#a song in english? unbelievable

[lemonadeandlanguages]

3, 76, 59, 100?

3. Échalo Pa' Ca by Sofia Reyes, Darell and Lalo Ebratt

59. Asi Como Yo by Lenier and Nacho

76. Tienes La Magia by Lil Silvio & El Vega

100. SAD (Clap Your Hands) by Young Rising Sons

[catboyieejeno]

because even then, i knew — l.sm { 1 }

You have (1) new voicemail from: seokmin <3 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58

“Hey. I know we haven’t talked in a while but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”

✰ genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au

✰ cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, mentions of cheating, angst

✰ wc: 21k

✰ tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}

✰ navigation: {one} {two}

✰ note: this story is my absolute baby. i stared writing it one day with no plot in mind, and ended up with 45k. it's supposed to feel like a kdrama as you read it (and i mean this in every sense of the word—you will see), so please listen to the tracklist as you scroll. the songs are carefully timed in order to play as you read certain parts, but if you're not sure you're listening to the right song, part two will tell you where you should be and you will resync.

please love this story, it was written with an unbelievable amount of care, detail, and intention.

≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱

Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies, and even then, it’s barely done right. There is no such thing as happy endings, because that’s not how things are in the real world. 

Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who helps old people cross the street during rush hour, or helps kids pluck their balloons out of trees so they won’t cry. He actually does like long walks on the beach, as a matter of fact, and he happens to be a casual enjoyer of rom-coms, something his other male friends would rather die than admit to. 

Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic, but that rug was pulled out from under him on a few too many occasions, and while he’s still a positive, amicable guy, he had learned that sometimes, things were too good to be true. 

For example: when he was 7, he fell in love.

His 20 year old babysitter, who his parents had hired to watch over him on evenings while they were at work, was absolutely perfect—he knew from the moment he met her, she would be the girl he’d marry. 

She was Korean, and a freshman in college with a major in business management. Every week, she would walk hand-in-hand with him to the corner store to buy him sausage sticks and sticky tteokbokki at the food cart with the money she could spare from her part time job as a tutor, since his parents would only leave money for emergencies. In return for her generosity, he’d sit still and play while she finished her homework, and occasionally, Seokmin would even pick flowers from his mom’s garden for her. This earned him a few scoldings, but that didn’t matter to him, because she was, and would always be worth it. 

Until one day, where he had promised to behave while she finished a practice test. Poor, unsuspecting, seven-almost-eight-year-old Seokmin with his cheeks stuffed full of sausage and rice cake, overheard her calling another boy (albeit a boy her age who could actually reciprocate her affection) a sweet name over the phone. He dropped everything and stomped over to her, bursting into tears and rambling on about how she broke his heart. She was fired the very same evening as a consequence of his tantrum. 

When he was 14, he fell in love again. And this time, it had to be love… right? 

A family of foreigners had moved in across the street, and their daughter, who was the same age as him this time around, would come over to study with him after school and on the weekends. She’d teach him English, and he’d teach her Korean. She was his first kiss and his first girlfriend—they lasted a reputable two months—until they moved back overseas. Apparently, her parents had only moved there for the summer as part of a work-related trip, and when they said goodbye and promised to write, little Grace revealed she didn’t want a committed, long-distance relationship at the ripe age of fourteen.

In retrospect… maybe she was right, but Seokmin would never forget the way his heart shattered. 

The only real, long-term girlfriend he’s had was a little over two years ago. They dated for over a year, she met his parents and he met her’s, the two of them even exchanged promise rings. At the time, he would gush to his friends about how he’d never met anyone as funny and brilliant as her, and how lucky he feels to have done so. 

Then, the week before his birthday, Seokmin found out she had been sleeping with her best friend for months. 

Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again. 

So why, he thinks to himself, why can’t he stop looking at you? 

He noticed you for the first time last week after his car had been totaled during an impromptu road trip the day prior. Soonyoung, one of his best friends, had gotten on the subway while drinking and somehow ended up eight stops away from his apartment at an ungodly hour in his wasted state. Seokmin was the only one that answered the phone. He picked him up, but on the way back, Soonyoung tried to crawl out the window of the passenger seat and Seokmin, whilst trying to pull him back inside, had crashed into a tree.

The car was old, and he was saving up for a new one anyway. That, and the insurance gave him some chump change for the wreckage, which was more than he’d thought he’d get, so it wasn’t too bad. The biggest inconvenience he faced now was getting to and from work. 

Every night, after his shift at the flower shop, Seokmin would take the bus transit home. The first night, he only saw you in passing, because he practically had to run after the bus to catch it after arriving late to the stop. He took the first seat he could find, panting and exhausted after his long shift and the blip of a marathon he just ran, and sunk down into it. 

Since he had never needed to take the bus until now, he spent some time glancing out the window and studying the route, discovering the stop near his apartment was the very last one, arriving at nearly 10:00 P.M. Yours was the second to last one, only a few blocks over. That evening, he only barely caught a glimpse of the side of your face as you climbed off, crossing the street and strolling out of sight with way too many things clutched within your jacketed arms. 

The following night, he made it to the bus on time, thankfully, and spotted you sitting near the back, though that didn’t mean much to him yet. He took his same seat near the front, despite the many empty spots throughout the vehicle. And just like before, at the second to last stop, you walked down the middle aisle to exit. 

This time, while wrestling your books, laptop case, walkman, and coat, your headset wire had snagged on the seat in front of him. He watched as you turned around and detangled it hurriedly, your gaze barely flickering up to meet his curious one for a split second. You flashed him a ghost of a smile and then, you were gone again. 

Seokmin found himself looking forward to seeing you every single night from then on. 

He decided to start sitting in the back of the bus too, blaming his avid interest in you purely on the distorted conclusion that it made no sense to sit in the front! He was always the last one aboard, and the back had so many more seats for him to get comfortable. 

That’s what he convinced himself of, at least for the first few days. He tried sitting in a couple different spots, though he wouldn’t dare sit too close to you—he’s not that bold.  He did, however, decide after his trial and error period that his favorite seat was the far left one on the last row. Your seat was forever unchanging, on the second to last row and all the way to the right. 

This way, he could watch over your shoulder as you typed away on your computer. You seemed to be writing something personal, because night after night, you’d create paragraph after paragraph, working tirelessly to craft whatever it was that you were working on so extensively. He figured it couldn’t be just any assignment or work-related exposition. This meant something to you, and that only spiked his curiosity more. The only pause in your routine of clicking away at keys was skipping a song or two on your walkman or glancing out the window for inspiration.

He’s never sat close enough to actually read the words on your screen, but then again, that might be overstepping a bit. The urge does frequently bug him, though, especially when he notices how immersed you become the moment you lift the screen of your laptop and open your document. Every night, he watches you do the same thing, and every night, he fights the urge to strain his neck and catch a glimpse of a single word on your screen. 

He contains himself, though, on the principle that eavesdropping is wrong, and he intends to never do you wrong. 

On the sixth night he spends in his new seat, he notices about twenty minutes in when your fingers stop clicking away. At first, he considers the possibility that you may be thinking or planning your next sentence. But, as the bus nears your stop, you don’t move to start picking up your things. It immediately alerts him, and he sits up straighter as he realizes, you’ve fallen asleep. 

He’s never given something so simple so much thought in such a short time. He can feel the bus slowing down, and he can hear the brakes screeching and wheezing. Would he feel worse for disturbing your rest and making an inevitably awkward first impression, or letting you continue to sleep and possibly (definitely) miss your stop? 

Certainly the latter.

Without a second thought, Seokmin hurriedly slides out of his aisle and climbs down the two steps of the back row to reach you at your seat, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and giving it a light shake. You don’t budge, even when he calls out to you. 

“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?” 

As the bus comes to a full stop and the engine’s roar becomes suppressed, he can hear the music playing through the headset that sits still over your ears. With a grimace, he softly slips them off, and the action is enough to stir you awake. You blink in confusion as you adjust to the brightness of the lights inside the bus, and your eyes land on his widened ones. 

“Sorry for waking you, but,” he gestures outside, “this is your stop.” 

You look around to confirm, and upon seeing the familiar intersection and corner store, you realize what he’s saying is true.

A few things go through your head: First of all, the stranger in front of you has the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Secondly, his nose is absolutely huge, and for some reason, he knows your stop, which makes you wonder where else he’s capable of poking it. So naturally, you ignore the sweet charm behind his eyes and shrug off his arm, grabbing your things quickly and booking it for the door that the bus driver has to reopen when he sees you approaching. 

You climb off and consider taking a different route, but if he knows your stop, he likely knows which way you walk every single night. You curse at yourself for even falling asleep in the first place, then drag your feet along towards your apartment after accommodating your headphones back over your ears, your walkman clutched in hand, its music swirling in your ears once more.

Because of this, you miss the way Seokmin shouts after you for leaving your phone behind, and the way the bus driver then shouts at him for holding him up. 

“I’ve got a wife to get home to, kid. Get back on the bus or I’m leaving you here.” 

He looks between the device in his hand, you, and back at the burly bus driver who raises a threatening brow his way. 

In defeat, he gets back on board and walks down until he’s reached his seat, but not before stopping at yours, or rather stumbling there with how aggressively the driver steps on the gas and sends him flying. He does a quick once over your seat to make sure you haven’t left or dropped anything else, but your phone is the only thing you forgot in your rush. 

The drive to his street is rather short, and when he does some calculations on the maps app, he discovers it’s at most a half-hour walk from his place to yours. That revelation makes him regretful, because as he dismounts the bus, crosses the street, and climbs the flight of stairs to his apartment, he realizes he could’ve run after you and given you your phone and just walked home after. It would’ve allowed him to explain that he’s not a creep, and that he only knows your stop because you’re the only other person on the bus at that hour. 

