy would rather have a constant audio loop of the Australian’s sexual escapades playing in his ear for the next five years than hear his shrill singing for the next five minutes. The blond was pulled out of his bubble as, yet again, his bitter old neighbor banged violently against his wall. “Would you shut the fuck up?! Seriously, are you incapable of being quiet for a millisecond?” Shane scoffed.

“Are you incapable of not complaining for a millisecond? You’ve been beating on my wall every goddamn day since I moved in!”

“Because you never shut up!”

“I can make all the noise I’d like to! It’s my apartment, I pay just as much rent here as you do.”

Shane heard an unknown object being tossed against their wall from the opposite side. “And throwing shit like a child isn’t going to solve anything.” He jumped as a heavier item was thrown.

—

It had to be a miracle. No sex noises. No singing. Just quiet. Peace and quiet. Roy pondered for a brief moment why exactly that was. Had he finally gained enough decency to not bring his hookups back home with him, keeping Roy up to all hours of the night? Was he just waiting until Roy got comfortable in bed before blowing him out of the water with some odd combination of his high pitched singing and kind of sexy, a hundred percent annoying moans and whimpers? Had he just dropped dead? Whatever the case may be, Roy wasn’t going to let this rare taste of serenity slip from his grasp. He hurriedly prepared for bed, hoping to be asleep before Shane inevitably started up his antics again.

Roy got in a few hours of sleep, admittedly more than he expected, before being awoken by his crude neighbor. He tossed and turned, attempting to ignore the sounds he was far too into unconsciousness to truly register. He danced on the line of slumber, ultimately giving up any chance of falling back to sleep when the racket emitting from the adjacent room grew more unsettling. Was he…crying? That was a new one.

Roy contemplated if he should even say anything. They hadn’t exactly been cordial to each other since Shane moved in. The sobbing grew more worrisome, no matter how malevolent Roy could come across he didn’t enjoy seeing (or hearing) anyone in distress. He knocked on the wall this time, a stark contrast to the usual aggressive pounding. A sniffle was audible through the thin structure. “What?” Shane answered with a sharp edge to his tone. Can’t this guy leave me alone for once? “I wanted to know if you were okay.” God, I try to be nice for once in my life and I get attitude in return. “I can hear you crying over there.” Oh, Shane thought. He felt embarrassed, more so by the standoffish way he first responded to Roy when he was only being kind, or the fact that Roy actually heard him crying, he wasn’t sure. Probably an even mixture of the two.

He swallowed down the growing lump in his throat, trying desperately to build a convincing facade before answering again. “I’m fine.” Shane croaked out, voice breaking at the last second. Totally believable Shane, great job. He internally rolled his eyes at himself. “That’s a load of shit.” Roy was quick to call him out. He could literally hear him crying, what was the point of lying to him? “Boohooing alone in your room isn’t going to solve anything. Tell me what’s wrong.” Roy always had this protective instinct. He if knew someone was struggling, he had to help. He tried to push it down as much as he possibly could, though it was a futile effort for the most part. Roy Haylock just had to accept that, he was in fact, a decent human being with a heart of gold.

“I’m lonely.” Shane blurted out. He felt idiotic the moment he did. What he felt was valid, he knew that, but something about saying it out loud made him feel almost juvenile. “You don’t seem very lonely.” Roy couldn’t help but to crack a joke. A heart of gold that may be a little insensitive at times. He was working on it. Shane rolled his tear filled eyes. “That’s just sex…” He trailed off.

Silence filled the rooms. Roy wondered if he offended the man with his poorly timed joke. He figuratively kicked himself in the ass for it. You’ve got to stop doing that. Not everybody copes the way you do. “Everyone I care about is back in Australia.” Shane’s voice cut through the grueling quiet. Roy’s eyes darted up at the sound, thankful he hadn’t added to his anguish. “I came here, and I’m making less money than I did when I was eighteen, living in a rat hole of an apartment.” We live in the same apartment building, asshole. “It’s wearing on me. I don’t want to go home and have to say I couldn’t make it, but staying here seems more daunting everyday.”

Roy could hear the pain and disappointment laced in Shane’s words; It made him want to engulf the man in the largest, warmest hugs he could ever give someone. His feelings for Shane were quite literally changing overnight. If someone told Roy he’d feel anything other than a deep seeded hatred for his disruptive, discourteous neighbor he would have thrown up on their shoes. “Look, why don’t you come to my show tomorrow night?” It was the oldest cliché in the book, but Roy wholeheartedly believed laughter was the best medicine. He’d lost track of how many times someone came up to him after a gig saying that for a few hours he provided an escape for them, that they had forgotten all of their problems temporarily and laughed without a care in the world. Shane seemed like he could use that.

