#Backstage Pass Magazine

[lily3k]

B-PASS 2022年12月号

[littlelamy]

rockstar!rafe x model!reader

rafe cameron, rockstar and absolute menace, has the whole world wrapped around his finger, but he only has eyes for you, his “star.” a sex-symbol bombshell on every magazine, you’re the only one who can keep up with his reckless, no-limits lifestyle. the two of you are pure chaos, a match made in tabloid hell—whiskey-soaked nights, trashed hotel suites, and scandalous photos the whole world loves to hate. you’re the untouchable couple people whisper about, practically blowing kisses to the cameras as you leave a trail of destruction behind you. every second is messy, filthy, and oh-so-fun—just how you like it.

mini masterlist

how you met

his personal star 18+

backstage pass 18+

jealous

daddy 18+

home video 18+

his proposal

in the booth 18+

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude

[mustainegf]

Just..Black Album era James...maybe Kirk too..and Jason..and Lars...fuck it, gangbang- POV: you're a groupie and they're all impatient and desperate after a show

HOLYYYY I KNOW THIS REQ IS A LITTLE OLD BUT HOLY CRAP THIS IS FUFHFFMDMSMSMS

𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 ¹⁹⁹²

From the raw chords of "Master of Puppets," I was always a die-hard Metallica fan. Then, there I was in 1992, when I scored a backstage pass to see their concert, it really felt like a dream come true.

As I walked toward the venue, air pumped with anticipation,my heart pounded.

It was everything I had expected and a whole lot more. James Hetfield's screaming voice, Kirk Hammett's solos, Lars Ulrich's pounding drumming, and Jason Newsted's bass lines made for the perfect night and always did.

I clutch my backstage pass nervously, wondering what might meet me on the other side. Whisked down a series of twisting hallways until at last I came to a door, which read, in no uncertain terms, "Private." My heart pounding, the door swung open.

There stood James Hetfield himself, every bit as intense and magnetic as when he performed on stage. "Quite the sexy visitor, I see," he said, his low, rumbling voice at ease.

My heart stopped at his promiscuous comment. He stepped aside, and I nervously walked into the room. My eyes went wide as I took in the sight of the whole band all together.

"Hey, beautiful," Lars said, grinning up at me; there was a sparkle in his eyes. Kirk and Jason nodded, giving me welcoming smiles. I awes at Kirk’s teeth, far cuter in person than in the magazines.

"Hi…” I said as calmly as possible while my stomach was doing summersaults.

The atmosphere changed in a little while. There was this hint of lust in the air, some words being unsaid and crackling. James leaned backward on his chair, his eyes fixed onto mine which made my heart pulse.

I had to admit, James had always been my favourite of the bunch, like almost every other girl.

"You know, we don't do this usually," he said, his husky voice low. "But there's just something about you, baby.".

I swallowed, my heart racing. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely audible as I looked away.

Lars leaned forward, his grin wide. "We want you," he said simply. "All of us."

My breath caught at the implications of his words. I looked from one to another of the four of them, and in their eyes, I saw their hunger, all coming to life in different ways.

To conceive of being with all of them, these metal legends that I had loved for years, ALL AT ONCE?

"Are you cool with that?" Jason asked, his voice soft, so comfortingly Jason Newsted.

I took a deep breath, and my mind was working at full speed.

“Yes… I want this,” I begged softly, my little confidence crumbling.

James got up and crossed the room, standing in front of me. He gently reached out and cupped my face in his hand. "Good," he said in a low voice. "Because we want you too.”

His lips burned against mine, and I instantly melted into his arms as my body glowed hot with his touch. His hands stroked down my sides as he pulled me closer with a deepening kiss.

Behind, the others moved, and then hands were on my shoulders, turning me slightly as Lars and his eyes burned with lust, his mouth fierce on my neck. His kiss was more aggressive, demanding, than James', but no less thrilling.

Kirk and Jason joined him, hands and lips roughly exploring my body, their hunger leaving me breathless.

Jason worked my tank top off, along with my bra, worshipping my breasts alongside James. Kirk seemed to be in his own world, gently caressing my thighs.

They led me to the nearby couch, and I sank down onto it. Clothes were quickly shed, and soon I was surrounded, hands and mouths working in combination to drive me wild.

Jason left loving bruises along my collar bone. Lars worked his dick as he watched. Kirk tweaked with my nipples, smiling at me with those cute shark teeth.

I grazed my hand over his soft cheek, kissing him as he gave his attention to my boobs.

James took control, standing between my legs while the others toyed with me. His fingers slid down to tease around my entrance.

"You're so wet," he muttered beneath his breath, his voice rough. "Do you want this, huh baby?"

"Yes," I gasped, arching into his touch. "Please, James.”

He didn't need any more of an invitation. He slipped into me, his gaze still locked with mine as he seated himself fully inside of me. It was too much, and I cried out, my fingers digging into Kirk’s shoulders, earning a smirk from him as he kissed my cheek.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, and then began to move. His thrusts were careful, each one racking waves of pleasure through me.

As James set the rhythm, Lars moved in front of me, teasing the tip of his dick on my lips. "You like this, don't you?" he growled to me. "Being fucked by all of us."

"Yes," I moaned, my body responding to the dual sensations. “Yes, L-Lars..” I managed to stammer, whilst paying licks to his length.

The next thing I knew, Kirk and Jason were taking turns kissing me, switching between my boobs and lips and their hands exploring my body, touching places and adding to the unbelievable pleasure.

James picked up his pace where his thrusts became harder, more urgent now. "I'm goin' to cum," he hissed, eyes locked in with mine. "Do you want me to cum inside you?"

"Yes," I gasped.

A final, mighty thrust and he groaned. His release caused mine. I cried out, shaking with the feeling of the James Hetfield’s cum inside me.

James pulled out as Lars took his place. His dick sank into me in one quick thrust. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he groaned. His hands had gripped my hips now, and he had started to move.

"I'm close," he grunted, his movements quickening even further. "I'm going to cum."

"Yes, Lars, give it to me," I moaned, my body tightening around him.

He came with one last deep thrust, filling me with his warmth.

Next, it was Kirk's turn, and his touch was feather-light as he entered me. The movements were slow, gentle, his eyes locked into mine as he made love to me. So intoxicatingly contrasted was the gentleness of his bridled passion to the rougher, more urgent thrusts of James and Lars.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice so soft and reverent. "So perfect.”

Kirk smiled as he took hold of my ankle, kissing up my calf while he fucked me slowly.

I arched into him, meeting his slow, deep thrusts. I watched as his gorgeous black curls bounced, so much love poured into every snap of his hips.

"Gonna cum…” he whispered, his eyes all dark and burning with desire. "You ready?

"Mhmm," I gasped, anticipation building.

With one final, long push, he came, his release bringing on my own. I cried out, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm. James shushed me with his lips.

Finally, it was Jason's turn. With a single, powerful thrust, he entered me. His movements were urgent and demanding, he was clearly worked up from being last in line to get his hands on me.

"You like this, don't you?" he growled, his eyes dark with lust. "Being used by all of us."

"Yes, yes Jason…," I moaned, feeling the pleasure overtake me.

"I'm close," he grunted, his movements growing jerky. "I'm going to cum."

"Yes, Jase…” I whispered, tightening my body around him.

A final, deep thrust from him and he came, filling me with his warmth.

It was right now I realized I had just been pumped full of cum by the whole band. I wonder how many girls could say they had been filled with their mixed fluids.

My body ached, my nipples sore from their relentless mouths, my pussy pulsing and dripping with their cum, my legs practically jelly from all the shaking.

With a tender kiss on the temple from Kirk, I knew this was worth it.

[rylem33]

His Mistake

Lily stood backstage, her heart thumping in time with the music vibrating through the walls of the club. She stared at her reflection in the mirror: her blonde hair, her glossed lips, her body draped in a skimpy outfit she would’ve never dared to wear.

She glanced at the door that separated her from the stage. Just beyond it, the customers waited—men, eager and hungry, their eyes ready to devour her the moment she stepped out. She should feel ashamed, horrified, furious. But all she felt was a needy desire that tightened low in her belly.

This is wrong… right?

It had all started with a mistake—his mistake.

But the moment passed as the stage manager whispered her name. “You’re up next, Lily. Get ready.”

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

Landon had it all, or at least he thought he did. A great job, a loving fiancée, and a wedding just weeks away. But then came the bachelor party. His buddies had insisted on taking him to a strip club—harmless fun, they’d said.

It started with drinks.  Too many.  Then, it was all just a blur of lights, music, and alcohol. Somewhere along the way, she walked over, the blonde stripper who locked eyes with him, her body glistening under the club lights. One thing led to another, and before he knew it, he had made the worst decision of his life, cheating on his fiancée just days before their wedding.

The next morning, everything changed. He woke up with a pounding headache and a body that felt wrong. Groggily, he stumbled to the bathroom, thinking he’d splash some water on his face. But when he looked in the mirror, Landon wasn’t there.

Instead, a stunning blonde woman stared back at him with wide panicked blue eyes. “What the hell?” he had gasped, backing away from the mirror. He grabbed at his chest, at the curves that shouldn’t be there. His hands ran over his waist, hips, and down to his legs—long, slender, and unmistakably feminine. The reflection followed his every move, and that’s when it hit him.

I’m a woman.

“Landon!” His fiancée’s voice jolted him from the shock. She stood in the doorway, bags in hand, and a smug, satisfied smile spread across her face. “I hope you like your new look,” she said coldly. “Consider it payback for last night. It’s really too bad.  I loved you, you know. Then you had to cheat on me with a stripper. A fucking stripper.  This is what you deserve…Lily.”

“What did you do?” Landon—no, Lily, as she called him now—stammered. His voice was softer, higher, unfamiliar.

“You broke my heart,” she replied.  “So I took your penis.  It’s only fair.”  She tossed the engagement ring at him before turning on her heel and leaving, the door slamming behind her.

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

The days that followed were a nightmare. Lily hid herself away, terrified to leave the house, she ignored the calls of friends and family, desperately trying to reverse whatever curse or spell had been cast on her. 

But there was no going back. The changes weren’t just physical—they were mental, too. And that’s when the urges began.

At first, they were subtle—flashes of heat that rushed over her skin, leaving her feeling uncomfortable. Then the dreams started, vivid, erotic dreams about men, their hands on her body, their lips on her neck. She’d wake up in a sweat, her new body aching with need.

Lily tried to fight it. I’m not like this, she told herself. I’m a man, I have to be. This can’t be happening. But every day, the feelings grew stronger, her thoughts wandering to men in ways that made her blush with shame. She started craving attention, lingering too long on the images of men in magazines, imagining how it would feel to be looked at, to be desired.

It wasn’t long before she ventured out, just to feel the eyes on her. The first time, it was at a bar, dressed in a tee shirt and jeans.  The outfit wasn’t even sexy, but she remembered the rush of excitement when the bartender’s eyes had traveled up and down her body, the way his smile had made her feel wanted. That night, for the first time, she didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist. She let herself flirt back, feeling a strange thrill when his hand brushed hers.

The more she indulged these new desires, the more natural they became. Lily started dressing to be noticed, loving the way men looked at her, the power she felt in their stares. The heat inside her grew, fed by their attention, until it consumed her thoughts. She began to fantasize about more than just being looked at—she wanted to be touched, adored, taken.

Eventually, she found herself standing outside a strip club. It hadn’t been a conscious decision; her feet had simply taken her there. This is crazy, she thought, staring at the flashing neon lights. But the hot ache between her legs was undeniable, urging her forward. She entered, the pounding music vibrating through her, her body already alive with the thought of being on that stage.

“I’m here for a job,” she’d said, her voice shaky but determined. The manager barely looked up from his desk, giving her a once-over before nodding. “You start tomorrow.”

And now here she was, about to take the stage. The urge to perform was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before. She should have been horrified.

I’m not Landon anymore, she reminded herself. The old version of her was gone, buried beneath layers of blonde hair, curves, and lust.

As the music swelled and the stage lights turned on, Lily’s hips began to sway, her body moving to the rhythm with ease. The crowd cheered, and Lily felt their eyes drinking her in, feeding the burning desire inside her.

She smiled, licking her lips. She ripped her top off, exposing herself to the crowd and fueling a thrill within her. 

No, she wasn’t Landon anymore.

She was Lily, and this was where she belonged.

[witchwrestler]

'THE PUNK SINGER' (PART I)

wc: 1k

warnings: drinking, eddie gets mean, but just for the plot, cops, swear words

summary: You're in a punk band. He's a metalhead. Famously, the two clash. Yet, he was still infatuated. After a messy breakup and two years of no contact, a reconnection begins when you find yourself in a difficult position.

a/n: the product of a different idea I had...that spiraled into this! very excited to continue the story. Reblogs are greatly appreciated, hope you enjoy! (sorry for the cliffhanger btw it had to be done)

● ● ●

You hadn't forgotten about him, it was hard to with all the magazine and news paper articles. But boy did you try. You were the lead singer in a grimy and small punk band, jumping from hole in the wall bar to hole in the wall bar. He was the frontman of americas second largest metal group, and he never stopped thinking about you. It never crossed his mind he shouldn't.

Out one night with your band, a guy offers to buy you a drink, you decline. He calls you a bitch, tries to grab you, then you bust his car window. Now, just your luck, you get the police called on you and end up in jail for the night. However, with you trying to fight your way out of the police officers grasp, giving him a bloody nose in the process--there was a huge possibility that one night would turn into a year. They posted bail, but you had no one to call. Your family lived states away and weren't exactly fond of your current lifestyle. You hated asking people for help. To be specific, you hated asking people for money. It felt greedy, and you could get by on your own.

You bit your lip and picked up the plastic phone the officer had set on the desk in front of you. Even though it'd been two years, his number still stuck in your brain ever-so clearly. You knew he was still on tour, and you weren't religious but you hoped to god he would pick up.

● ● ●

"get out of my green room" were eddies last words to you, if you remembered correctly .

It was late, after a show. He got an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and you were stubborn and hurt. Eddie had run off stage excitedly, saying Corroded coffin had the chance at a record deal, bringing this record executive backstage, a woman in a pantsuit and heels. Her name was Allison or something. You did not like the way she acted toward him, she was touchy, too touchy. She was sitting on the couch with him, the rest of the band surrounding them, everyone was drinking, including you. But she seemed to be very insistent that eddie specifically drink. She posed the idea when she was brought backstage with a "shall we have a drink and talk out the details?" the guys all nodded in agreement, telling the assistant to go get a round. They talked and she giggled for a little bit and She had looked at you in the middle of a clearly false fit of laughter "is she a groupie or something?" she whispered, thinking you couldn't hear, to a completely wasted eddie next to her.

You laughed at the assumption, looking up from the song you had been tweaking in your notebook. "fuck no." She looked confused, and the guys just kept nursing their beers. "so then what are you?" She asked, like that was the only reason you'd be backstage with them. "I'm a musician..." You never defined yourself as eddies girlfriend, you loved him but you were many more things than eddies girl. "oh." an awakward pause until she started again, "So, eddie, if you guys can finish an album in the next month, my boss wants to do a Corroded Coffin world tour" She seemed to ambitious you thought, too many bands fell apart because of tour and writing conflicts. "We can make Corroded Coffin the biggest name in metal if you take this deal" she added, quickly, one last resort to convince them. Eddie looked at her, and then the band, and said, "hell yeah. let's do this"

The band broke out into a symphony of cheering, beer bottles clinking against eachother as they hugged and laughed.

You smiled as a courtesy, but pulled eddie to the side. "Eddie you can't do this" His brows furrowed, "What, why? It's the biggest opportunity we've had in months?"

"Eddie you know what's gonna happen. With that kind of pressure over all of you, you're gonna be at eachothers throats in no time" You said, crossing your arms. You knew it was a good opportunity, but you weren't going to watch them get torn apart. "Look, I know it sounds like alot but we can do it" He said, trying to be rational but an annoyance was clear in his voice, he just wanted you to be happy for him. "Eddie, they're gonna ruin you! You're gonna choose quantity over quality just for a fucking paycheck, since when have you ever wanted that for your band?" You said, desperate to make it clear what a terrible decision he just made. "Can't you just be fucking happy for me and the guys? once? she wants the best for the band, she knows what she's doing!" He's getting angrier at this point, which only made you want to argue back. "She doesn't know what the fuck she's doing. She got you guys DRUNK to get you to agree! and clearly thought I shouldn't be backstage if I'm not blowing one of you"

"oh, like you know anything about a record opportunity? it's not exactly like your band is drowning in deal offers is it?" He winced at his own words and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. You just stood there. You never cried, but the muscles that usually fought off your tear ducts seemed to have given up right now. "fuck. you." He just stared at you, his eyes big, and then looked at the door. "get out of my green room." You stormed out, wiping the tears from your face, smearing eyeliner in the process.

Eddie called you eight times that night. You ignored every one.

● ● ●

Standing still in the cold police station, you listened to the phone line ring. once. twice. Your heart was beating so fast you almost just hung up. But it rang a third time. Then you heard a click, and a familiar deep voice that sent a faint chill down your spine,

"hello?"

.....to be continued

[theunderestimator-2]

Lux Interior & Chopper Franklin, last ever bass player to record with The Cramps, backstage at The Paradiso, Amsterdam, where they performed on Sept. 18th, 2003, about a week after Johnny Cash had passed away (here in a photo captured by Arjan van den Berg and published in 'Oor' Magazine issue Nov. 2003).

Scott "Chopper' Franklin had started out as a Black Flag teen roadie, learning guitar & bass and jamming with anybody that he could. In Hollywood he crossed paths with the infamous Rick Wilder and began playing bass for the notorious punk rock outfit The Mau-Maus, then later joined the trash rock outlaws The Joneses. He relocated to New York and after having met Lux Interior and Poison Ivy, he eventually joined the Cramps in 2002. He did several tours and recorded the final Cramps studio album “Fiends of Dope Island”. After performing with various bands, he has been playing with the goth americana band Heathen Apostles for the past decade.

(via)

[metallicaislife]

The Photographer and the Guitarist

Requested by: Anon

Genre: 18+ smut, fluff with smut minors dni

Word Count: 1,515

Warnings: oral(f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex

The Photographer and the Guitarist pt 2

When I landed the gig of Metallica’s concert photographer I was over the moon. Not only would I get to see them perform, I got to travel with them too. 

I was pleasantly surprised with how welcoming they were. Having been in the industry long enough, I lowered my expectations so as to not be let down when someone who’s music I admire ends up being a total asshole. 

“How did you even get into concert photography?” Kirk asked, we were at a restaurant with the whole crew. I was surprised when he sat next to me. I’d had a few conversations in passing with him as I got to know all of the members of Metallica better. 

“I grew up going to concerts, music has always been a central part of who I am. As I got older I fell in love with photography and have been immensely lucky to have been able to combine the two.” I responded. 

