#truly my magnum opus what can i say

[skitskatdacat63]

Please take my low effort shitpost of our two Aston flopboys

Basically:

[forlix]

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?” 

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path. 

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.” 

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there. 

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.” 

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour. 

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

 “Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?” 

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall. 

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze. 

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter. 

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds. 

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session. 

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete. 

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person. 

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe. 

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels. 

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you. 

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand. 

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system. 

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod. 

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?” 

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane. 

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it. 

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[chrollohearttags]

thank you all for your well wishes and love, I really appreciate it. I didn’t exactly plan to go on hiatus or leave. Honestly, I was just fine, nothing major even happening in life (at least I thought so) but I ended up having an unexpected mental break of sorts. School and work has always been manageable but work has began its busiest season and this last class was a little trying so I’m guessing it became too much. I started isolating from everyone and hadn’t been very social lately. Not to mention, I’m preparing to have surgery in a few months. Truthfully though, I think I just became exhausted with this app and its nonsense..or the clock app I should say. Like I said, I’ve been working on being less combative and confrontational on here bc it’s not who I am and as I stated in my post a couple months ago, if I have to be in defense mode, I don’t want to be here. Although I’ve gotten no anon hate recently, I can see posts. I can see anons being sent by proxy of my friends and I can see screenshots of my name being mentioned in comments on apps I don’t even use. I’ve always been very passionate about my writing and I try my best to pour as much of myself into it as I can. I know people say ‘passion project’ or ‘magnum opus’ but that’s what I strive for with each of my works. I never wanna give bare minimum, hence why I deny certain anons or don’t write certain tropes if they don’t align with that purpose.

Again, I’m perfect by no means and my fics are not for everyone. However, having these straw man fics about baby mamas and drug dealers attached to me is infuriating (not bc I have an issue with them, but bc it shows some of you don’t truly read my work) With that being said, I’ve got the next two weeks off from school and I’ve been working on some stuff I’m really excited to share. My only request is that y’all start spreading more love to ur writers..show ppl that you love their works. The energy that you use to critique and throw hate, use it to be reblog and show appreciation. I’ve seen so many great writers leave this app and I hate to join them, but I’m just not going to burn myself out for mediocre feedback and diet lite racist commentary. I have Google Docs and my drafts, I’m good. Be blessed everyone <3

[fillinforlater]

It’s that time of the year again. What are some of your favorite smuts released in 2023?

Monday of Appreciation: Part 104

Hello everyone, Smite here!

2023 is coming to a close and it's been quite the year, a mixture of "this is a bridge year for greater things to come" and "WE LIVIN' NOW MF!" What is a bit different this year is that the highs weren't as high and the lows weren't as low compared to previous years---maybe that is just me getting older, maybe it's hindsight. Either way, I'm good and this year was good.

But some things are more than just good. I'm of course talking about these writers and their stories that I have featured today. All of them deserve special mention, but I want to focus on two of them specifically.

In a year of great, fantastic and already legendary fics, these two stand out.

Without further ado, let's dive into the final MoA of this year:

-1-

@fanfiction4sooya: Can't Save You Now ft. Chaewon, Kazuha, Sakura

I- I- I just read the damn tags and new I one day had to give this a shot. ff4sooya has crazy ideas, futa galore, different dynamics and kinks, which is SO MY THING. This has Mommy and Daddy involved in an absurd (and absurdly hot) threesome that I couldn't take my eyes off.

Now I definitely need to read more and you should too because I bet there are a bunch of Masterpieces in that long Masterlist!

-2-

@iznsfw: Drunken ft. Olivia Hye

Is it really a Monday of Appreciation post without IZ?

Seriously, what this genius is able to cook up in a commission or in the currently ongoing (HYPE) IZ DAYS OF CHRISTMAS is absolutely incredible. We have long stories with in depth characters and love drama that ends not only smuttily but sweetly. Who the fuck needs books, when you can just binge IZ?

With "Drunken", they have once again hit it out of the FUCKIING park. There is never enough Daddy kink fics, yes, but mine seem like nonsensical cringe porn compared to this beauty of a piece. I love how it plays with my heart, no I'm not crying---okay, now that is hot.

Let me change that: there is three very fucking special stories today!

(I think this might even be better than Levi's Hyeju, wtf)

-3-

@cataboliac: Enkindle ft. Wendy

Firstly: I LOVE YOU CATA, BIG QT!

Secondly: "Enkindle" feels a bit like coming home, like a day in Paradise, like the one person that shines so bright in your life that you don't want it to go. And you know, that is the great thing: this might be Cata's final fic, the farewell, but not only is his life gonna be great and he'll be super happy - we also get to read this again and again, and I'm sure I will one day.

Thank you, Cata, for hanging around!

Thirdly: I'M GONNA KISS YOU, CATA!

-4-

@writerpeach: Delectation ft. Wonyoung, Yujin

1.000 Notes, and it's still not enough for what is my pick for fic of the year (FOTY? FOOTY? There is a scene like that, yep). IZ*ONE truly never dies, but it is IVE and these absolute super stars, bomb shells with flawless faces and different, yet irresistible bodies that have us in a frenzy.

Talking about frenzy, all those 30,699 words are a frenzy. I thought Peach would set it up with a long and painful tease that has us edging the entire time BUT NOPE this has so much fucking smut, so many lines of neediness and horniness, it is impossible to finish in one try or two tries or... I dunno, seven-hundred tries?

It's detailed, it's straight forward, it's sex from every fucking angle, I can never get tired of this. I will go so far and say this is Peach's magnum opus, the GOAT fic by the GOAT writer. At least for that day, I can say this without a doubt.

Peach, you are crazy and thank you for that <3

#PeachPavedTheWay #AnnyeongzForDaddy

[eldritch-spouse]

Poll results: " What are we doing? " (40,3%)

(The demonoid says nothing when you set the cup down, an identical one untouched on his side of the table. He seems a lot more comfortable and confident than before, smug even. Your question rises an eye roll from him.)

" To the point. I can't say I fault you for that, though I did wish you had a more... Explorative side, at times. It certainly wouldn't hurt you. "

" Oh poor oblivious mentee, I almost envy you and your innocence. We're going to be pioneers after today, we're going to set the records straight. "

(His face suddenly twists in one of stress, trying once more to see something in you. To be sure of something- Whatever it may be.)

" The questions you've asked... I know you and I are the same. Don't you want to fill all the blanks our books so garishly leave? "

" Don't you think it's unacceptable?! "

(He doesn't wait for an answer, tutting.)

" I know you do. "

" So don't worry, there's simply no point in it. "

(A more relaxed look crosses that expanse of darkness you've been calling a face. You think you hear a gulp.)

" I've gotten my hands on a piece of scripture- No, that's not quite the word... "

(His brows furrow as he tries to redefine it, correct himself.)

" A set of... Procedures. Instructions. For something truly marvelous. If what little I was able to gouge on my own is correct, then we're dealing with something of such unimaginable proportions! "

(Hudd seems to tense in a fit of overwhelming emotion, all but shaking in place.)

" Mentee -My protégé- This is my Magnum Opus. With this, we can put everyone else to shame. "

(The demonoid's voice turns into a mewled tremble of elation that's almost uncomfortable to the ears.)

" We can do anything. "

(And, as if nothing had transpired, Hudsyn regains some of his composure, now almost seeming to sway in place, fantasizing far away, as he addresses you again.)

" Mm, but we have time. Is there something you want to get out of the way before we start? "

(The demonoid chuckles.)

" I know I get all sorts of jitters when I'm about to do something big. "

[dweemeister]

Instant reactions to the 96th Academy Awards

A rough night for me. But there have been rougher ones before. I imagine most of my comments put me in a very lonely minority, as has been apparent the last few months.

But here goes:

For all intents and purposes, yours truly was on the Killers of the Flower Moon train. An extraordinary crime epic from Scorsese, with astounding craftsmanship and fantastic performance from Lily Gladstone. More than what I previously believed possible, a major studio production went out of its way to make sure that its Indigenous American representation on-screen was as genuine as it could possibly be (still imperfect, as the film acknowledges, but what an effort). And yet, KOTFM goes 0/10. I've never had a favored Best Picture nominee be shut out in such a way before. And I'm not surprised at all by it. It was clear that non-American and non-Canadian audiences didn't get the context to the film (a criticism I understand, given the screenplay) and, in other quarters, folks thought it was too long (I admittedly have a higher tolerance for longer movies) and others have said something akin to the fact that they are getting tired over "racial guilt" movies from America. I'm not in the mood to respond to the last one. I think it deserved better tonight. I particularly think Lily Gladstone deserved better tonight.

Stat upheld: two non-white actresses have never won on the same night in Oscar history. History, in and of itself, was always against Gladstone.

Oppenheimer winning? Fine, I guess. It was my #4 choice of the ten Best Picture nominees. I guess Christopher Nolan was overdue, but I have always been a Nolan skeptic. The film certainly is his most humanistic, and I appreciate that. As for the narrative organization and editing trickery? It mostly serves to take me out of the movie. And I don't think Nolan truly understands what thematic film music can accomplish for his movies. I think RDJ should have had much more competition all season long, but he did not. Most people are gonna say this is the return of the Academy's favorite subgenre... the Great Man Biopic. But in composition and structure, Oppenheimer (and even Maestro) resembles very little of the past Great Man Biopics. It'll be interesting to see how history treats this movie.

I disliked Poor Things. I didn't care for its sense of humor, didn't agree with many folks' opinions that it was a magnum opus of female empowerment. I thought it was incredibly male gaze-y and troublingly sanitized its scenes of sex work. Jerskin Fendrix's score was unlistenable outside the context of the film and distracting within it. But it has four Academy Awards and people love this movie, so my opinion can go to heck?

Well done Da'Vine Joy Randolph for her win as Supporting Actress for The Holdovers. I truly hope this opens up a lot more new opportunities for her going for! Wonderful speech.

And speaking of wonderful speeches, both documentary winners got me very emotional. The Last Repair Shop is on YouTube for American and Canadian viewers, and it's simply wonderful. Perhaps the happiest I was all night long! And then came Mstyslav Chernov's speech after winning for 20 Days in Mariupol. Chernov had, arguably, the speech of the night. And I agree with him. I, too, wish he never had to make his film and that he never won this Oscar. But he did his job to document what happened in Mariupol. And for that he (and the Ukrainians suffering and dying in their war versus Russia) deserves our plaudits and support.

Once more, Hayao Miyazaki cannot be bothered to show up to an awards ceremony. It's hilarious! I would have voted Robot Dreams, but The Boy and the Heron is not a winner to sniff at. Spider-Verse will have one more shot.... whenever the third movie comes out?

Good lord, they selected the worst possible winner in Animated Short with War Is Over!. There's an unwritten rule that the Academy, among the fifteen nominated shorts, must select one which will piss me the hell off. And for the second straight year in Animated Short, they have done exactly that, choosing something akin to a soft drink commercial.

Billie Eilish and Finneas are now the youngest and second-youngest ever to win two Oscars, after Luise Rainer (Best Actress for 1936's The Great Ziegfeld and 1937's The Good Earth). That feels very, very weird. In both cases of this record.

The "I'm Just Ken" performance? Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Like Ken)??? Busby Berkeley choreography? What do the kids say? Inject that straight into my veins? It was wonderful.

And speaking of nods to cinema history, I'm so glad they led off the stunt performers tribute with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd. :,)

And congratulations to Godzilla Minus One and its Best Visual Effects win! After seventy years, Godzilla is now an Oscar-winning franchise, and its win percentage is 100%! Simply wonderful!

I think the moral of the story is that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) has been gradually internationalizing over the last decade. And the results of that were very clear tonight. Does that mean I'm too provincial in my tastes? I don't know. But wins such as Emma Stone's, Anatomy of a Fall, The Boy and the Heron, and Godzilla are demonstrative of that.