He thinks about his encounter with you the whole way to his apartment, and even at home while he takes his shower and brushes his teeth. And still, when he plugs your dead phone in, so that he can give it to you fully charged the next day. As it comes to life, half a dozen messages come in with a series of ‘dings’ from a contact you have saved as just a heart. He can’t read what the messages say because of the privacy settings you have in place, so he just silences it as more messages come in. He would have tried to let them know your phone isn’t with you, but the person with the heart alias never tries to call, and so there’s nothing Seokmin can do about it but hope tomorrow comes quickly. 

That thought brings him back to you, and as he lies down, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’s mulling over the way you shrugged him off. It’s only the long day at work, where he spent eight hours on his feet watering ficuses and making arrangements with daisies and lilies, that manages to silence his brain and lull his eyelids to a close so he can get some rest. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

His shift at the floral shop had gone by painfully slow today. The hours that usually pass relatively quickly with the friendly faces of Korean grandmas that stop by after going to the market, have dragged on for an eternity. 

He reminds himself that he’s going to see you tonight and that thought gets him through the day. He’ll at last be able to redeem himself of the interaction that’s been haunting him for the last twelve hours. He even dreamt about you, specifically about the conversation going a completely different way than it did. 

“Sorry for waking you, but this is your stop.” 

“Oh, my god,” you said. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize I drifted off.”

“No worries,” Seokmin would flash you a smile and help you with your things, since he had noticed your tendency to travel with more than you could carry. “Here.”

“Thanks again, uh…”

“Seokmin.”

“Seokmin,” you’d repeat, and even in his dream, he had reeled over the way his name rolled off your tongue.

In an extra effort to mend things over with you, Seokmin dips into his weekly paycheck at the end of his shift to buy you a tote bag from the shop. That way, you’d have a place to pack your laptop when you weren’t typing up stories, and your coat that you insisted on draping over your arm? It could go in there, too! 

Why you chose to listen to music on a walkman in today’s modern age, he has no idea—but now you’d have a place to store it so you won’t leave it behind like you had your phone. 

The tote bag he picks out for you is the nicest, most sizable one in stock. It’s the first time he’s bought anything from the floral shop, so the measly ten percent employee discount he got was rather underwhelming. Still, it would be worth it. He’d hand you your phone, explain himself to clear up the previous night's confusion, and offer you the tote bag as a gift. 

When he climbs on the bus later that evening, you’re sitting in the same spot as always, except this time, you’re expecting him. Your eyes flash up at him then fall back to your laptop. Subsequently, you slump further down in your seat, and Seokmin quickly realizes you’re trying to avoid him. 

Now—he had talked himself through the plan of approaching you all day, it’s all he thought about during the less busy hours of his shift to pass the time. He had walked through the process once, twice, and then again in hopes of nailing down every detail, but he didn’t once account for your very obvious disinterest. 

It offsets his mood entirely, which was confident and sociable just moments ago, and he trails down the aisle, past your seat, and to his own instead with discouragement. 

The moment he sits, it’s as if someone winded up his leg: it starts restlessly bouncing, and his mind mirrors the action, his inner monologue providing no relief for his grief. 

If he was any other rational person, he would’ve taken your coldness with a grain of salt; he’d hand you your phone, say “you left this.” and go on about his day—no, his life, as if this moment, as if meeting you, was nothing more than an insignificant scene in the story of his life. He wouldn’t spend every hour overthinking your first impression of him, or feeling disappointed that it wasn’t what he wanted it to be. And he certainly wouldn’t be here, talking himself up to the task of walking over to you once more. 

Even his own forgiving conscience is embarrassed when he readies himself to stand, chanting “Ok. 3…2…” and then sits back down in defeat. 

This goes on for the better part of an hour, until Seokmin remembers you’d be getting off soon. This realization materializes as the last person besides the two of you gets off, and the familiar buildings that are just a few blocks away from your stop come into view. At the same time, a new string of messages come in from the same individual who was writing to you last night, and Seokmin decides it’s about time that he returns your phone to you—for real this time. 

With a nod to himself, he pushes off the chair with his legs and forces them to move him over to you, where he stands for a few seconds, waiting for you to notice him. In one hand, he’s holding out your phone, and under his other arm is the folded tote bag he’s planning to give you. He can’t get his tongue to comply, making his feet work was hard enough, so hovers over you a little longer until you practically feel his eyes on you and look up. 

“Hi–” 

You slide your headphones off one ear, and he clears his throat. 

“Hi.” He repeats, “My name is Seokmin. I’m the guy who woke you up last night.” 

“I know.” You cast your eyes down to your phone and he leans it closer to you.

“You left your phone here.” 

Your lips purse contemplatively as you take it, mumbling out a quick “thanks,” and unlocking it to inspect your pile of notifications. Seokmin only clears his throat again.

“I also wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as a weirdo, It’s just–”

You seem to lose focus of what he’s saying as you read through the messages on your phone, a deep frown molding over your features. The fact that you’re not listening at all trips him up, especially when he’s trying so hard to recite the mental script he prepared for this very moment. 

“Uh, I just… The only reason I know your stop is because it’s only you and me on the bus this late. So, you know–” 

As he points this out, you perk your head up and look around, as if to check for yourself that this is, in fact, true. It doesn’t ease your apprehension about him, but his kind eyes look so desperate in their plea for your understanding that, for a fleeting instant, you manage to hone in on his explanation and dismiss your suspicions about his nosy tendencies. 

“Naturally, I just noticed, and I didn’t want you to miss your stop.”

When you nod once and say “ok,” he almost wishes you hadn’t said anything at all. That’s it? That’s all you have to say to ease his discomfort? 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he didn’t almost forget, he just wanted to sound nonchalant, “I got you this since you’re always–” 

“Well, Seokmin…” It’s even better than in his dream, hearing you say his name, “You should know better than me by now that,” you point outside and the bus reaches a halt, “this is my stop.” 

Hurry up, Seokmin. “I got you this bag for your things.” 

You take it from his outstretched hands with the smallest mutter of gratitude, but don’t bother to inspect it or put it to use. You simply pile it atop of your laptop and coat with pursed lips, not sparing it a second glance. He’s almost confused about why you’re still staring him down expectantly after that, until it becomes clear to him that he’s blocking the aisle and in turn, your exit. 

Somewhat awkwardly, Seokmin moves aside, and you waste no time in passing right by him and heading for the door with all your trinkets stacked up in your arms. 

Dejection is an appropriate word to describe how Seokmin feels right about now. So is frustration. 

Even after you leave, cross in front of the bus, and make your way home, Seokmin stands in the same spot, dumbfounded. He stays like this for a few seconds, even when the bus moves and messes with his balance. It’s not until his annoyance really settles in, nestling in his bones and making his face glow red, that he manages to stomp back over to his spot and plop down. 

You are easily the most irritating person he has ever met; ill-mannered, ungrateful, rude, and downright selfish. Seokmin stopped going to therapy months after he recovered from his ex, but he finds himself regressing in the ‘self-recognition’ area at this moment. Although he can consciously acknowledge that his anger stems from your interaction not going as he wanted it to, he still decides to dump the blame on you and call you all these names in his head. Why he so desperately wants to be liked by you, he doesn’t know. Why he’s irrationally spiraling in the absence of your approval, he also doesn’t know. 

What he does know is that the next twenty-four hours are going to be just as bad as the last, and he’s going to be kicking himself until he sees you again and gives you a piece of his mind. 

Tonight, he rolls around in bed longer than usual, until the clock strikes two and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

The next day, when Seokmin boards the bus, you’re nowhere to be seen. You’re not at your seat, nor anywhere else for that matter, which he decides is for the best, because he’s able to swallow down his explosive complaints for another day instead of possibly causing a scene on the bus. 

Ha! You’re lucky you didn’t get on tonight, he thinks, I'll spare you from my lecture for another evening. 

Except the following night, you aren’t there either. 

As it turns out, you aren’t on the bus for the next six days straight. 

And instead of recovering from his emotions like a normal person, Seokmin is only spurred on, tormented and pursued by his thoughts of you. They've shifted, because now he can only help but wonder what you’re up to. He’s back to square one, wondering if he weirded you out so much that you resorted to finding another means of transportation with the sole intention of avoiding him. 

Then, he reproaches himself, his rationale telling him that surely, there must be another reason for your absence—one that isn’t at all related to him. He ponders this as he piles a few stems of lilies and eucalyptus on one another, wrapping them and tying them closed. 

“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”

He turns quickly to face Ms. Boo, the owner of the flower shop and the grandmother of his best friend. On more than a few occasions, she had acted as a grandmother to him, too—bringing him lunches and pestering him about eating enough, or nagging him for not dressing properly in cold weather. 

“Nothing!”

“Look what you’re doing to my flowers.” She narrows her eyes, extending a wrinkled finger out in his direction. 

Seokmin glances down to find that his knuckles have gone white against the stem of the baby’s breath he's been unconsciously shaking like a rattle. The delicate white flowers have been pulverized, reduced to white fuzz on the arrangement he was attempting to make and the surrounding surface of the work station. 

“Ah, shi-“ She gives him a glare, “Sorry.” He quickly rephrases, “I’ll clean this up.”

As Ms. Boo straightens out some gardenias in a vase, she asks him again, “What’s wrong?” 

He takes a deep breath, reaching for the dustpan under the counter. “It’s just… Someone I met on the bus.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Very.” He nods, then sighs. “I just wish the conversation we had went differently, that’s all.” 