“That is so cool. I don’t think it’s luck though, I’ve seen your photographs in the magazines. You’re talented and you’ve worked extremely hard to get to where you’re at.” Kirk said and munched on his food. 

“That is very kind of you to say, thank you.” I smiled. Kirk smiled back at me. 

It was really easy talking to Kirk. We got to know each other pretty well. 

That was just the beginning though. I found myself talking to Kirk pretty much all the time. In between soundchecks, on the road, whenever he had a spare moment. 

They had a show tonight, I was wandering backstage before it started. That’s when my eyes landed on Kirk, who had his shirt off. I didn’t mean to ogle, but I couldn’t help it. Distracted, my foot caught a wire and I nearly ate shit, the only thing stopping was an hand that came out of nowhere grabbing my elbow. Kirk looked up, and I looked back to see Cliff. 

“Thank you.” I said, feeling embarrassed. 

“Are you okay?” Kirk asked, I looked back over to him, my cheeks heating up. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” I replied. Cliff released my elbow as Kirk went back to getting dressed. 

“I think you already know, you need to be careful backstage. Even when there is a guitarist to fawn over.” Cliff said quietly. My eyes widened.

“Not a word to anyone.” I hissed. Cliff chuckled as he walked away. 

The rest of the night went without incident. Which I was grateful for.

We were halfway finished with the tour now, I was exhausted but at the same time wished this tour would never end. 

We got to the hotel to rest for the night. I was minding my own business as the tour manager dealt with the room situation. 

“Does it look like they’re plotting something?” A voice whispered to me, making me jump. I turned to see Kirk. “Sorry.” He chuckled. 

“Who looks like they’re what now?” I asked, feeling a little flustered at the closeness. Kirk didn’t say anything, he just pointed in a direction. I looked to see James, Lars and Cliff in a mini circle around the tour manager. They looked up to see Kirk and I staring at them, then turned, continuing their hushed huddle. 

“You’re a part of the band, why don’t you go find out.” I suggested. 

“Nah, they’ll say something soon enough.” Kirk said and rested his chin on my shoulder. 

This wasn’t the first time, but for some reason the butterflies in my tummy were flapping away. 

“Okay, room assignments.” The tour manager announced to the crew. He started listing off two people and giving them a room key. I listened intently, I would probably be with one of the roadies like normal.

“Kirk, and Y/N.” He said. 

My eyes were the size of the moon. I was frozen in place. Kirk went and grabbed our key. 

“Are you okay sharing a room with me?” He asked. 

“Yeah, but like that must be a mistake, you always share with one of the guys, the rest of the crew share amongst each other. Are you okay sharing a room with me?” I couldn’t stop the word vomit. Kirk chuckled. 

“I am completely fine sharing a room. It’ll be fun.” He gave a small wink, “Come on let's go.” He said and grabbed his luggage. I grabbed mine and followed him.

I accepted the fact I would be sharing a room with Kirk. I could live with that, we’d be on separate beds so it would be fine. When we entered the room my eyes widened seeing only one queen sized bed. You’ve gotta be kidding me. My heart was hammering quite hard. 

“You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch.” I offered, setting my stuff by the couch. 

“Why?” Kirk asked, setting his things down as well. 

“Because you’re a rockstar and I’m the photographer.” I answered with a shrug. 

“What kind of logic is that?” Kirk asked with a laugh. 

“You need a good restful sleep. Your body needs a nice comfy bed. I don’t.” I replied. 

“I don’t know, I've seen you in some precarious positions in your line of work.” He said, folding his arms. 

“Anything for the perfect shot.” I grinned. 

“We can share the bed, I promise I won't bite.” He said, “unless you want me to then I definitely can.” He added with a wink. My cheeks flared. 

“Okay, we can share.” I replied and began rummaging through my things. 

Kirk laid on the bed while I found my things to take a shower. There was tension in the room. The same one that had been growing throughout this tour. 

“Do you need to use the restroom? I’m gonna shower.” I asked Kirk. He looked up from his comic. 

“Nah. Might join you though.” He added with a wink. 

“You’re welcome to.” The words fell from my lips before I could process what I had said. Kirk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. 

“Erm or not, up to you.” I practically squealed as I entered the bathroom and shut it. My heart hammered in my chest. Shaking it off I stripped and got into the shower turning it on steaming hot. I stood under the stream reflecting on what I had said. I probably crossed a line. I should see if I can switch rooms with someone so Kirk doesn’t feel uncomfortable. 

My thoughts were interrupted as the bathroom door opened and shut softly. I could hear the rustle of clothes as Kirk stripped. He parted the shower curtain stepping in behind me. 

“If you want me to leave, say so.” Kirk whispered huskily. 

“I want you to say.” I whispered, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Kirk’s hands came to rest on my shoulder and began trailing down my body. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my shoulder, then bit down. I moaned as his hands found their way to the front of my body bringing me flush against him. He squeezed a breast in one as he found my clit with the other. He pulled away and turned me around, he kissed me hard. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around him. He leaned me against the wall then pulled away. He trailed sloppy kisses down my body until he knelt before me. 

“Spread your legs, baby.” He said tapping my legs. I spread them. He kissed my pussy before he started eating me like it was his last meal. I gasped and fisted his hair. 

“Oh god. Kirk.” I moaned, “Feels s’good.” He hummed against me before sliding two fingers inside of me. I came with a cry, it felt so damn good. He turned the shower off and helped me out. He took a towel and dried me off a little before drying himself off. He led me to the bed and laid me down. He pinned me to the bed as he kissed me deeply. I let my hands wander until I found his cock giving it a firm squeeze.

“Oh fuck.” Kirk groaned against my lips. He spread my legs and entered me. “What a perfect pussy, squeezing me so tight.” He groaned as he pushed in until bottomed out. He slowly pulled his hips back and began fucking me hard. I screamed as I clung to him. My nails are digging into his back. He bit down on my shoulder, then licked the imprints his teeth had left. He used one of his hands to rub my clit.

“Are you gonna come for me again?” He asked as he continued to rut into me mercilessly. 

“Yes, oh, fuck, Kirk. Yes!” I screamed, coming soon after. 

“Good girl.” He praised me. He pulled out and came on my stomach. He laid next to me as we caught our breaths. 

“Let’s shower, this time we’ll actually wash up.” Kirk said with a goofy smile. 

“Sounds good to me.” I smiled back. 

I’m grateful the other’s conspired to get Kirk and I together.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

[steddiewithachance]

Will You Still Need Me?

Summary: Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - or Read on AO3

May 12, 1992: Today.

Hold yourself together, hold yourself together, hold yourself together.

It's an old familiar chant. Steve was practically raised on the mantra. He repeats it in his head as he leaves the exam room and passes through the doctor’s office lobby full of older folks reading outdated magazines. He chants it as he takes off running through the parking lot and throws himself into the driver's seat of his bimmer.

He holds himself together until he can't anymore. He bursts into tears in the safety of his car. It's explosive when Steve finally cries, he lets everything build up for far too long which tends to result in a snotty, messy display.

It's not fair, the news he was given. He'll never outrun his violent teenage years. It's getting harder and harder to find value in himself with the extensive list of health issues he's accumulating.

The voice in his head – the one that sounds like all the people who've ever hated Steve – is chastising him. 

Your life's not over, you're being pathetic. 

But he just wants to feel sorry for himself in peace.

What Steve needs is to talk to someone. But he can't even hear Robin when they talk on the phone anymore, which pulls another desperate sob out of him. He just wants his best friend. 

He's dreading telling his professional-musician-boyfriend the news, there’s no way that’s gonna go well. Part of Steve’s appeal to Eddie is that Steve has always gone to all of his shows. Even before they started dating, he’d show up to their Hideout gigs and compliment Eddie on little moments of each performance that he enjoyed. Steve’s pretty sure it’s what won Eddie over in the end.

So what’s gonna happen when the very foundation of their relationship is pulled out from under them? Will Eddie go looking for someone else to listen to music alongside? Lord knows there are plenty of men who would die to be in Steve’s shoes.

Unsure of where else to go for reassurance, he decides that when he stops crying maybe he'll drive to Jeff's. 

____________________________________

When Steve tried to remember the first time he noticed things getting bad, he pictured a concert. It was a warm summer night, a few years back. 

August 1990: Two years ago.

The final chord of the concert rang out across the stadium and vibrated through Steve. The drummer smashed a conclusion to the encore, sweat falling from his hairline. It was loud, so loud. Steve was flinching and wincing all night.

He and Eddie were pushed up snugly against the barricade in front of the stage; warm bodies caging them in. Really, Eddie was at the point in his music career where he needed to have security with him in a crowd like this, but he thought donning sunglasses and wearing his hair twisted up into a bun cut it as a "sufficient disguise." Steve was only slightly annoyed to admit that it was, in fact, sufficient because no fans had approached them. Eddie sacrificed his comfort for the evening to wear a long-sleeved shirt that covered all of his demobat scars. They were one of the defining features of his on-stage persona. Those and his tattoos, probably.

And despite the fact that Eddie definitely could have pulled backstage access for them to watch the concert more comfortably, he always insisted on watching it like an audience member. "The experience is completely different," Eddie had argued, and yeah, Steve wasn’t disputing that.

The crowd roared as the band bid everyone a good night, and the stage lights went out conclusively. Sweaty bodies started pushing their way out of the stadium, away from Steve. He finally felt like he could breathe again, but boy were his ears ringing. He blinked at the crowd moving towards the exits when he felt clammy fingers wrap around his bicep and squeeze excitedly.

He looked over, and Eddie was beaming, practically bouncing with the adrenaline of seeing one of his favorite bands live. He looked like the zealous, music-obsessed kid that Steve fell in love with a handful of years ago and not the well-adjusted musician who had met or performed with nearly all of his role models by then. He had been so excited for the show, and by the looks of it, it was everything Eddie hoped it would be and more. Eddie pulled him towards the exit, keeping his head down so they could get home quickly.

"My ears are ringing really bad," Steve complained.

"Mine too," Eddie giggled and pumped his fist. He was celebrating as if ringing ears were an accomplishment. "That speaker setup was on another level." Steve nodded; his ears would be fine... probably.

"You had a good time?" Steve just wanted to hear about how much Eddie loved it because then the headache he’d probably get later wouldn't hurt so bad.

"Amazing time! Best concert yet, I think. So glad you were there with me." Eddie pushed down his sunglasses and blinked at Steve with big, shiny eyes. The headache would be worth it.

When they got home, Eddie ushered them both into the bathroom, pushed the shower knob on, and started stripping. He threw his clothes messily onto the counter. Steve followed, much less enthusiastically.

Eddie’s a big, fiery ball of energy; his social battery gets charged when he’s pushed around in big crowds and surrounded by loud music. Steve is the opposite; he’s always drained down to nothing by the end of a concert because he worries about Eddie's safety the whole time. He makes an effort to wear a smile, though, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about whether or not Steve is having a good time.

Eddie pulled him into the satisfyingly warm water and immediately wrapped his tattooed arms around Steve’s waist. Steve fell back against the cold tiled wall, which made him hiss and arch away from it. Eddie leaned down to press heated kisses down his jaw and neck. When he got to the meat of Steve's shoulder, Eddie bit down softly.

His hands slowly migrated from the dimples of Steve's back down to his ass. With a cheek in either palm, Eddie squeezed greedily and pulled their bodies together. He moaned into Steve's shoulder. Steve didn’t hear the moan; he only felt it, vibrating against him. His ears were still ringing.

"Eddie?" Steve asked softly. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment. "I don't think I want to have sex tonight. Can we take a normal shower, maybe? Please?"

Eddie pulled back with a startled expression. His hands retreated to rest on the wall on either side of Steve.

"Oh fuck, Steve. I'm sorry." Eddie searched Steve's eyes. "I should have asked; I'm sorry."

Steve felt guilty about making Eddie feel guilty, but honestly, he was worried about himself. He’s got health-related anxiety now, after years of living with his worrywart best friend, Robin, and consistently uncovering new side effects of upside-down related injuries. So the fact that his ears were ringing more intensely than they ever had before, made him nervous.

"It's okay," Steve assured him, but he felt small and kind of fragile. Steve just wanted to go to sleep.

"Want me to get out and give you some space?" Eddie asked with his hand already pushing back the curtain, ready to step out.

Steve shook his head and reached for the shampoo bottle. He grabbed Eddie's wrist and squeezed a dollop into his palm. Eddie always used more shampoo than him, had much more hair after all. Steve did the same to his own palm and started massaging it in. He could feel Eddie watching his back, probably with sad puppy dog eyes.

Steve made his shower a short one instead of going through his whole five-step process. He just shampooed his hair and stepped out, leaving Eddie alone under the hot spray of water.

He dressed himself in oversized baggy sweats, which made him feel like he was in control of himself again, for some reason. He cozied up on his side of the bed and nuzzled his face into his pillow for comfort.

It wasn't long until Steve felt the bed sink next to him. He turned his head to face Eddie and squinted against the lamplight coming from the bedside table. His man was still wrapped up in a towel, hair dripping onto his own pillow. Eddie brought a hand up to gently pet Steve's arm with the back of his index finger in a little windshield-wiping motion.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry for pushing and not asking. I feel bad."

Steve shook his head. "You're fine, don't even worry 'bout it. I just have a lot on my mind. Wasn't feeling it."

"Did you not like the concert?" Eddie sounds crestfallen as he reaches down to wrap the towel more snugly around himself.

"Always have so much fun with you, baby. I'm just tired is all. 'Kay?" Steve knew that the concert would be ruined in Eddie's mind if he found out Steve didn't really like it. So Steve always kept those thoughts locked away deep in the caverns of his mind. He would do just about anything to make Eddie happy anyway.

Eddie nodded and stood up to put on a pair of boxers.

"Alright," he responded, and Steve resolutely ignored the panic of how little of Eddie's voice he could hear. He tried to assure himself it would be better in the morning.

The ringing in his ears was gone when he woke up, which calmed him enough to ignore his hearing-related issues for a while. He's good at ignoring his problems.

_____________________________________

April 1991 - A year ago.

Steve was studying, believe it or not. 

When the band first moved out to California, Steve took up a job waiting tables at a chain restaurant that he never wanted to think about again. It was well and truly traumatic. 

Tired of being yelled at for minimum wage pay, Steve finally sat down and listened to Eddie list off some career options he reckoned his boyfriend might enjoy. Steve hated when people told him what he should do with his life. Eddie wasn't telling or demanding, Steve had to remind himself, he was just suggesting.

Steve was still deciding what he wanted to do. Eddie assured him there was no rush, but he feels useless if he’s not making strides toward some sort of focused career. He was speeding his way towards an undergraduate degree at a state school on Eddie's dime and flirting with the idea of becoming a physical therapist. He didn't know if he could handle that much education, though.

That afternoon, Steve had been thumbing through a stack of notecards for an anatomy exam he had the next morning. It was a Nancy Wheeler-approved study method. 

He paused when the phone rang. Steve rushed into the kitchen and answered with his signature, "Munson Residence, this is Steve." It made him smile every time. He liked to pretend that he was a Munson too.

He heard a garbled voice on the other end, but he was pretty sure it was Eddie calling from JFK airport. 

"I'm so sorry, I can't hear you. Could you talk a tad louder, please?" Steve asked politely just in case it was someone calling Eddie on business.

 "Hi baby," he could subtly make out. 

"Hi Teddy, what's up with you?" Steve responded, curling the phone cord around his finger. 

"I have bad news; my flight got delayed, so we'll actually be in at one... not eleven. And I know you have class in the morning-" 

"I'll be there, it's no problem," Steve confirmed. 

"Are you sure? We can-" Eddie cut off, and Steve pushed his ear impossibly closer to the phone. "Oops, Grant says I'm talking too loud..." and Eddie got quieter. Steve couldn't hear what he said next, but he guessed it was something about finding another way to get home. 

"I'll be there. Okay? Don't worry about me. I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you." 

"Okay, love you. See you soon." Eddie chirped back.

Steve mounted the phone onto the receiver and trudged back over to the couch. He wondered if it would be a better use of his time to continue studying for his test tomorrow or nap so that he wouldn't be completely exhausted in the morning. High school Steve would have chosen to sleep, so he decided to study.

Steve pulled the van up and parked it right in front of the American Airlines door a little before 1 am. He waited and waited and motherfucking waited. He should have brought his flashcards, dammit. He did, however, buy one of those bouquets of black-dyed roses that Eddie loves. It was set carefully on the passenger seat next to him, waiting for Eddie.

Steve had to drive a few loops around the airport because it wasn't until around 1:45 am that the band exploded out through the airport doors with luggage in tow. Steve got out to help them pack it all into the back. There were a few teenage boys standing near the street, staring at the band with wide eyes. 

Please, Steve begged the universe, do not approach or ask for something silly like an autograph.

"Hi, Sweetness," Eddie crooned. He gave Steve a friendly-looking, publicly acceptable hug to tide them both over until they got home. "Missed you so much." Eddie stepped back and threw his suitcase into the trunk, slamming the back door shut as the other guys squeezed into their seats. 

Eddie lit up when he opened the passenger-side door and saw the bouquet. He grabbed his roses and held them up to his face to hide his smile. Gareth and Grant teased him in the backseat. Jeff stared on wistfully.

"Baggage claim take a while?" Steve asked while pulling away from the curb.

 "No, not really. We kinda sped out of there," Eddie confirmed. How can that be right? They were forty minutes late. 

"You said you were gonna get in at 1," Steve argued. 

"1:30, I said 1:30," Eddie responded as he turned back to confirm it with his friends. "I said 1:30, right?" Steve looked in the rearview mirror to see Grant's curly hair bob up and down with an over-the-top nod. 

Oh, well, fuck. 

"Must have misheard, my bad," Steve dismissed as he made his way through airport traffic. He felt Eddie's eyes on him. He was being watched with a concerned expression. He shrugged it off.

_____________________________________

May 9, 1992 - three days ago

Thank God it was Saturday, Steve thought contentedly, wiggling in the warmth of the bed. He threaded his fingers through Eddie's, which were splayed across his stomach possessively, even while asleep. Steve luxuriated in the simplicity of having no pressing or immediate responsibilities. He was surprised when Eddie squeezed his tummy. He turned over to see Eddie wide awake and watching him.

"Oh hi, didn't know you were awake yet," Steve rolled onto Eddie's chest and pressed gentle kisses to the tattoos inked across Eddie’s collarbone and shoulder. Eddie grabbed Steve's chin and lifted his face so that they were both looking at each other. He looked upset.

"I've been talking to you." Uh oh. This might be the tipping point. Eds might finally bring up the thing they'd both been blissfully ignoring. "I'm worried about you, Sweetness. About your hearing."

Yep. Steve sighed and flopped backward onto the sheets. He wished he could sink into them. There went his relaxing morning. Eddie chased him. He sat up and leaned over, placing a warm palm on Steve's cheek and tugging on Steve's earlobe.

"Maybe we should make a doctor's appointment." Which Eddie should have known was absolutely going to be met with one of Steve's dramatic eye-rolls.