I'm glad this season is over. I certainly hope that Killers of the Flower Moon will be looked upon more kindly by history and time, without the bells and whistles of awards campaigning and a fuller understanding of why it was made the way it was.

This month has been fun! But now it's time to see movies again without the lens of awards for a long, long while.

[gretavangroupie]

Vigilance (Chapter 13)

Word count: 12.1k

Pairings: Sam x OC, Jake x Reader

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, smoking, language, fluff, angst, smut.

This story is a collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon.

A/N: This chapter has to be broken into two parts thanks to Tumblr's character limits. I know this is a long one, but I hope you can stick with it until the end and then read part two! I promise this will be the only one that is this long. We will go back to our regular sized chapters next week. Enjoy!

READ CHAPTER 12 FIRST!

AUSTIN CITY LIMITS

JAKE POV

The time had come to return to the office space to regroup after most of Strange Horizons had wrapped up, and you were excited to discuss your new ideas with management. Many inebriated nights with your brothers had formulated a deep and diverse plan for the inevitable next leg of tour, and your ideas just kept building and building. 

The pandemic had placed a huge damper on your initial tour schedule, release dates and shows being pushed back dramatically. Not to mention having to deal with all of the new rules that were placed last year for venues…though it had been over a year since the world shut down, the effects were still massively trickling down. 

As you entered the office together, you thought back to over a year ago...the four of you had locked yourselves in a secluded cabin in the Smoky Mountains for a portion of time that you scarcely remember, only leaving to get supplies and food. It was there that you crafted a list of songs, some brand new and some dusted off from the depths of your library. 

The isolation that you felt being tucked away in the mountains was the perfect setting for the way you all wanted the album to be…loud, dynamic, mysterious, orgasmic and borderline perfect. Not a note out of place. You’d talked about making an album like this for as long as you’d been a band, and you’d decided it was time to make it happen. What better time to create it than in the midst of a worldwide shutdown? 

“Let’s make it sound like a film soundtrack, without the film…” Sam had said, setting the premise for exactly how he envisioned it. 

“Ha, a man after my own heart.” Josh had responded. “Are you saying you want to make the soundtrack to my first film before I even know what it’s about?”

Late nights had turned to early mornings of writing riffs, and introducing lyrics that spoke about the current state of the world and the more difficult subjects. Josh was truly in his element when it came to storytelling through his lyrics; you were absolutely blown away by his ability to talk about the here and now while making it sound like you were reading from a 500 year old novel. More often than not, partaking turned into conversations with the ghosts you were certain inhabited the old cabin’s walls, thrusting you into sleepless nights spent laying down haunting samples on Sam’s piano. 

Sam’s sonic concentration and being able to hear the music before you had even laid it down was perfectly tuned in…Daniel’s ability to think outside of the box when it came to bringing everything together as a whole...you found yourselves in a true state of enlightenment, visually and instrumentally, and you prayed that the outcome of your hard work was to be accepted well. 

Strange Horizons had been the trial run, and now it was time for your bigger idea to come to life. 

“We want to call it Dreams in Gold. A lyric from the magnum opus of the album, the crowning achievement of our careers so far. The premise of this album is a concoction of stories being told, dreams, if you will. We’ve got ideas all the way down to stage setting and album art. Every element is going to be intentional, and is going to tie into one another. It’s going to be all about details. The whole thing is going to be a journey, just like the storyline of the album itself. We want to include commissioned artists that we find organically, as well, to help with our visuals.”

“To begin with, we want to entice people to get back outside, hit the road and come and join us at shows. We’ve all been cooped up for too long and we want to show the fans that we’re still here. So, yes, we’re ready for another lengthy tour.” Josh began the meeting by condensing the details into a concise introduction to the panel of your management team. 

After a few hours of debating and compromise, the initial plans were set, and management was ecstatic about your new ideas. Things were truly looking great. 

You had one more small run of shows planned, a two-weekend span at Austin City Limits festival in Texas, then you were off to Los Angeles. Until then, it was time to relax, recharge, and enjoy every second alone with your girl.

HER POV

OCTOBER 2021

As you waited for the front desk attendant to finish with the person in front of you, your eyes flicked to the TV screen behind the desk, ‘Welcome to Austin’ it read in bright blue letters.

It was late, nearly 11:00pm when you finally arrived in Texas, flights delayed for nearly 2 hours due to weather. The van was late to pick you up at the airport and overall everyone was in a foul mood, yourself included.

“Next! Hi, how can I help you?” he asked.

“Hi, I just need to check in. Should be six rooms, under this name.” you say sliding the man your ID.

He clicks around on his computer for a few minutes, brow furrowing as he looks to you, “I see five rooms under this name. Looks like one was canceled about two weeks ago, and one was upgraded.”

“I’m sorry? Which room was canceled?” you ask.

“Looks like a Queen Non-Smoking…oh, actually the name on the room is yours.” he says, nervously.

“Mhmm, and the upgraded room?” you ask.

“Jacob Kiszka? Upgraded to a King Suite.” he answers. 

“Okay, and can you tell me who authorized the change?” you ask.

“Looks like it was Mr. Kiszka, ma’am.” he answers.

“Right... Okay. Well, that’s fine. Thank you.” you say, accepting your ID back from him.

“Here are your room keys, two in each pocket. The elevators are just to your left, vending and ice on each floor. If there’s anything I can do for you, just call the front desk.” he smiles.

“Thank you.” you say, grabbing the keys and turning back to head towards your group.

“Alright guys, let's end this miserable day. Sam…” you hand him his key. 

“Daniel…Josh… Summer…” you say in succession, handing them each their key cards.

“Jacob.” you say handing him his. 

“We have to be down here, in this spot ready to leave at 11:00am. The festival is being very stringent on timing, if we are late we don’t get any kind of sound check. Maybe a line check at best.” you say, as everyone begins rolling their luggage towards the elevators.

“Yes mother.” Josh replies with a smile.

As you all load into the elevator, everyone checks their floors, and presses their respective buttons, as it begins to rise. One by one they exit the elevator, first Summer, then Daniel, followed by Elle and Sam, leaving you, Jake and Josh in the tiny enclosed space.

Josh looks at the two of you, a knowing but contemplative look on his face as the elevator reaches his floor and the doors spring open. He steps out of the elevator, pausing to turn to the two of you. You can see the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back and smiles as the doors close again.

You don't look at Jake until the doors fling open two floors above. You step out, and make your way to your room, pulling your suitcase next to you as you walk. As you stand at the door you stare at the wall, not making eye contact with him as he steps up to meet you.

“Baby…” he whines. “Don’t be mad…”

You turn to face him. “I would like to go to bed.” you hiss.

With a huff he taps the key card to the door, letting it unlock as you push it open. 

He rolls both of your suitcases inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

You slip your shoes off and walk across the room, pulling the curtains shut as you start to undress. “You can't just…do that! What if…someone found out! I would have no way to explain this!” you say, raising your voice.

“It’s fine baby. No one is going to know.” he says, trying to ease your tension.

“Josh knows! He totally knows. He basically just told us he knows and he didn’t even say anything!” you say, pulling your pajamas from your suitcase.

You pull on your pajama shorts, and slide your arms through the top as you start to button the buttons. 

“Listen…” he says, making his way over to you. “If our secret is safe with anyone, it’s him. People will eventually find out love, and personally I’m ready to shout it from the rooftops.” he says, his fingers taking over buttoning up your top. As he fastens the last button he rests his hand on the back of your neck, “I have slept next to you almost every night for weeks now. I’m not giving that up. No chance.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sigh, leaning into his chest as you wrap your arms around him. His bare skin on your cheek is warm, and calming. His very presence centering you and bringing you back down to earth.  “I’m not mad. I’m just…afraid of getting caught by the wrong person, you know?” you say.

“I know. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise.” he says, squeezing you one last time before letting you go. 

He walks over to his suitcase and grabs his phone charger, plugging it into the wall as he strips off his pants. You knew you would never grow tired of seeing him like that. 

You slipped into the overly fluffy bed, and made your way to the middle, fluffing the pillows behind you.

“Oh you think you’re sleeping in the middle, huh?” he asks playfully, turning off the lamp.

He pulls the blankets back, sliding in next to you as he circles his arms around your waist. He lays his head on your chest, listening to the sound of your beating heart as he hums a tune..‘she’s a woman in a dream…’ 

“Thanks for not getting mad. I know it’s stupid and careless, but I… sleep better next to you.” he says softly into your chest.

“Mmhmmm… that’s the only reason right?” you ask.

“The list is endless of reasons that I need you.” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips and quickly pulling away to turn over to his back. 

You whine at the loss of his warmth, and you feel the bed shake with his chuckle, “Come on…” he says, opening his arms to you. You scoot further onto his side of the bed, and place yourself into his arms. 

He nuzzles his head into the top of yours, taking a deep breath. “Okay, my boss said I can’t be late tomorrow or I'll get in trouble, so I have to go to bed.” he says.

You giggle into his neck, as you twist your fingers with his. ‘Love you…”

“I love you too.” he says, and not too shortly after you both fall into a well deserved sleep.

—

JAKE POV

“I’ll go down first, then you come down in like ten minutes?” she said, a serious look on her face as she flicked through her iPad.

“You got it. Hey…” you said, pulling her by her waist.

She drops the iPad to her side as her eyes meet yours. 

“You’re killing it. Best coordinator we’ve ever had. So proud of you.” you say, really meaning every word. 

You could see her eyes beginning to grow misty at your words, so with a quick kiss, and a promise of later, you shooed her out the hotel room door to begin your ten minute wait.

—

Shockingly, everyone arrived downstairs on time and the van was parked and waiting for you at the entrance. Today was already going ten times better than yesterday, and you could tell Y/N was feeling less stressed because of it. 

As you all loaded into the van, you sat in the back with Josh, and scrolled through news on your phone.

Josh

11:07am: Anything you’d like to share?

You

11:08am: No thanks. I’m done sharing with my siblings.

Josh

11:09am: So…

You

11:10am: Later

The van arrived at the back gates, and you all made your way to the artist check in table, securing your wristbands and being shown to the area where your things were being loaded in. Your crew had been here since early this morning, getting the stage pieces loaded in and the gig boxes situated where they needed to be. Slated to go on at 6:30, you got there with enough time for a quick sound check, before spending the rest of the day exploring, and getting ready in your trailer for the day.

It was hot in Texas, significantly hotter than Nashville, and the sun beating down on you had you sweating even from just standing outside. You and Daniel drew the short straws on the artist interview, so as you stood and waited for your time slot, you turned to Daniel, “What’s up with you man? What’s going on? Where is Heidi?”

He clapped his hand against your shoulder blade and sighed, “She is…busy. At least that’s what she keeps telling me.”

You smiled as you shook your head, “Ahh…sorry to hear that dude.”

“Nah, you know what? It’s fine actually. Feels like things have kind of run its course, ya know? I’m starting to figure out who I am without her. Feels good.” he says, as you both take a step forward.

“Just want to see you happy brother, whatever that means for you.” you reply.

“Could say the same to you. Been a rough couple of weeks.” he says, trailing off.

“It has. But things are looking up.” you say, pushing up your sunglasses on your nose.

“Are they?” he asks.

You nod slowly, as the interviewer welcomed you to her table, relieving you from having that conversation just yet. 

—

A few hours and a few drinks later, you are feeling loose and free and happy preshow, for the first time since this tour started. Your skin felt stiff from the salt in your sweat and you wished you could just jump into the shower to rinse off. 

Making your way to the trailer, you stepped inside, but in the bathroom found no shower. Great.

Sam entered a few minutes later, and he was just as sweaty as you were. “This fucking sun is nuts.” you said, leaning against the couch.