“Well,” She seems to be mustering up her years of wisdom, eyebrows raising as she fixes her apron, “You’re a handsome boy, Seokmin-ah. And you’ve got good sense. God knows you’ve got more than Seungkwan,” she grumbles the last part, and it makes Seokmin’s lips curl up a bit. “Your car isn’t fixed yet, right?”

He shakes his head, “No.” 

“So, then get back on the bus tonight and talk to her.” She insists with the assurance only an 85 year old grandmother could have. 

“I would, but…”

“And stop moping. You’re making the flowers sad. They feel these kinds of things.” She nods, feeling the petal of the lily between her fingertips. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, “Finish this arrangement and get back to work.”

He finishes brushing the white fuzz of the carnation into the dustpan and discarding it before tackling the bouquet he was previously working on with a tad more care. He finishes after deciding the pale flowers need a touch of color, so he adds a few pink roses and places it in a bucket near the front window of the store on display. 

He takes a moment to glance outside at the busy street, watching the people that pass by. Couples stroll hand in hand, and more often than not, the girls will stop their partner to point out the flowers. This was a common occurrence, and if Seokmin was lucky, the displays would draw in a few more customers than usual. 

Not today, though. As he does a once over every arrangement he’s chosen to display on the window, he realizes they all lack something besides effort. He can’t put his finger on exactly what they’re missing, but Ms. Boo was right— the plants do feel emotions—and these weren’t particularly joyous creations. 

As he sprays the leaves with a little mist bottle he carries around in his apron, he watches through the window each person that passes by in an effort to pass the time. It isn’t like there’s much to do during the less busy hours, and there’s only so many arrangements he can make when they’re all coming out dull and lifeless to match his gloom. 

So, Seokmin opts for people watching, until a specific individual catches him by surprise. 

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things. 

Not only have you stopped outside the shop to gaze and gawk at the flowers while wearing a soft, admiring look, but soon enough, the bell above the door has chimed, meaning you’ve actually come inside. 

He would greet you, as he’s supposed to do when a customer enters the shop, but he… can’t—at least not from where he is now, ducking behind the sales counter.

Before you could have spotted him, his fight or flight reflexes, or in this case just flight, had kicked in. He could’ve easily ran behind the curtain to the room where some of the flowers are stored, but then he would’ve ran into Ms. Boo, who would have questioned his reasons for leaving the counter unattended.

Then, he realizes that Seungkwan wouldn’t be coming in until later, and their other part-timer Eunchae didn’t work today because she had an exam at school.

The service bell at the counter rings once and he grimaces, full of hopeful thinking that you’d just go away if no one appeared. Instead you ring it again, and he ducks lower, until some shuffling behind him and the voice of his best friend’s grandmother gives him away.

“Seokmin-ah, there’s someone at the counter!”

There’s a pause, and though he can’t see how your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar name, he knows he’s absolutely busted because even if you didn’t correlate that ‘Seokmin’ was also the same guy who woke you up on the bus, he’d be forced to show himself before long. Ms. Boo continues to ramble, much to his dismay.

“Are you still sulking over the pretty girl from the bus?” Yeah, that’ll do it. “Ah, Seokmin-ah… I don’t pay you to sulk.”

At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm. 

He has no way of knowing that as he’s willing and pleading with the ground to swallow him whole and spare him from the incoming embarrassment, Ms. Boo’s comment had brought a little smile to your face. You’re peering around the shop for him when you see someone start to peek out from the other side of the counter. 

First, his fingers. They land on the marble surface, and less than a second later, his dark mop of hair follows, appearing past the slope. Then, his kind eyes, big nose, and his teeth, clenched together tightly in reluctance as he takes in your amused gaze.

You cross your arms over your chest and Seokmin scoffs, shooting up suddenly. 

“This is unbelievable!” His laugh is loud and theatrical, though a touch ironic, given the whole ‘hiding-from-you-behind-the-counter’ situation just seconds prior. He doesn’t let his obvious preposterousness stop his rampage, though. In very Seokmin fashion, he commits to the bit, puffing up his chest a little. “You call me a stalker and now you go and stalk me to my place of employment!” 

“I never called you a stalker.” You say simply, and his face falters only slightly. “Nor did I stalk you.” Seokmin rolls his eyes as you continue. “Also, who even says ‘place of employment?’” 

As if straight out of a bad middle school play, which Seokmin had plenty of practice at back in his day, he regains his confidence at his turn to speak his line, scoffing again at your nonchalant attitude. Why were you so unbothered about the way you treated him? He ignores your question, and readies his next comeback.

“Yeah? Well, then how did you know where I work, huh?”

When you wordlessly turn to show off the tote bag slung over your shoulder, a few things occur. 

The color of Seokmin’s cheeks become very red, very fast. His ears quickly glow a similar shade to match. He completely deflates—letting up on his accusations and dropping the theatrics. There’s a reason he’s a florist and not an actor. 

Then, he realizes what you’re showing off—the tote bag! You’re wearing the bag he got you! You’re actually using it! He can see the wire of your headset poking out of the top, and the square mold of your laptop filling the material!

At the same time, however, his eyes land on the only design or pattern it has. Sewn in black, the bag boldly displays the name of Ms. Boo’s flower shop. At this, Seokmin smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.  

“I figured I’d find you here.” You mumble, taking a look around, “it’s a pretty place.”

“Yeah.” He nods, but he’s still eyeing you suspiciously, waiting for you to announce the reason for your visit. 

“I came to…” your fingers reach over the counter to brush off the fuzz of the baby’s breath that remained on his dark green apron, and Seokmin tucks his chin to his chest, exposing all of his chins as his eyes shift between your hand and eyes that are both set on his torso.

”There.” You sigh, “I came to apologize. I was going through a… Well, anyway, I wasn’t exactly nice to you, so…” 

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Seokmin grumbles.

“Sorry. And thank you.” 

“For?”

You swing the bag around again, “It came in handy.”

”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.” 

“Seokmin-ah… There’s someone at the—Oh, hello.” Shuffling over with a wad of eucalyptuses in her arms, Ms. Boo smiles warmly at you, as she does with all customers who stop by the shop. 

”Ms. Boo, this is…“

”Y/N.” 

“Y/N.” Both of them echo your name, though Seokmin does it under his breath, in a quiet affirmation to himself. He decides instantly that it’s perfect, and that it suits you perfectly. He doesn’t intend for it to be a Tony and Maria situation, but the way it sounds, rolling off his tongue, is seamless and simply, right.

”It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Boo adds.  

“Likewise. Excuse me, I wanted to know if I borrow Seokmin real quick? I owe him a coffee.” 

Seokmin hisses apprehensively, reinstating his act momentarily as he begins rolling up his sleeve to search for the time on his watch. “Yeah, well, my break isn’t for another—“

”Take him, please. But only give him back when he’s in a better mood.” She gives him a light-hearted glare as she scurries away, calling out, “every plant he’s walked past today has wilted.” 

“I plan to do just that. Thank you.” 

He makes it look like he’s in some kind of distress when he unties his apron and lifts the neckloop over his head, but really, he can’t wait to cut work for a coffee with you. There’s a little cafe nearby, and he’s almost sure that’s where you’ll be taking him. He also can’t wait to recommend his favorite drink to you, though part of him worries you might not enjoy it and consequently bruise his ego a little—given the fading but still ever-present grudge he’s holding against you.

Seokmin can’t help but prolong the act of clocking out: changing shoes, grabbing his wallet and phone from his cubby, folding his apron (instead of hanging it up in whatever state it’s in, as he usually does), while you shift your weight between your heels and gawk at him in wait. He does all this in an effort to extend the minutes he has with you. His break is fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes can’t go by if the clock technically hasn't started counting.

You stand by patiently, following him around with your eyes as he tidies up a single flower out of place or wipes his hands down on a rag. When he’s finally ready, and can’t be bothered to pretend that lacing his sneakers actually takes longer than two minutes, he joins you on the other side of the counter and follows you to the door. 

Feeling a little nervous, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just go our separate ways.” 

“I do. This way, I can properly convey my apology and gratitude. You know: two birds, one stone.” 

“Those are two separate things… It’s only right that you would owe me two coffees then.” The way he grumbles under his breath unveils some of his bitterness, though you can tell by the half-hearted side-eye he gives you as he fights back a grin, that he’s really only messing with you.

So you laugh, and Seokmin feels his heart do a somersault in his chest. With a shake of your head, you turn to him, defeated. “Alright. You can get a coffee and a muffin.” 

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see your smile again, he brings his hand up to rub his chin, “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t really like muffins.” 

“Well, then I’ll just have to stop by tomorrow, too.” 

At this, Seokmin smiles from ear to ear, tilting his head away towards the street so that you don’t catch the way he lights up at the prospect of possibly seeing you again. 

As the two of you cross the street, you notice a bus stop a little up the way, nodding towards it so he can look. “Is that where you catch the bus?” He nods. “Funny, my stop is only two blocks down the street we came from.” 

Seokmin reaches for the door of the cafe, holding it open for you to walk through. To his delight, you seem to be fascinated by the space—meaning it’s likely you haven’t been here before. He watches as you study the rustic lights on the ceiling, the shiny wooden tables, and the botany at the window. 

“These look like the ones from your shop.” 

“That’s because they are.” He stands beside you. “The owner of the cafe loves the classics. So do I. So, in exchange for a floral arrangement or two, he lets me borrow a book.”  He watches your gaze leave him to face the singular bookshelf he had gestured to, a tall collection of literary classics neatly sorted by author. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as you take it in, mouth agape as you slowly step toward the shelves. 

Not yet grasping the extent of your fascination, and with the line to order clearing out, Seokmin remembers he’s on a schedule. “Do you wanna order?” 