"It's gonna cost a million dollars for them to tell me I have a little hearing loss. I'm not gonna do that." Steve didn’t have health insurance, much to everyone's chagrin.

"There could be things to prevent it from getting worse," Eddie suggested softly because he knew Steve was tender about perceived weaknesses. And then Steve realized that his hearing issues had probably become inconvenient to everyone around him, but they'd been too nice to say anything until now.

If Eddie didn't want to drag this out, then fine. Steve could suck it up and go see a doctor.

"Okay," Steve agreed, and Eddie gave him a relieved smile and a kiss on the forehead.

"Thought that would take a lot more convincing. Let's get you in sometime this week, that sound good?" Eddie asked and scooted down the bed to pad off to the bathroom.

It did not sound good. The whole reason he had been pushing off the diagnosis he knew was coming was because it would probably send Eddie running. He was trying to savor his limited time left in this bed.

[blackynsupremacy]

A GLAMOROUS LIFE

boys with small talk and small minds

really don't impress me in bed

she said, "i need a man's man, baby"

diamonds and furs

love would only conquer my head

pairing: nicholas chavez x black!fem!reader

also starring: cooper koch and normani as valerie

summary: it’s the year 1987. you and your best friend, valerie, are rising college graduates and are part of one of the most affluent african american families of the decade. yachts, handsome yuppies, and diamonds, and grand soirées all sound like a ball, but to you, it’s so predictable. especially when it comes to dating. your not-so-friendly personality underneath all of that designer tends to be men repellent, until this one double date valerie sets up with a renowned tennis player and promising law student shifts your entire perspective.

inspo: fresh prince of bel-air, 1x19. cred to @fear-is-truth for the idea of an 80s au.

contains: lots of words, eighties au, reader is a bit toxic, yuppie culture, swearing, rudeness, alcohol consumption, arguing, nicholas gets reader together, enemies to lovers, fluff.

tags: @sabrinasopposite @supaprettyg @camiesully @zombigrlll @ellethespaceunicorn @rosiestalez @afrogirl3005 @afrowrites @elitesanjisimp @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl

“valerie, for the love of god, don’t make me go on this date. i swear on daddy’s credit card that i can get you backstage passes for the bad tour. hell, i’ll even let you get with michael if it would change your mind. just please don’t make go on this double date.”

you groan and plead while watching your best friend since birth, valerie hill, primp herself at her pristine, white vanity for a night on the town. she had a date with this tennis player named, cooper koch. apparently he was so talented in the sport, that he was well on his way to the olympics within the next year. valerie mentioned that he was bringing his friend, nicholas. she didn’t really ask about him, what he did, nor if you were down for the double date, so you were practically forced into this. you both were the heiresses of the richest black families in the nation, so going out on dates to the most exclusive and expensive restaurants with the richest bachelors were the norm for you both. for you, the norm was getting so damn predictable. all of the guys you’ve dated in the past only care about two things: getting paid and getting laid. it was enjoyable at first, but as you grew older, you realized that life shouldn’t just be about drugs, money, and sex, it should have some sort of substance, some depth, some purpose. these guys never challenged you. they talk a big game with their cars and lavish spending, but it’s all a load of materialistic bullshit. each time you give them a chance, it’s like you want to put a combination lock on your pussy and forget the numbers. that’s the energy you give out: cold, distant, snarky, rude, anything to get these yuppie ass wannabe’s out of your face.

but here you were, already showered and clad in a cream satin robe with curlers in your hair. valerie was the popular one out of you both. besides studying to take over the family business, she was a model. her face would be on commercials, billboards, and magazines. it’s no wonder why she had a line of men begging to breathe the same oxygen as her. you were studying business as well and in your free time, you would compose new masterpieces on the grand piano you were gifted when you were fifteen after perfecting the instrument since kindergarten. even with the pressure of performances, recitals, and competitions, you grew to love writing a new piece in different styles. your idols consisted of stevie wonder and quincy jones. your parents never really knew, but you were so lucky to have valerie be a support system for your passion.

your inner turmoil was interrupted at the ring of valerie’s telephone to which she picked up and answered with the customary “hello”. your brown eyes peer at her figure as your ears tune into the conversation she’s having.

“hello?… oh, hey, cooper!…uh-huh. yeah, i can’t wait either…oh, is he? well, she’s definitely looking forward to meeting him.” valerie pauses to cut her eyes at you, in which you respond with the rolling of your own.

“okay…yes, three eighty five willard lane is correct. i’ve already told the guard at the gate your names, so just give it to him and you should be good to go. thirty minutes? okay…see you then! ciao for now!” valerie blows a kiss to the receiver with a smile on her made up face and hangs the phone up. she turns to you with those alluring deep, brown eyes that’s captivated so many hearts. with a huff of her breath, she stands up from the vanity stool and saunters over to you, donning a long hot pink sleeveless evening dress that hugged her body just right. it was cut low with diamond straps paired with matching pink opera gloves and an assortment of genuine diamond jewelry that was adorned on her ears, fingers, neck, and wrists. you feel her palms on your shoulders and she gives you a knowing glance.

“i know that you’ve been burned before, but for some odd reason, i got a feeling down in my gut. that this guy is exactly what you’ve been looking for. if he’s not what you expect within an hour, we can go home.”

“no bullshit?” you questioned with an arched brow.

“no bullshit, but please try not to have that stank ass attitude at dinner tonight, y/n!”

“i might bullshit on that, valerie. you know when i hear something stupid, my attitude can’t help it. i’ll try for you though! not my best, but i’ll try.”

you retort with a smirk and release yourself from a giggling valerie. you take the last thirty minutes to get ready. you don your white, shimmery strapless evening dress with matching fingerless opera gloves. you perfect your hair and makeup to your liking. to say you looked beautiful tonight was an understatement. you bashfully receive the encouraging compliments from valerie in which you reciprocate the kindness. there’s a knock on the bedroom door and valerie opens it to reveal one of the maids, letting you know that there are two gentlemen in the foyer waiting. your stomach starts to rumble with dread, but then it serves to your memory that you only have to give this man an hour of your time if he’s not up to par, so fuck it, just get it over with.

“ah, shit. is it too late to take back what i said about michael jackson?” you curse under your breath, rolling your eyes slightly.

valerie nudges you playfully, her excitement buzzing in the air, but still some annoyance towards your irritability. “girl, don’t start. they just got here, damn! you’ll never know, you might end up diggin’ on him when the night is over. now haul ass!”

you suck your teeth and quietly retort, “diggin’ my ass.”

you grab your fur boas and designer clutch handbags. valerie takes the lead and you exit her bedroom to descend down the marble staircase of the hill manor. you keep your head down to watch your step, but then you hear a male voice circulating in the room.

“wow, you guys look absolutely stunning. the talk around town certainly don’t do you ladies any justice. pardon my language, but i’d tell those shit-heads to eat every word.”

“oh, my. why, thank you, cooper! you didn’t have to get the flowers, you know.” valerie responds with an elated smile.

you look up to see two handsome, strapping young men in finely tailored suits with one of their hands casually stuffed in the pocket and each with a bouquet of red roses in the other. they were caucasian and stood tall in the six foot one range with dark brown hair. one had curly hair, the other straight. one had brown eyes, the other had green. as valerie scurries down the rest of the stairs to greet the curly haired green eyed suitor with an embrace and peck to his cheeks to graciously receive her roses, you were still a bit reluctant to move any further down the staircase. you swallowed and you slowly follow her path, your sweaty palm smooths your dress down your waist before approaching the man with the scrutinizing, yet amicable brown gaze. you’ve been all too familiar with this look before. that’s how they ease you in. to keep your end of the bargain, you simply flash your award winning smile when he guides the bouquet in your direction with a casual grin on his lips.

“i’m nicholas. nicholas chavez. you must be valerie’s friend—uh, y/n l/n, right? i have to say i agree with cooper here. you look absolutely gorgeous and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. these are for you. may i?” he greets with such an air of politeness. well, all of the guys have to with their background before they show their true colors.

“roses? cute. original. sure.” you somewhat dryly respond. you thanked him and took the bouquet in one hand and gave your free hand to his for him to place his lips on the back, your stomach fluttered and your cheeks heated when his eyes nor lips didn’t pull away from you for a second. you pull your hand back before things got too awkward. after valerie calls the maid to put the flowers in a vase of water, she’s already walking out the door on cooper’s arm, leaving you and nicholas standing alone in the foyer. he turns his large frame to yours and juts his elbow out towards you,

“shall we? we don’t want to lose the reservation.” he quips with a smirk. so insufferable! typical yuppie. with a tight lipped grin, you nod and your hand circles around his—bulging bicep. well, fuck! nicholas was indeed jacked. you don’t let the tingles of your lower region let your guard down though.

“mm-hmm. i guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting.” you and him step out into the starlit evening and you stop noticing two cars, one red ferrari f40 and a black chevrolet corvette. wait a fucking minute. why the hell are there two cars? you could’ve sworn that valerie said that all four of you were taking a limousine. nicholas led you to the ferrari, while cooper led valerie to the corvette. before they could go any further, you took your hand from nicholas’ arm and called out valerie’s name in a faux friendly tone and smile.

“i apologize, fellas, but valerie, a word?” you hastily ask cutting your eyes to your best friend that protested by standing closer to cooper.

“but, y/n, we’re gonna be la—” you cut her short by taking her hand and scurrying a few feet from your dates, so they couldn’t hear your griping.

“valerie, you sneaky ass skank! you told me we were taking a limo. you ain’t said nothing about going in two separate cars! what the fuck are you trying to do!?” you hiss in a whispered tone, you were hotter than a firecracker. dumbfounded, your best friend responds with a shrug and glanced over to the confused men, sending them a wave with an embarrassed smile before shifting her focus back to you.

“girl, i didn’t know either. i guess he changed his mind about it before he left! i’m not mad about it though. this is our chance to get to know them one on one. i might even get lucky tonight, honey! besides, i don’t need you to scare off your and my date. ride with nicholas and don’t be fucking rude. just give him an hour. you promised.”

“not exactly.” you deadpanned.

“y/n!” she hissed in the lowest, yet sharpest warning tone.

“ugh. fine, i’ll ride with him. i’ll be—civil.”

“perfect. now let’s get our fine asses wined and dined.”

you both hurriedly walked back nicholas and cooper. like the gentlemen they were, they opened the passenger doors for you and valerie to enter their respective vehicles and buckle up. cooper and nicholas agreed to having cooper lead the way to the restaurant while nicholas followed behind. once they entered the driver’s seats, you four made your journey. you and nicholas didn’t ride in complete silence. the radio was filling the car with phil collins’ “in the air tonight” faintly in the background. nicholas eyes glanced over to your figure briefly. you sat in the passenger seat, one hand in your lap, the other propped up on the door as you looked out at the glistening city lights through the window, not uttering a single word. you seemed so cold. was it something he did? something he said? what he said earlier wasn’t really bullshit though. nicholas has encountered his share of women who were forgettable after a night of passion, but he honest to god thought that you were a breathtakingly beautiful woman with the world at her fingertips. he’d think you’d share the same sentiment as he did, but given your bored expression, perhaps not. he took the opportunity to turn the volume knob to the left to make room for small talk. nicholas clears his throat as he slightly grips the steering wheel, his eyes focusing on the road as he trails behind cooper.

“so, uh, tell me, y/n. cooper has told me that you and valerie are studying business. i assume that’s going well.”

you sigh at hearing the “b” word. it felt like such a curse. your head hurts at the very mention. you muster up an answer that’s right to the point.

“yeah, i better be or i’ll bring the greatest shame to the l/n family, so i suggest you shouldn’t assume, nicholas.” you retort dryly, gazing at your rose red manicured nails. nicholas felt a twinge of a tingling pain in his stomach. it’s almost eighty degrees out, but it just got to thirty in here. talk about a cold shoulder.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to pry or make you uncomfortable. i was just trying to make conversation considering it’s a da—” you cut him short.

“i know how a date works, man. what are you? a prosecutor trying to present to me the evidence of exhibit obvious?”

“matter of fact, i am, well— studying to be. i’m in the pre-law and criminology program at my university. just like you, it’s in my bloodline.”

“oh, well. i guess it’s a change from all the guys i’ve met. they’re always waiting for their folks to kick the bucket or step down, so they could inherit a position of power that’s worth twenty years of work, but get it because they were born. they’ll spend a shit load of money and the body’s not even cold yet.”

“woah—wow. i’ve never seen it in that perspective, especially not from an heiress like yourself.” nicholas’ brows furrowed and he exasperatedly whistled.

“wow indeed, nicholas. it’s a goddamn shame. what the hell does me being an heiress got to do with it, huh?” you quiz defensively, cutting your eyes to the male. nicholas takes a deep breath and combats with a firm and calm voice,

“hey, there’s no need to get defensive, y/n. i’m just saying most people from families like ours don’t typically share the same thought as you nor care—i believe it’s an interesting perspective, not a bad one, so i don’t blame you for believing that money could easily sway someone’s morals.”

“hm.” that’s all you could respond with and you returned your gaze to the window sitting in deep thought. who the hell did nicholas chavez think he was? why isn’t he combating you with the benefits of all that luxury? did this man just—sympathize with you? something was definitely up with nicholas and not to mention, you were being a bit of bitch towards him and he was still holding a civil conversation with you. there had to be a narcissistic, egotistical bratty yuppie prick underneath that calm and collected gentleman-like demeanor. you had a scheme: you were gonna push that limit to make sure that asshole makes an appearance at that restaurant.

the guys smoothly pull up to the entrance where the security and valet are standing. they get out of their cars to open the doors for you and valerie before handing their keys and a handsome tip to the valet to get their cars parked. you gazed up at the illuminating skyscraper of a restaurant before you. THE OPULENT HAVEN flashed itself so vibrantly in the city that even the stars had some competition. it was hypnotic to say the least. you stop your gawking when you feel a large palm rest itself on the small of your spine. your brown eyes lean up to see the familiar pair of nicholas’, a grin playing across his chiseled face.

“i take it by the way you’re staring that this is your first time here. breathtaking, isn’t it?” he softly whispers in awe with a matching expression towards the structure. you inwardly groan as your stomach does that thing again. here he goes with this fake prince charming, nice guy act. who was he to assume that you haven’t been here? you’re y/n fucking l/n for god’s sake. oh, who the hell were you kidding? this was your first time at this place and it looked like a palace. you didn’t want to let him know that though. he’s probably been here a thousand times with a myriad of women. you never forgot your scheme to release the animal within him, so you smirk with a quirked brow in his direction before you shot back in the same whispered voice,

“and who are you to assume that i haven’t been here? it just looks very elegant, nothing more. you’re acting as if i’m a damn tourist to these establishments.”

“it’s not my intention to assume, y/n. i’ve just noticed that you could see and appreciate the beauty in this building like i do. if it makes you feel any better, this is just my second time around. you don’t have to be so guarded, you know? now, let’s get inside before our party leaves us behind. after you.” he gives you a once over to the see through revolving doors where cooper and valerie are standing at the hostess’ station awaiting your arrival.

“whatever.” you grumble under your breath, rolling your eyes.

“i beg your pardon?”

“nothing—let’s just get inside.”

with a silent nod and his hand still on your back, he takes the lead for you to meet with the other two. the hostess guides you all to your table and it wasn’t long before a waiter arrived. cooper takes the initiative to request the restaurant’s finest merlot, water, shrimp cocktails, and pâté as the starting course of the evening. when the server returns again, you all agree to settle on the main course of the beef wellington and lobster thermidor, and topping it off with the crème brûlée. cooper and valerie start to break the ice with everyone at the table. you sat with your eyes down at your purse and courtly spoke whenever spoken to without getting caught peering at the ticking clock every once in a while. who knew that a fucking hour would take a lifetime? it also didn’t help that when valerie was in her own world with her precious koch boy, nicholas tried every way possible to get you to open up and with every attempt, you respond to him with such a snarky and dismissive attitude. valerie tries her best to paint you as a decent human being to the best of her ability. she really likes cooper and the last thing she needed is you scaring him off because you’re pissed at her.

“so, nicholas! do you like music? y/n sure does. i bet you didn’t know that she’s very talented at the grand piano and has been doing performances and competitions when we coming up! she even dabbles in a bit of composing.”

“yeah, i love music and that’s actually really cool, y/n. how long have you been playing for?”

“since i was five. you’re about to be a top shit lawyer, right? you do the math and get the facts.” you retort as you take a sip of wine. valerie rolls her eyes and hisses your name as cooper places a hand on hers. his forest eyes giving her the reassuring look of “let it go”. cooper knew exactly what you were doing and as his best friend, he knew that nicholas’ politeness could only be pushed so far, they all just had to wait and see it all come to a head. after your response, you noticed how nicholas clenched his jaw, clears his throat, and his composed expression returns with a tight lipped smile. what is this guy’s deal? where’s his backbone? he’s just like the rest of these sorry ass yuppie motherfuckers.

“shot in the dark, here. seventeen years?”

“ding, ding, ding! we got a winner!”

“that’s impressive. you must be really passionate about it. what type of styles do you typically play? classic? baroque? romantic?” he leans back casually in his seat awaiting your answer. you were quite surprised that a pre-law student had such a knowledge in that area.

“anything that sounds good to my ears.” you announce with an air of confidence and shrug your shoulders. there was no utterance of a thank you, not nothing. you were gonna make sure this plan to expose him for who he truly is doesn’t all go to hell. it was pissing you off that with every brash comment you made, he would kill you with cordiality.

it was pissing you off so much that even the server was catching stray bullets from you.

“excuse me, would you tell whoever the hell prepared this dish to please remake this? there’s no way this was right because i’ve had better at a fucking cheesecake factory.” the server stood with such timidity and tried plead their case on behalf of the chef.

“ma’am, we understand your concern, but i assure that the head chef has made it—“

“wait a minute, you’re telling me this is the work of your head chef? well, i guess it’s time for him to head back to culinary school because this is fucking terrible. this is ALL terrible!” your voice rose with frustration as you throw your lap cloth down on the table like a child having a tantrum and stood from your chair with your arms firmly crossed. all you could think was fuck this restaurant, fuck this date, fuck valerie, and fuck nicholas for foiling your plan. before you could bitch and berate any further, nicholas also stood up from his chair. “wait, nicholas, don’t—”, valerie tried to open her mouth to protest and deescalate the situation, but cooper gently grabbed her wrist, shaking his head to let valerie know that nicholas had this. she just needed to watch. he was composed, but he held a perfect posture with his chest was puffed up, he kept his hands flat at his side, and he looked at you with such contempt, such disappointment, before his baritone voice dominated the room.