“I know, I need a damn shower.” he said.

“Isn’t one. Already looked.” you replied.

“My hair is fucked. Maybe I can just wet it.” you said, staring off into space.

Sam grabbed two water jugs from under the table and held them up with a suspicious smile. “Like the old days?” 

It really had been a while since you did this, taking turns pouring water jugs for each other, not able to shower daily as you toured across the US in that tiny little van. Times had changed, but you knew you weren’t above it, and you never would be. You knew your roots.

Stepping outside you grabbed a lawn chair and took your shirt off, “Me first, then you?” you ask.

“Let’s do it.” he replied.

You sat down in the chair and threw your hair over the back, letting Sam pour the water over your head until it was completely saturated down to your roots. The water ran over your face and you wiped at your hairline, hoping most of the sweat would wash away. He continued pouring until the jug was empty and you felt your hair was clean enough. He ran his fingers through your hair, one last time as you heard footsteps approaching.

“What are you two doing?” Y/N’s voice filled with laughter as she watched on. 

“We are playing beauty salon! I have an opening at 5:00, if you’d like to book!” Sam answered enthusiastically.

She laughed and shook her head as she walked off, and you felt your chest grow warm, but this time it wasnt from the heat.

—

A few hours later, dressed in one of your favorite suits, you looked yourself over in the mirror feeling extremely confident about tonight's show. You knew you weren’t going to hold back. You were going to lay it all out there wordlessly confessing that the stars aligned in your favor after all these years. This one was for her. 

As you and your brothers took your shots and said your words of encouragement, you watched as Y/N checked over each of your outfits as you exited the trailer, saving yourself for last. 

As the door slammed shut behind Sam, you made your way over to her, iPad clutched to her chest as she smiled at you.

“I thought the green suit was my favorite… but now I don't know. You look…” she trailed off.

“Really? I wasn’t too sure about all the sparkly stuff at first, but it’s kind of growing on me.” you smile. 

“Jake…really. With your complexion, and your hair… you look so good. I have half a mind to make you change into something else.” she giggled.

Your favorite giggle.

“Anyways, you look perfect. Get out there, make me proud.” she smiled, and you laughed, knowing you were going to do just that. 

As you twisted the knob on the door, you stopped to look at her. “It’s all for you.” 

Her cheeks grew pink as she pressed a kiss to your cheek, and ushered you out the door. It really was all for her. It always has been.

—

As you made your way up the steps, your tech handed you your guitar and you took the stage, the crowd roaring violently in front of you. Your body felt like it was on fire as you played the opening notes, the deafening noise of the screams from thousands of people just fueling the flame. You finally had everything. You finally felt true happiness, and the best part was that tonight, when it was all over, and the room was quiet you got to share it with her.

The fire you had raging in your bones for this entire show continued to engulf you...you weren’t sure if it was the setting, the heat, or the fact that you finally had your girl back, but damn it felt good to be playing to a crowd again. 

You were two songs away from ‘Highway Tune’, and the sun was beginning to set. You took the tiniest of breaks, allowing yourself to look out over the crowd as darkness began to set in. The sweating, exhausted, blissed-out fans were having the time of their lives, and you were truly mirroring them tonight. You were giving it everything you had. You smiled as you made eye contact with a few of them, watching as they fell apart on their friends after you did so. Always so funny to see them react that way just because you looked at them.

Even with watching all these people, Y/N was filling your mind. All your thoughts, connected back to her. She was the one who was keeping this fire burning so bright. She gave you a reason. 

You glanced at Josh, then back out to the crowd again. As he spoke, something caught your eye…something, someone...very familiar in the audience. The crowd was an ocean of moving bodies, hindering your vision as you tried to zero in. You caught quick glimpses every few seconds, trying not to crane your neck or be caught staring. Was that…?

The cue came through to begin ‘The Weight of Dreams’, and your muscle memory kicked into high gear as you played, and scanned the crowd again. Red hat, white shirt. Your heart sank into your stomach. You were sure. 

You continued to play as you looked at Josh, making the eye contact only he, Sam, and Danny could recognize. You proceeded with the song as normal, trying to stay present with the crowd and your guitar. 

There he was again, in plain view. 

Fucking. Hell. 

The song went on, and you decided to forget for just a second. You trailed into your solo…7 minutes of most jarring guitar succession you’d ever written. The fire was still burning. 

You pranced around the stage wildly, getting closer and grabbing a few different angles. It also gave you a chance to hop onto the audience speakers for an even closer look. 

Positive. 

You wrapped it up, jumping back onto the stage, and rushing to the band mic. You looked to Sam intently, grabbing his attention as quickly as you could. You pressed your lips to the mic, and spoke as clearly as you could. 

“Hey, listen to me….11 o'clock, about ten rows back. Red hat, white shirt. Please tell me I’m wrong.” You held eye contact with Sam, and he nodded in understanding. 

Danny glanced at you, and mouthed “I can’t see that far.” You shrugged him off, motioning that you would explain later. 

Josh had been speaking to the crowd, and you were unsure whether or not he had paid attention to what you said. 

You began ‘Highway Tune’, and were determined to finish the show with a bang. About halfway through, you looked to Sam, who had a panicked look on his face. Shit, you must be right. You raised your eyebrows to him for confirmation, which he returned with a horrified nod. 

You wrapped up the show without a hitch, proud of the way you all had played. You took off in a sprint, looking for Y/N. You needed to see her face, but she was nowhere to be found. 

The rest of the guys ran up beside you, panting and out of breath, sticky with the sweat in the Texas heat. 

“What the hell was that about? Who did you see?” Danny asked, worry in his voice. 

You looked to Sam, your face down and fallen with dread. 

“It was Andy.”

—

Panic, dread, fear, the overwhelming need to find Y/N…all of it taking up your mind at once. You all pulled off your in-ears and disposed of your instruments with the techs as quickly as you could.  You were pacing around backstage, not bothering to talk to anyone or give anyone the time of day. You just needed to find her. Make sure she was safe. You looked behind you, all three of your brothers following you doing the same exact thing. My boys. 

“Hey, there she is!” Sam yelled from behind you, pointing over behind a trailer in the lot. The four of you rushed up to her, almost crashing into one another as you came to a stop. You inspected her, almost completely forgetting you couldn’t take her into a full embrace. 

“Hey! God, what the hell is wrong with you guys?” She asked, stunned by your sudden presence. 

“We uh, just couldn’t find you. We were wondering if you….wanted to go catch St. Vincent  with us...we need to leave now if you do.” You spat, thinking on your toes. 

She looked at you sideways. “You guys just stepped off stage...don’t you need to like…Go pee or something? Change clothes? Sit down?” 

You glanced back at the guys, just as sweaty as you, all still dressed in your stage clothes. 

“Yeah, yeah, we'll change really quick. But, meet us back here in 10?” Sam said. 

Her face grimaced up in confusion. “Uh, I have to close up with the crew…” she glanced at her phone checking the time. “I’ve got a lot to do still...before I can–”

“Don’t worry about it. Get what you need to do done, and meet us back here ASAP. We’ll wait for you to walk over.” Josh said, throwing you a knowing glance. 

“Alright, yeah okay...I’ll text Elle and meet you back here...” her face was wrought with confusion at your display. She walked away, radioing to someone about something. 

You took back off as a group, walking quickly and scanning the grounds. Your head felt hot and your eyes felt glassy. You finally made it to the trailer, and you were all quiet until you shut the door, the A/C feeling like it could knock you down. 

You immediately sat on the couch, putting your head in your hands. “What the fuck is he doing in Texas?!” You yelled, standing back up and beginning to undress. Sam had gone over to the mini fridge, and he pulled out a seltzer for everyone, popping the top on yours and handing it to you. You practically chugged its contents, not realizing how thirsty you were. 

“Man, chill out. Maybe he moved here. Just going to the festival…” Danny offered, trying to give the benefit of the doubt. 

“Yeah maybe. But remember how fucking insane he was…he was the last person I expected to see when I looked out there. Just really…strange...right?” You asked. 

The rest of them nodded in agreement. “Yeah, really fuckin’ strange.” Josh said, pulling off his clothing and hanging it on a hanger. “But, don’t stress out too bad. We’re all here, there’s thousands of people around…it’ll be okay. Just an anomaly.” 

You could always count on Josh to bring you back down to reality. He was right, it was probably just a huge coincidence. A wild one, but a coincidence nonetheless. But, Andy knew who you were, who the band was…why did he come to watch? And stand fairly close to the front near you, at that? 

You shook the thoughts from your head, trying to stay positive. Everyone continued to get changed and started downing drinks, pregaming for the rest of the shows tonight. 

“Hey, I don’t think we should tell Y/N he’s here. It would probably ruin her night, don’t you think Sam?” You shot Sam a look that screamed ‘please agree with me’.

“Yeah, I agree. We’ll never see him again, so. Let’s just let her have a good time.” Sam played along. 

“Jake, what the actual fuck were you on tonight? I’ve never seen you solo like that before…that was nuts, dude...I thought you’d never cue me to stop.” Danny said, plopping down on the couch. 

“Yeah no shit!” Sam said. “My feet were getting sore.”

You grinned, knowing all too well why you were playing better, but not able to speak on it quite yet. 

“Ahh, I dunno. Must be something in the air...” you offered. 

Josh approached you slowly and talking quietly, wearing his knowing face. “Hey, are you and Y/N okay? I know things were still really rocky last time we talked…” he had sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“Uh, yeah actually. We’re okay. We talked a little bit without ripping each other’s head off, so…” you couldn’t say anything more right now, though you never kept any secrets at all from Josh, this one needed to be kept as long as possible. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t kind of enjoying the idea of sneaking around. 

He looked at you again, squinting his eyes. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Hmmmm...nothing. But you’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think I don’t know when you’re lying. We do share the same brain cells, you know.” He said, walking back over to join Danny on the couch. 

You slipped on a more comfortable pair of shoes, and placed a flat-brimmed hat on your head. “Alright, let’s get going. We don’t want to miss the shows. I wonder if Duran Duran can still...Duran?” you said in a faux british accent.

Sam shoved your shoulder as you passed by him. “Ha ha, that was such a good one Jake.”

“I’m full of them. I’ll be here all night.” You flicked the brim of your hat, and tossed back the rest of your drink, crushing your can as you exited the door. A sharp pain flew up your arm when you dropped the can in the trash, an all too familiar feeling that hadn’t hurt this bad in years. 

——

Y/N had magically finished up what she needed to do in that short amount of time, and managed to find Elle, too. You all met at the corner of the lot, and walked over to backstage of the next show. The sun had set now, and you were finally starting to relax a little bit after seeing Andy earlier. He gave you an eerie feeling, almost one that creeped you out, for some reason. You felt confident that Danny and Josh were right, and he was just here for the festival. 

Y/N had changed into a short little green dress, that was low cut in the front and flowy, and sat right at her mid-thigh. You knew she had chosen that exact dress to tease you, and she watched as your sunglass-covered eyes traveled up and down her body, undressing her with each glance. You slowly shook your head back and forth, letting her know that she was indeed making you suffer. 

You all stayed side stage for the majority of the next two shows, and the night was going well. You kept your distance from Y/N, and watched from afar as she danced and drank with Elle. Occasionally, your glances would meet up, and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away from her. 

You were feeling fairly tipsy, conversing with other musicians and people in the industry. Suddenly the delicious and familiar aroma of marijuana slid past your nose, and you followed it to its source. Josh and Sam, of course. You excused yourself from the conversation you were having, and went and joined them. 

The whole group shared what must have been three or four joints, as the last artist played into their late-night set. The haze in the air was heavy, and you felt the fuzz climb into your face and extremities. Ahh, there it is. 