“I…” You shake your head, fingertips ghosting over the spine of the books without grazing them, because you know better than to touch an antique collection. It doesn’t stop you from admiring them, mumbling out a response to the boy next to you without giving it much thought. “I usually get… You know what, just order whatever for me.” 

You dig for your wallet in the tote bag, handing your card to him without tearing your eyes away from the sight before you. Seokmin only laughs and takes it without the slightest intention to use it. He orders you the drink he thinks you might like the best, as someone with a taste for the traditional things--like classic literature and walkmans--and orders himself a more sugary poison to nurture his sweet tooth. 

When he pays, he doesn’t use your card, but he wraps the receipt around it anyway so you won’t holster any suspicion that he did exactly what he did. He only checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still distracted, and you are, ogling the books as if you had never seen anything as marvelous as the contents of this bookshelf before. 

He feels something fluttering in his chest, and he knows very well what caused it, but he pays it no mind—opting instead for leaning into the cashier who he’s frequently talked to during his coffee breaks with his caffeine crazy friend, Boo Seungkwan. 

“Hey, Josh. Do you know if Mr. Kim is in today?” Kim Jongdae, the owner of the cafe, had a soft spot for the flower shop boys ever since they helped make him a beautiful bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Then, for their anniversary and every celebration thereafter. 

Joshua shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he starts on the drinks. “He’s out for the day. It’s the little one’s birthday.” 

“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”

“I mean… You know you can just grab any off the shelf.” He mumbles, hissing as he nearly burns his finger with the steaming espresso maker, “Which one do you want?” 

“Whichever one she does.” He turns to you,“That’s why I wanted to ask. It’s not for me, but for her.” 

“Ah.” Joshua looks between the two of you, without missing the gentle smile on Seokmin’s face as he watches you. He only manages to look away when the older boy at the counter sets both drinks down and clears his throat. “Here.”

“Right.” 

“And about that book,” he gestures to you, “I’ll ask Mr. Kim when I see him tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With both drinks and your card wrapped in his receipt all clutched in his hands, he makes his way over to you quietly, as if any abruptness would disturb your studying of each and every title. But you hear him coming—that, or you smell the fresh coffee nearing you—so you spin around on your heels quickly, whisper-shouting as if he wasn’t right beside you now.

“This is incredible. I’m usually at the library until I get on the bus but–thank you,” You take the drink and instantly bring it to your lips for a sip, “Even the library doesn’t have this good of a–ah, hot!” 

“Be careful!” Seokmin fights the urge to beckon his hand closer to you, but his shoulders still jolt up in concern that you may have burned yourself.

“–good of a collection–wow, this is really good.” Your shift in focus makes him hold back a snort. 

“You like it?” 

“Yes, thank you. Should we sit?” He follows you to a table by the window, where the two of you can glance out at the bustling street as you chat. 

“Ms. Boo is nice.” You comment, as you notice one of the displays from the shop sitting at the sill.

“She is. She nags, but it’s only because she cares. I wouldn’t change anything about her.” 

You wear a warm smile on your lips as you take another sip, savoring the rich taste of your coffee. “I really like my drink. What did you get for yourself?”

Seokmin’s fingers move lazily to push the cup towards you. “Do you wanna try it?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking between his inviting smile and the drink. After a moment’s pause, you reach for one of the wrapped paper straws sitting near the sugar and salt. You peel it open, pop it into the cup, and take a sip. You seem to like it at first, but then, the overwhelming sweetness hits, a syrupy storm that floods your taste buds, and you immediately regret your decision.

Your face scrunches up in disbelief as you try not to choke on the sugary onslaught, your throat resisting the thick sweetness. “Oh god,” you gasp, your eyes wide.

Seokmin’s laughter bubbles up effortlessly, and he rolls his eyes, clearly entertained by your reaction. You slide the drink back across the table to him, still reeling from the shock of it. “That’s—how can you even drink that?” you manage between soft chuckles.

“Really? It’s not that bad,” he says with a teasing grin, unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly struggling. “I’d say your drink needs an acquired taste.”

“Mine? I’m drinking coffee.” You set your cup down, now fully convinced that whatever he’s drinking is a bizarre concoction. “I don’t know what you’re drinking.”

Seokmin shrugs, his grin only widening. “Agree to disagree.” His cheeks aching from the persistent smile that seems to be permanently affixed to his face now.

You laugh in disbelief before taking a few large gulps of your own coffee, feeling its familiar warmth wash over you and effectively wiping away the remnants of Seokmin’s sugary disaster from your palate.

“So,” you begin, eyes narrowing slightly as you shift your focus to him, “how long have you been working there?”

“For a year now.” He leans back slightly in his chair, clearly more relaxed than before.

“Do you like it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He pauses, as if considering his words carefully before answering. “It’s… I mean, yes.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I spotted some hesitation there.”

He sighs, a quiet exhale of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like I wanna be there forever.” His tone shifts, like he’s trying to brush off the weight of the subject, but it lingers.

Glancing down at your cup, you swirl it around absentmindedly to cool the contents. You try to lighten the mood, teasing him, “Not taking over Ms. Boo’s position in the future?”

Seokmin smiles, clearly amused by the suggestion. “I’ll leave that to her grandson. He works there, too.” He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture, but there's a quiet finality in his words.

Feeling the need to dig a little deeper, you sit up straight, eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, so what is it that you wanna do?”

Seokmin’s smile falters just a fraction, and for a brief moment, the easy-going confidence he always wears slips. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his cup, and he looks off into the distance, his expression turning distant. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his tone dropping low.

You pause, sensing something behind the simplicity of his words, but you don’t press further. “It isn’t nothing.” You shake your head, “It’s what you wanna do with your life. I wouldn’t call that nothing.” 

After a brief pause that consists of looking between your eyes and playing with the syllables stuck thickly in his mouth, Seokmin mumbles a single word. “Music.” 

“Music?” You echo him, then stay silent so he can elaborate. You can tell he feels some degree of discouragement, obvious in the way his shoulders slump down. His hands start fidgeting and he looks out the window again as he seems to recall some memory. 

“But it’s nothing serious right now. I mess around with my guitar and write stuff every once in a while, but… I haven’t really played since—“ 

“I would love to hear,” you cut him off, leaning forward, “If you ever feel like showing someone, I would love to listen to you play.” 

There’s a sudden bitterness in his throat (that definitely isn’t his coffee) as he recalls a slightly stirring memory. It’s not as distant as he would like it to be, despite his attempt to store it in the ‘do-not-open’ file of his mind, but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and agreeing to your offer with some apprehension, because truthfully, you had no part in carving that scar.

Simply put: you were not her. 

“I haven’t played in a while,” he rephrases, “but when I pick it up again, you’ll be the first person I show.” 

It doesn’t take long before you start telling him about your studies, now that you had succeeded in interrogating him with a few of your burning questions, and it becomes apparent to Seokmin very quickly how easy conversation flows with you. Each word you utter is warm, welcoming, almost familiar, as if he had known you for longer than he did–and he suddenly feels very guilty for having misjudged you. 

It’s not like you know of the way he bad-mouthed you in his sensitive mind, so there really is no need to compensate for it. Even then, he feels he owes you something—like he should make it up to you for thinking such things about a person of your nature. 

He learns that you’re a student who’s majoring in English literature, with the aspiration to be a writer. The two of you agreed that he’d show you his music, and you’d show him what you’re working on—the last of which delighted him, seeing as he’d spent weeks trying to guess what your fingers typed away on your computer each night on the bus. You hate sugary drinks, that much you made clear, and you had a strong distaste for the smell of holiday candles. 

Every word you’d spill left him on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to go back to work, he’d have sat with you for the whole afternoon listening to you talk. 

But instead, you join him on his walk back to the flower shop, unknowingly having fulfilled your promise to bring him back in a better mood. 

“Ms. Boo?” 

“Seokmin-ah? You’re back right on time. There’s a customer who needs a graduation arrangement for their son.” Seokmin can tell she’s in the backroom, wrestling the hose to fill the watering can from the strain in her voice.

“I’ll get my apron on!” He calls, then spins around to face you, “Thank you for today. I liked my coffee, even if you didn’t think it was great.” 

“Good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow? Won’t I catch you on the bus tonight?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he hopes you didn’t catch the disappointment behind them.

“Tonight’s the last night of my study group, and those usually run late.” So that’s why you hadn’t been taking the bus lately, “So, tomorrow it is. Unless you don’t want that second coffee…” 

“I do.” He insists, and your lips curl up as you reach for the doorknob. 

“Alright, then.” 

The instant the door shuts behind you, he starts counting down the hours until he can see you again. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin’s shift could not have gone any slower. Unlike any day before, the hours could not seem to pass, despite how badly he willed them to. Aside from Seungkwan’s occasional side-eyed-glares and complaints of his uncharacteristically fast work pace today, Seokmin has managed to complete his tasks for the day and more: he prepared two graduation orders placed last minute and a walk-in customer who was uncertain of what ‘I’m sorry’ bouquet to get his girlfriend, all while trying to appease potential buyers who entered the shop, drawn in by the six new bouquet’s he’d made this very same morning and displayed at the window. 

All that, and it’s only fifteen past eleven in the morning.

“What has you in such a rush? I’m like four orders behind you. Usually, it’s the other way around.” The last part is but a grumble under his breath. 

Unable to explain, because he isn’t exactly sure of the answer either, Seokmin brushes Seungkwan's suspicious raised brow off and mentions something that would pique his interest instead, in hopes of changing the topic. 

“You know Soonyoung said Chan blew him off for a date? They were supposed to go out drinking and then—” 

“And then Minji called him and he bailed, I know. Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“And then—” 

“Slow down!” Seungkwan all but yanks the scissors from his best friend’s hands, which is, needless to say, not the safest thing to do, and puts them at his own station. “You’ve been hogging them for the last hour.” he hisses, “If my grandma comes in and sees that I’m this far behind, she’ll make me skip my break.” 