“no, valerie, this is not okay. i’m sorry, but i’ve got to get this off my chest.” he paused. his serious, deep gaze not pulling from your curious eyes before he resumes speaking, “y/n, your behavior this whole night was completely inappropriate and unacceptable. i’m not exactly sure what your problem is with me, but i’ve done nothing, but try to be civil. i don’t know what type of guy you may think i am, but where i come from, manners and decorum count a lot wherever and to whoever, so i can’t just sit back and let your nasty, smart-ass attitude continue. you owe every single one of us an apology, especially to that poor server. now, if you refuse, we’ll take you back home and continue the night without you. do i make myself clear?”

you stood there silently, still trying to keep your guard up, but the muscles of your crossed arms loosened. the furrow of your perfectly arched brows softened and a small smile crept on your painted lips while you listen to nicholas chavez set you, y/n l/n, in her rightful place. he was respectfully getting you all the way together and boy, did you get such a titillating rush from how he was so assertive yet, still had that integrity. he was exactly the type of man you’ve been craving for in your circle. the type of man that wasn’t afraid to stand up for what’s right no matter how many times he’s given the benefit of the doubt. he’d make one hell of a lawyer. it was like you were seeing stars when his eyes bore into yours, awaiting an answer. you were so stuck in staring at him, his colossal frame stepped forward to be in closer proximity to yours. the warm chocolate hue of his pupils turn darker as they continue to stare down into your own. nicholas takes the opportunity to repeat his question with an added firmness, considering he didn’t get an answer the first time.

“y/n, do i make myself clear?”

you swallow.

“yes, nicholas.”

you were so entrapped in his softening gaze when you gave in. valerie sat in awe and confusion as she witnessed you humbly apologize to everyone for your behavior, including the server and the night went on pleasantly. plus, you decided to give nicholas more than an hour, you decided to give him a chance. there was something about him that had some potential you craved to see more of. you weren’t always the one to get second dates, but as you attentively indulge in amicable conversation with him, you’d hope you were redeemed enough to get that chance to see nicholas again. alone. although you hated him less, he was still a fine specimen of a man. he gave you a sense of warmth. that warm feeling didn’t leave when he drove you home after dinner. it didn’t leave when he walked you to the door. it sure as hell didn’t leave when he bid you a sweet goodnight with another lingering kiss to your hand. the image of his beautifully sculpted countenance burned deep within your brain. nicholas was even the type of guy that made sure you entered your home first before disappearing into the night. a regular yuppie asshole would speed off as soon as you closed his car door. your heart pounded within your chest as you stared at the ceiling while immersed in your satin rose duvet. every single shitty word you’ve ever said and every judgmental thought you’ve had towards nicholas alexander chavez was immediately transformed into immense respect and burning desire.

[moonleeai]

Journey Back to You

·𖥸·Fashion Photographer! Jin x Fashion Model! Reader  ·𖥸·AU: Childhood friends to lovers | FLUFF ·𖥸·Rating: PG ·𖥸·WC: 5460

Story written for Sara - Heathfritillary - as part of the BangtanWHQ Exchange Event “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats”

Summary: Bound by an inseparable childhood bond and a shared adoration for fashion, you and an old friend find your lives diverging across continents. Years later, fate intervenes as your paths unexpectedly reconnect at a high-profile fashion show. The dazzling lights of the runway become a backdrop for your reunion, igniting a nostalgic journey through shared dreams and forgotten memories. What will become of this rekindled connection?

Thank you Lucy @lo1k-diamonds and Jasz @downbad4yoongi for beta reading! 

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Strolling along the River Seine, the water shimmers under the moon’s glow; you can’t help but sigh in awe, “What a perfect night in beautiful Paris!” The Eiffel Tower stands tall, adorned with twinkling lights, captivating your gaze—beautiful structures of Gothic architecture line the street with elegance and uniformity, illuminated by soft moonbeams.

A cool breeze carries the scent of garlic and aged wine as you feel the uneven cobblestone under your feet. The towering, half-timbered buildings on either side seem to lean in, creating an intimate, almost secretive atmosphere. Gas lamps cast an ethereal glow, painting the street in soft, golden hues. Tonight’s fashion show theme–Beneath the Eiffel's Glow–showcases the magic of Paris under the moon’s tender embrace at the foot of the Iron Lady.

You confidently approach the check-in area, where the production team organizes models, designers, and staff. Velvet ropes line the entrance, and security personnel stand guard checking credentials. The assistant recognizes you and checks off your name, greeting you warmly and handing you a pass for backstage access. 

Backstage, crew members hurry by with headsets on, and stylists rush to prepare for the show. The models move with practiced ease through the chaos, making their way toward the dressing room. You’re met by the designer’s team, who usher you to your fitting area. Garments hang meticulously on racks, shimmering under the soft lights.

You inspect the outfit you’ll be wearing—a dress with a plunging neckline cascading in bold, voluminous layers of black tulle, its dramatic silhouette broken by vibrant splashes of magenta and teal. The colors clash yet harmonize with unapologetic flair. 

As you get dressed, you admire how the outfit commands attention, a statement of daring elegance and rebellion against the ordinary. Then you take a moment to prepare mentally– calm and collected– ready to transform the moment when all eyes will be on you.

With your chestnut hair cascading down your back, you adjust the diamond-studded choker resting on your neck and strut down the sidewalk-turned runway for the latest luxury fashion brand. Striking a pose at the end for the photographers, a face sticks out, and as your eyes lock, your heart jumps. 

Kim Seokjin, tall and brooding, stands with his camera pulled away from his face. His obsidian eyes held a hint of surprise as he recognized you. Childhood summers spent chasing fireflies in a small French village flooded back. Countless trips to this same Eiffel Tower, where you played while parents had meetings and business lunches. Jin has become a renowned photographer, capturing beauty through his lens, and you, a sought-after model, gracing magazine covers and billboards.

You regain your composure and finish the show, keeping an eye on Kim Seokjin. When everything is over, you don’t even bother to change, running off with the last outfit you modeled. Weaving through the masses of people, you hear a distinct laugh and let it pull you toward him. You stand just a few inches from Seokjin with a soft smile on your lips, eyes shimmering like the diamonds around your neck.

Jin whispers your name, his voice a velvet caress that sends shivers down your spine. “It really is you.” In his memory, you were an adolescent with hair like a wildflower meadow, always returning from your adventures with nature's offerings caught in its tangles. 

Your laughter fills the air, tinkling like wind chimes. “Shut up!?” Your laughter echoes through the air as you embrace Jin. His arms wrap around you tightly, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Laughter and chatter slowly die down, and the once-noisy crowd falls silent as you pull away and focus on him. “Jinnie!? What are you doing here?” 

He gestures to his camera bag. “I chose the photographer path. I travel the world capturing moments, but I never expected to find you here. Modeling at that.”

“Ah, I know, right. I was just doing it to make some money while interning, but,” you shrug your shoulders, “here I am! It’s been so long. I really can’t believe it!” You reach out and touch his arm, gently squeezing as if you’re making sure it’s not a dream. You take in his features, noting how they've matured yet still hold remnants of the boy you used to know. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, busy with fashion week.” He smiles at you warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wow… seeing you brings back so many memories. You look stunning, as always.” The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed since the last time you saw each other. 

“Thank you. And you, you haven’t changed a bit. Still the same Jinnie I remember.”

“What about you?” A fluttering sensation spreads through your stomach as his voice lingers on your name. You can't help but smile and shift on your feet as he waits for your answer.

“I can’t complain. I live here full-time now and love every minute.”

“I guess some things never change. Do you remember those summers we spent exploring every corner of that village? Gosh, what was the name?”

“Chevreuse. How could I forget? Those were some of the best days of my life. I’ve missed you, Jinnie.”

“I missed you too,” your name falls from his lips gracefully. “Life took us in different directions, but it seems the universe had other plans for us tonight.”

A booming voice from a distance snaps you into the present with stylists and security guards rushing toward you. 

“We should catch up properly. Dinner and drinks…twenty minutes? I just need to change.”

“Still as demanding as I remember, too.” Jin smiles, “I’d love that. Dinner under the moonlight in Paris sounds perfect.” 

“Don’t leave! Let me change, and I’ll be right back out to walk with you.” You turn just as the guards reach you, and you raise your hands in surrender. Smiling and apologizing, you hurry to the dressing room to return the collection pieces, changing back into the dress you showed up in.

You step back from the vanity mirror to look at your outfit from multiple angles. A sophisticated yet playful olive green short dress with a tailored bodice accentuating your curves, while the flowing skirt adds a touch of elegance. The neckline is a delicate V-neck, showcasing your bare neck and delicate collarbones. 

To upgrade your look, you pair it with gifts from tonight’s designer—strappy black heels and honey-gold butterfly earrings. The wings are adorned in a cascade of nude and chocolate diamonds, creating a stunning contrast. 

You leave the dressing room and head back to where you left Jin. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the crowd. You spot him immediately, standing by the edge of the bridge railing. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin. The lights from the tower catch the rich fabric, highlighting its intricate weave. As your eyes meet his, time seems to stand still. His gaze is warm and inviting, and a surge of electricity courses through you. It’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only you and him. You feel a sense of peace and belonging that you haven’t felt since those summers in Chevreuse.

You watch his eyes roam your figure as you walk closer to each other. He offers his arm before asking, “Where to, beautiful?”

You grin and turn away before he can see your cheeks flush, then point, “There’s a nice place that way.” 

The cobblestone streets beneath your feet seem to pulse with anticipation. You can smell the intoxicating aroma of buttery garlic, roasted meat, and the distant strains of accordion music. With each step, excitement grew as you approached your destination.

An elegant restaurant awaits you. Intricate wrought-iron railings and ornate windows adorned its facade, offering glimpses of the luxurious interior. As you enter, the soft glow of chandeliers, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the murmur of hushed conversations greet you. 

You request an outdoor table and follow the hostess through the restaurant. The anticipation is palpable, and you can't wait to catch up with Seokjin. As you sit across from each other at the intimate candlelit table, the inviting aroma of sizzling steak and bubbling wine fills the air. Your conversation flows effortlessly, pausing only when a delectable bite or sip interrupts you. It’s as if time slowed down, allowing you to savor every moment together.

Your brows crease as you tilt your head. “So you did follow the music path but ended up in photography?”

Jin smiles and looks down. “Yeah, something like that.” He looks around before locking eyes and lowers his voice. “Well, sometimes I do voice-acting gigs. Did corporate life get too boring?” 

“Something like that…” you grin as you repeat his words and reach for your cocktail glass. “I just–being in an office all day was…” You pause to find the right word.

“Not you,” Jin mutters as he raises his wineglass to his lips, eyes remaining on you. 

“Exactly.” You smile, feeling some way that he knows you. Your belly flutters with nerves and excitement as his lips curve into a familiar smirk. Despite the years that passed, he still knew how to make you feel special.

The conversation continues to flow easily, as if no time has passed between you. You share stories—of heartbreaks, missed chances, and dreams deferred.

“I never forgot you,” Jin confesses. “Even when the world pulled us apart. I still have this.” Jin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple pearl-like bracelet with a tiny charm, both of your first initials etched into the metal. 

As you recognize the bracelet—the one you designed so many moons ago—you gasp. You may have lost touch, but the bracelet remained a cherished memory—a symbol of an unbreakable bond. Opening your clutch, you pull out a small jewelry bag. Inside is the same bracelet.

Jin’s smile lights up the evening around you. His eyes soften as he takes the small bag from your hand, removes the bracelet, and gently slides it onto your wrist. The cool metal feels familiar, a comforting touch against your skin, but not as comfortable as Jin’s soft fingers sliding against yours.

"I knew you’d still have it,” Jin says, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and joy. “It was always a symbol of our connection, no matter how far apart we were."

A wave of emotion washes over you. The bracelet, a simple object, had become a powerful testament to the enduring nature of your relationship. As you look into Jin's eyes, you realize that the bond you share is far stronger than any distance or time can separate.

You felt a tightness in your chest. “This night can’t end. We can’t stop here. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow… to go back to New York, but I have an open schedule for a few days. Do you?” You patiently wait for Jin’s response, hoping he can hear the desperation in your voice.

Jin pauses, his eyes scanning yours for a moment before he speaks. "My schedule is open for a few days too... let's stay. We have so much catching up to do." 

Relief floods through you as you agree, grateful that your time together can extend for a little while longer.

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The following morning, the soft glow of sunlight filters through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm embrace on the room. You wake to the gentle symphony of car horns and birdsong. As you stretch, the aroma of coffee fills your nostrils. You breathe it in deeply before getting out of bed. 

Walking out of the bedroom, you notice Jin has already folded the blankets from his stay on the sofa.

“You’re awake,” Jin murmurs and his lips curl up. “I was going to bring this to you.” His hand swipes above a mug of coffee and some pain au chocolat in a tray on the marble countertop.

“You went out to–”

“To get what I hope is still your favorite pastry.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I could never get sick of them! Let’s enjoy them at the table.” You walk over, carry the tray to the dining table, pause, and stare out the courtyard window, where the sun casts a warm glow on the lush green garden outside. “Isn’t this garden beautiful?”

You feel Jin beside you and look over at him, his coffee mug at his lips. You watch his throat coax the liquid down, and then your eyes meet his. His mug makes a clink as he places it on the table. Jin’s lips part as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You raise your eyebrows as if asking what he wants to say.

Jin raises his hand to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “Yes, quite beautiful.” 

Heat is radiating from your body. You clear your throat to steady your unexpected, elevated heart rate. "I can't believe we're back in Paris."

Jin hums in agreement, his gaze lingering on your face. There is a softness to his eyes that makes your heart flutter again. He'd always been handsome, but now, there is an added depth, an allure that is undeniably captivating.

After a leisurely breakfast, you explore the city, wandering through the Louvre and marveling at the art. Strolling along the streets window shopping and soaking in the Parisian atmosphere, hands brushing occasionally, sending a spark of excitement coursing through your body.

As the day wore on, a comfortable intimacy began to develop. Picking up where you left off so many years ago, peeling back layers of the people you had grown into. Laughing at memories and finishing each other's sentences, conversations flow seamlessly from one topic to another.

As the sun descends, casting the city in a golden hue, you find yourselves on a bench in front of the Eiffel Tower. The exact spot where you shared your childhood dreams. Only this time, the atmosphere is different.

"Remember when we used to pretend this was our castle?" you ask softly.

Jin smiles, his eyes twinkling. "And you were the princess, waiting for your knight in shining armor."

"You were a terrible knight," you tease, though your heart is pounding.

"Hey!" Jin protests playfully. "I was the best knight a princess could ask for."

You share a laugh, the sound echoing in the still evening air. As the sun dips below the horizon, the Eiffel Tower lit up, a dazzling spectacle against the twilight sky.

You turn to Jin, eyes sparkling. "It's still magical, isn't it?"

Jin nods, his gaze fixated on you. "It's perfect."

A moment passes, filled with a charged tension. Your heart races as you feel a magnetic pull toward him. Taking a deep breath, you step closer.

"Jin..." your voice, barely a whisper.

Before you could finish, Jin's lips were on yours. It’s a soft, gentle kiss filled with a lifetime of longing and a promise of what could be.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourselves in the moment. The Eiffel Tower, the city lights, everything else is irrelevant. There were only the two of you.

When you pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other. You were both breathless, hearts pounding in unison.

"I wanted to do that our last summer together," Jin admits, his voice husky.

You smile with a heart overflowing with happiness. "Me too."

You found yourself drawn to Jin in a way you hadn't anticipated. His intelligence and sense of humor were intoxicating. He was more than just a childhood friend.

Jin, too, was experiencing a profound shift in his feelings. You had blossomed into a stunningly beautiful woman, but it was your essence and spirit that truly captivated him. He was falling, and with every passing moment, his feelings grew stronger.

As you nestle into Jin's embrace, the city seems to sigh contentedly around you. "I can't believe this is happening," you murmur, your voice muffled against Jin's shoulder. "It feels like a dream."

Jin's arm tightens around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "If it is a dream, I don't want to wake up," he replies, his voice low and warm.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, finding yourself lost in the depths of his dark eyes. There is so much to say, so many years to catch up on, but at that moment, words seem inadequate. Instead, you lean in, brushing your lips against his. 

The touch sends electricity coursing through your body, awakening long-dormant feelings. His breath catches as you pull back slightly, your faces still mere inches apart. Time stands still as you search each other's eyes, volumes of unspoken history passing between you.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raises a hand to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. When you open them again, you find his gaze has softened, a mixture of tenderness and longing replacing the initial shock of seeing you after so many years.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the warmth of newfound love and the magic of Paris at night. The city lights twinkle with possibility as if celebrating your reunion.

"You know," Jin said softly, breaking the silence, "I always wondered what would have happened if we had stayed in touch after those summers."

You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Me too. But maybe... maybe this is how it was meant to be. Us finding each other again when we were ready."

Jin nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "You might be right. We've both grown, experienced life. And now..."

"And now we're here," you finish for him, squeezing his hand.

As the night deepens, a cool breeze sweeps across the Seine, causing you to shiver slightly. Jin immediately shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment on your arms. The gesture was so tender, so reminiscent of the boy you once knew, that it made your heart ache with affection.

"Thank you," you whisper, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It smells of his cologne—a warm, spicy scent that you find instantly comforting.

Jin smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always looking out for you, just like old times."

You laugh softly, remembering how he used to fuss over you during your childhood adventures. A prince protecting his princess. "Some things never change, do they?"

"And some things do," Jin replies, his tone becoming more serious. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. "I never want to lose touch with you again. Whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I want us to face them together."

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After a beautiful few days together, weeks turn into months as you learn how to balance your new relationship with your separate lives. Your career flourishes, becoming the face of several high-profile brands. Jin's photography is in high demand as his work is featured in prestigious fashion magazines.

Your relationship became the talk of the fashion world, a fairytale romance that captures the hearts of millions. But for you and Jin, it was simply about two people who had found a way back to each other, a story as timeless and beautiful as the city of Paris itself.

Whispers and murmurs followed your every move as you stole precious moments from your chaotic lives, meeting in different corners of the world. Brussels–where fingers intertwined like vines while exploring an elegant art gallery. California–with a romantic late-night stroll on the beach, walking hand in hand as the warm ocean breeze mingled with the scent of salty sea air. 

After the bustling energy of the Met Gala, surrounded by fans seeking autographs and well-wishes, you found a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of Central Park, sharing a private picnic, basking in each other's company and the beauty of nature around you.

The initial euphoria of your reunion began to wane as the harsh reality of distance set in. Jin's career demands his presence in New York, while your commitments keep you grounded in Paris. The city of love, once a haven of intimacy, now felt like a gilded cage of loneliness.

Your days are filled with endless video calls, faces illuminated by the cold glow of the screen.

Chuckling, Jin says, “Remember when we got lost in the Louvre and ended up in the Egyptian exhibit?”

You laugh, “Oh, that was hilarious! We were so confused. And then we saw that giant sphinx and thought we were in a movie!”

“And then we found the Mona Lisa and got all excited, only to realize a crowd of tourists surrounded it.”

“We were so disappointed. But it was still fun,” you giggle through your words.