Things began to move in slow motion under your hooded eyelids, the music sounding louder and better..everyone started to dance and move their bodies with the beat. Your eyes drifted to Y/N, you could tell she was feeling it too. 

“I gotta hit the head, you wanna go?” Sam shouted over the music in your ear. You nodded, noticing your full bladder. He took Elle’s hand and pulled her behind him as you followed them off the stage. 

“My god, I’m really fuckin high…” Elle giggled at herself as you made your way across the lot to the restrooms.

“Yeah same, I scored some good shit down here.” Sam laughed. “We’ll wait for you out here, babe.” He said as you separated. 

You and Sam stood next to each other, relieving yourselves in the urinals. 

“So, when did you and Y/N finally fuck?!” He asked, loudly as ever. 

“SAM! Goddamn, could you talk any louder? What is wrong with you? What are you talking about?” You spat at him from across the divider. 

“Duuuude, don’t play dumb.” You could recognize his stoned voice from a mile away. “Come on. Unfortunately, I know her body just as well as you do, now. Maybe even better…? I know what she acts like when she’s been…satisfied.” Your mouth hung open at his words. He did nothing but stare at you, raising his eyebrows up and down. 

You buttoned up your jeans, and walked over to the sink to wash your hands quickly, avoiding his question. You busted out the door, with him following close behind. You stood by the restroom entrance, waiting for Elle. 

“Jaaaake, don’t avoid my question. I’m not stupid, I can read her body language. And yours too, if we’re being honest. You guys are gravitating towards each other again.” His words had begun to slur slightly. “How long ago?”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Chicago.” 

He bounced away, clapping his hands loudly. “Ha! I knew it!!” 

“Sam you can’t tell a fucking soul, do you hear me?” You got into his face, trying your best to threaten him like you did when you were kids. 

He held his hands up in submission. “I promise.” You turned away. 

Suddenly he was next to you again. “I will say though, she’s become a bit of a freak in the sheets, if ya know what I mean. You better start building up that stamina…” he said quietly. “You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It wasn’t funny, it shouldn’t be funny, but it was. The whole situation, sharing this conversation with your little brother. All of it was so fucked up. 

He started to laugh with you. You grabbed his shoulder, speaking through shared belly laughs. “So I’ve noticed, Sam. Appreciate that.” You shook your head at the awkward but hilarious conversation. 

Elle emerged from the bathroom finding the two of you in stitches. “What are you two laughing about?” She said as you started the walk back to the stage. 

“Oh nothing, just that him and Y/N finally slept together.” Sam said. 

“Sam, I swear to god.” You said. 

“OH MY GOD! You finally boinked?!” Elle said, a bit too loudly for your liking. “It’s about fucking time, Jake. What took you so long?!”    

“Jesus Christ…” you said under your breath. “Elle, love, you promise me right now you will not tell a soul, okay? Her job is really…on the line.” 

“I got it, Jake. She’s my best friend. I promise.” She zipped her lips and threw away the key, and you actually trusted that she would stay quiet. 

—

You made your way back to the stage, suddenly feeling uneasy. You glanced around at the crowd, just waiting to see a red hat bobbing its way around. You found Y/N, still dancing and having a good time as the band wrapped up its last song. 

“You guys want to come back to my room for one more smoke?” You asked the group, suddenly feeling the need to leave. Everyone nodded in agreement, as you started back down the steps. 

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go take some stage shots. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Summer said, waving your group off.

The hotel was only a few minutes drive from the venue, and Sam had insisted the driver stop at the nearest gas station so he could buy beer. You could tell everyone was still feeling exceptionally high, but it was a nice feeling. You felt a little more at ease the further away you got from the venue. 

Everyone gathered back in your room at the hotel, changed into comfortable clothes and toting cases of beer. You could afford to get cross faded tonight. Josh brought his speaker and asked Elle to hook up to the Bluetooth. Some Cajun-sounding flute music began to come through it, some gritty messy metallic sounds you thought sounded familiar. 

“Elle, what is this?” You asked her as you sat down to roll a few more joints. 

“Ry Cooder, he’s amazing.” She answered, pulling her lips from a bottle of Corona. 

“My god, yeah, did he play with Taj Mahal?” You asked. 

She shook her head. “Yep. I think they’re actually releasing an album together next year. So you’ve seen Southern Comfort, right?”

You grinned and nodded. “Yep. That must be why I know this.”

You could definitely see why Sam was attracted to her now. 

Y/N joined her on the bed, popping the top off her own beer. Your eyes met hers for just a second, but long enough to linger. She’d changed into a thin and silky dress, with a flannel on top. Oh my god.Your flannel. The one you gave her at the lake, the one she borrowed every time she came over when you were younger. She actually kept it. Your face must have fallen at the sight, because she gave you the slightest wink while she sipped her beer. 

Your hands suddenly became weak, the tiny ground pieces of weed falling from the sides of your half-rolled joint. 

“Jake, what’s taking so long over there?” Josh asked. 

“I’m rusty, you come fucking do it.” You answered. 

You opened the double-door window of the room and turned on the vent of the bathroom so the smoke could escape, and you rolled a towel and tucked it under the door. It felt like high school again. It was still warm outside, and the breeze came in through the curtains, bringing with it a peaceful and relaxed feeling. Everyone was feeling themselves, passing several joints and listening to Josh tell elaborate stories. 

Your bed was king sized and the room was larger than a standard room, so you found yourself feeling thankful you’d upgraded to a room large enough to accommodate everyone comfortably, completely by accident.

Everyone eventually gathered in a tight circle, seated on the bed. Y/N found her way over to you, sitting directly beside you. Shit, she was feeling it. And Danny and Josh didn’t completely know yet. At least, you thought they didn’t. Her hair brushed your shoulder, sending the smell of her directly to your nose. It was intoxicating having her that close, in that sexy dress, in your flannel…unable to touch her.

Danny had brought a deck of cards and a game of poker ensued. “We don’t have any chips, what could we use?” Elle asked. 

“Ooooh we could use the hotel shampoo bottles and bars of soap and these quarters in my pocket.” Josh answered, laughing at himself through a goofy stoned giggle. 

“Did someone say chips? I’m hungry…” Sam asked no one in particular. 

An hour or so passed of talking, laughing, drinking, and smoking. Your head was absolutely spinning at this point, and Y/N’s hand just happened to keep landing on your knee. She was letting loose. Sam glanced up at you from under his hooded lashes, looking at her hand, then back to you, his eyebrows raising again. You felt a flush find your face as you realized just how high you actually were. 

The room was full of smoke, a haze falling onto everything as everyone basked in their intoxication, and all you could feel anymore was a draw to her. She was like a hot magnet that you were being pulled to, unable to think about anything else other than having your way with her. 

“Jake, that flannel looks very familiar...” Josh said, motioning to Y/N. You sighed. You couldn’t handle it any longer. You were over hiding her. You were in love with her, and your best friends deserved to know it. If anyone in the world could keep your secret, it was the people in the room with you right now. 

“Well Josh, that’s because it’s mine. I gave it to her when we started dating when we were younger and I just…never asked for it back. I let her keep it.” You leaned back on your arms, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. He smiled at you, almost as if he was proud. 

“Y/N, why didn’t you ever give it back to him?” Josh pressed. 

The group went silent. She looked at Josh, somewhat surprised, but catching his drift. Then she brought her eyes to meet yours, deep and glassy and full of love. She placed her hand on your knee, lightly brushing her fingernails over it. 

“Well Josh, because I love it too much. It makes me feel good. I want to keep it forever, keep it safe and loved...” she answered him, never removing her eyes from yours. 

“And Jake, will you ever ask for it back?” Josh went on. 

You kept your eyes locked on hers, and grabbed her hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. 

“No, Josh. It’s hers now. She can keep it for the rest of our lives.” You answered, your voice low and steady. Her face bloomed into a smile that went from ear to ear. 

Josh chuckled as the group finally stirred. “Ha, well I guess it’s fucking settled then, isn’t it?” He said, reaching over and patting you between your shoulders, firmly holding your neck and shaking you side to side. 

“Well hell yeah!” Danny exclaimed, coming across the circle and bringing the two of you in between both of his arms, hugging you tightly. The next thing you knew you had all fallen into a giant pile, laughing and hugging and falling off the bed in fits of giggles. 

The relief that fell over you was immense…these were your best friends. The people you trusted the most in the world. The ones who would go to bat for you, and for Y/N, no matter what the circumstances. 

In the cloudy air of the room, you felt your inhibitions begin to fall away. You found her in the pile of laughing bodies, and met her eyes, knowing that in that moment, you didn’t care who in the world knew it. You grabbed her face, and pulled her into a long and loving kiss, eliciting cheers from the rest of the group. 

Her cheeks went flush when you pulled away, but she grabbed you back, pulling you in for one more. Sweet and passionate, but with something else hidden behind it. You knew that look from long ago, she didn’t want to wait much longer. 

Everyone began to sit back up and find their seats on the bed again. Keeping direct eye contact with her, and bringing your face close to hers, lips almost touching, you spoke. “Hey, it’s been fun, but do you think you guys could get the fuck out of here?” Your eyes were unabashedly flicking from her eyes to her lips, plush and pink and waiting for you. 

They all laughed in unison, and your ears went deaf to everything surrounding you. All you could see, all you could hear and feel, was her. Suddenly, you found yourselves alone, sitting on the bed, starving for one another. 

Like clockwork, she quickly crawled over and pushed her lips into yours, her hands furiously wrapping in your hair, pulling it and tangling it between her fingers. She stood up on her knees, and you brought your hands underneath her dress to cup her ass. Her tongue was immediately in your mouth, searching deeply for parts yet unexplored. You felt a deep hunger in your gut for her, something that felt like starvation that could never be satiated. 

You growled into her mouth as she bit your tongue, pulling it from your mouth and into hers. The wind picked up outside and blew across you, lifting her dress a little, revealing more of her body to your naked eye. 

She yanked on your hair at the back of your neck, pulling your head backwards to look her in the eyes. You scanned her eyes from left to right, reading a story that was only half-written. She smiled a devious smile, and connected your lips again. You squeezed her ass cheeks hard, pulling them apart and pulling her body into you. You separated yourself from her lips, and began kissing her throat, her neck, her collarbones, and in between her breasts. God, they were so beautiful. 

You picked her up by the waist, forcefully lying her down on the bed. You began to pull up on her dress, successfully removing it over her head.

“You thought you could wear this dress, and MY clothing, in front of everyone, and expect me to not want to fuck you right here? Torture isn’t nice, love.” you said, pulling her arms above her head and pinning them there, diving into her neck again. 

“No Jacob, torture isn’t for the meek.” She responded, making your eyes roll back in your head. Oh, so it’s gonna be this kind of game. Let’s see what Sammy was talking about…

The both of you were blazed out of your minds, your eyes heavy and red, not to mention the drinking you’d both been doing all night. You decided to let it work to your advantage, though, watching her as all your inhibitions went straight down the drain. Nothing felt off the table. 

You buried yourself in her hair, letting your tongue graze over her ear as you held her arms steady above her.  You had one knee beside her, and one knee between her legs, hovering above her as she dug her fingertips into your sides. “Jake…” she spoke. 

“Hmmm?” You breathed into her ear. 

“You have entirely too much clothing on.” she said. 

You pulled back, realizing she was correct. She was down to her lace bra and panty set, while you still had everything but your shoes on. You sat up and began to unbutton your shirt, keeping your eyes glued to hers. She reached up and grabbed your hands, stopping their movements. 

“Hang on a sec, let’s make this interesting.” she said. Her eyes were heavy and solid, thick with intoxication from the weed, and from you. With that, she unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, but left it hanging over your shoulders. Then she reached down to your belt, unbuckling it and undoing the zipper. 

“Let me help–” you said, reaching to pull your dark jeans off. 