“Show? What do you do?” Oh that’s right, I hated him up until ten minutes ago. He knows virtually nothing about me. “I’m a comedian.” Shane found that…interesting. He didn’t know much about the man in the opposite apartment, but comedy was the absolute last career field he’d guess he was in. Professional pain in the ass seemed more likely–Or a school librarian. Roy shushed him through a wall everyday; Shane could perfectly picture him doing it to a rowdy group of high school students.

“I’ll slip the address under your door in the morning.” Roy added.

“Sounds good.”

Silence fell over them once again. They both wondered if the other had fallen asleep.

“Roy?”

“Yeah, Shane?”

“Thanks.”

“If you really want to thank me you’ll be quiet for the rest of the night and let me sleep.”

What a cunt. I think I actually like him.

—

The next morning Shane found a piece of paper under his door as Roy promised. He was almost expecting the previous evening to have been a prank, or some hallucination brought on by extreme sadness. Anything seemed more probable than his perpetually disgruntled neighbor actually trying to cheer him up.

Shane briefly scanned the note, realizing Roy wrote more than an address:

I perform under Bianca, not Roy.

The opening act starts at 10:30, I go on a little after 11:00.

You should try to make the opening act. The kid’s extremely talented, he’s a singer too (though he doesn’t keep me up all night singing spice girls songs on the top of his lungs). I’ll introduce you to him after the show.

Though Shane rolled his eyes at the comment, he had to admit he was excited to meet this “extremely talented” singer. He would be excited to meet anyone new, really. He hadn’t exactly made friends since moving to America a few months ago. Still, all his curiosity laid with Roy–Bianca? He couldn’t picture him up on stage making people laugh instead of throwing books at poorly constructed walls.

—

What an interesting turn of events. Just two days ago Roy had been scolding Shane through the wall that divided them, now Shane was sitting at a bar waiting to see Roy perform, as per Roy’s request. He ordered a drink and waited for this opening act that Roy insisted on him not missing.

“Please welcome to the stage, Adore Delano!” This must be it. Shane couldn’t decide if Adore was a woman or just a really pretty dude in a wig, but that was hardly important. Roy was right, the kid was talented. Shane had been completely enthralled by their performance. Adore had a beautiful energy that washed over the entire room, lighting Shane up right away, before Roy–Bianca even came on stage. By the end of Adore’s set Shane was about ten times more excited to meet them. What if they’re dating? The out of the blue, unwanted thought seeped into Shane’s mind. So what if they’re dating? I don’t like Roy like that, why am I even thinking about this? But did he like Roy? He had to admit, Roy even bothering to check on him last night caused an odd feeling of warmth towards the practically-stranger. Then being invited here, given a glimpse into his life, made him feel more connected to Roy than he ever thought possible. Hm, maybe I do like him.

“Please welcome to the stage, Bianca Del Rio!” The hosts voice shook Shane from his thoughts, his complete attention turning to the stage, awaiting to meet this ‘Bianca’ character. When she stepped out, Shane noticed two things right away: the roar of the crowd and how polar opposite to Adore she was. She wasn’t traditionally pretty like Adore, but still weirdly beautiful in her own unique way. She wore a royal blue gown that hugged her body perfectly, making Shane’s mouth go dry. Adore had on ripped tights, a black thong, and a crop top; just one look at Bianca convinced Shane that he’d never have the pleasure of seeing her in something like that.

Bianca’s set had to be at least an hour long, but time flew when you were having fun and Shane was sure he hadn’t laughed as hard as he did tonight in years. His cheeks stung by the end of the show. Bianca was…hateful. An insult comic. Shane should have guessed that Roy would make a living taking the piss out of people. “Hey!” Bianca’s voice cut through the intense buzz of the bar as she crept up behind Shane, embracing him in a quick hug that she wanted to give him last night. “What’d you think?” Why do you care what he thinks, Roy? You’ve never given a shit about what anybody thinks before. "Eh.” Bianca’s face dropped and Shane cackled at how utterly broken he appeared in that moment. “I’m just fucking with you. You were incredible, I haven’t laughed so much in my life.” Bianca’s glorious smile returned. Mission accomplished, Roy thought. God, those dimples are adorable, and I haven’t even seen his ass yet. “I’m gonna go take this shit off,” Roy leaned into him, Shane’s eyes falling to the expertly painted ruby lips. Why is he doing this to me? “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll bring out Adore so you can meet her too.” Bianca turned to the bartender. “Get him a drink on me, Matt.” The guy nodded. “Sure, B.” Bianca patted Shane’s shoulder before plunging into the crowd. His eyes following her until she was no longer visible.