Jin leans closer to the screen. “I miss your laugh.”

You push out your bottom lip and blink rapidly, trying to ward off the tears that threaten to spill over.

Softly, Jin speaks again, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you. You know that?”

You bring the screen closer and pucker your lips, sending an air kiss. “And I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

Jin sighs, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. More than words can say.” 

“I'll visit as soon as I can, I promise.”

Every night ends the same, going over mundane details of your days and pouring your hearts out to each other. Yet, the physical distance was a constant ache, a void that no amount of virtual connection could fill.

The emotional toll of long distance was undeniable. You miss the simple pleasures of being together: holding hands, sharing a meal, falling asleep in each other's arms. The distance felt like a constant reminder of your separation, a painful reminder of what you were missing.

For now, you were two halves of a whole, separated by an ocean, your love a beacon of hope in the vast expanse of your lives.

But the strain of long distance began to wear on you both. A gnawing sense of longing and frustration slowly replaces the initial excitement of new love. Your schedules became increasingly difficult to align, with fashion weeks and photo shoots pulling you in opposite directions.

One particularly grueling day, after a 14-hour shoot, you collapse onto your hotel bed, fumbling for your phone. Jin's face appears on the screen, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "How was your day?"

You sigh. "Endless. I'm so tired, Jin. I miss you."

His expression softens. "I miss you too. More than you know."

A heavy silence fell between you, filled with unspoken longings and fears. You both knew this conversation was coming, but neither wanted to be the first to broach the subject. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke.

"Jin, I... I don't know how much longer I can do this. The distance… it's killing me."

Jin's face fell, his eyes clouding with worry. "I know. It's been hard on me too. But we're making it work, aren't we?"

You bit your lip, fighting back tears. "Are we? Sometimes, it feels like we're just going through the motions. I want more than just video calls and text messages. I want you here, with me."

Jin ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his gesture. "I want that too. You know I do. But our careers... they're important too. We've worked so hard to get where we are."

"I know," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "But at what cost? We're living separate lives, Jin. I feel like I'm losing you, even though I just found you again."

Jin's expression softens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You're not losing me. I'm right here, always. But you're right, this isn't enough. We need to figure something out."

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "What do we do? How do we make this work?"

Jin was quiet for a moment, his brow furrows in thought. Then, his face lit up with determination. "I have an idea. It's crazy, but hear me out."

You lean closer to the screen, intrigued. "I'm listening."

Jin's words tumble out in a rush. "What if I move to Paris? It would be a big change, but... I think it could work."

Your heart skips a beat, hope blooming in your chest. "Jin, are you serious? That's... that's a huge decision. What about your career in New York?"

He smiles, a determined glint in his eye. "My career is important, yes. But you're more important. We're more important. I can build my career anywhere, but I can't find another you."

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and disbelief. "But... are you sure? I don't want you to resent me if things don't work out."

Jin's gaze softens. "I could never resent you. Look, I'm not saying it'll be easy. There will be challenges and adjustments to make. But I'm willing to face them all if it means being with you."

Your heart swells with emotion. "Jin, I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll have me," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Say you'll let me come home to you."

A tear slips down your cheek as you nod. "Yes! Yes, of course! I want nothing more than to have you here with me."

Jin's face breaks into a radiant smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Then it's settled. I'll start making arrangements right away."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·​​· ·

After months of planning and preparation, the day is finally here. Jin secures a transfer to Paris and is finally coming to the other side of the world to be with you permanently. The day he broke the news was met with overwhelming joy and relief. He finally found a way to bridge the physical distance between you.

Jin eagerly packed his belongings and said goodbye to New York, the city he could no longer call home. He was giddy at the thought that you were now his home. As he boards the plane, his heart is full with a mix of excitement and anticipation. He is finally on his way to be reunited with the love of his life.

You were waiting for Jin impatiently at the airport. Your flowy white dress swooshes with every turn you make, pacing back and forth in front of the terminal exit, holding a bouquet with soft shades of purple, ranging from pale lavender to a deeper violet. Their sweet, intoxicating scent fills the air, settling you briefly. You look at the small, delicate petals resembling tiny hearts–perfect for expressing love and affection.

The moment you see Jin, your heart wavers. Wearing a casual outfit of jeans and a button-down shirt, he offers a warm smile, and his eyes sparkle with joy. He’s pulling his luggage behind him, and in his arms, a breathtaking bouquet of lush, vibrant flowers. The arrangement is a symphony of pinks and whites. Dahlias dominate the center with their ruffled petals, surrounded by delicate sweet peas and smaller, more compact flowers. The overall effect is elegance, which is precisely the type of man Jin is. 

You both brim from ear to ear and laugh that you are on the same page. You rush into each other's arms, sweet tears mingling with your embrace. The airport may be full of the hustle and bustle of travelers, but your love shines brightly, creating a moment of peace and happiness amidst the chaos.  

Simultaneously, you both speak, “These are for you.” Giggles erupt again as you exchange bouquets. 

Jin raises them to his face and exaggerates, smelling them. “They're beautiful, just like you.” He winks and thanks you.

You press the back of your hand to your cheek, which flushes with color, “You're too much.”

Jin pulls you into another hug, his lips grazing your neck. “I'm so happy to be with you again.” 

With one hand, you lace your fingers with Jin’s, and the other weaves through the nape of his hair. “Let's go home,” you whisper.

Smiling, he replies, “I am home.”

Jin grabs his bag, and you walk toward the exit; sounds of announcements in multiple languages and murmurs of conversations all fade into the background, replaced by a palpable sense of euphoria. 

As you leave the airport, a wave of warm air hits you. Jin's hand slips into yours, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. Jin settles into the driver’s seat of your car, and the city turns into a blur of colorful tapestry as you weave through the streets.

When arriving at your new apartment, which you picked together through a video call, Jin is welcomed by a charming atmosphere. Golden rays of sunlight pour through the wide windows, flooding the living room with a warm glow. The air is alive with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, its rich scent beckoning from the kitchen where you had set the timer before leaving. Jin sets down his bags and turns to you, an adoring glint in his eye.

"Shall you show me our new home?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, your heart filling with anticipation. As you walk through the apartment, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. This is where your new life together will unfold.

You end the brief tour by stepping out onto a private terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Jin hugs you from behind and places his hands over yours on the railing, caging your body between his arms. 

Before you, the iconic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower stretches upward, a graceful masterpiece of iron latticework. The tower's every intricate detail is visible from your vantage point.

You twist around to face Jin, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently gliding them until your fingers interlock behind his neck. "I'm so glad you decided to take this leap," you say softly. "I couldn't imagine my life without you."

The corners of Jin’s mouth turn up in a gentle, playful arc, creating a soft, heart-like shape, causing your heart to flutter. "Me neither." 

"I have something for you," he said, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your heart races as he opens the box, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a pendant shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Embedded in the tower was a tiny diamond that caught the fading sunlight.

"Jin, it's beautiful," you gasp, touching the pendant gently.

"Turn it over," he urges softly.

With trembling fingers, you flip the pendant over. Engraved on the back are the words "our love story”.

As Jin carefully fastens the necklace around your neck, tears well up in your eyes. The cool metal settles against your skin, a tangible reminder of your journey together.

"I wanted to give you something to always remember this time, this place," Jin explains, his eyes shining. "No matter where our careers take us, we'll always have Paris."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. "It's perfect," you whisper against his mouth. "Thank you."

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, you and Jin sit entwined, watching the city come alive with twinkling lights. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance.

You stand there, nestled in Jin's arms. You couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had led you to this moment. From childhood summers filled with laughter and adventure to years apart, pursuing your dreams, and finally reuniting in the city of love. It feels as if every step, every decision, led you back to each other.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

His breath warm against your ear, he replies, "This is just the beginning."

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Interview with the Vampire - A Vampire!Niklas Kvarforth/Reader One Shot Story.

Okay, besties! The first fic for my Vampire Soirée is here. And yeah, couldn't help myself with the title. Had to. Haha! Enjoy!

Words - 4,293

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

“I really, really don’t want to do this.” 

Your editor views you from across his desk with a mildly terse smirk. “I don’t care. You’re into the more extreme music, so therefore you get to interview him. You’re the natural choice, so go out there and get the job done.” 

You know his word is final, nodding and moving from the small room that reeks of cheap coffee and your boss’s pungent body odour, returning to the main floor of the offices for the rock magazine you work for, slumping back down at your desk.  

“Why me?” Indeed, why you. Likely, if you weren’t quite as revelling in acrimony, you’d see that your boss gave you the task of interviewing Niklas Kvarforth because he thinks you are nothing short of capable. You’d see the compliment in there, being trusted to secure something with the musician who is famed for either being extremely engaging with his interviewer – that is, if he likes them - or an absolute fucking nightmare if he doesn’t. It’s also very much dependent upon his mood, the amount of alcohol and drugs, or the lack of medication in his system, so you’ve garnered.  

You decree right there and then not to meet him backstage, while he’d likely be revelling in the merriment of after show excess.  

A few days pass, your flights booked, and an email received from Shining’s management, giving you a list of criteria you must meet in order for Niklas to be willing to meet with you. At least it won’t be after a show, which makes your insides relax a little. But it will be in a bar. Eeep.  

Niklas will only meet the interviewer at night. 

The interviewer is requested to come alone. 

The interviewer is requested not to wear any strong perfume. 

The interviewer is requested not to wear any items comprising of silver.  

“Is he for real?” You mutter, thinking his demands to border on slightly diva-like. No silver or strong perfume? You wonder why, but then remember who you’re interviewing. He isn’t a run of the mill kind of person by any stretch of the imagination. A return email is sent confirming you will adhere to these requests, receiving the information on the exact time and location a short while later.  

‘Tell the bar staff who you are there to see, and you will be shown to a private room.’ 

It feels ominous, but at 9pm on the date of the interview, feeling fresh from napping after your flight, you enter the bar and indeed tell the young man who greets you who you have a meeting with.  

“Come with me, he’s waiting for you.”  

You are escorted through the throngs of people, the bar itself not of modern build, everything carved wood, the smell earthy and rich. The noise begins to fade as you are led through two doorways out into a long, narrow room, bench seating flanking each wall, and a very tall man seated at a table in the far corner.  

There sits Niklas Kvarforth, expectant, but unmoved by your arrival. 

The energy of the room seems to radiate something you cannot quite put your finger on, but it emanates from him. It feels like both luminosity and a darkened abyss all at once, his eyes sharply focused upon you, your heart beginning to thunder rapidly. You’re unsure why, when he hasn’t even made a move, nor uttered a single word.  

“Niklas,” you begin, recovering yourself, the bartender leaving. “Pleased to meet you, I’m...” 

“I know who you are.” Extending a large hand, he gestures across the table. “Sit.” That voice. It’s a rumble of thunder, the growl of a bear, yet no matter how deep in baritone, he uses little in the way of volume to enunciate. 

Taking a seat, you retrieve your phone from your bag and set it to record, placing it down upon the table. His eyes still haven’t left you, a burning blue stare, unblinking, unflinching, twinkling in the very low light of the room. He then reaches for the wine bottle at the side of the table, pouring out a glass and sliding it across the smooth wood.  

“A two thousand and eighteen Merlot,” he begins, nodding at the glass. “I’m told it is a good year.” 

Picking it up, you take a sip. It very much is. “A good guess, too. I like a nice, smooth red.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches a fraction. “It wasn’t a guess. Social media provides a plethora of information to those wishing to seek it.” So, he found your Instagram, then. You should have known he’d probably research you prior to your meet. “But even if I had not, I would know you drank a glass not so long ago. Perhaps not of the same quality as this, but you did imbibe.” 

You cock your head curiously. “How could you know that?” 

“I can smell it on you.”  

Your eyebrows pinch in slight frown. “That’s one hell of a keen sense of smell.” Taking another sip, the velvety liquid slides down your through, Niklas still studying you intently. “Are you not joining me in a glass?” 

“It is, and no,” he begins, lacing his fingers together upon the table. “I don’t drink... wine, any longer.” 

A curious response from a man who seems very much to enjoy a drop of anything alcoholic. More than a drop, in fact. “What’s your poison now?” 

His eyes flit to the side of your neck momentarily, the rest of him remaining so still, it’s a little unnerving. “I have but one vice, driven out of necessity. It cannot be said I do not enjoy that necessity, though.” So, he’s choosing to be cryptic tonight. “Yes, I am being evasive on purpose, but you knew that I would be, didn’t you?” 

A slightly sinister grin begins to widen his mouth, while you sit there and wonder how on earth he can seemingly read your thoughts so well. “The human face tells of exactly what ticks through the mind. In case you wondered.”  

You know what he’s doing, attempting to unnerve you a little and likely use that to his advantage. Studying his interviews of the past, you’ve witnessed him do it before. He gets inside someone’s head through either unsettling or charming them. You would be lying if you said you did not wish for him to perhaps use a little of the latter, just for fun. Video footage and photographs do not do justice to how attractive the man is in the flesh.  

A professional you may be, but who doesn’t enjoy being charmed a little by a fascinating, attractive musician? Still, you opt to at least attempt in playing your cards close to your chest. 

“I didn’t,” you speak, and he laughs, a small burst of sound through his nose. He sees the hand you hold. Of course, he does. 

“Yes, you did. Do not lie to me. I will see it.” Leaning forward slowly, his eyes fix upon yours again, pupils widening just a touch, your throat feeling tight. “Ask me your first question.”  

Swallowing, you match his unblinking stare, drawing yourself up a little taller. “If you were one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, who would you be?” 

He studies you intently, almost like he didn’t hear you for a moment. “She seats herself at my table and actually asks me something interesting.” His lips curl into a small smile, his index finger tracing over a knot in the wood upon the table. “A rarity these days, to not be questioned over the same mundane things I have given answers to a hundred times before.”  

You made sure not to while compiling your questions, each of which you have memorised well in advance of this night. He looks to ponder it for a few seconds, glancing away from you momentarily before his eyes snap back. “Who do you think I embody the most?” 

Your reply is immediate, without hesitation. “All of them.” 

“Why?” 

“Your music could be constituted as a war cry, famine you’d likely thrive upon from your well-documented enjoyment of human suffering, plague is perhaps akin to how Shining’s music has spread, and death is what fascinates you.”  

He cocks his head a little, his smile growing. “I like you.” 

Much better than being disliked by the man, you suppose. “Any specific reason?” 

“You see me,” he begins, laughing a little darkly, “or at least, as much as I allow you to.” He contemplates his next words, his eyes not leaving yours. God, the intensity of his gaze. It's about as thrilling as it is genuinely terrifying and yet, you aren't at all sure why he scares you. There is something so very inexplicable about him, his aura, the way he sits in such eerie, almost unflinching stillness. He hasn’t even blinked yet. “I get the sense you shall not bore me. I would say to death, but I am there already.”  

“Your fascination, yes?” 

Another rumble of laughter sounds. “A certain curiosity, you could say.” Again, he leans a fraction close across the table. “Next question. Make it good.” 

“If Shining’s music began in any other era, do you think it would have had the same impact, or do you feel it transcends the zeitgeist no matter what?” 

Once more, he smiles. “I definitely like you.” Picking up the bottle, he tops up your glass. “Drink your wine, and I will talk.”  

Oh, and talk he does, the interview feeling less like something of structure, and more like an in-depth conversation about everything. Life, death, music, art, triumph, suffering; you cover all bases together. He fascinates you even more than you first assumed he would, too, yet there is still something about him that you cannot put your finger on, and it’s bugging you.  

“You still have questions you seek an answer for.”  

There he is again, seemingly peering right into your mind. “I do, yeah. It feels like something that doesn’t have a definitive question, though. Does that make sense?” 

Lifting his chin, he shrugs, ever so slightly. “If you’d been paying attention, you would probably have your answer by now. I have dropped some subtle hints, here and there.”  

He playing with you, but you cannot pull yourself out of the fascination, of the thirst to know what it is about him exactly that makes him so different. Yet still, you struggle to form the actual question itself.  

“If I’ve missed them, why don’t you just come out and tell me?” you ask, Niklas humming amusedly, reaching out to run a fingertip down your cheek. The room might be warm, yet his skin is stone cold. 

“Where would the fun be in that?” Yep. He’s definitely playing with you for his own levity. It annoys you too, that you actually enjoy it. “Would you like for me to show you, the answer to the question you are yet to ask?”  

You nod, swallowing hard, wondering what it is you’ll be shown. “How?”  

“Meet me at the front of the bar.”  

It’s close to closing time anyway, so with your curiosity piqued, you finish your wine and pick up your phone, turning the recording off. Placing it in your bag, you smile, turning to leave the room, moving back through the bar. Struggling to get past the group of people milling around the entrance, you finally push through, swinging the door open and there on the other side, seeing Niklas waiting for you.  

How did he...  

“Hello, again.”  

“How on earth did you get past me?” you frown. Even if he’d left via a back exit to the bar, you would have noticed him walking the length of the building, with its floor to ceiling windows bordering it, in order to reach the front before you. 

“I move very quickly.”  

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s... it isn’t possible, for you to have reached the front before I did. I would have noticed you. You’d need to move within the blink of an eye!”  

He chuckles at your shrill tone. “Indeed, I would.”  

You’re caught in his gaze again, shaking your head, your heart starting to hammer. Blinking rapidly, you gasp when suddenly, he’s vanished right before your eyes. A finger taps your shoulder. 

“Hello, again.” 

Spinning, you almost die of fright to see him behind you, your throat constricting. “Wh-what the fuck did you put in-in my dr-drink?” you stammer, perplexed to know what drug he’s obviously laced the wine with, making you hallucinate to this magnitude. 

His eyes narrow, lifting his chin. “Nothing. You can trust what you see.” 

“But, but,” you begin, pointing at him. “People cannot move that quickly.” 

“Correct. Humans cannot, but I ceased being human a while ago.” He waits, watching as you try and piece it all together.  

He requested you meet him at night only. 

No silver jewellery. 

Sharp sense of smell, hence now why you realise he insisted you not wear strong perfume. 

He didn’t drink. Anything.  

“I have but one vice, driven out of necessity.” 

“I get the sense you shall not bore me. I would say to death, but I am there already.” 

And he moves faster than your eye can detect. He cannot be, though! What your brain is suggesting, it isn’t feasible. It isn’t possible! It’s folklore, mere stories, because you cannot, you just can’t be standing right there in front of a vampire.  

“I see the pieces have clicked into place. Finally,” he drawls, smirking a little. “Or do I need to give you exactly what you want to see?” 

“I... I...” you breathe, your mouth dropping open.  

He rolls his eyes, a little twitch of his top lip preceding two long, sharp fangs to pop out from his gums, a sight that makes you squeak as you clasp your hand over your mouth. “There. Convinced now?” 

“Oh my... oh... fuck.” You should be terrified, and truly there is a slither of fear slicing right through your insides, but it’s overrode by a wash of curiosity, of wonder. There you are, standing in front of a real-life creature of the night.  