“No, leave them on. Come to the edge of the bed.” She commanded, signaling with her finger for you to follow her as she rolled off the end and into the floor. 

She perched sitting on her knees, and you did what she told you, sitting with your feet on the floor right in front of her. She lurched forward, bringing her face between your legs. She rested her hands on your knees, pulling them apart a little bit to gain more access. She brought her mouth to your hardened length, dragging her tongue across the tip that was still covered by your boxers. 

The indirect contact and the warmth of her mouth felt like heaven. She began nipping at it with her teeth, causing you to inhale quickly. You brought your hands to her head, envisioning the last time she’d done this, not long ago on the floor of your study. 

She cupped her lips overtop of your head, blowing warm air into the fabric. Your brain was buzzing with intensity, but you needed more. You needed to feel her. Almost as if she heard your thoughts, she reached her fingertips into the hole of your boxers, and freeing you through them instead of pulling them down. That’s different. 

Suddenly her mouth was completely taking you into her throat to the hilt, your tip hitting the back of her throat as she immediately swallowed around you. 

“Motherfuck, Y/N…”  you hissed through your teeth. She’d taken you completely by surprise. She began bobbing her head, taking you as deeply as you could go, running her flattened tongue across all your sweet spots. She was starting to remember them. Her hands that were rested on your knees climbed up to squeeze your thighs, massaging them with her fingers. You tilted your head back in pleasure, letting your eyes fall closed. 

“Hmm-mm...” she hummed ‘no’ around you, causing you to peer back down to her. She took her pointer and middle fingers making the ‘two’ signal, pointing to first your eyes, then hers. Eyes on her. She wanted you to watch her. 

Good god. 

You kept your silent word, watching her every move intently as she glided her mouth around your now soaked dick, popping her lips around it every so often, and squeezing your base with her hand. You felt yourself beginning to unravel, watching her mouth on you was like seeing something you weren’t supposed to see…so sinful…but so enticing…

“Shit baby...your mouth…is fucking heavenly...”  

You grabbed her hair in your hand, remembering what she had said last time. ‘I want it…’ 

She nodded her head, again giving you the go-ahead to control her movements. You felt the knot in your stomach begin to tighten, feeling yourself near release. You tightened your grip on her locks, using a little extra force now as you pushed into her mouth, in and out with a bit more speed. 

“Baby, I’m close…you’re almost…” the knot in your stomach began to unfurl, as the buildup approached. Just then, she removed herself completely, standing up and towering over you. She wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand as you felt lost without the contact, so close to your release. 

“Ok, you can take your shirt off now.” She said, a devilish smile crossing her face. 

You were basically panting with desire. “Wha–what?”

“You didn’t cum. Good job. You can take your shirt off now.” She said, not giving you much explanation, but feeding you enough information that you could see where this might be going. 

You looked at her sideways, and slowly removed your shirt, tossing it into the floor. You leaned back on your elbows, eyeing her half-naked body standing before you. What next? You felt like you could jump out of your skin with excitement, the fog still heavy in your head. 

“Up the bed…” she commanded again, motioning to the headboard. You did as she asked, your lower half still clothed with your dick still poking through the open hole of your boxers. She crawled on top of you, snaking her way up to meet your mouth with hers, laying wet and searing hot kisses to your lips. 

She pulled away, turning herself around backwards and straddling you, her hands steadying herself on your thighs. She turned her head around to make eye contact with you, your eyes open wide with surprise. 

She slowly shook her hips from side to side. 

“Pull them to the side.” She said, demand thick in her voice. Yes ma’am. 

You exhaled loudly, feeling a rush of blood to your face, and then straight to your already overly excited member. You did as she asked once more, hooking your finger in her lace thong, pulling it to the side. She arched her back so that her opening was pointed toward your face, and you felt your head plummet to her, your tongue immediately between her folds. Her mouth was on you again, as quickly as your tongue had found her. 69? Seriously, where did this woman come from?

You went to town, feeling like you were starving to touch her in any way you possibly could. You let your tongue do the talking, sliding it’s way up and down her slit, burying your face in her pussy. She tasted fucking phenomenal. You brought your hands to grasp the front of her thighs, trying to pull her toward you.

You felt her mouth bobbing at a sickening pace, not too fast, and not too slow. Her tongue was like silk, and it kept the saliva pooling inside her mouth while she flicked your tip, causing you to buck your hips into her. 

“You can grind into my mouth, baby.” She purred, running her closed fist up and down you while she spoke. You took that as an invitation to slowly rock your hips up and down, slowly making circles and fucking into her face. 

“So can you.” You responded. You felt her hips begin to gyrate slowly, positioning her sweet spot exactly where she needed it. You found her clit, and tightened your tongue muscle so that it pointed directly onto it. You quickly bobbed it in and out of your mouth before you pulled it all the way in, and began flicking it with your tongue again. 

“Fuckkkk yes Jake. Oh my god…” her whimpers spurred you on, and apparently her too, as she then took you extremely deep again, tightening all of her mouth and throat around you. You felt yourself nearing release again. Her fist was working you, bringing you closer and closer to the white hot heat. 

She pulled off again, turning herself around to face you. You let your head fall back against the pillows, a sheen of sweat beginning to cover your face. 

“Damnit baby, you are killing me.” You laughed into the room, bringing your hands through your hair. “What’s with the punishment?”

“Not punishment, baby. Are you enjoying yourself?” She asked, slithering her way back up between your legs. 

You shook your head maybe a little too fast. 

“Yeah, yes. I’m enjoying myself.” You answered. 

“Okay then, it’s not punishment. You can take your pants off.” She said, a smirk forming on her face before she gave you a sweet peck on your still soaked lips. 

“Errrhhhh…finally.” You said, clipping your thumbs in your bottoms, pulling them both off in one swipe. You bounced back on the bed, bringing your arms around her and pulling her down into you. You allowed yourselves a few minutes to indulge in one another, kissing into each other furiously, finally feeling your naked body brushing and pressing up against hers. You suddenly felt like you were leaving her untouched, so you gripped her hips, pulling yourself down the bed underneath her. You hooked your fingers in her thong and pulled it down, signaling for her to bring her legs together so you could pull it down over her knees. She obliged, surprisingly. 

“My turn, love. Climb up. All fours.” You tapped the backs of her thighs, making her inch her way up the bed. She listened, positioning herself overtop of your ready and waiting mouth. You opened wide, smiling as you stuck your tongue out. She was looking down at you between her legs, and she let out the sweetest giggle. You gripped around her folded legs as she lowered herself down. 

“Mmmm...” you growled. “You think you can ride my face, baby?” 

She didn’t even have to answer, she’d already made contact with your mouth. She instantly started grinding and bouncing, her wetness covering your entire face. But god, you didn’t care. You wanted to drown in her. Taste her forever. It was something you’d never forgotten. And now it was something you were sure you couldn’t live without. 

You looked up at her body, reveling and rolling her hips in circles as your tongue danced inside her. She felt so warm, so delicious. You brought your hand to her mound, finding her clit with your thumb. You began swirling it, massaging it while you kept working inside her with your tongue. You were suffocating, fighting for air, but you couldn’t care less. You could do this all night. 

Her sounds were like music to your ears, filling up your mind with the dirtiest thoughts. You fought to bring her there, you wanted her to spill herself around you and into your mouth, but instead you decided to play her game.  

You reached up and unclasped her bra with one swift motion, pulling it down her arms and tossing it away. You lifted her off of you. 

“Get my flannel.” You said, pointing to where it lay on the floor. She glanced over to it, then back to you, obviously pissed you stopped the ride of her life. 

She reached over the side of the bed and picked it up, offering it to you. 

You removed yourself from underneath her, “Turn around.” She gave you another side eye, but did what she was told. 

You took the sleeves of your flannel, straightened them out, and gently pulled both of her hands behind her. You tied the sleeves of the flannel around her crossed wrists, leaving them a little bit of wiggle room. She peeked over her shoulder, making the most seductive eyes at you. You brought your mouth close to her ear, and grazed her cheek with your hand. “This ok, love?”

“You can tie it tighter, if you want.” she said. 

Fuck, that’s exactly what Sam was talking about. 

You laughed a low howl, pulling the sleeves a bit tighter, causing her back to arch. You noticed her body reacting, so you gripped the back of her hair, pushing her face down into the bed. You pressed your length up against her ass, and brought your face close to hers again. 

“You thought you could tease me all night, edge me…well, time’s up. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight.” You weren’t sure where these words were coming from, it wasn’t your normal bedroom talk. But she seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much. 

“Just fucking do it, Jacob. Don’t make me wait any longer.” 

You felt your face get hot...you’d seen her a thousand different ways before, but never quite like this. This vulnerability mixed in with her confidence was making your high come back full force. Your mouth had gone dry now from the after effects of the weed, your vision feeling delayed and stippled. Your ears felt like they had cotton in them, and the dopamine was swirling through your body. You could tell she was still faded too; her movements weren’t quick and calculated, but instead slow and sultry. And you were fucking loving it. 

You noticed that the double door windows were still open, so you stood up to close them and the curtain. 

“Leave them open. I don’t mind.” She said, surprising you. 

“But someone might be able to see-“

“Let them watch.”

Holy. Fucking….

You dropped the act for long enough to truly press her. 

“Wait seriously Y/N?” You asked. “You don’t care?”

All she did was shake her head. “No. I really don’t care. Now please come back.”

You shrugged it off, leaving the doors standing wide open, the act you were about to perform on full display for anyone who might happen to see. 

You returned back to her, getting back in the headspace you needed to. Her hands were still tied behind her back, most of her face covered up by her hair. 

The wind was blowing around again, sending chills all over your body. It was cooling off outside. You took yourself in your palm, stroking a few times before making contact with her. You ran your tip up and down her slit, collecting all the wetness that you could. You grabbed onto the flannel, pulling it back toward you a little bit, eliciting a tiny moan to fall from her lips. 

“Tell me how bad you want me.” You spoke, leaning down toward her. You eased the very tip into her, not giving her too much too fast. 

“I want you so bad, Jake. I want all of you, need all of you. Please.” She murmured. 

You clicked your tongue. “Hm. I can’t really hear you, love. I said tell me how badly you want me...” you pulled back again on her wrists, still teasing at her entrance. 

“Damn it, baby. I said I need you to fuck me, please! I want to feel all of you inside me, don’t hold anything back...” she raised her voice just slightly. 

With that, you felt your cock twitch, and you released her wrists, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling it as you finally entered her, pushing all the way in until you couldn’t go any further. 

Pure. Fucking. Bliss. 

She cried out with pleasure as you began to pull back out, watching yourself leave her, practically dripping. 

Expletives left both of your lips at the sensation, you felt like you completely forgot how to speak. Nothing in this world, not a single thing you love could ever compare to how you feel for her, how she feels around you.

You began to work at a steady pace, pulling in and out of her, basking in the feeling of finally having her again. And how amazing she felt like this. You grabbed her hips, and she stepped her knees apart a bit, allowing her back to arch more for you. Her torso was at an almost 90° angle; you wished you could see this from a side view. 

“Did he fuck you like this? Huh? Tell me, did he fuck you this good?” You asked, wanting to ignite something in her that in all reality, you didn’t care about one way or the other. 

“Mmmm sometimes… yeah he did...” she cooed.

“Hmmm, well. I’m going to fuck every single memory of his body off of you, whether you like it or not.”

“Let’s see it, Jake. Prove it. Prove to me you’re better...” 

Her face was buried in the sheets, her expression fucked out and contorted as you pounded into her hard. You slowed your pace, making her cry out again. If you weren’t mistaken, you were sure she had tears in her eyes. The good kind. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Tell me you’re never gonna leave me. You’ll never go anywhere ever again…” you were panting, trying to keep up with yourself as your body wanted to fly harder and faster into her. 