“I just need time to pass by quickly. I figure if I keep myself busy, it just might.” 

“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.” 

“Actually, it does. Idiot.” He sneers back, and Seungkwan could not look more offended if he tried—eyes wide, lips puckered to shape a word he doesn’t quite get to say. He swings back his arm, but before Seokmin could get smacked by the handful of tulips in his grip, Ms. Boo comes bustling through, humming a mindless tune as she clutches a pen and a few envelopes in her arms. 

“Boys, I've got your pay for this week and the next. I have an appointment with Dr. Hong next Friday, so I won’t be here. I expect you’ll take care of the shop while I’m—these arrangements are lovely. Who made them?” 

The boys look between each other, and Seokmin huffs out before answering. “We both did, Ms. Boo.” 

“Good work. Lovely…” She starts mumbling to herself again as she shifts her attention from the flowers at the windowsill to the bills in her hands, counting them and separating them into two even piles. 

At Seokmin’s reply (call it an unspoken truce), Seungkwan visibly relaxes, releasing the flowers before he could ruin them and scurrying over to his grandma. “Have you been taking your medicine? You know he’ll scold you otherwise.” 

“I’m too old to be scolded,” She replies stubbornly, and their conversation fades momentarily as the door chimes again. 

“Welcome to Botanical–oh.” Seokmin’s scripted introduction is cut short as he notices that it’s you who has entered the shop, wearing a small smile. 

“Hi.” You greet him, “and hello, Ms. Boo.” 

“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“Hey,” Seokmin’s wide smile, which nourished the moment he laid eyes on you, suddenly falters as he realizes the time. “Shit, are you here for-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry,” he bows his head apologetically at Ms. Boo, then grabs your arm to drag you a little further from the pair, “I can’t take my break right now.” He tells you, regretfully. Your smile falls a little.

“Really? I was looking forward to our coffee time. Plus, I desperately need some caffeine. I’ve been reading this boring manuscript since seven.” You scowl, gesturing to the stack of papers overflowing from your bag.

That pout, the one on your lips: it needs to be fixed as soon as possible. Seokmin holds a single finger up as he scours his brain for a plan, “Wait here a second. Let me see what I can do.” With that, he turns around and speedwalks over to Seungkwan, who hands him his half of the money. 

“Here.” 

“Thanks.” Seokmin takes the bills, not quite meeting Seungkwan’s eyes as he pockets them. “Hey, listen…” His voice drops, just low enough that it almost feels like a secret. “I need to take my break now.”

Seungkwan blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What?!” 

“Shh!” Seokmin urges, his face a mix of impatience and pleading. He tugs at his sleeve, leaning closer so only Seungkwan can hear. “Please.”

“No way,” Seungkwan protests, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “I take the morning breaks, you take the afternoon. That’s how this works.”

Seokmin’s expression hardens just a fraction, the edge of desperation creeping in as he stands a little taller. “Seungkwan, I’m begging you to switch with me just this once.”

Seungkwan stares at him, weighing his options. His arms remain crossed, a stubborn defiance settling into his posture. “No way.”

With no other option, Seokmin huffs and crosses his arms firmly over his chest. 

“Fine,” Seokmin finally says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll just go tell your grandma how many customers I’ve helped today and that all the displays were my doing and—”

“Okay, okay!” Seungkwan interrupts, throwing his hands up in surrender. “God, dude, you really suck. Don’t make this a habit, yeah?” 

Spoiler alert: he would.

Seokmin’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you!” he exclaims, not even giving Seungkwan a chance to protest before his apron is untied with a swift yank. It’s tossed into Seungkwan’s arms, and Seokmin is already dashing toward the back, his shoes clacking against the floor with each hurried step.

He doesn't wait for the usual stream of complaints to catch up to him, knowing full well that they’re coming. Quickly, Seokmin kicks off his non-slip shoes in one fluid motion, leaving them in a pile as he slides into his own sneakers. 

Less than a minute later, he joins you by the door. 

“Coffee time?” His tone is playful, and you mirror it as you nod once.  

“Coffee time.” 

The cafe has a few students scattered around with their laptops when you enter. There’s also a few others, people who Seokmin knows work in the stores and buildings nearby. They stop by occasionally for their lunch and coffee breaks, but even then, the cafe is emptier than it is most days at this time. Mr. Kim is alongside Joshua, tending to something on the register, when the two of you approach them. 

“Morning,” 

“Good morning, Seokmin.” Kim Jongdae offers the boy a warm smile. 

There’s a bit of small talk exchanged between them—Mr. Kim asks about Ms. Boo and Seungkwan, Seokmin asks about his son’s birthday—until Seokmin goes to introduce you, but turns around to find you near the bookshelf once more. This seems to remind Mr. Kim of something he discussed earlier with Joshua. 

“My answer is yes, by the way.” He starts, “Joshua asked me this morning. He said you, or rather, she wanted to borrow a book. Go ahead. It’s the least I can do to repay you boys for the hard work you do to make this place look nice.” Mr. Kim gives him a firm nod, patting Joshua on the back after briefly explaining a new menu item on the screen. He walks off, and Seokmin calls out to him. 

“Thank you, really!” He turns to Joshua, “and thank you, too. I’ll get the same two drinks as yesterday. ”

“You got it.” 

He pays quickly and turns around, pausing for a few moments to admire you before taking two long strides over. When he’s beside you, he lowers his head so it’s by your shoulder and speaks quietly, so as to not disturb you. “Which one piques your interest?” 

“Which ones,” you correct, marveling up at him before looking back to the shelves. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t know which one to grab first if I could.” Your index finger comes up after a pause, “Maybe this one.” 

“Go on, then.” 

“I wish.” you sigh, and he can no longer withhold his smile.

“I’m serious. Grab it. I asked the owner for permission.” 

Your head cranes slowly over to him, eyes so wide he swears he could have seen his reflection in them.

“Are you serious?” Your voice is soft, unsure, surprised, grateful. You’re almost not sure whether to believe him or not, but when his gentle brown eyes look between you and the book, and he gives you a little encouraging nudge on your shoulder as a go ahead, you finally move to reach out slowly and pick it off of the shelf, cradling it in your hands as if it was a precious thing. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” His voice is calm but sincere, and there’s a small, almost thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. The shelf you’d been looking at earlier, once so absorbing, now feels distant as your attention shifts entirely to him.

You blink, unsure how to respond, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself lost for words. “Gosh, I-I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He mutters with a crooked smile.

“Thank you.” You repeat the words, quieter this time.

“Anytime.” He shrugs. For a moment, the two of you are caught in a quiet, comfortable pause.

It’s only Joshua calling Seokmin’s name from across the room that snaps the two of you back to reality. You blink and suddenly remember—you’re the one who owes him a coffee, not the other way around.

“Wait, you ordered already?”

“I kinda had to.” Seokmin shrugs sheepishly, his eyes flicking over to the counter before returning to you. “Honestly, I’m more scared of going over my break time while Seungkwan is there than when it’s just Ms. Boo.”

“That’s your friend, right? Seungkwan?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. 

“Yep,” Seokmin replies. “The one with the dyed blonde hair who always looks like he’s about to complain about something.”

“That’s Ms. Boo’s grandson, then.” You piece it together with a grin, and Seokmin hands you your drink. You take it but find your thoughts drifting again.

“What’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, noticing your distracted gaze.

“I still owe you,” you admit softly, looking down at the drink in your hands. “For the bag and the book.”

Seokmin bumps your shoulder lightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to keep stopping by.” 

“I guess I will,” 

To his delight, the rest of Seokmin’s shift was effortless and quick. There was the occasional bickering with Seungkwan, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind it as much today. Because, waiting for him at the bus stop when he arrived later that very same evening, was you, eager to tell him all about the book you had started reading. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

Seokmin had never been a fan of routines. His personality was spontaneous, and so the things he did on a day-to-day basis were too. Up until now, the only constants in his life were the flower shop and his friends, who provided their own random spontaneity in the form of unpredictable weekend plans or an ever-changing work environment that depended solely on which side of the bed Seungkwan woke up on that morning. 

Seokmin gets bored easily, an issue he resolves with movie marathons or long walks or hangouts—just about anything will suffice, if it means his mind is occupied and distracted the majority of the time. 

Lately, though, a new element has been introduced to his daily life. A routine. 

A routine where, during every shift, you stop by after your time studying at the library and pick him up for ‘coffee time’ during his breaks (much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, coffee time was usually during the first half of the day). Then, you’d stay at the coffee shop reading the book—because despite Seokmin insisting that it was okay for you to take home, you’d always refuse—until his shift was over. He’d find you at the bus stop, waiting for him, and the two of you would chatter on until you were dropped off at your stop. 

In a way, he had become dependent on this routine—something he thought could never happen. It was admittedly his favorite part of the day, catching up with you, hearing what you had to say or what thoughts you had cultured after your time reading the book. And when you finished that one a few weeks in, he made sure to take some new potted plants and flowers over to Mr. Kim in exchange for another. 

And for some time, that’s the way things were. He had contemplated asking to do something with you outside of the usual bus or coffee shop pattern, but everytime he intended to ask, he’d cower and procrastinate. Next time, he’d tell himself.

Early on a Sunday morning, Seungkwan came into the shop rambling about how his Grandma was at his older sister’s house and wouldn’t be coming by. It’s not like the two of them couldn’t handle the shop alone—they had done it countless times before—but her presence was primarily longed for when it came to getting the two of them back on track. Especially on Sundays, where the task at hand was to clean, fertilize, and redecorate wilted displays. For obvious reasons, this was something neither of them enjoyed doing. 