You did wonder why Shining ceased playing at festivals in the daytime suddenly a few years before. Now you have your answer.  

“I...” you begin, reaching towards his mouth. “Can I touch them? How sharp are they?” 

It isn’t the reaction he was expecting, but your sheer wonder does amuse him on some level. “Feel for yourself.”  

Your index finger prods against one of those pointed teeth, your skin broken immediately. It didn’t hurt, but it took you by enough surprise to pull your hand away, Niklas grasping your wrist and sucking your finger into his mouth.  

“That Merlot tastes very good in your blood,” he speaks, finally releasing your finger from between his lips, eyeing you with radiating intent as you feel your body prickle with goosepimples, your nipples standing hard. All from having your fingertip in his mouth. Wow. “It’s making me hungry.” keeping hold of your hand, he moves his mouth to your wrist, tongue circling, pressing a kiss against where your pulse flutters madly. “May I?”  

“You don’t strike me as the type to ask,” you quip, your body beginning to tremble, especially when he places a second kiss to your inner wrist. 

“Although I love hunting down humans, scared blood tastes bitter. A willing donor is much more palatable.” 

Nodding dumbly, the consent falls from your mouth before you’ve even processed it properly. “Okay, yes you can.”  

Keeping hold of your hand, his other arm slides around you. “Not here.” His grip tightens and before you know it, he’s moved you within the blink of an eye to the alleyway that borders two buildings opposite the bar. Once again, he lifts your wrist to his mouth, the glint of his eyes like pale sapphires shining at you through the dark, another kiss placed before the burn of fangs pierces your flesh. It hurts, but god, the glimmers it drives through you, his mouth locked onto the wound strongly, sucking back your blood with a groan of pleasure.  

Your insides virtually turn themselves inside out, hearing that. 

Biting onto his own lip, he presses a bloodied kiss against the two puncture wounds in your wrist, the miraculous feeling of the wound closing making you feel completely spellbound as his blood heals you, his tongue working languidly over your flesh to lick it clean.  

He licks his crimson lips, leaning down to you. “Thank you.”  

You blink, and he’s gone, leaving you there breathless, perhaps even a touch deflated. He abandons you to the night, heart hammering, feeling awestruck, and that’s it? He’s just gone into the dark? He truly owes you nothing more, though. No explanation, no goodbye. Your interview was concluded, everything needed for your article to be written, leaving you only to steady yourself and call an Uber to return to your hotel.  

It bothers you every single moment of the ride back there, all the questions you could have asked him, like when exactly he was made vampire, why he chose that, whether or not anybody else knows, and so, so much more. It also incenses you because of the burning ache deep within that his feeding on you left, yet to abate. 

Do vampires still even have sex? Can they? They’re dead, so is desire still even a driving force within them, beyond that to feed?  

All these questions and no big, handsome vampire there to answer them. Damn him.  

Back at your hotel, you strip to your underwear, removing your makeup and cleaning your teeth before crawling beneath the covers. The bed linen is soft and crisply laundered, welcoming your body as you lie down and check your messages before turning off the bedside lamp. Sleep, as you soon discover, is a futile wish in light of what you now know, your brain buzzing, your body still humming from it all.  

From him. 

God, the way you felt as he fed upon you. It makes your nipples tighten just to remember it, your hands beginning to wander, knowing that unless you do something to sate the desire he stirred within you, you shall remain restless for the remainder of the night. With each sweeping caress, you imagine it is his cool hands exploring you, your arousal amping sharply, closing your eyes and seeing him there, imagining what it is to be pinned beneath him.  

One hand clamps at your breast, the other wandering between your legs, slick anticipation waiting as you begin to stroke the petals of your sex with a soft moan, knowing the thoughts of him there with you in the bed will act as a suitably torrid fantasy for a time to come. Oh, if only... if only.  

Tap, tap, tap.  

Mildly annoyed by the disturbance, you frown towards the door, wondering why the hell you’re being disturbed at gone midnight, ignoring it at first. Your fingers continue their rhythmic stroking, your arousal once again blooming, sighing into the dark as you hope whoever is on the other side of the door simply has the wrong room. 

Tap, tap, tap. This time louder than before.  

Flinging the covers back, you huff, striding towards the door with a frown pinching your brows, looking through the small spy hole. Your heart almost crashes out of your chest, opening the door immediately, the tall form of the vampire who left you burning in your frustration looming over you as he steps inside the room. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He leans to you, two fingers running along either side of your jaw, tilting your head back. “Answering your call.” 

“But I didn’t call you?” you speak, feeling like his presence is sucking the air from your lungs, the energy coming from him radiating with dark, swirling lust.  

“No, you didn’t.” He leans to you, lips pressing a kiss against your neck, setting your blood to burn with the need for him, his hands grasping your bra to tear it open. “But your body did.” He lifts you with ease, and you wrap your legs around him, clutching his face in your hands as you lean, offering your mouth to his. 

And fuck. The way he kisses you? He might be dead, but you feel like you’ve just been smacked in the chest with a live wire. 

His mouth rains cold heat over you, placed upon the bed, Niklas looking down at you for a moment while his hands smooth over your skin. A sudden flurry of rapid movement renders him naked, your underwear torn from you, his hands parting your thighs to settle himself between them. You shiver at the feel of cold skin pressing against your warmth, your hands trailing over the dark blonde hair smattered over his wide, tattooed chest, his hand grasping your jaw to tip your head back, mouth closing in a kiss that evokes nothing but heat.  

The sound he makes while delighting your throat with such attention is all beast, a primal, rattling growl, eerie and inhuman. You know you should be unsettled, fear the fact that you have what you now understand to be the greatest apex predator on earth between your legs, but oh, no. Fear is the furthest thing you experience beneath him, desire cording through you as his mouth scatters kisses steeped in blinding sensuality over every inch of your body, descending, tongue running up your thigh as he stares up at you. 

His eyes close, long, dark blonde lashes concealing the blue fire within, mouth reaching your aching slit finally, his tongue diving in with hunger. The flush of pleasure is immediate, evoked by long, dragging licks, his groans still gravelled in predatory grit. The tip of his tongue seeks your clit, flicking gently to begin, sucking, taking the contact away to make you keen, returning it with a driving beat that sends embers skittering up your spine.  

He consumes you carnivorously, nothing gentle about the way his mouth rains utter ruin upon you, your back arched like the bend in a riverbank as you gasp and cry out. The way he moves his tongue against your bud is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, quickening, until it moves at an unnatural speed; for a human, at least. He isn’t one, though.  

“Oh shit, oh!” you wail, clutching his head, your nails digging in. “Fuck, that’s incredible! How the fuck can you move your tongue so fucking quickly?” 

He rumbles an amused chuckle, sucking on you again. “You’ve seen how fast I move. That extends to all of me.” More rapid flickers follow, speedy, wet heat driving you to the place of complete nirvana, coming hard as the dew of your orgasm floods his tongue.  

You’re suddenly moved, faster than you can comprehend, finding yourself astride him, Niklas steering his cock to your streaming cunt, a hand clutching your neck as he pulls you down onto it, every last inch slipping in with ease. “And if you think the way I ate you was quick, just wait until you see the speed I’m going to bounce you on my cock.” 

One hand remains upon your neck, the other splayed on your back as he clasps you to him tightly, moving steadily to begin with, staring at you with burning desire, his fangs shooting out as he groans, all hellfire and sin. “Fuck, you feel good, little human.” 

He kisses you, your lips and tongue scratched by the sharp of his teeth, kisses all burning sanguine and dark lust, his growl making your skin prickle with goosepimples. The rolling rhythm of it sends lightning darting up your spine, his mouth moving to your throat, kisses pressed, the accompanying graze of fangs making your nipples furl tight, the pain of him suddenly biting into your neck sending a neon blaze to glimmer through the very blood he drinks upon thirstily.  

Oh, how scintillating the pleasure, to be fucked and fed upon by the predator between your legs at the same time, his body beginning to move up beneath you rapidly, both arms clasping around you, the grip strong, his mouth licking the blood trails left behind as you cry out at every deep, quick punch of his thick cock.  

He literally throws you around the room thereafter, holding you by your throat to the bed, fucking you so quickly, you feel he’s about to go through you, moving you in a blink until you’re backed against a wall, clutching around him as he drives into you like a piston.  

How it is to fuck a creature who doesn’t get tired.  

It’s an inferno of celestial bonfire each time he makes you come for him, your body sweaty, blood streaked and exhausted by the time he finally forces his cock into your mouth, a cold jet of cum trickling down your throat.  

You’re still floating far from yourself when you see him move rapidly, dressed once more in a blink, Niklas winking before in the next second, he’s vanished.  

At least he left you nothing short of satisfied this time.  

Upon checking out the following morning, the woman at the front desk hands an envelope to you, once which you wait until you’re in the Uber heading to the airport to read. 

It should go without saying that you do not breathe a word over what I am to anyone. If you do, the next time I fuck you, you shan’t survive it. 

I’d like you to survive it.  

N. 

Yes. That part of your night with him definitely won’t be going to print, lest you never experience it again. 

A/N - Did you enjoy it? Please be sure to let me know what you thought and give me a reblog. It goes a long way, guys!

[lily3k]

B-PASS 2022年12月号

[musicandoldmovies]

For @loveherallican-blog

I was at the festival and got a backstage pass from a friend that worked for the co-organizing magazine. I had the chance to exchange a few words with Steve, who was over the moon with the audience and the other bands performing at the festival. He said to me: "Wow, have you seen Minke DeVille? What a performance, what a sound, did you know he was this good because I've never seen him live. I can't understand why he is not one of the big stars in the US"

[headfullofpresley]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7K

Summary: Even though you worked as a music journalist, you weren't familiar with America's newest heartthrob in the same way his fangirls were but Elvis makes sure to give you an interview (and night) you won't forget.

Warnings: 50s!Elvis, slight age difference (only 4 years, reader is older), alcohol consumption if you squint, smut; oral (f. receiving), vag penetration, unprotected sex, one night stand, creampie, no use of dom/sub dynamics.

A/N: after dying over elvis flirting with a reporter with @woundmetender, i just knew i had to write something about it (this one's for you, my baby belle ♡). also this means that yes, some of this dialogue actually came out of this mf's mouth and no, i'm still not over it. also, kinda thinking about turning this into a mini series? decisions, decisions...

masterlist

Never in your life had you been this nervous to interview anyone.

Being fairly new to the Modern Teen team, the list wasn’t extremely long yet but you’d often boast to your friends about how The Everly Brothers let you play on their guitar a little in their dressing room even though you barely knew how to hold a guitar and how what was supposed to be a fifteen minute interview with Pat Boone turned into a full day because you two shared mutual interests.

The fact that he slipped you his phone number was something you kept to yourself, though. You were not planning on losing your job; being a journalist was your dream job and although you were sure you weren’t going to be working for Modern Teen your entire life, you did enjoy it.

Your co-workers were nice and you got to meet the famous people that were surprisingly more human than one might expect. That part of them also showed in your interviews, as you did not ask them questions that had nothing to do with them, such as politics and whatnot. The magazine you worked for catered to mostly teenagers and all they wanted was a fun story and some nice photos to go along with it.

The person you were assigned to get a story from today wasn’t as easy to sit down as The Everly Brothers or Pat Boone. You truly believed you could’ve gotten an interview with Marlon Brando quicker than you could with Elvis Presley, but you and your co-worker managed to get into the Shrine Auditorium in LA where the superstar would be performing tonight – you had to convince the men at the door, who simply could not believe you were who you said you were or were not interested in having two girls from the press come inside, but as a ginger haired man around your age busted through the entrance doors and saw you in a discussion with one of the guys, he told them it was fine and he’d handle it.

It being you and your co-worker.

Before you even realised it, you were being led into the building by the guy who introduced himself as Red and handed you and Lori, your co-worker, two backstage passes.

“Wait here, ladies. I’ll be right back,” Red said, shooting a quick wink Lori’s way before disappearing into a dressing room and leaving you two behind in the hallway, among other reporters which were mostly male.

Your nerves were growing and growing. You partly blamed it on the exciting rumble of people entering the auditorium, and maybe also the fact that you knew absolutely nothing about Elvis Presley.

You had heard his music on the radio and you knew that a lot of people weren’t happy with the effects he seemed to have on young people, but you never took the time to sit down and give your undevoted attention to the newfound rockstar that was sweeping not only the nation, but the world.

“I should’ve prepared better,” you mumbled in frustration as you leaned against the wall and flipped through your little notebook. Suddenly all the questions you and Lori had come up with sounded stupid and you wouldn’t be surprised if Elvis would kick you out of his dressing room after asking the first question. Lori held onto her camera and recorder and placed her free hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Y/N, you’ve been asked to do this interview because you’re good at it. People love your presence and your charisma.. I mean, c’mon, what other journalist gets a personal invite from Pat Boone?” she kept her voice low, not wanting any of the other reporters to hear the conversation. “If you weren’t good at what you did, Mr. Kimzey would’ve fired you already,”

You widened your eyes at the grinning blonde next to you, making her laugh as she patted your shoulder and leaned against the wall next to you. You knew she was right though; your boss was a business man through and through and he had no problems firing people if they wouldn’t do their job well. He had only ever been nice to you, feeding your ego with compliments, so you figured you were doing something right.

“I bet he’s arrogant,” you whispered with a soft laugh, shifting the topic back to Elvis, nudging your shoulder against Lori’s. She giggled along, leaning in a little closer to you before she spoke.

“If he’s anything like that guy from before, I bet he is,” she whispered, hiding her mouth behind her hand as the both of you laughed together, getting some annoyed glances from older reporters that were waiting out in the hall, hoping they’d be let in the dressing room before the two of you.

 

It felt like hours before Red came out of the room and as he did, you and Lori were immediately disappointed when he announced Elvis wouldn’t be doing any more interviews seeing he had to go on stage in thirty minutes. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind to interview him after the show, but you had no idea what Elvis’ after show routine was and if he’d stick around or not.

If you wanted a good story, and hopefully a promotion from Mr. Kimzey, you had to do this interview now.

Red watched as most reporters wandered down the hallway with annoyed grumbles and disappointed sighs, and before you and Lori could walk away too, he grabbed Lori’s arm.

“He wants to speak to you two. Modern Teen, right?”

You immediately nodded, standing up straight as you showed him the pass of your company that hung on a lanyard around your neck. He nodded and let go of Lori’s arm as he gestured for you to follow him.

“We don’t have much time, though. I’m sure you can do your thing in ten minutes,” he said, making you raise your eyebrows at the back of his head as a comment was already burning on your tongue but Lori made you swallow it as she nudged her elbow in your side, quickly tugging you along into the dressing room.

There were more guys in the dressing room but other than looking up to see who entered the room, they didn’t give you and Lori any further attention and went back to doing their own thing. The person you came here to see was standing by the vanity table that was perched up against the wall, fixing his tie in the mirror.

Clothed in an all black suit, the red tie was the only thing that popped some color in the whole get up. His dark blonde locks seemed almost a shade of darker brown or even black with the amount of product he had slicked it back with and as his eyes found yours through the mirror, you didn’t miss how blue they were. You suddenly felt as if your flats were glued to the floor, standing there and staring at him like one of his lovesick teenage fans.

You were a twenty five year old woman; you were not a crazed fan, especially not of someone a few years younger than you.

You barely knew the man.

But as his plumb lips raised in a smirk and he turned around to look at you in the flesh, your breath hitched in your throat.

Elvis Presley was a gorgeous being of a man.

“Get these girls somethin’ to drink, Red,” Elvis said, looking back down to his tie to fumble some more with it. He wasn’t doing too well and your fingers were itching to do it for him; as if he was some kind of mind reader, he looked up, his eyes finding yours again.

“Do one of you ladies know how to do this? Can’t get the damn thing right,” he chuckled softly, not waiting for an answer as he already made his way over to you and stopped right in front of you. Red handed Lori a bottle of Pepsi, putting yours on the small coffee table by the lounging area of the room because he knew Elvis well enough to sense what kind of situation this was.

Fixing an artist’s tie wasn’t exactly in your job description, but neither was spending an entire day with Pat freaking Boone. “I’m no expert, Mr. Presley, so please don’t blame me if it falls off in the middle of your show,”

He laughed softly, raising his chin a little to give you enough space to fix his tie. “Call me Elvis, honey. And you ain’t got to worry, it’ll probably be ripped apart by the end of the show,”

You couldn’t imagine yourself in his shoes, screaming girls touching you and pulling at you every place you went, but from what you had seen outside the auditorium you realised those girls wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of them and Elvis. Laughing softly at his words, you made sure his tie wasn’t too tight and took a step back when you were done, clearing your throat a little.

“Do a lot of your clothes get ripped?” you asked, shamelessly clicking out your pen and opening your notebook. It wasn’t even a question you wrote down, but you were curious. Lori quickly followed your lead as she turned the recorder on.

Elvis sat down on the couch and you and Lori followed, only you sat down on the edge of the coffee table.

Nobody in the room cared about you doing so, so you stayed seated.

“I lost my entire pants one day,” he stated casually with a soft chuckle, leaning back on the couch. With the way you were right opposite him, he could see your hands shaking a little as you scribbled down something in your little notebook. He had no idea why you even had a notebook since Lori was recording the conversation and his curiosity got the best of him.

You seemed interesting, different; while he was sure the entire auditorium was filled with girls wearing dresses and skirts and tops that would most definitely show off things they weren’t supposed to show off, you were dressed in a pair of black pants and a black blouse that was similar to his, only you had the first few buttons opened and the sleeves rolled up. Equally as black leather flats with a little bow on top adorned your feet and he found himself wondering what color pedicure you could have.

You were beautiful, but not in a typical way most girls that he met were. You intrigued him.

“Why do you write everything down?” he questioned you and your writing came to a halt, exchanging a quick look with Lori who sat on the couch next to Elvis before turning to look at the man in front of you. You let out a small laugh, crossing your legs.

“I believe I’m the person who’s supposed to be asking the questions, Elvis,” you said playfully, not wanting to offend him in any way or whatsoever.

Mr. Kimzey would have your head.

Instead of being offended, which you had feared for a quick second, Elvis threw his head back with a laugh and nodded. His laugh was contagious and you couldn’t help but laugh along a little, gently taking the recorder out of Lori’s hand and putting your notebook down on the table. “But I don’t have to write if you don’t want me to, we can do it like this,”

You leaned your arm on your knee, holding the recorder in between you and Elvis. He looked at you and grinned, shamelessly keeping eye contact. You’d be lying if you’d say it didn’t have any effect on you, because it did; up to the point of your heart skipping a beat and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. Still, you acted as professional and perhaps a little casual as you could, not wanting him to see how he was making you feel. But this man had the eyes of a hawk, ofcourse he noticed, and he wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to tease you a little.