“I’ll never leave you, Jake. I promise. I love you so fuckin’ much…please don’t stop…” she whimpered.

You continued your assault on her, not letting up except to snake your hand around her front, finding her sweet spot again with your fingers. It made her cry out, you could tell she was getting close. 

You grabbed the knot of the flannel, untying it quickly, letting her hands fall back to her sides. She lifted herself up and looked back at you as you pulled out, also dissatisfied with the loss of contact. 

“What the fuckkkk Jake...” She half laughed. 

“Go get in the shower. Make it hot.” You demanded, walking over to the mini fridge and pulling out a few little bottles of tequila. The feeling of being intoxicated while fucking her was a high you wanted to keep chasing...neither of you had any guard up, and no holds were being barred. Would it be a rare occasion? Maybe. But you were determined to finish it with a bang. 

A wild smile came to her face, her hair was an absolute mess, her lips were swollen and her cheeks were pink. Beautiful, always so beautiful. And the way she looked at you? Made your stomach fall directly through the floor. Like you were the only human left on earth, and she wanted to own every single bit of you. 

She scampered off to the bathroom, and you heard the water turn on full blast. You reached for the two plastic cups wrapped up in the ice bucket, pouring the tequila into them. You grabbed a tiny can of soda water, adding just enough to add bubbles to the shots. You stuck your pointer finger into them, giving them a tiny stir. You brought your finger inside your mouth and sucked away the excess, following her into the bathroom. 

HER POV 

The bathroom mirror and glass walls were already steaming up within the 30 or so seconds you’d been in the shower. You turned on just a bit of cold water to offset, and stepped under the water. You let it flow over you, closing your eyes as it cascaded down over your face and hair. You stood, waiting for what felt like ages, waiting to feel him again. Where the hell was he? You were still dripping with desire, and you didn’t want it to rinse off…

You heard the door open, and watched through the fogged glass as he entered the room carrying two cups. You opened the glass door for him, steam rolling out as you did so. He smiled, handing you the cup. “Didn’t want to go get ice. Didn’t think you’d care...” he spoke, his voice still sleepy and laced with his high. 

“You know I don’t mind, baby. Thank you.” You smiled and took the cup. He held his cup up to yours, clinking them together, before you both shot back the liquid. “We’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow…” you laughed. 

He laughed in agreement, and walked over and stood under the oversized shower head, letting the hot beads soak his hair and body. Why was everything he did so fucking attractive? 

Once he was sufficiently rinsed, he brought his hands back over to you, bringing your back to the wall. “Mmm, where were we?” His mouth found yours in an instant, picking up right where you’d left off. Except this time, your hands were free to touch him, grab him, squeeze him and stroke him, all the things that made him feel good. You wanted to make him feel good. 

The hot shower poured over you, making each touch of his hands feel like electricity. His hand found itself between your legs again, his fingers knowing exactly where to go. Knowing your body so well…

“Ahhh, still wet for me, are you baby? You ready for me to fuck you again?” He growled into your neck. “It sure feels like it...”

You could do nothing but nod as he slipped two fingers into you, pumping them slowly. 

“Ahhh, shit baby...” you breathed, biting into his shoulder. “I need you so bad...”

He hummed low, working his fingers in and out and shaking them lightly as he entered, giving you a whole new rush of pleasure. 

You suddenly got an unwelcome flashback of just a few short weeks ago, you and Sam in another shower in another hotel, tangled up with your leg hitched over his hip and your tongue in his mouth. 

You bent in half as he teased you with his dick…smacking you across the ass when you didn’t listen…

You shook the thought from your head, hoping that that wouldn’t become a normal occurrence. They did feel…very similar. 

Thankfully Jake was able to pull you back to reality, his eyes looking deeply into yours, beckoning you back to him with his unwavering and unfaltering passion for you. 

He sat down on the small bench in the shower, and patted his lap. “Come here.” 

You waltzed over, wiping the water from your eyes, and placing your knees on either side of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and positioned yourself above him, sliding yourself down onto him. 

The ride was hot, steamy, sweaty and cloudy. You were still incredibly stoned, your vision still blurry, your movements delayed. The tequila hit you both at the same time…your eyes struggled to stay open to even look at each other…you rode him slowly, feeling every single centimeter of him as you pulled yourself up and down, tightening your muscles as you went.  

He massaged your ass, kissed your shoulders, held your hair as your hips bucked and rolled. You were certain you’d never ever felt this much ecstasy before in your life, whether it be from the smoke or the drink, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was mostly him…he was intoxicating all on his own…breathing your name over and over through the water dripping from his lips, his brow turning down into a frown as he looked down and watched himself enter and leave you...your tits bouncing as you fucked him slowly, intently, with as much love as you could muster…

…you felt it growing again, deep inside you, a blazing fire that you’d been chasing after all night. You began to whine a bit, rolling your head on your shoulders in circles as you concentrated on fulfilling your goal. 

“Huh-uh baby, eyes on me, remember?” He said, the steam rolling in front of his face. You were sure you were going to combust at any moment, and the eye contact only made it worse. 

“I’m right there too…just keep riding me...just like that baby…god, fuck you feel so amazing…”

His face contorted into the most beautiful look of pleasure as he lost eye contact, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he cried out. His body convulsing, his arms shaking, his hands grasping and pulling your hair as he came into you, hot and slow, your name spilling from his lips until he had exhausted all the breath in his lungs…

…you weren’t far behind...your release came in the same way, a buildup of intensity, starting low and quiet and exploding into a million tiny white lights passing behind your eyes as your muscles contracted around him…you held on to him for dear life…gripping his shoulders and hair until you both found yourselves panting, coming down from the most tantric and beautiful scene your young bodies had yet to endure. 

He was it. He was everything. Perfection in a person. Nothing else, no one else would ever compare. You knew in your heart that you’d fight for him for the rest of your life, no matter what the consequences might be. 

SAM POV

Your eyes felt bone dry as you tried to pry them open, the cold air blowing from the air conditioner drying them out even further. You were warm under the sheets, not wanting to move just yet, as you noticed Elle sprawled across you. Her curls were splayed around her head in a perfect halo, and you couldn't help but stare. 

Blinking a few times, the dryness started to fade away, giving way to the massive hangover you were sporting. You rolled to your side and grabbed your phone, flipping through your notifications and swiping them away. Your mouth was dry and all you could think about was how perfect a scalding hot coffee would feel slipping over your tongue. 

Dragging yourself from the warmth of the sheets, you stood up, and pulled your messy hair into a bun at the back of your neck. You quietly walked over to your suitcase and pulled out a pair of shorts and a shirt, pulling them on as you looked for your wallet.

Finding it in your pants from last night, you slid it into your fanny pack, and slipped on your birkenstocks. You set your phone to vibrate and dropped it into your pocket as you grabbed the room key and slipped out the door. 

You took the elevator down a few floors to the lobby, milling around watching as festival goers checked out to return home. You made your way to the little cafe, and ordered two coffees, one black and one with room. You paid for the two cups and made your way over to the small table that held the cream and sugar, pouring in just the right amount of both, just how you knew she liked it. You smiled to yourself as you did it, thinking back on the days you spent wishing you could do just this.

As you stirred the coffee, it turned a caramel color and you knew you got it right. You placed lids on the two steaming cups and started back towards the elevators. Walking past the front desk you smiled and said hello to a few people who recognized you, none of them wanting to take up too much of your time. But as you stepped closer to the elevator, the doors opened, and people filed out. 

Someone caught your eye, however, sporting the same red baseball hat as the day prior. You turned to look at him, to really make sure it was him, and as his eyes met yours you knew you had your confirmation. You would know that face anywhere.

Mother fucker.

He quickly walked away from you as you stepped into the elevator, watching as he made his way into the lobby and disappearing out of sight. Your heart was racing at his proximity to Y/N. Why was he here? Did he know she was here?

Your hands were shaking as you stepped out on your floor, feeling like you had to watch over your shoulder as you walked to your room. Stacking the coffees you tapped your key card to the door, and entered the room quietly. Elle was thankfully still sleeping, so you placed the coffees on the desk, and kicked your shoes to the side of the bed. You grabbed your phone and sat on the couch, trying to figure out what to do. With shaky hands you opened your texts, found the brothers group chat and began to type.

You

9:08am: 911

9:09am: He’s in the hotel. 

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Taglist:

@gretavansara@jordie-gvf-admin@starshine-wagner @eyelinerjake@gretavanfvckface@gretavanmoon@misshunnybeebee@fretaganvleet@gvfpal@joshkiszkas@ascendingtostardust@raviolilegs@sammysprincess@gvfpal@objectsinspvce@lallisonl@gvfpal@raviolilegs@jaketlover@ascendingtostardust @indigostreakmorgan@jakemarrymeibeg@fakeplastiqtree@radmads-gvf @fwzco @katelynn-gvf @writingcold @jakesgrapejuice @jakekiszkasbabymama @emsfallingsky @gretavanbear @ejoygvf @beebloopbleep @mackalah @weneedsomehealing123 @reesetrippingthelight @lightmylove-gvf @wetkleenex-gvf@fulltimecynical @little-bit-of-monica@ageofbajabule @ageofsinners@indigostreakslut @profitofthedune @katelynn-gvf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @joshskittytickler21 @mp0801@starcatcherry @samsbirks

[carionto]

Humans and Boredom VI

Music is everywhere in the Galaxy.

All it takes is the simplest sense of rhythm, and a feeling. What that feeling is can be anything, from a total lack of feeling - true idleness, to the most profound and personal emotional states that no other will ever truly understand;

the rush from being on the prowl, amping yourself and your compatriots up by the sheer act of marching forward, to a mother's quiet tapping of a finger on the table, waiting for an answer, hoping it doesn't come, knowing what it will be when it inevitably does.

Repetition brings comfort, at least in the sense you what will come next. Whether it is something of a reassurance during troubling times, or excitement for joining along with everyone else during celebration, having some certainty of what comes next is incredibly powerful and essential for life.

What we could not predict is what we saw when we arrived at one of our moons Humanity offered to clean up after a small skirmish between some locals and pirates. An OCC ship had been tagging along this military escort. We know of the Orbital Cleaner Crews, their reputation, while only recent in Galactic circles, is unparalleled, so we gladly accepted their offer.

Now, this moon has an atmosphere. It's highly toxic and the surface is almost nothing but dust, so it has been deemed uninhabitable. It's only function, really, is the light tidal effect it produces for it's host planet, which is more or less just a farm and resort and retirement hotspot (with some secret military bases, but don't tell anyone).

Not long after leaving the OCC to do it's thing, we got a call from planetside about strange lights appearing on the moon at night. What the OCC were doing, or more specifically, the active cleaner currently on their 8 hour shift, flinging bits of space pirate ship debris at the moon. What the hell?

"It's fine, you said nothing lives down there, right? And we don't get a lot of atmosphere jobs, so I'm making the most of it. The air isn't bad enough to melt the drones I sent down there, and I've been, let's say, working on my magnum opus. Here, have a listen to yesterdays sample."

What she played was music. I think Humans call it jazz, with a mixture of symphony, and... heavy metal? A fascinating combination, and some of the notes were intense and booming. It did not sound like any instrument we had heard Humans use before, though it did remind us of a few Groh'rani bands, but that's just how their mouths learn to work in the upper lowland dialect.

"You're looking at it."

What?

"The moon and debris! Most people wouldn't think it, but based on the material composition, speed, angle and point of contact, orbital debris makes a lot of different sounds.

That sample specifically used: a triple impact of cockpit chairs; two laser batteries colliding a few meters above the surface; a hallway hitting the ground with its flat bottom first; another hallway whistling by as it shoots down open hatch first, the drone inside picked up some wicked air noises, didn't survive the direct crash though, would've loved to get the inside boom; and a barrage of twenty four diced up hull plates striking at quarter second intervals."