At the moment, it’s just him in the store. Seungkwan was taking his morning break that he insisted was non-negotiable today and Seokmin only agreed so easily because Sundays are the only days he doesn’t see you. 

The doorbell jingles softly as you step into the flower shop, and Seokmin glances up from behind the counter looking for a customer or Seungkwan, his hands momentarily pausing in their careful arrangement of flowers. A surprised look crosses his face as you poke your head in.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lifting with a bit of surprise, but the smile that quickly forms softens his expression. “I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”

“Actually, I only came by to see Ms. Boo,” you tease, and Seokmin hisses through his teeth. 

“I regret to inform you, she’s not in today.” 

You grin, stepping further into the shop, the familiar floral scent filling the air around you. “I’m kidding. I was nearby and I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”

“It’s not usually this quiet around here,” he says, his hands brushing against the flowers almost absently as he talks. “It’s kind of nice when it’s just me, but I guess I don’t mind the company.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s easy to see right through him when he’s so clearly beaming that you're here.

Your presence, standing so casually by the counter, feels like something he didn’t know he was waiting for. He’s used to the steady hum of the shop, the quiet buzz of the day, the mildly irritating sounds of Seungkwan, but with you here... it’s different. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but there’s a feeling in his chest that settles somewhere between contentment and something else he’s been trying to ignore for a while now.

Before he can dwell too much on it, the door jingles again, and Seungkwan strides in, looking as effortless as ever. His eyes dart between you and Seokmin, already catching the shift in the air. 

“Why, hello,” Seungkwan says, grinning widely as he crosses the shop and leans against the counter. “I was wondering when we’d be properly introduced.”

“You must be Seungkwan,” you say, arching an eyebrow at Seokmin, who rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

“And you must be Y/N. It seems like I took my break right on time.” Seungkwan continues, throwing an exaggerated glance at Seokmin. “He can’t shut up about you.”

Seokmin groans as he shifts uncomfortably behind the counter. “Seungkwan, please. You don’t have to make it sound so weird.”

You smile at the light teasing, the way Seungkwan’s attention naturally shifts to Seokmin with that familiar comfort only best friends seem to have. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a while. Seokmin, though, is less than amused by Seungkwan. His cheeks glow pink as he glares.

“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.

“Alright, Seungkwan,” Seokmin says with a sigh. 

“Okay, I’m off to the back to unload fertilizer.” He announces and you give him a polite wave as he turns to you, “It was nice to meet you.”

As Seungkwan heads out the back door, Seokmin lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. The shop feels quieter, now that it's just you and him. It’s strange, but Seokmin finds himself oddly aware of the space between you two.

He glances over at you again, trying not to seem too obvious, but there’s something about the way you’re standing there—easy, comfortable, but somehow still pulling at him in a way he can’t ignore. His fingers hesitate over the vase in front of him, caught in the motion of arranging flowers but not quite focused on the task.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I guess you get to work in peace for now, huh?”

“Yeah, it seems that way.” Seokmin huffs. He takes a step toward you, to reach for something behind you. His hand brushes over a batch of roses, then pausing as if he’s suddenly unsure of the next move, painfully aware of how close he’s gotten. He clears his throat, the casual tone of his voice not quite matching the thoughts swirling in his mind. “So, um... you like flowers?”

You tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “Is that a serious question?”

“I-” Seokmin laughs softly, his fingers running over the petals of the flowers before grabbing them and attempting to focus on his station. 

You lean a little closer, your voice light but playful. “Well, I like you, don’t I?” The way you say those words with a teasing tone makes Seokmin nearly choke, “So I kind of have to like flowers. Otherwise, how am I meant to hang around you?” You gesture at the shop. 

Seokmin’s breath catches, and for a moment, he feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.

"I didn’t expect to find you working today. I didn’t even know the shop opened on Sundays," you say casually, glancing up at him. “I’m sure the flowers appreciate the extra attention.”

"I’m pretty good with the flowers, but I think they’d appreciate the company more if you came by more often."

You arch an eyebrow, “Oh? You think they’d enjoy my company more than yours?”

“I know Seungkwan would.” You laugh at this, and Seokmin revels in the sound, joining you. 

After a pause, he shifts his attention back to the flowers, showing you the final product. “What do you think?” 

“They’re pretty.” 

“I think so, too.” He decides, not necessarily talking about the flowers, “Even though I was a little distracted.”

"Distractions can be good, though,"

"Well, you’re a pretty good distraction," he tries for the words to sound casual, but his tone betrays him. He also said it much quicker than he intended to, and he’s grateful for the chance to turn around while grabbing another pot because it offers him a means to hide his reddening cheeks. 

You let the words hang in the air for a beat longer than usual, enjoying the teasing, the way it feels easy between you two. "Good to know," you reply, smirking.

Before Seokmin can respond, the door swings open and Seungkwan walks in again, wiping his hands on his apron and immediately launching into his usual dramatic self. 

"I swear, I’ll never get used to that fertilizer smell," he complains, tossing his apron on a hook. He looks over at you and Seokmin, "Glad to know you two haven’t burned the place down."

You grin, "Not yet, but we’re working on it."

Seungkwan scoffs half-heartedly, glancing between you. "Nice to see him finally making some friends outside of the plants."

As Seungkwan heads toward the back, he gives you both a knowing look. “Don’t let him get too distracted, alright?” he calls over his shoulder with a grin.

“I’ll try my best.” You give Seokmin a wink and he shakes his head, showing you an idea for another potential bouquet.

The last hour passes seamlessly fast, now that you’re here. Before Seokmin knows it, you, him, and Seungkwan are locking up the store and parting ways from the blonde as the two of you walk side by side to the bus stop. 

As he sits beside you on the bus later that night, looking over your shoulder at your collection of tapes for your walkman, he wrestles with the invitation that sits in the forefront of his mind. Spending time with you at the shop was great, but it somehow still feels like it follows your usual pattern. That, and Seungkwan’s presence, albeit lively and entertaining, keeps him from being able to spend as much time as he’d like with you—without the time constriction of a fifteen minute break or a forty minute bus ride. But like always, he decides to ask a different question in place of the one he really wants to. 

“How come you use a walkman? I always meant to ask you.” 

“I like the way the music sounds on it. I don’t know. It was my dad’s.” You smile warmly, “He used to let me borrow it when I was younger and I just kind of… inherited it.” 

“It’s cool. Makes you look all mysterious. Like you’re from a different time.” 

“You think?” He nods fervently, but your shoulders still sink in doubt as you fumble with the multicolored tapes. “Everything sounds nicer on it. When you listen to music on it, it’s like a mini time-machine. Or, it might just be me, I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure it’s not just you. Here, let me try. Pick one for me.” 

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a second as you ponder which song to play. Delicately, your fingers brush over each tape, hovering in thought like they had with the books on Mr. Kim’s shelf, until you finally land on one.  

“It’s my favorite.” You tell him shyly, “I think you’ll like it.”

Carefully, you pull the cassette out of its case and click it into the audio player with a low snap. Seokmin watches as your hands slip the headset off from around your neck, watching as you shift in your seat and place them gently over his head. He tries not to think about how close your face is to his but… how can he not? You’ve leaned in to ensure that both spongy cushions are perfectly sat over his ears, and now you’re only a few inches away—close enough that he can catch the faint scent of your shampoo. It lingers, soft and floral, wrapping around him like the embrace of something he hadn’t realized he’d miss until you finally sat back, asking “ready?” 

You press down on the play button and look up at him, eyes full of expectation.

There’s that familiar, comforting crackle of the cassette winding into motion, a sound that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s in an old-timey dream. And then, the music starts: your song—your favorite song—something you had chosen specifically for him to hear. Every note feels warm, intimate, melodic. For some reason, it temporarily diminishes his burning curiosity about you, but not because he finds himself any less intrigued, but because it finally feels like he’s taken a real peek inside your mind.

As someone who loves music, Seokmin is a firm believer that a person’s favorite song says a lot about them. The more it plays, the more he realizes that this song, in every sense of the word, is an extension of you. 

As the melody flows, you watch him, eyes studying his reaction with that same teasing smile. You lean closer again, and he subconsciously holds his breath as you whisper, “Do you hear it?” He nods.

There’s a warmth in it, a rawness that makes it feel like more than just music. This was something deeply yours, a piece of your world that you were letting him in on, if only for a few minutes.

He listens with his eyes closed, letting himself drift along the rhythm, feeling the weight of each tone and key change and lyric the artist sings, full of intention. When he finally opens his eyes, he finds you still looking at him with a kind of question in your gaze, a quiet hope. The song fades out, but Seokmin keeps the headphones on for a second longer, letting the last notes dissolve into silence. He looks up again, meeting your gaze. 

For a moment, he’s not sure what to say. Anything he could say feels too small, too plain for what he wants you to understand. So he starts with the only words that come out easily, his voice low and sincere. “I… I think I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “And this song… it feels like you.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask, though there’s a softness in your tone, like you’re hoping he’ll really answer.

He glances down at the walkman, watching your thumb tracing along the edge as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… this song is so warm. It’s like the way you laugh, the way you make everything feel a little bit lighter.” He feels his cheeks warm but keeps going, his words coming out before he can second-guess them. “It’s like a piece of you, and I can feel it, even with my eyes closed.”

You go still, your expression shifting, the playful smile that played on your lips softening into something more serious. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

The bus begins to slow, and you both glance out the window, realizing this is your stop. You reach up, fingers brushing his ear as you gently pull the headphones from him, careful not to disturb the sense of closeness still hanging in the air. You slide the walkman back into your bag, a little slower than necessary, as if that might make the night last, if just for a few seconds longer.