“Let’s do it like this. You got pretty eyes, I wanna look into ‘em when we talk,”

He smirked at the way you blinked a few times, letting out a nervous laugh before clearing your throat. You were glad for Lori when she quickly asked if she could take pictures of him during the interview and he agreed; you tried to compose yourself as much as you could, slowly but surely falling back into your reporter role and asking him questions about his music and shows.

Your questions weren’t bad and Elvis liked them, because he liked talking about his music, and even though the ten minutes Red had given you had almost passed, Elvis did not seem to be in any rush. Even though you were very aware that Elvis Presley was a bit of a flirt, he was also good at keeping up a conversation. He was quick with his answers, polite but playful, and the Southern drawl that laced his tongue definitely added to his charm.

Despite your nerves not being completely gone, you did feel a bit more comfortable than a few minutes ago and Lori seemed to feel the same. Figuring she had taken enough pictures for now, her attention shifted to Red and you didn’t mind it all too much.

“When will you be on tv next?” you asked him, taking a quick sip from your untouched bottle of Pepsi.

“September the 9th, for the Ed Sullivan show,”

“How do you see your future in rock and roll music?”

He smiled softly at your questions. Rather than feeling like he had to think of something smart to say or be extremely polite, he let the conversation flow on its own. He provided you with honest answers, not really caring if the entire story would make it into the article or not because he liked you. He liked that talking to you seemed somewhat of a normal conversation between two young people, between friends.

“I wish I knew,” he told you, shrugging his shoulders a little as he leaned forward. He made sure to keep enough distance from the recorder so you’d still have a good tape to listen back to but he also made sure his knees were nearly touching yours. Your legs were still crossed and your foot was currently pressed against the side of his calf. Neither of you moved away, nor broke eye contact. “I do hope I can continue makin’ music for a long time to entertain people and give the kids an outlet for their energy they can’t let out anywhere else,”

“How does it feel to be up there on that stage?” another question you had not written down, but with the way he was speaking, you were craving for more.

“It’s.. somethin’ out of this world. I met people who get nervous before going on stage and I get nervous too, but once I’m up there, it’s like.. like.. like I’m being transported to another planet or somethin’, you know? I get chills- no, can’t even call ‘em chills… it’s like electricity rushing down my spine. It’s a rush, honey, it’s better than making love,”

All you could do was stare at him. You had no idea what he meant because you had never been on a stage to perform in front of so many people. But he seemed passionate when he was talking about it and even though you could never call yourself a proper fan of Elvis Presley before, you realised that might change after today.

You were already starting to become a fan of his personality, and you couldn’t wait to see him doing his thing on that stage.

“That’s beautiful, Elvis,” you told him honestly, your smile widening a little as you couldn’t even look away from him even if you wanted to. You were drawn to those eyes, drawn to him. “I wish you the best of luck with your music and everything you’ll achieve with it. You touch a lot of people’s hearts, Elvis, so on behalf of your loyal fans; thank you,”

You didn’t want to end the interview, but you knew the minutes on the clock were ticking by and your time here was almost up. Elvis felt the same, but unlike you, he did not seemed to care much about the time.

“Thank you, honey, that’s real nice of you. And don’t be so nervous,” he told you, a grin tugging at his lips as he felt your foot swaying back and forth against his leg. You were still nervous, he got that right, but not because you were in the presence of someone famous or afraid about not doing a good job. You had become nervous because of him; because of the scent of his cologne being so prominent in your aura and those blue orbs looking so deeply into yours. “I’m not gonna bite you,”

You should’ve known that he was going to make a comment like that, but it caught you off guard just a little. Enough to make your cheeks flush and for you to let out a little giggle, making you sound as if you were one of those girls in the auditorium. Still, you weren’t exactly a shy person – you couldn’t afford to be in your line of work – and you didn’t want him to think you’d throw yourself at his feet the way he was used to.

But, you liked the shift in the conversation. It wasn’t the first time a celebrity flirted with you during your work, but it was the first time you actually flirted back.

“Well, I ran all over the city of Los Angeles, looking for good rockin’ tonight,” you grinned at him, feeding him a little lie since you were from Los Angeles and the only place you ran was from the office to the auditorium. Well… you ran for the bus that took you here.

He didn’t care about the details, your comment making excitement tingle in his chest as he leaned his arm on the arm rest of the couch, his head leaning in the palm of his hand. He stretched his right leg out a little, nearly trapping you in your spot with his long limbs while he just casually sat there, smirking.

“Is that right?”

He was giving you the opportunity to take back your words, but with Lori still being occupied with getting her own flirt on, you threw all caution to the wind. Just because you were working, didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun.

“I sure did,” you hummed, nodding your head as you gave him a flirty smile.

“Well, why don’t you come down to my house and I’ll give it to ya?”

You had expected yourself to be taken back by his words more. Never in your short career had you met a male that was so upfront, so unfiltered. Not even Dean Martin. But God, did you like it and you couldn’t help but be pulled into the moment by him. Thinking about the amount of girls that would kill to be in your spot right now, you laughed softly, tugging a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I would love to,” you told him confidently, the little flirty smile never fading off your face. “Where are you from?”

“Memphis, Tennessee,”

“Memphis,” you repeated with a slight nod. “And how old are you?”

“Twenty one,” he grinned, shooting his answers back at you as quick as you asked them while his leg was pressing firmer against yours. You had to fight the urge to look down at your legs nearly tangled together, or to touch him.

He on the other hand didn’t hold back as your next question flew off your tongue, leaning forward to let his fingertips draw small circles on your knee. “Still out looking for a girl?”

“I think I found her,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow at you as he tapped his finger on your knee. “You,”

You raised your eyebrows, letting out an amused laugh. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Elvis,” you promised, noticing Red signing for you to wrap up from the corner of your eye. Looking at Elvis, you chuckled softly and he went as far as to engulf your knee with his large palm, slipping it a little further up your leg to squeeze your thigh.

“Thank you so much, honey, and don’t be so nervous. Honestly, there’s nothing to it,”

Another squeeze, his teeth tugging at his lower lip a little though he hadn’t stopped grinning and looking at you with those bedroom eyes the entire time.

“Nothing to it? I think I could’ve gotten an interview with the president quicker than I could with you,” you winked at him, laughing softly. He chuckled, answering you as if you and him were having nothing but an interview, as if his hand wasn’t creeping higher and higher up your thigh.

“I’ve enjoyed talking to you, honey, and I’ll see you again and we’ll talk some more,”

You knew you couldn’t put this in your article and you didn’t want to. Ofcourse, you were not the first girl he flirted with like this, but it was a moment you did not want to share with his fans. You didn’t want to share it with anyone other than Elvis and the people in the room right now, although you doubted anyone was paying attention to the both of you.

You cut off the recorder and smiled at him, neither of you moving an inch until Red suddely stood next to you, telling Elvis he had five minutes until show time. He immediately removed his hand from your thigh and you shot up from the table, gathering your things in your arms.

“You’re stayin’ for the show, right?”

You looked at Elvis as you stood up straight, Lori immediately agreeing as she appeared next to you. The two of you weren’t planning on staying, but right now it felt like the right thing to do. You didn’t want to leave Elvis, wanted to spend more time with him, and you were curious about seeing him perform.

Seeing how Lori and Red were looking at each other, you grinned. You weren’t about to cock block your co-worker and friend.

“We’ll stay and watch the show,” you told Elvis with a smile, which he returned. He also pulled you into a hug, acting as if he had known you for years already as he squeezed you firmly in his embrace before getting ready to go on stage.

 

You and Lori had the best spot in the entire auditorium, standing on the side of the stage, hidden away from the audience. Red and some of the other guys that were in the dressing room earlier were standing alongside you, but Red was too busy with Lori and the other guys didn’t pay you much attention.

You didn’t mind it, your eyes glued on Elvis with every move he made. You had heard the stories about his shows, but experiencing it live and from this up close yourself, you were slowly starting to understand what he was talking about earlier and why people were so crazy about him.

He never lost one second of attention from the screaming crowd, giving them the attention right back as he dragged the microphone stand across the floor, lowering himself to the floor. The screams were getting louder and louder as he let people touch him and tug on him and his clothes. It was crazy, exciting and even a little scary at some times.

It was a rush; it was electrifying.

 

The red tie had survived until the end of the show and as Elvis ran toward you and the others, he took off his jacket and threw it in Red’s arms. He pulled his tie off, hanging it around your neck with a laugh before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You didn’t even have time to say anything or ask where you were going as you and Lori didn’t have a choice but to follow the guys when they pulled you along.

You found yourself waiting outside of the men bathrooms for a few minutes with the others, where Elvis splashed some water in his face and ran his wet hands through his hair until it was completely soaked. Instead of going back to the dressing room, you and Lori were ushered into a car by the guys, Red rushing to get behind the wheel.

“Are you kidnapping me, Elvis Presley?”

He laughed, his arm still resting around your shoulder as he breathed heavily, still high on adrenaline. “I’m not- wait, I don’t even know your name, honey,”

That was right. You had never given him your name, because you were pretty much starstruck the second you walked into his dressing room and he made you fix his tie.

“It’s Y/N, and that’s Lori,” you giggled, pointing at your friend that was in between Red and another guy at the front of the Cadillac you found yourself in. Elvis quickly introduced himself to her before he turned back to you, his breath warm on your face because you were pressed up against each other in the tight space of a full backseat.

“Sorry for rushin’ you outta there so soon, Y/N. I wanted to spend some more time with you but we usually go right back to the motel after a show. Hope you don’t mind?”

At least now you knew where you were going. It made your heart leap pathetically in your chest, but you managed to keep yourself cool, looking casual; just because he was taking you back to his motel didn’t mean something had to happen. You were sure other girls had been in your spot before and you really weren’t interested to be used for pleasure and then be tossed aside like garbage.

But looking at him now, smiling down at you so confidently and looking so disheveled but delicious, you didn’t know if you could keep the promise you made to yourself of not becoming one of those girls.

“I don’t mind, as long as you give us a ride back home,” you grinned and he immediately nodded as he promised you he would.

 

Everyone gathered in Elvis’ room to enjoy room service and good conversations. You learned that aside from a few beers, Elvis and his friends didn’t indulge in a lot of alcoholic beverages, but rather a lot of food. While Lori didn’t turn down a beer as she sat at Red’s side, you were perfectly fine sipping on a Pepsi and you were glad Elvis didn’t pressure you to have something stronger either. You figured it’d be best to stay sober if you wanted to survive this night.

Adrenaline was still rushing through Elvis’ veins as he was talking to everyone in the room, talking about the show and the people in the crowd. He was happy with how the show went and his smile widened even more as you complimented him on his performance.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, you were just amazing, Elvis!” you gushed happily, the others going back to their own conversations and the food as you and Elvis sat closely together on the edge of his bed. “That electricity you were talking about… I didn’t understand it at first, but seeing you up there, it felt like I was experiencing what you were experiencing. It’s.. it’s crazy!”

He was laughing at your enthusiasm and the way you were talking got his energy even higher, happy that you were so excited. “Was that enough rockin’ for you, honey?”

Not missing the playful tone in his voice, you grinned at him and gave him a soft shove by bumping your shoulder against his. “Well, maybe, unless those hips need to release a little more tension,”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and although he laughed at your words, it made blood rush down to his cock. He wasn’t the type to sleep around with girls without getting to know them first; he wasn’t a one night stand kind of guy. But he was going to the next city tomorrow and he had no idea when, or even if, he was going to see you again. It was no lie that he was attracted to you, both physically and mentally.

He liked you and although he would not mind to spend the night just talking, he was craving to taste you.

Craving to be balls deep inside of you, to be completely fair.

“Maybe they do,” he whispered, sitting so close to you that your shoulders were pressed up against each other, his eyes wandering over your face to drink in every detail. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered at your lips a little longer than necessary and you had to fight the urge to kiss him, because you were still surrounded by his friends and Lori.

“At least your tie survived,” you said, laughing sheepishly as you broke the tension between you two, lifting the tie that was still around your neck. He looked down at the fabric, chuckling softly as he bumped his shoulder against yours, taking a sip of his beer.

 

Lori seemed to be starstruck as well, only not by Elvis, but by his friend Red. You were surprised when she pulled you aside and asked if you’d mind if she stayed the night in Red’s room – pleasantly surprised. You were too weak to tell Elvis no and when he asked you to stay the night earlier, you were a little nervous about talking about it to Lori, though now that she had the same plans as you and was the one bringing up the subject herself, you were thankful you didn’t have to do so.

Elvis swiftly but nonchalantly announced that he was tired, getting everyone out the room. You hugged Lori, wishing her a good night and telling her you’d see her tomorrow – she told you to be careful, giving you a wiggle of her eyebrows before she ran after Red with a giggle.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Elvis told you, before he disappeared into the bathroom once you gave him a nod. Not long after the shower turned on, there was a knock on the door and as you peeped through the little hole, you opened it to greet Red once more. He gave you a little bag of toiletries Elvis asked him to get from the vending machine in the lobby and you waved him off again, though not after telling him to treat Lori well. He gave you a knowing smile as he agreed.

Elvis came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with a pair or fresh boxershorts on and a simple white shirt. He put the clothes he wore earlier tonight in what you assumed was one of the laundry suitcases, before he opened another one and grabbed a button up out of it.

“It’s clean,” he assured with a soft laugh as he handed you the piece of clothing, to which you nodded and walked into the bathroom.

 

Locking the door behind you, you moved around the small bathroom in a hurry. You were excited to spend the night with Elvis Presley, but also nervous. No one could ever know about this other than the people involved, because you could definitely lose your job over this. But you had come too far to back out now; you were standing in your underwear in Elvis’ bathroom, freshening yourself up a little and brushing your teeth as quick as you could. You’d always like to think you were hard to get, wanting to make men really work for your attention, but the truth was.. when it came to Elvis, it seemed as if your body was on automatic pilot.

You’d act before you’d think.

After applying some lipbalm to your lips and slipping into the shirt Elvis gave you, you fixed your hair a little and folded your clothes, walking out of the bathroom with your flats dangling from your  fingertips. Putting your clothes on the couch, along with the red tie, and placing your shoes on the floor, you turned to Elvis and smiled.

He patted the empty spot in bed next to him and you bit your lip to stop your smile from aching your cheeks, walking over to him and slipping into his bed. It felt a little awkward to lay there next to a man you did not even know, but as the both of you rolled onto your sides to face each other and look into each others’ eyes, he didn’t feel as the electrifying superstar anymore. Sure, he still had that flirty aura around him, but that cocky smirk had turned into a small, genuine smile.

He felt like a normal person.

He felt human.

“I don’t usually do this,” he whispered, reaching out his hand to play with a lock of your hair.

“Sleeping with reporters, or girls in general?”

“Both,” he admitted and you laughed, obviously not believing him. He propped his elbow into his pillow, leaning his head in his hand.

“I’m bein’ serious, Y/N. I don’t sleep around, don’t have a new girl in my bed in every next town,”

He sounded serious and as you rolled onto your stomach and looked at him, you believed him. Though perhaps it were your own insecurities hiding under the surface that still made you a little doubtful, and Elvis was quick to caught onto this.

“You’re a real pretty lady, honey, and I’d like to make love to you but we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assured you, smiling as his fingers were still running through your hair, playing with it.

“Well, I don’t usually do this either so please don’t think I’m some kind of… floozy. I think you’re sweet, Elvis,” you told him, leaning into his touch a little as his hand moved down to cup your cheek. “Why don’t you kiss me first before we get to the love making?”

You didn’t have to ask him twice; the both of you laughed softly as he leaned down and carefully closed the gap between you. The kiss was slow and gentle at first, but the longer you were taking each others’ breath away, the deeper and more lustful the kiss became. In the heat of the moment, you found yourself laying on your back with him on top of you, his hands exploring your body the same way yours explored his.

With his cock so tight in the confinements of his underwear, he didn’t have enough control to stop anymore either. As he realised you wanted this just as much as he did, he didn’t hold back. Taking off his own shirt and unbottoning yours, he was quick to plant sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your chest, moans leaving you as he sucked, licked and nipped at your hardened nipples. Your hands tangled in his hair, legs wrapped around him to keep him close against you; you felt as if you could come undone from his attention to your chest alone, that’s how turned on you were. Releasing the tension of your legs around him, he kissed his way lower as his hands caressed down your thighs before one of his hands made its way into your panties, his fingertips slipping through the slick of your arousal.

 

He assured you he’d stop whenever you wanted him, but it was like you had lost all self control. Feeling him so up close to you, his soft lips kissing your face and neck and his hands fondling your breasts underneath the shirt you were wearing, your entire body was practically tingling with arousal. For someone who said he didn’t sleep around often, he sure knew what to do.

“You’re so wet,” he hummed, that small smirk tugging at his lips again. It had you moaning softly, biting your lip as your hips moved along to the rhythm of his fingers that found your clit. “You wanna stop, honey?”

“N-No, Elvis,” you whispered, shaking your head as your eyes met his. “Please don’t stop,”

He smiled, moving his fingers lower to slip one of them into you. He pushed it knuckle deep inside of you, curling his finger a little to hear you moan louder than before. The sound made a chill run down his spine and he didn’t waste any more time, getting comfortable in between your legs after he had taken your panties off and threw them over his shoulder.

If anyone would’ve told you this morning that Elvis Presley would have his face in between your legs by the end of the day, eating you out as if you were one of the best meals he had ever had, you would’ve told the person to get their head checked. But here you were, a moaning mess as Elvis grunted into your folds, his tongue slurping up your arousal while he was looking up at you through half lidded bedroom eyes.

You were happy that he was confident enough to eat you out above the blankets, because this was a sight you wouldn’t want to have missed out on.

 

The twenty one year old gave you a delicious orgasm that had your thighs shaking like leaves and your walls contrasting harshly. You were more than willing to return the favor, but the only thing he allowed you to do was give him a quick handjob.

“I wanna be inside of you.. Can’t wait any longer,” he croaked out as he was kissing you again, situating himself in between your legs with his boxershorts loosely hanging around his ankles. You cupped his face, nodding as you planted kisses along his jawline and in his neck as he aligned himself at your entrance.

He wasn’t going to tell you a blowjob would have him cum in only a matter of a few minutes, like a pathetical school boy.

Perhaps naive, but you weren’t worried about the lack of a condom; you believed Elvis when he said he didn’t do this often, and you were on the pill. Bringing up the subject of a condom right now would bring the mood down and that was the last thing you wanted.

You hid your face in his neck as he pushed himself inside of you, the both of you moaning in unison when he bottomed out, his lips finding yours again to kiss you. It took a few seconds for the both of you to get used to the feeling of your bodies connecting together so closely, but once you told him to move, he immediately started thrusting into you.

His pace picked up every few seconds and when he was literally fucking you into the mattress with his hands pressed firmly on the pillow on either side of your head, you couldn’t keep yourself quiet. Neither could he, moans and deep grunts rolling off his tongue as he couldn’t look away from your bouncing breasts underneath him. The both of you were so lost in the moment and so high on sex that neither of you heard the moans and creaks of the bed coming from the room next door where Red stayed.