Hmm, well, that's certainly... creative use of available resources. And not breaking any laws or regulations either, huh.

"If you don't mind, I've still got some work to do. I'm in no rush with the piece though, the release is years away. I still need more low notes from carrier and larger ship impacts, plus it takes a lot of time to get authorization to get a planetcracker for a private job. I have to know what sound matter of all kind makes when those massive gravity hooks slowly squeeze and expand them. Man, I can't even imagine. So excited for when that paperwork goes through!"

Right, we'll leave you to it then.

Bye.

[lesbianphan]

I'm having a hard time putting my emotions into words about what We're All Doomed meant to me personally. I relate way too much to Dan's stuggles with identity and struggling to feel like you belong, like you deserve to be here and be loved. So when the show turned into the honest sincere bit about feeling like you're never truly happy, I felt that.

All I can say is I'm extremely proud of him, for being vulnerable enough to share it with us in the only way he knows how: through a really amazing dramatic theater kid sort of production, full of lights and really cool effects and soundtrack. It truly is his magnum opus, as he said, and I hope he continues to share with us through whichiever medium he so desires about his journey through life.

Funnily enough, my plan for the year is pretty much taking more chances, living more, trying to find out who I am and what truly makes me happy in life, independent of everyone else. Just finding myself. So Embrace the void and have the courage to exist fits like a glove right now.

THANK YOU @danielhowell we love you! Some of us have watched you grow up in front of a camera and go through all the versions and loved you through them all, all along. I feel honored to finally be able to see this and I can only hope you never forget that we mean it when we say we are proud of the man you've become.

[sporkandpringles]

Continued here because I don’t want to clog up someone else’s post too much, but basically, what I was trying to say in my reply to this post is that I think we have this mistaken idea that “good stories” are something that exist in a vacuum and can be divorced from character and setting while still keeping the good parts. As if the “perfect plot” is something that exists completely devoid of context. But I just don’t think that’s true.

Truly great stories, fanfic or not, aren’t cut-and-paste. They wouldn’t work with any other characters or any other setting. The characters and setting are integral parts of what make the story good.

And authors, yes even fanfic authors, who are good at their craft know this. So only the mediocre ones go that route. The greats wouldn’t dream of trying to take their fanfic masterpieces and cut a bunch of holes in them and try to repackage them as marketable because that would destroy them.

So the shittiness of fanfics made into books is not because only fans of pairings you don’t like choose the fanfic->book pipeline, or because only het romance with tropes you happen to not like get adapted. As I mentioned in the reply, there are slash authors who write different tropes who have gone this route, too. It’s because re-writing a book without its characters and setting (if they were even there to begin with) creates a shitty product.

So, if you’re hoping your favorite slash author will take time away from their demanding job to turn their lovingly crafted hobby magnum opus into a generic mass market paperback, it isn’t going to happen. Not because the good fanfic authors are “too normal” to think about publishing their works, (not a fan of the implications of that statement, in this house we love and support freaks). But because the paltry amount of money they might (most fanfic adaptations are not wildly successful) make from bastardizing their baby is not even remotely worth it.

They would rather stay true to their original vision, even if it makes them $0. And I think we ought to have more respect for that.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

top 5 wips you’re most excited to write? :D

AH …. anon my beloved 🥺🥺🥺 tysm for giving me an excuse to talk about them!!!! i have a whole bunch but here are the ones i’m most excited for/planning to write soon :3 hopefully

TITLES ARE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION BTW but if you know where any of them are from you get a big gold star ⭐️

it’s your touch that i need

the best friend’s brother!satoru fic that i’m planning on posting next….. i’m . Unsure if i’ll have time to post it this week but :’3 i’ll get it done!!! honestly i just think bfb!toru is insanely attractive so this is mostly an outlet for that but . i have a plot mapped out kind of… the unrequited love trope is just perfect for him but it’s Me so it’ll probably be less angsty and more funny/bittersweet !!

here’s a snippet from it <3

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.” the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this? it’s a specific kind of torture. he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. there are lots of people out there for you. (i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know. but i want you.)

hunter, you were human

my neglected mer!sugu fic…… our beloved fish man….. one day. i’ll write it out. i’m having some trouble deciding the order of events + general formatting of the outline so 😭😭 i’m a bit stuck. i’ll get there though!!! this au has angst potential but it’s Me so trust that this will be fluffy and nothing else. lots of banter and cutesy moments. i have a lotttt of thoughts about this au and character/reader dynamic so….. i’m. really excited to eventually write it all out!!! i love him sm :cc

“i don’t really like freshwater.” … your eyes widen. his voice is silky, smooth, like a silver river running from the forked tip of his tongue; a melodic lilt that makes you think of the lullaby your mother used to sing you to sleep with. a long, slow moment passes you by, like the rocking of a rusty ship. silently, your tongue forms around a bundle of words, your mouth gaping like a fish out of water. staring at the merman in your bathtub. “you can talk?!”

consider the hairpin turn

THE BELOVEDEST OF THEM ALL …… my extremely neglected best friend’s brother!kenjaku fic T_T my magnum opus even . i started writing it out a while ago but had to stop bc i can’t decide how to format it …. i think it’d be best to tell the story through a lot of flashbacks but it’s difficult to decide where to put what flashbacks in a way that doesn’t disturb the flow, yk??? but i do have everything outlined and i’m super excited to finally post it :33 someday… bfb!kenny is the actual loml i have so much lore planned for him. this fic is just a whole bunch of yearning and tension… the tiniest tiniest bit suggestive bc he truly makes me ill.

nervously, your gaze trails towards the stairs. worried, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. kenjaku notices. a large palm cradles your cheek; making sure your eyes stay locked onto his own. ”don't worry about him,” he soothes, a rough thumb smoothing down your skin. ”it’s just us here… just you and me. why don’t you take a deep breath for me, hm?” (you do. without thinking. as if your body was waiting for instructions, waiting to satiate this gnawing desire to impress him, make him proud. be good for him.)  “now,” he exhales, in tandem with you, molecules mingling together. “do you want this?” 

only in the next world

ANOTHER DEARLY BELOVED WIP that’s been rotting in my drafts for a while ….. 👉👈 i think that out of all of these fics this is the first one that i wrote the outline to?? probably even before i made this blog. it’s basically just a canon-aligned au where gojo navigates his maybe-possibly-feelings for you, a new teacher at jujutsu high!! sooo really just my attempt to write what i view as a more canon-aligned gojo and his feelings towards love :3 mostly character-centered fluff and slowburn… some office au vibes…. i’m very fond of this reader!! and i love this version of gojo so bad i really hope i can do him justice…

“they’re a softie, huh?” shoko exhales — smoke drifting past her lungs, mingling with the cold air, a stench of tobacco that makes him crinkle his nose. ”they are,” she hums, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. a dangerously knowing look. “it’s not often someone captures your attention.” gojo smiles. ”is that what it seems like?” he drawls, almost a chuckle. closing his eyes and thinking of you, the fading scent of your perfume. ”well, who knows.” (certainly not him.)

signs of affection

my sickeningly fluffy cult leader geto fic <333 bc i’m spreading the agenda that he is a puppy of a man towards his s/o. this one is just meant to be funny and sweet!! i adoreee the thought of him dating a retired sorcerer with a normal ass job so in this one the reader works at a preschool…. and they’re meant to attend some kind of event for the preschool + is offered to bring a plus one. mild chaos ensues (geto doesn’t want to be anywhere near your non-sorcerer colleagues but he also wants to support you so he’s having a bit of a crisis rn…..) i LOVE this one and i’m so excited to write it out <333333 i think this geto is the most endearing man alive.

suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering, gleaming under the shallow light of the lamppost just behind him. illuminating the peach-dyed flush dusting his ears, those wide pupils. and his lips, glossy with something cherry-flavoured, soon to curl up into a smile — fond, fond, fond. melting into your touch, basking in your long-sought attention. if he were a cat, you’re sure he'd be purring. he places one big palm over yours, where it rests on his cheek, and he stares. silently, like you’re the only thing worth seeing; dreamy galaxies inside his eyes, all honey and star clusters, leaking adoration. a milky way of love. ”… another,” he pleads, nosing at your fingertips.

[uhgood-girl]

Do you think Jungkook of the past was someone who wanted to become Jimin’s equal in every way and then some? Perhaps a man that he imagines Jimin might lust after? A bit dangerous, with thick muscles, yet killer on the dance floor? A man every bit as dedicated to his craft as Jimin is? To find that hunger for the stage, for improvement, not wanting to settle for status quo and this album is his portfolio of dance styles, working towards the dream of becoming partners, co-choreographers with Jimin and J-hope, possibly Taehung at some point in Chapter 3? For years I have watched them behind the scenes communicating on how best to approach the MV camera angle, improvising, capturing the important details of the choreography and rehearsing while adjusting to abilities and stride and I think how valuable their combined experiences are to the industry, not solely K- pop, THE worldwide industry. Will they still tour and make music as BTS and individually? I believe they will. But is that fulfilling enough for these talented artists, composers, producers, choreographers who have been running in bare feet since the beginning? I wonder.,,

i feel the need to start my answer at the end of your question, which i really love, by the way. it's actually my first official one on this site, thank you for sending it. 💜 however, i apologize now for the can of worms you cracked open, you basically just gave mcdonalds sprite to a loquacious victorian child lol.

but back to the end - fulfillment is an interesting concept, isnt it? this idea that everything you've ever worked towards will hopefully lead to some sort of innate feeling of satisfaction eventually, a dream realized, a list of ambitions played out. is it even possible, really, truly? especially when it comes to being a creative or artist of any sort, bonus points if it's how you make your living. being a professional creative is a bit oxymoronic imo and i say that as someone who does art as their day job. getting paid to bleed your ideas really adds an extra layer of complexity around the whole process.

because i would already equate finding personal fulfillment through art like trying to cling to sand. you can grab huge handfuls of it, maybe pack it with water, even shape it to your desire; you can for sure slow the whole process down long enough to enjoy it but at some point it will slip from your grasp and you will have to reach for more. you become the sisyphus of sand castles, forever betrayed by a strong breeze or a crashing wave or the simple design flaw of your own hands not meant to cradle something so small for too long.

fulfillment through art is fleeting because a true desire to create doesn't have a finish line. (burnout and death aside) i think most artists even when they create their magnum opus (if they're lucky), step back, bask in it for a bit and then immediately feel the ever present creep of what will i do next? can i top this? and when you do it as a career, your boss and/or audience (who is a boss of sorts in itself) walks up next to you and goes yeah! what's next? how are you going to top that? so the snake eats it's own tail ad infinitum.

but i do believe bts to be genuine artists in this sense, ready to chase that fever dream their whole lives because that's the real fulfillment, if any, of it all. just to continue to do it, in any shape, fashion, or form for as long as you can stand it. and i think all people are capable of art (i hope it's clear when i say art i'm encompassing the entire medium, music obviously included) and creativity and i would encourage any and everyone to pursue it, it's definitely worth it, but the desire around it doesn't affect everyone the same. you don't run bare foot through a dark tunnel you can't see the light at the end of unless you feel you have no choice. unless you are compelled.

i think the great news here is that the light is visible now. all of their blood, sweat, and tears (manhi, manhi, manhi) is paying dividends these days plus interest but even beyond the recognition and money, they have the buoyancy of creative freedom. overall, it's something i still think they're trying on and exploring, getting used to the feel of, but i also think all of the solo projects so far have been an incredible show of confidence towards taking risks and i love that for them so much. i love that they feel safe enough at this stage to pursue whatever they want, criticism from the peanut gallery be damned. i'm so excited to see what they will do in chapter 3 after having all of this under their belts. i agree that their combined experience is utterly invaluable.