“This is me,” you say softly, feeling the finality in the words as the bus comes to a gentle stop and the doors sigh open. You start to stand but pause, glancing down at him one last time. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say, something more than just “goodbye.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hopeful.

He nods, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah,” he says, gentle but certain. “Tomorrow.” You’re about to turn around when he adds, “but not here. I want to go somewhere else with you. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He finds his breath catching again, “The flower shop closes early on the weekends. I was thinking... Maybe we could go to the beach?”

With a grin playing on your lips, you nod, “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Giving him one last glance, you turn and step off the bus, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger behind as you walk down the street. As the bus pulls away, you catch his face framed in the window, waving until you’re out of sight. And though the music has stopped, the tune of this moment plays on, promising something to carry with you both until tomorrow. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The sky stretches out in a hazy blue as Seokmin walks toward the beach, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against its side as he looks around, hoping to spot you before you see him.

He barely slept the night before, having spent the better part of the morning hours contemplating and talking to himself with his guitar on his lap. It hadn’t been touched in nearly a year and a half, so he had to spend some time wiping it down, re-tuning it, and even fixing a string that had managed to come loose in the process.

He said he’d play for you, but then again, he hadn’t played for someone in a while and naturally, that made him extremely nervous, though that feeling didn’t even fully capture what he felt when he remembered he’d be playing for you. What would you think? Did you actually mean it when you said you wanted to hear him play? Or was that some automated response to boost his spirits? Would you even remember? It was weeks ago, on the first day at the coffee shop. Needless to say, he mulled over it endlessly.

Seokmin sighs, trying to calm himself down. By now, he had to slip off his shoes that were sinking in the cool sand, so he chooses to focus on the sensation of it against his skin instead of overthinking any longer. 

He finally spots you standing by the water, arms wrapped around yourself as a light breeze blows through your hair. When you turn and see him, your face brightens, and that smile of yours—bright and open—fills him with warmth instantly. “Is that—” you begin, your eyes widening as you notice the guitar.

“Thought it was time,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite his heart thundering as he sets the guitar down and dusts off a spot in the sand beside you. You sit next to him eagerly, your excitement spilling out in the way you lean closer, eyes sweeping between him and the guitar case, as if you’re finally being let in on a long-held secret. And, in a way, you are. 

He stretches his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand. He watches you rummage through the tote bag beside you, and a curious smile tugs at his lips.

“You came prepared,” he chuckles, watching as you pull out a couple of neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of fruit.

“Of course I did,” you say with a smile, offering him a sandwich and holding out the fruit container. “I figured we’d get hungry eventually.” You shrug, glancing out toward the waves. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to have a little picnic.”

Seokmin accepts the sandwich with a grin, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He’s pleasantly surprised by the fresh crunch of lettuce and the perfect balance of flavors. “Did you make these?” he asks between bites, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, a bit of pride flashing in your eyes. “I did. You think I’d risk buying store-bought for a beach day?”

“Touché,” he laughs, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit container you’ve placed between you. “Honestly, this is already ten times better than what I packed.” He gestures vaguely to a plastic bottle and an uninspired granola bar that now seem almost laughable compared to your carefully prepared spread.

The sun has settled lower in the sky, casting the beach in a soft, golden haze. Seokmin leans back, resting his hands behind him as he glances over at you, a lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The two of you have polished off the sandwiches, and now the empty wrappers lie folded beside the fruit container. He pops one last grape into his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness as he watches you tuck the food away with a little, satisfied sigh.

“So, did I earn any points for bringing the snacks?” you tease, dusting a few crumbs from your hands before looking over at him expectantly.

Seokmin laughs, squinting a little in the sunlight as he tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I’ll give you extra points for the sandwiches. But for the fruit,” he says, grabbing a couple of the last grapes with a mischievous smile, “I think you’ll need to try a little harder.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, leaning back beside him. “You’re just mad you didn’t think to bring anything.”

“Maybe,” he admits, laughing as he looks out at the waves. “But next time, I’ll bring something better.”

“Alright, big shot,” you say with a smirk, crossing your arms. “What’s on the menu then? A charcuterie board?”

“Definitely,” he says, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe even some tiny, fancy desserts, the ones that look way too pretty to eat.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone.” You raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air just long enough that Seokmin can’t miss the playful edge in your tone. Not like he could have missed it anyway, with the way he hangs on your every word. 

He laughs again, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just saying I know how to put together a memorable picnic,” he says, attempting a casual shrug. “But, you know, only if you’re there to witness it.”

You grin, unable to help the smile that breaks through at his subtle, almost shy attempt at flirting. “I’d hate to miss such an extravagant spread,” you reply, matching his casual tone with your own. “Guess you’ll have to invite me.”

Seokmin pretends to think it over, tapping his chin. “Hmm, alright, you’re in. But no backing out,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m holding you to this.”

There’s an ease between you, a lightness in the conversation that feels effortless, and for a while, the two of you just sit there, chatting about nothing and everything. He asks you about your favorite places to visit and listens as you share stories about the other hobbies you have. In return, you ask how he met Seungkwan, and he tells you about him and Soonyoung, recounting each memory he has made with them with an enthusiasm that makes you feel like you were right there with him.

Then, as the conversation dips, he glances down at the guitar case beside him. He reaches for it almost absentmindedly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the case, but there’s a faint look of hesitation in his eyes that you don’t miss.

“You don’t have to, even if you brought it all the way out here. It’s up to you.” 

Seokmin lets out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he glances away. He’s more grateful for your patience than you could ever know. 

 “Yeah… I haven’t really played in a while,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s been over two years, actually. I brought it… Well, because I think it’s about time I get back into the habit.” He trails off, watching the waves again, his mind flickering to a different time, a different place, one he’s not sure he’s ready to revisit.

There’s a quiet understanding in your eyes as you nod. You don’t press him, don’t ask for more details. Instead, you just let the silence stretch out between you, the sound of the ocean filling the space where words might have gone. It’s almost as if you’re giving him permission to take his time, to decide for himself if this is something he wants to do.

After a moment, he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “I used to play a lot, actually,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… haven’t felt like it in a while.”

The air feels thick with unspoken things, but Seokmin pushes past it, fingers brushing the guitar case almost impulsively. The weight of the past lingers for a second, but with a quick glance at you, he lets go of the hesitation clinging to him. This is different, he reminds himself. This isn’t for anyone else, no memories he needs to cling to. Just the open beach, the sun dipping low, and you, waiting beside him with a patient, easy smile.

He pulls the guitar from its case, its weight grounding him, though it feels different today than it had last night. It’s less scary, now that he’s with you. 

He glances over at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, your eyes wide, leaning just close enough for him to catch the faint, floral hint of you drifting in the salt-laced air.

Seokmin strums the first couple of notes, letting the music rise and blend with the gentle crash of the waves. His fingers move on instinct, but his mind is all on you, capturing every little reaction—the way your eyes soften, the way your shoulders relax, reassuring him that his music is something you’ve been waiting to hear. He’s suddenly very relieved.

“I wrote this a few years back. It’s… Well, yeah. I think the lyrics speak for themselves.” 

It takes a few seconds and one or two badly played chords for him to regain a little bit of the confidence he had lost some time ago. But his fingers find their place quickly enough, and he parts his lips to sing. 

As Seokmin's voice fills the space between you, soft and hesitant at first, he notices the subtle shift in your expression. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise as if you hadn’t really expected him to sing so well. There’s a moment of stillness, only filled with his voice, warm and unpolished, floating in the air.

Your gaze flickers to and from him, watching the way his lips move to form each syllable, and then back to the water, where the waves blur in a streak of light. You can’t help but notice the way his face softens when he sings, his features loosening as he melts into the words. 

You look back at him, your lips parting in surprise. There’s a shy kind of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, like you're unsure if it’s okay to smile just yet, but the quiet joy you feel is evident in the warmth that floods your chest. You tilt your head slightly, caught between admiration and a soft, disbelieving smile.

I should’ve told you I’m in love with you

Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now

The longer you listen, the more the words he’s written seem bound to him, something like an itch he couldn’t reach. You find your lips curving upward again, but there’s a sad sentiment behind your smile this time, eyes full with a kind of quiet affection. Something tugs at your heart just then, causing your brows to furrow slightly. Maybe it’s from the lyrics he wrote, or maybe it’s the simple, unguarded way he sings, you’re not entirely sure.

When he looks up, your gaze meets his, soft and steady. You don’t speak when he finishes. Instead, you reach over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers as light as the spring breeze.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and in that moment, Seokmin realizes he doesn’t need to say anything at all.

You sit back, letting the sound of the water fill the space between you, the silence stretching just long enough for Seokmin to look out at the horizon, his fingers still idly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His expression has changed slightly, distant, like he's somewhere else for a moment, lost in thought.

You turn toward him, studying his profile. “Why don’t you play anymore?” you ask softly, not wanting to break the calm vulnerability of the moment, but still unable to ignore the quiet curiosity rising inside you. “I mean, you’re really good. Why keep it to yourself?”

He freezes for a second, his mindless strumming halting abruptly. He exhales, the sound almost like a sigh.

“I used to,” he begins to explain. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Back when I had someone to play for. It didn’t work out.” He swallows thickly. “She… She had been hooking up with her best friend practically since we got together.” 

You wait, letting him speak, but his lips press together for a moment, unsure if he should say more. His gaze turns toward the ocean, but there’s a shift in his eyes, which are normally so kind and full of spirit—something like a hard edge, as if a memory he had thought of has sharpened into something more painful. “I played for her all the time.”

You can’t hide the surprise that flashes in your eyes, and Seokmin glances at you. He doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for it.