Seemed like you and Elvis hadn’t been the only ones that gave in to the temptations.

With your legs wrapped firmly around him and your hands grabbing onto his arms, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the man above you. His hair looked even more messy than it did after his performance tonight and this time, you knew it was because of your hands that had been running through it. He allowed you to touch him anywhere you wanted and when he announced he was close to climaxing, you moved your hands down to his ass to keep him in place instead of pulling out which he was planning to do.

“R-Really?” he questioned, making sure you were okay with this. You frantically nodded your head as you moaned, biting his shoulder softly which got his eyes rolling into the back of his head and thrusting into you even harder, chasing his orgasm. It came within a few seconds after you gave him permission, and he painted your walls white with a long, deep moan followed by a grunt right into your ear as he hid his face in your neck.

 

“I think all tension’s outta my hips,” he laughed after the both of you cleaned yourselves up again and you laid in his arms in the bed. Giggling, you raised your head to look at him and he leaned down to quickly peck your lips.

“I’m glad,” you smiled, tracing his jawline with your nails. “I’ll make sure to write up a real good article,” you teased him, wiggling your eyebrows and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, as well as his legs as he wiggled you from left to right in his grip.

“Interview me again when we wake up. I’d like this one to stay private,”

You looked at him as he stopped messing around with you and you stopped laughing, nodding your head. “I’d like that too, Elvis,”

He smiled at you, pushing your hair out of your face before he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips a few times.

“How can you come to Memphis for some real good rockin’ if you get fired?” he teased with a smile on his face, nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours.

“I think we did a pretty good job at that tonight,”

He looked down at you as you giggled, squeezing your face in his hands a little as he let out a mysterious laugh, pressing a harsh long kiss on your squished lips before he wrapped his arms around your shoulders again.

“Oh honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,”

 

You had no idea if you’d ever see him again after this little rendezvous, but his words still got you excited. If Elvis Presley ever wanted you in his bed again, you sure as hell weren’t going to decline.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: OCTOBER 2011

THE CULT OF CM PUNK

“All it took for The Straight Edge Superstar to turn the world upside-down and ignite the WWE Universe was one microphone. HEre we’ve given the “Voice of the Voiceless” another soapbox to explore his many issues with WWE management, his epic match at WWE Money In The Bank, his fellow Superstars who deserve a better shot, and what, if anything, is going to change now that he’ back for good. 

By JOHN MIHALY PHOTOGRAPHY BY PER BERNAL, DIGITAL IMAGING BY ERIC HEINTZ

[The Second City Saint reveals his cult of personality, and shows off his new T-shirt and WWE Championship during his unexpected return to WWE a week after leaving with the title (Raw, 7/25/11).]

In your estimation, what do you feel is wrong with WWE right now, and what would you do to change it?

What’s wrong with WWE right now is that there isn’t enough youth. Most of the ideas are old. They worked in The Attitude Era or in the ‘80s-and I'm not necessarily saying that they’re bad or they’re wrong-but they need updating, they need tweaking. There needs to be some young minds spinning the webs, so to speak. I’m sick of seeing people who are excellent wrestlers get passed over for people who have abs or who were good-string linemen in a European football league. I think there are a lot of people who, on their own terms, have made their own personas and perfected their craft simply out of love for what they do. They’re not trying to be bodybuilders or football players who fail miserably and then call their uncle or their dad and say, “Hey, I’ll give that wrestling thing a shot because I suck at everything else.”

Why do you think it’s such a strike against guys who-like yourself-are fans but aren't from a sports or bodybuilding background?

Now, this is complete speculation. I can't even tell you what somebody else is thinking. I can only say what I think works. And I'm not going to be right 100 percent of the time just like they're not going to be. Somewhere along the way I think we lost the Midas touch. This whole thing became uncool. I think people who love it aren’t going to go do something else  if they get fired. Like Colt Cabana. He’s a perfect example. He is a wrestler. If he gets hired and it doesn’t work out, he’s wrestling somewhere else the next day. He’s not trying to shoehorn himself into an accounting job. He’s a wrestler. He’s always going to be here. So I just think if you love wresting sometimes-maybe-you’re punished. You’re placed last in line. The attitude is: You’re always going to be here,  maybe we can use you later if we need you, but right now we’re going to use this guy because he was good at college football, and he didn’t quite make it in the NFL.

Another one of your gripes is how the WWE Championship looks. How would you redesign the title? What is the definitive look of that particular championship for you?

Oh god. How long is this interview? Honestly, I think old Dwayne used to have a cute little blue cow on his title or something. Then, of course, Stone Cold had the Smoking Skull title. I don't know. I think I could Straight Edge the hell out of that thing. A couple of “X”’s might make it look good. Make it look like a title should look like, and not make it look like some sort of weird, rapper bling. I feel the definitive look, though, is what I like to call “Bret Hart’s Title.” I think everyone likes to call it the “Winged Eagle Title.”That’s a little bit redundant. I’m pretty sure most eagles have wings. That’s the one that always sticks out in my mind.

This anger with your job has been festering for a while. Was there one moment backstage when you felt that you’d had enough?

I can name one off the top of my head. How about main-eventing a pay-per-view as the World Heavyweight Champion against Undertaker and then, a few months later, being in a dark match against R-Truth at WWE TLC? That’s pretty ignorant in my mind. This is the problem. We do this too many times to too many of the Superstars. It’s a start-stop kind of thing. The company likes to spotlight certain people. Like, “This week, Kofi’s cool,” and then, the next week, “We changed our minds-we like Dolph this week.” It flip-flops back and forth ad nauseam, and the next thing you know, the people couldn’t give a crap about either guy.

When did the powers that be really begin to take your leaving WWE seriously?

I told them probably a year out. They would say, “Hey, how about we talk about your contract?” And I would just say, “No, I don’t really feel like it.” And they would say, “Ok, back off. Punk’s crabby and temperamental.” We’ll get him next week.” And the next week it would be, “Hey let’s talk about it.” And then maybe eight or 10 months out, it was, “Hey, I really want to sit down. We really need to sign you a new deal.” And that’s when I straight up said, “No, I’m not interested.”

[CM Punk perches on the top rope to hear out The Chairman’s final contract offer (Raw, 7/11/11).]

Take us back to your title match at WWE Money In The Bank. What did you do differently that day knowing that could have been your last day on the job?

I don’t think I did anything different that day. I’m a man of my word. I wasn’t going to skip out on my contract earlier. I was going to let it run out. These to do, and I was going to let it run out. These are the terms. I agreed to and the dates I agreed to do, and I was definitely going to finish up. But I think I talked so much about everything and everybody that all eyes were on me and it created a high-pressure situation. Thankfully, I thrive very well in those situations. I’d say I pulled it off. All this stuff i talk about, about ebony the best in the world, I certainly proved it that night. The match went near the 35-minute mark But i wrestled for 93 minutes one time back in 2002 or 2003 in a Two-Out-Of-Three Falls Match.

You mentioned on the Bill Simmons B.S. Report podcast that you had made the decision to come back and resign at WWE Money In The Bank. Do you think your decision was at all clouded a little bit too much by all the emotion going on that day?

I can definitely put it aside. I can be a robot if I need to be. Resigning was something that was on my mind day -in and day-out whether I was at the gym or sleeping. I was dreaming about it, I was really trying to figure out what was the best decision for the company as a whole. I love what we do. I ‘m not going to get along with everybody I work with. I’m certainly not going to agree with everything all the time, But at the end of the day, I want everybody’s voice to be heard. I want this place to succeed. So I had to weigh my options. 

[The conquering hometown hero wins his first WWE Championship (To add to his three World Heavyweight Titles) at WWE Money In The Bank (7/17/11).]

They say  a man’s refrigerator is a window into his soul. When you Tweeted a photo of the WWE Championship inside your fridge the night you won, we couldn’t help but notice that there was a jar of peanut butter in there. Isn’t peanut butter meant to be stored at room temperature?

Is it? Why? I'm not saying we have to end the interview now, but here’s a good wrap-up for you: WWE has stored their peanut butter at room temperature for over 30 years; I'm putting it in the refrigerator now. It’s time for a damn change. I don’t eat my peanut butter like everybody else, I suppose. I don’t spread it on anything, because I try to stay away from bread and all that, so if I’m eating peanut butter, i take a spoonful of it, and i eat it like ice cream. It tastes better a little frozen. 

Another thing we noticed is that you used the “W” word a lot in your tirades these last weeks. How much do you dislike saying “sports-entertainment”?

I don’t hate it as much as you would think, but I really do think it’s ridiculous when you’re not allowed to say “wrestling.” At the end of the day, that’s what goes on in that ring. That ring is our stage. What we do on that stage is we wrestle. I’m not playing grab-ass. I’m out there fighting to win. Wins and losses mean something. Wrestling happens to be damn entertaining.

So is it weird to call yourself a “Superstar” as opposed to a wrestler?

I don’t think it’s weird. I think we’re all Superstars. Absolutely. I don’t think there’s anybody else who can be called that. Would you call Brad Pitt a Superstar? Do I think Brad Pitt can do what we do? Absolutely not! Brad Pitt gets scripts and lines to study months ahead of time and he has a very controlled setting in which he looks the best he possibly can. He has makeup on, there’s lighting, there’s people doing the sound and everything. We go out there on live TV every Monday night and kill it. That’s where the entertainment part comes in. It’s more entertaining than a Brad Pitt movie. There are no retakes, you know? There’s no Take 1, Take 2–”I screwed that up, let me do it again.” IF we screw up, we screw up. That’s the entertaining part. 

Entertaining was your baseball analogy equating John Cena to the Yankees-which caused him to punch you. But let’s follow that analogy a bit further. Earlier this century, your Chicago Cubs and the Boston Red Sox were quite similar. Then the Red Sox were quite the equivalent of baseball’s nouveau riche, effectively placing that franchise and fan base in line with the Yankees. Won’t the same thing happen to the Cubs when they win? And what about you? If you continue to win, wont you in turn become what you hate?

Possibly. We’ll have to wait and see. Is the same thing going to happen to me? It’s quite possible. That’s life, though. I really think it depends on the person. Am I going to change? Absolutely not. I'm not changing anything. Will the WWE Universe maybe get sick of me? I think the people get sick of anything if it's shoved down their throat. I think free-thinking people like variety, and they like change. There’s no reason why multiple people can’t be marketed correctly and in everybody’s face constantly so there’s a choice. 

[Punk ruffles the feathers (and tie) of new COO Triple H (Raw, 8/1/11), and hopes for a retro design akin to, in his words, “Bret Hart’s Title” (above left).]

One thing you did change is your entrance music, to Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality.” Did you consider anything else?

No, that was the one. It was a throwback to my Indie days, but it also just fit. I have tremendous guts, I’d like to say, and it was just a gut feeling that this was the right thing to do, to change my music now. Did I like my old song? Absolutely. Was it recognizable? Sure, I had it for five years. Was it time for a change? Was it a risky thing? Yes and yes. But ultimately, I think it was the right move. I haven't been able to get the song out of my head since last Monday. It’s a song that came out in 1989, when I was on my little league team, and now it just jumped into the iTunes Top 200. That’s powerful. That should speak volumes to the WWE management. They should say, “Holy crap, this kid has the power to do something like that. Let’s see what else he can do.”

What’s really different now that you’re back? What are we going to see that’s not status quo?

I don’t want to ruin any surprises, but i will tell you that when the Ramones were voted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame. This is, after all, the establishment that shunned the entire band for its entire career, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He was extremely adamant that, “No, you don’t get the privilege of having the Ramones in your little club.” My good friend, Lars Frederickson [of the band Rancid], got on the phone and said, “Marky, listen to me. You almost have responsibility to the underground to accept this award and be in the Hall of Fame to show that you are as big as the Beatles, you’re as good as Led Zeppelin, all these mainstream bands that the Ramones maybe never got credit on the same level as.” And that’s kind of how I feel about WWE right now. I’m a guy who, for all intents and purposes, never should have even made it to WWE. Then I had roadblock after roadblock thrown in my way. Not only did I get past those roadblock thrown in my way. Not only did I get past those roadblocks, I did it while flipping off the people who put up those roadblocks. I feel I have a responsibility to the younger wrestlers on the roster, the ones that aren't signed yet, and the future of wrestling as a whole, to help make this place better, and to change this place. I certainly can't change it by sitting on my couch in Chicago.

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day twenty-seven

@ailesswhumptober 27 — kidnapping, alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.” ↳ modelling au word count; 1.3k

cw; abuse, disordered eating, grooming

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Oscar fucking hates runway days.

He doesn't know where they are, for one thing, other than in the belly of some arts centre or events hall or something, somewhere in New York judging solely by the vague familiarity of the walls and the length of the drive. Snyder had let himself into their apartment with his key and woken him and Morris up at the crack of dawn, bundled them into the sleek black car parked out front without really saying much about where they were going — and the worst part is that Oscar really hadn't thought much of it. He's used to it, a casual kidnapping whenever the company needs them, because Snyder doesn't much like keeping them too in-the-know about their schedule.

Oscar'd only asked questions when the assistant had passed him and Morris a watery smoothie each, their breakfast, and the air had sort of settled.

"You're walking," Snyder had said shortly, eyes on his phone. "Four times, today. Morris, five."

And that's that. Oscar had sat back in his seat, watching Manhattan fly by out of the window, the real rich side of it he used to never think he'd see.

It reminds him all too much of that first drive, the way it always does. The car, just as dark and sleek, that'd pulled up outside their shitty foster home the day after Oscar turned eighteen. The same men sat inside that'd come to speak to them months ago, brushed fingers over Oscar's jawline and cheekbones and brows, examined his teeth and posture and limbs, and told him he was perfect. Scouted, they said. And recruited, then. He'd signed paperwork, just as his foster mother had — she'd never liked them — and then they were being bundled into the car with their single rucksack of belongings each. Driven until the streets changed around them, concrete giving way to glass and bright lights.

They haven't been back to their old neighbourhood since. They've been kept busy, a whirlwind of runway shows and photoshoots, social media promotions, magazines — finery and luxury and a life so far beyond anything Oscar ever could've imagined in his youth.

But, of course, everything comes at a price.

The backstage is crowded and fucking loud, even in his dressing room, and Oscar is being dragged around and manhandled relentlessly. No more than usual, sure, but he likes it no more than usual. It's cold and he's only in a stupid little silk dressing robe and his underwear, the clothes are all on rails upstairs ready for him to be yanked in and out of before each loop of the runway, and some stupid girl is relentlessly fucking with his face. She's got a thousand little makeup brushes everywhere, a thousand little pots and pans of powders and creams and gels.

She's got a sharp little brush stabbing Oscar relentlessly in the fucking eye.

"I hate makeup," he says, when he sees Snyder approaching through the reflection in the mirror. Snyder rolls his eyes.

"It's necessary."

"Ain't the point that I'm pretty enough without?"

Snyder smiles then, the utterly derisive expression he makes when he's unimpressed with a joke.

"The point is that the director wants a specific look. You can be a big boy and toughen up to have some eyeliner put on."

"Yeah. Fuckin' feel real tough."

Oscar remembers a time he would've beat the shit of any guy in makeup, especially some toned metrosexual looking asshole in eyeliner and gunmetal glitter. But it's him staring back in the mirror — some version of him, at least. Still an unfamiliar reflection without the brutal marks of beatings and the sunkenness of malnutrition, but this is the new him. Meticulously trimmed hair, shaped eyebrows, the barest hint of stubble on his cheeks. Perfect skin — he has a skincare routine and gets facials every two weeks. A perfect body — he goes to the gym every day for at least an hour, has a personal trainer and a deathly strict diet plan and runs at least twenty miles a week.

His cheekbone is still very slightly greenish, the last remnants of a mark from when Snyder whacked him across the face near two weeks ago, but the makeup artist soon covers that, colour correcting it and then carefully dabbing concealer where Snyder's knuckles had hit.

"Where's Mo," Oscar asks.

He doesn't like that Snyder is loitering with him, though he always hates Snyder loitering with Morris. The alternative, however, is Morris being alone with strangers, and—

"He's fine," Snyder says shortly. "He'll be walking in—" he checks his watch, "—a few minutes."

"Can I go up with him?"

"No."

"I don't like him bein' on his own."

"He's surrounded by a full team of staff."

"But he's on his own."

Snyder pinches the bridge of his nose, a strand of his perfectly combed hair falling over his brow.

"I don't know why I dared to think you'd be any less of a goddamned chore today."

"Dunno why you would."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

Snyder steps closer and snatches a comb from the dressing table in front of Oscar, using it to comb his hair back into place. The makeup artist brushes Oscar's chin and then sprays a burst of—something. Oscar coughs.

"Fuck's sake!"

The girl flinches back. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I should've warned you—"

Oscar fantasises about hitting her. Shoving her away and hollering to stop fucking touching him. But a hand grabs his hair instead, twists in a brutal fistful of it, and he feels the edges of his eyes brim.

"Oscar," Snyder says lowly. "Don't be a fucking brat."

"I'm sorry," Oscar chokes.

Just as quickly as the hand had twisted in his hair, it disappears. Snyder steps calmly away, and the makeup artist wordlessly takes his place, picking up a cotton swab to start dabbing at Oscar's eyes, cleaning up where they'd watered.

He breathes carefully, and zones out. Lets that peaceful oblivion take him until his makeup his done, hair fixed, and he's being ushered upstairs by an entourage and dressed in his first outfit of the day. It's no departure from what he's usually dressed in, hard lines and angles to emphasise the cuts of his broad shoulders and strong arms, the hard line of his jaw. The parts of his physique he tears himself apart for, eating nothing but salmon and chicken and rice in the few solid meals he's allowed.

Speaking of starving himself, here Morris comes. He comes off the runway looking waifish and tired, but that's the look they love for him. He's got grey eyeshadow and pale glitter around his eyes to make them look bigger, draped in flowing clothes that make him look smaller. A top cut loose at the neck to bare the brutal juts of his collarbones and shoulders, a skirted number cut low enough to bare a strip of his flat navel, the lines of lean muscle.

Snyder's waiting for him in the shadows of backstage, and smiles warmly at him as he approaches, eyes seeming to glint. Morris smiles back, face lighting up, haloed by the stage lights behind him. He rushes straight for Snyder, stands close, and as they talk, Snyder spreads a palm on Morris' narrow waist.

Oscar's gut burns, but he's ushered helplessly past to the other side of the stage, shoved into the waiting line of models.

The music is loud, bass vibrating through the floor beneath the soles of leather shoes that aren't his. He can see the audience outside if he leans, rows of folding chairs filled with famous faces in designer clothes.

It's a dream life, he tells himself. Thinks of the farm he and his brother were born on, and the penthouse apartment they live in now. Thinks of the differences between starving for lack of food and starving for beauty.

Thinks of men in tailored suits and their hands on his brother's skin.

A hand brushes his own skin, prompting, and he steps out onto the runway.