but about jikook - can you imagine having the park jimin in your life? tbh i could give a rant similar to this about all of the members, but even then, i agree with my bias in that there's just something about jimin in particular that pulls your heartstrings. he's just good in a way that is hard to come by, in a way that seems to transcend his being a celebrity even, something that brings out the worst in so many far too often. and i think wanting to be worthy of him, to try and be his equal would be near subconscious for how naturally i imagine the people in his orbit would be persuaded. and because god knows you aren't sticking around if he finds you wanting. 👀

now imagine all that pjm goodness focused on you, singled out, romantic in flavor and during the height of puberty, no less? i think we and jk are lucky that jk is jk and has never met a challenge he couldn't face head on lol

however, i will raise you one better and say that while i'm sure jimin's type has definitely influenced the jk we see today, i think jimin's type would have been whatever jk grew into. because that's one of the things i've loved most about watching them evolve over the years, how they've done it together. if jimin's overwhelming goodness and exacting nature helped pull the very best out of jungkook, i think vice versa, jk's unconditional support and willingness to both call him on his bullshit (i'm thinking of the dieting incident in particular rn) but still love him through all of his stages has allowed jimin to flourish.

i've said it before, but the natural dichotomy of their personalities and ability to fill in where the other potentially lacks is so special. our sun and moon couple for real. but even in a non-romantic light, to find someone who fits you in such a way is genuinely rare. (the fact that bts as a whole are who they are and have each other is just so *clenches fist* ugh)

i honestly can't wait to see what heights they continue to race each other to.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 10/10/2023

Kermit in the Ocean

Season 5 Featured on: Legends of the Western Sunset ~ The SiIvaGunner All​-​Star Summer Festival 2021 Collection

Ripped by MaxTrax

So...it's Ten-out-of-ten day, huh?

See, I thought of this bit, like a week or two ago, about having today be dedicated to a TRULY perfect rip, in commemoration of the date. But that obviously landed me in a bit of a dilemma...what IS a perfect rip? Can I even label just one SiIvaGunner rip as perfect without having that assessment be persuaded by my subjective feelings? Whichever rip I pick, will it not be criticized for its imperfections? One could say I was in a bit of a mental freeze...and just like that, it hit me. The one rip on SiIvaGunner that we can all agree upon is perfect. Kermit in the Ocean.

MaxTrax released this legend of a rip with a rather small backlog of prior-made rips, many of which released during Season 1. And while Season 1 was generally filled with a lot of repetitious content, it was simultaneously one of the most experimental times in SiIva's life, which brought us MaxTrax's first masterpiece - Main Theme - Yoda Stories. The rip features a somewhat-off-model Yoda hand puppet miming out performances of several mainstay SiIva jokes, all completely unedited in audio. I still have memories of seeing the rip premiere and being just as flabbergasted as everyone else - it was really just four minutes of watching a Yoda puppet make funny faces to the memes we all loved, and that alone made the rip strangely alluring. Akin to Sex - Steve Harvey, it was as if we'd been given a peek into just how stupid SiIvaGunner could get - it was a complete subversion of everything the channel stood for, yet it remained hilarious althesame.

Five years later in Season 5, we'd receive its spiritual successor - Kermit in the Ocean. I already discussed Astronaut in the Ocean in-depth on my post on Aquarium in the Ocean - the meme that rose to infamy during Season 5, only to gradually becoming accepted by the fanbase as the lesser, more chill of two evils. By the time this rip was uploaded, we had already begun coming to terms with the astronaut's permanent stay - and Kermit in the Ocean felt like the cherry on top to make that official. The rip covers Rainbow Connections, a song from The Muppets Movie sang by Kermit, with all the lyrics replaced to be those from Astronaut in the Ocean,. Althewhile, the singer sounds like he's having the absolute time of his life, and the off-model Kermit muppet accompanying it all looks as if its ready to shrivel up and die at any time. Its such a leap forward compared to Main Theme - Yoda Stories - the hysterical visual editing, the always present muppet and vocals, and of course the tonal dissonance between Astronaut in the Ocean's lyrical genius and the emotional resonance of Rainbow Connections.

It is, sincerely, a rip that lands on every front - perfect in every way it aims to be and one of the biggest laughs I've ever had in the channel's life. Season 5 felt like it was all about these celebrations, and I'm so happy to see MaxTrax finally achieve his magnum opus rip after five years time.

[pinejayy]

Ahem...I present to you, a snippet of a Gyokko slowburn I am working on in the background of literally everything. Silence hung all around Gyokko, mutterings of the woman that barked at him earlier soon filling the space. His curiosity piqued, he proceeded deeper, a light streaming into the hallway of the home, beckoning him forward. He fell for such a lure so quickly, eager to see just what little surprise he stumbled upon. Rising from his vase, Gyokko peered into the room, being welcomed by the sight of a glorious sculpture depicting a man in utter agony still being created under the delicate hands of a woman kneeled at the base. His eyes widened in disbelief at the level of detail being produced before him. He had stumbled across an artist crafting her magnum opus, there was simply no other way to explain the marble sculpture before him. He couldn’t stop the utter delight that flooded his senses, finally one that could truly appreciate and comprehend his work! And what luck, he happened to just have a new piece tucked away in one of his vases! He caught a lovely family of five, all grown up no less, a set of siblings that lived a little ways away from the village. This strange woman would understand him at heart, surely she would! The thought of having an intellectually stimulating conversation before his meal sounded so delightful, Gyokko could hardly contain himself as he soon came back out of his own excited thoughts, taking notice that the human he had come across was now on her feet, looking up at her work with an intense expression, the woman standing beside him in the light. He was lightly irked at her concentration, though, he cannot say he didn’t admire such a thing, especially as he got to gaze at her soft features for a spell. Her eyes were harsh, scrutinizing and a very lovely hue, skin pale with a thin layer of dust from the rock she had dug her work out of, lips pursed into a thin line, a slight rosy shade being revealed when he looked closer. Her hair was pulled back into an incredibly messy bun, stray hairs sticking out all over, a plain white yukata and obi decorating a small frame, hiding any possible muscle she could have built given her chosen medium. Rather drab looking overall, but she herself could be a lovely work of art if given the proper treatment. Perhaps Gyokko could make something out of her, something aside from a meal. Perhaps he could shape her limbs into some intriguing poses, like that of a dancer, or- “Can I help you?” Oh! It seems he was too focused again! She was looking at him. Such a vibrant expression, the upper moon couldn’t help but to laugh slightly and retreat back into his pot, moving with lightning fast speed to appear before her in her work room. Popping out of his vase again, he gazed at the human with an excited grin, the woman before him looking at him with a scrunched up expression. It looked alright on her, but he thought something more pain induced would be better, something that reminisced the throes of death wrapping around her figure. Yes, that would be very fitting for a woman like this. “Hello, miss! Delightful to come across you this evening!” Gyokko chirped, smiling at the woman, who crossed her arms at him, glare sharp and cold. “Just spit out whatever you’re going to say and get out.” She hissed. Oh. Goodness, she seemed to be such a vulgar thing. No matter, Gyokko could handle such things! He could certainly feel the passion of your work matching his own, so you’d let your walls down eventually. “I was merely hoping for a minute of your time!” Gyokko hummed, a set of grins sitting on his porcelain white skin, small arms sprouting at his sides, a brown vase appearing in one of his many hands. Gyokko took his cue to keep talking as the woman raised a brow at him. “I wanted to speak to you, my dear, for you and I share something in common; our passion for art! I can see you are rather talented in sculpting, not as brilliant as I am, but still worthy of-”

HOW BEAUTIFUL! THIS IS SO WELL WRITTEN UWU

I LOVE IT UWU ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[liz-allyn]

so you're ready to start reading tasm!peter...

Do you know someone who may be impacted by Andrew Garfield and his constant assault of incredible acting, boy-next-door-to-DILF-transition facial hair, colorful couture, and well-fitting pants? If so, there may be help.

If you're new to the TASM fanfic fandom and feel overwhelmed, you're not alone! I recommend any new reader START by following these incredible writers who have a large number of TASM!Peter fics, and taking a deep dive into their "masterpieces." These are works that I think truly illustrate their passion and storytelling style (not just their amazing TALENT):

@spidervee - Just read it all. Clearly one of the most prolific TASM!Peter writers on Tumblr, and worthy of being "Queen Vee" since a lot of us got back into writing because of her. Everyone knows her for her blurbs, but start with Band Aids on Broken Hearts, Even on Your Worst Days, and Fractured and Familiar (part 1 and 2), and be amazed as you track the progression into deeper, risker hits like End of the World As We Know It, A Little Wicked and The Wild. Her magnum opus masterpiece is (so far) The Spider and the Sunflower.

@blooming-violets - Such a brilliant and creative mind, it KiLLs mE. First work I came across was Pinky Promise, which is a phenominal story in re: pacing, characters, drama, action, etc. Then I am REVIVED by her naughty "angel" series she DOUBLE JEOPARDY MURDERS ME AGAIN with Something Unforgivable and I'm like "goddamn this is poetic and it hurts." Then she literally murders LOTS OF PEOPLE with Smitten, which I would call a masterpiece. stabby stabb death stab

@withahappyrefrain - Girl is on fire with ideas, patron saint of Daddy Kink and Sundresses. I could not possibly list all of the amazing works on here (especially all the blurbs which are my daily sustenance) but I'd say her crowned jewel is Here Comes the Sun.

@rae-gar-targaryen - Supreme Avocado, Attorney at Law. Has a great mix of content with a chunk of TASM!Peter, such a beautiful way with words, including her visually-sublime sweet masterpiece hang the stars upon tonight

@abibliophobiaa luna lovepine-piney-piningqueen-of-pineville - Perfect Places is a 3rd degree slow burn and is just FANTASTIC. Sleep Peter burns for it. And I burn for them. Speaking of which, I'd say the magnum opus is Another Love, which is an incredible AU feat of genius.

@fallensilencefics writes TASM!Peter almost exclusively and might also get me double-pregnant with her smut works. Also Angel of the Airwaves is like a fucking awesome superhero!reader / poc!reader fic unapologetically and it's also a masterpiece.

@mrshipsmcgee - CAIT! Dis bitch got me pregnant; current awaiting a DNA test. Also: our mother-goddess, because that's her energy, and she helped me with my first stories and inspired me to get back into writing, and I encourage you to check out In Another Universe, Symbiote and my other fav, A Lord & A Lady, her Bridgerton AU that I really loved even though I've never seen Bridgerton.

@p3mybeloved started her tasm writing journey a few months after some of the others on this list but i'm blown away by how OBSESSED i am now. Also I just fucking STARTED We Can Be Heroes because I suck at tasking let alone multitasking and now I feel like I want to read one chapter a month because I don't want it to end.

@luveline Writes 50 blurbs a day with bottomless talent like it's a Happy Hour Special at Applebees and so many of them have made me WEEP like I'm alone at a Happy Hour at Applebees, she is truly a gift.

@lanadelreyscokewhor3 Is the Patron Saint of Innocence Kink and I have to be alone in a forest every time she writes something that's TASM Peter because I should not be near other humans.

@peterthepark I think she's currently retired from TASM!Peter Duty but read her lovely oneshots and her spicy Ridiculous fics are required reading for Blonde Frat Boy Peter (what is blonde fratboy peter? *laughs nervously* it was is a thing)

If you haven't discovered @decadentpaperduck, @foreverrogers, @indouloureux, and @ddejavvu then what is the point of the internet...

and honestly this list can get so long but I really need to eat now. These are blogs that I feel like post majority TASM!Peter and have all been responsible in some way for crafting the way I write.

BUT enough about my opinions. I know I missed some excellent "must read" stories.

Moots, please help me out by reblogging with your favorites!