“You know,” the bartender began as he made Shane’s drink. “it’s really cool to see Bianca with someone. She seems like a hard ass, but she’s a real softie under all that bullshit.” Shane felt his heart drop in disappointment. “Is she dating Adore?” Shane inquired. Why. Do. You. Care? His inner voice berated him. The quizzed look on the young man’s face told Shane no before he did. So who? “Oh, I’m sorry, a-are you two not together?” Me? Why would he think I was Roy’s boyfriend? I’ve only know him properly for a day. “Absolutely not, I can’t stand the cunt.” Shane brushed off the suspicion. “Sorry,” the bartender handed Shane his drink. “it’s just the way you two look at each other.”

—

“Hurry up!” Danny threw a pillow from the couch he was sitting on at Roy as he peeled away Bianca. “I wanna meet your boyfriend.” Oh god, here we go. Roy hadn’t had a proper boyfriend in years, he hadn’t even brought a guy back home just for the night in months. It was so rare for Roy to have a person around, that when he did, all of his coworkers were immediately down his throat about every last detail.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Roy tossed the pillow back in Danny’s face.

“He could be.”

Roy shot Danny a look that made him sink back into his seat.

“I’m just saying Roy, don’t be all cynical and ruin something before it even has the chance to happen. Let yourself be happy for once.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think? I barely know him. In fact, I hated him until twenty four hours ago.”

Danny shrugged his shoulders “So? You hated me at first too, we even got into that huge fight, remember? Now you love me.” He teased.

Roy was silent.

Shane was definitely his type, he could admit that, but what else was there? No, seriously Roy, what else is there? That was the problem: the most Roy knew about Shane was that he sung the spice girls on the top of his lugs at two in the morning, and his moaning was the sexiest (though annoying from a neighbors standpoint) sound he had ever heard. I wouldn’t mind being the one making him whimper like that. He knew he felt some sort of need to comfort him, to make him feel better. Then there was this strange want to impress him with his act tonight. And, truth be told, he did enjoy having someone in the audience watching just for him.

“You brought him here because he was sad. You never do anything nice for someone you genuinely hate.”

—

Shane and Danny hit it off immediately, finding their common ground in their love of music. The trio looked like old friends catching up, rather than strangers getting to know each other. Shane wasn’t half bad, Roy found out. The more they spoke the more he enjoyed being in his company. He had the same dry humor as Roy, and could keep up with his banter. Shane wasn’t as shocked as to find out Roy was fairly decent, he had already decided he liked him before coming out tonight. Maybe a little more than he’d actually admit to.

—

Roy and Shane took a lyft back to their apparent complex, neither were drunk, but far too buzzed to even think about driving themselves home. A comfortable silence had fallen over them as they walked back to their individual residence. Roy couldn’t have been more surprised at the way things were playing out. The two were getting in fights every day without even being in the same room, but once they got together it felt like they could have be best friends their whole life. “I had a really good time tonight, thank you. I needed it.” Roy chuckled. “What, did you think you’d have an awful time with me?” Shane narrowed his eyes at him. “Why do you always do that? Make everything a joke when someone’s trying to be sincere?”

Roy didn’t answer.

Good going Shane, call him out on a character flaw. That’ll really show him you like him.

Good going Roy, make him angry with you. That’s a great foot to start off on.

“I’m sorry.” They spoke in unison. The laughter erupting between them helping to break up the awkward tension. “I am really glad you enjoyed yourself tonight.” Roy said seriously. A soft smile bloomed on Shane’s face. Okay, he is pretty fucking adorable.

Roy thought back on what Danny said earlier that night, about not ruining a good thing before it even had the chance to start. He thought about how Danny only wanted the best for him, and how he would never give him advice he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of.

Shane was cute. Shane had a good sense of humor. Roy liked Shane.

Shane thought back on the plummet his heart took when he guessed Roy and Danny might have been dating. He thought back on the bartender, someone who must have known Roy for years, suspecting they were together just by the way they gazed at each other.

Shane didn’t have to think about it anymore, he had decided pretty early on in the evening, he liked Roy.

Maybe.

Maybe.

The two leaned into each other, neither anticipating the move from the other. Shane’s hand rested on Roy’s jaw, Roy’s arm snaked around Shane’s waist, yanking him closer to his body. The kiss came as second nature, as if they had lip locked a hundred times before. Roy’s lips had been softer than Shane expected them to be, they were perfectly plump and driving him mad.

Roy caught Shane’s lips in a series of pecks before finally letting them go. They stay pressed together, drunk on the moment with lust pumping through their veins. Shane reached behind him, grabbing for the door knob to his apparent.

“Would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to.”