“I stopped playing after that,” he continues, “It just... didn’t feel the same anymore. It was something I gave to someone who didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs, as if the words are too heavy for him to carry all at once.

You can feel the hurt in the air, hanging around him like a shadow. You want to reach out, but you don’t know how to offer comfort without crossing a line, so you just sit still beside him, close enough that he can feel your presence but far enough to give him space.

And at the time, you didn’t know it, but for him, it was enough. 

After a long pause, you finally say, “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s a lot.”

He nods, and the tightness in his jaw softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “But... maybe it’s okay.” Seokmin’s eyes flicker to you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Today felt right, you know. Playing for someone who’s actually listening.”

And in the quiet that follows, he feels something shift between you, the weight of unspoken things starting to lift.

“Seokmin,” you say, your voice gentle, as if careful not to disrupt the quiet peace he’s settled into. He can tell you’re about to say something, maybe offer some comforting words about his story, but he’s already lost in thought.

It hits him, then, so suddenly it almost makes him laugh at himself. The way the late afternoon light catches in your hair, the soft curve of your smile, the way you’re watching him with that steady, thoughtful gaze. It’s all so striking that it feels like something he’s never noticed before, and yet it feels so familiar at the same time.

He decides then, that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked. 

Suddenly convinced you might be able to read his mind, he clears his throat, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck as he looks back down at the guitar, trying to hide the smile that’s fighting its way to his face. He wants to say it—wants to tell you that you look beautiful, that sitting here with you feels like some kind of dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. But the words don’t come out; they sit, caught in his throat, trapped by the sudden nervousness that’s settled over him.

Instead, he finds himself brushing a hand over the guitar strings again, as if that small action might keep him grounded. “Thanks… for listening,” he manages, hoping it’ll distract from the fact that he can feel his cheeks warming.

You smile, nodding gently, still looking at him in that quiet, understanding way, and it only makes him want to blurt it out more. But for now, he lets the moment stretch, watching as you lean back in the sand, your gaze shifting back to the waves. The sun is sinking lower, and everything is bathed in that soft, warm light that makes the world feel as if it’s been suspended in time. And Seokmin realizes, right then and there, that this is one of those good memories he’ll hold on to; one he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

It starts with a simple conversation over coffee, the two of you tucked into a cozy corner booth at the cafe, each with a steaming cup in hand as usual. It has become the norm, seeing you like this, nearly every morning and evening. Seokmin stirs a bit more sugar into his drink despite the crazed look you give him, then glances up at you with a warm, toothy smile as you tell him about your latest read. He leans in, listening intently, nodding as if every word you say is the most fascinating thing he’s heard all week. 

When you pause, taking a sip of your drink, he takes a chance to jump in, “You know, I’ve been meaning to go to the art museum downtown. It’s supposed to have this new exhibit.” He hesitates, looking down at his cup for a moment, then back at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. “If… you’d want to check it out with me?”

You perk up at the suggestion, grinning. “I’d love that! Museums are kind of my weakness.”

Relieved, he chuckles, “Then we’re in good company,” he says, the words coming out a little softer than he intends. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his heart beats a little faster as you chuckle.

“Alright, Mr. Museum,” you say, teasing. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Great,” he replies, glancing out the window at the overcast sky. “How about today, then?”

With a nod, you grab your things, sliding out of the booth as Seokmin hurriedly follows, waving goodbye to Joshua. As you both step out onto the sidewalk, he can’t help the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. The two of you stroll side by side down the bustling street, exchanging small talk and the occasional smile, his heart lifting with every step closer to the city.

The walk to the museum is a mixture of laughter, subtle glances, and playful nudges that neither of you can seem to resist. The air is crisp, a light breeze tugging at your sleeves as the two of you meander down the busy street, dodging the occasional cyclist or dog walker. Every few steps, one of you makes a half-serious comment—maybe about the art you’re about to see, maybe about the bizarre mannequin display in a shop window you pass—and it doesn’t take long before both of you dissolve into laughter, your steps momentarily slowed as you lean into each other, trying to catch your breath.

Seokmin, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finds himself glancing your way more often than he’d like to admit, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear or lift your face to the sky for a second, enjoying the clouds. He doesn’t know why he feels like a kid right now, heart skipping with each shared smile and laugh, but he can’t seem to shake it. The closeness of walking side by side with you makes him almost giddy.

At one point, you nudge him with your elbow, a light-hearted challenge in your eyes as you try to keep a straight face. “So,” you say, feigning seriousness, “ready to become cultured?”

He rolls his eyes, laughing as he nudges you right back. “Please.”

Seokmin steps into the museum lobby with you by his side, wandering across the high ceilings and polished floors. There’s almost a sacred quietness to the place, the kind that makes every sound seem amplified, even the shuffle of your footsteps. 

You hand him a ticket that you get from the booth, brushing his hand lightly, and he tries to hide his smile, hoping you don’t notice the faint flush that blooms in his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous; he always is around you, but he never knows why. Somehow today, he’s more nervous than other days. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s just you—standing there beside him, glancing around with the same sort of wide-eyed curiosity that makes him want to see everything through your eyes.

The two of you wander through the galleries, pausing in front of each painting and sculpture, taking your time. Every so often, you glance at him to see his reaction to something particularly strange or fascinating, and catch him already looking back, smiling at your expressions just as much as he is admiring the art.

“Do you think they meant to paint it like this?” you ask, leaning closer to a particularly loud modern piece that’s all bright, chaotic lines. Your voice is soft, as though you’re afraid of disturbing the tranquility.

Seokmin leans closer, squinting as if trying to unravel some secret meaning, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at. “Maybe they were just… feeling inspired,” he replies, lips quirking with a grin he can’t suppress.

“Or maybe they dropped their paintbrush,” you add, matching his grin.

The sound of your laughter echoes slightly in the otherwise silent gallery, and for a moment, he’s aware of how close you’re standing. The space feels smaller, and though there are other visitors around, it feels for a moment like the museum is yours alone. You move on to the next painting, your eyes bright with curiosity, and he follows, longing to shorten the distance once more. 

He notices a stray piece of hair that’s slipped from behind your ear, and without thinking, he lifts a hand to tuck it back. But at the last second, he hesitates, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder as he pulls his hand back, a shy red spreading over his complexion. You don’t seem to notice, lost in thought as you step closer to the next painting, tilting your head to take it all in.

At one point, you point out a painting of a starry sky, something dreamlike. “Imagine being under a sky like that,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your gaze soft and wondrous as you look at the canvas.

More and more often throughout the visit to the museum, Seokmin finds himself staring at you instead of the exhibits. On this specific one, he can’t seem to look away from your face, your expression so captivated, as if you’re somewhere far away.

“Maybe one day we can find a place like that,” he says softly, almost not meaning to say it aloud. When you turn to look at him, a bit surprised, he clears his throat, pretending to be suddenly very interested in reading the placard beside the artwork.

Seokmin finds himself feeling almost weightless, caught up in the dizzying whirlwind of his own thoughts for a minute. There’s something about you—something he can’t quite put a name to—that makes him feel like he’s constantly walking on a tightrope, and with each step, he’s leaning a little further in, a step closer to letting go of the balance he’s tried for so long to keep.

You whisper an eager “come on,” and grab his sleeve to drag him further into the maze of galleries. 

As you wander into a room filled with ancient statues, he catches you examining one with a particularly serious expression. “Thinking of getting one of these for your place?” he teases. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Only if you help me carry it,” you reply, and he finds himself grinning again.

Soon, you reach a new room, filled with work from the Renaissance, each painting rich with detail and vibrant colors that have held their vibrancy for centuries. You lean in slightly, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, and Seokmin watches you, his gaze drifting from the artwork to the fascinated look in your eyes—possibly for the hundredth time today. 

“I feel like I’m supposed to be having some deep, life-changing revelation right now,” he whispers by your ear, half-joking.

“Who says art has to be that serious? Sometimes, it’s just… pretty.”

You’re just pretty. 

As you move through the quiet museum halls together, Seokmin catches himself watching you again, realizing just how pretty you look in the warm glow of the exhibit lights. It’s not the first time he's felt this way; he remembers the flutter in his chest when you’d gone to the beach, and the way his thoughts had lingered a little too long on the curve of your smile. He watches as you lean a bit closer to a painting, eyes narrowing in focus, oblivious to his gaze. There’s a calmness to you here, the way you examine each piece as if it holds a secret, and he finds himself drawn to the little things: the way your fingers rest on your chin in thought, the faint lift of your brows when something catches your eye, and the gentle concentration in your expression.

He watches you for longer this time, taking advantage of the fact that you’ve busied yourself reading a plaque, and noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before right now: today, your smiles linger a little longer, your laughter rings out just a bit brighter, and he finds himself captivated by these subtleties, like he's uncovering new pieces of you with each glance. When you look at him, eyes crinkling in a way he hadn’t dared imagine was just for him, his heart stirs, and he can’t shake the thought: Have you always been this lovely, or am I just starting to see it now? 

His mind drifts, painting scenes of possibilities—fleeting, half-formed images of laughter, of late nights talking, of small moments shared just between the two of you. Each image feels almost real, so vivid he can practically reach out and touch it.

There’s a spark in his chest, a sensation that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of him wants to pull back, to reel himself in, a quiet warning in the back of his mind whispering not to get carried away like he had before. But he can’t help it; there’s something magnetic about this, about you, something that pulls him closer despite himself. 

He steals another glance at you, his heart racing as he does. You’re just looking at the art around you, as though this is any other day, but for him, it feels monumental. His thoughts get lost again, imagining what it might be like to hold your hand right now, to simply be beside you without any of this hesitation.

And then, you look at him and laugh, catching him staring, and his ears go red, a little embarrassed but somehow happy to be caught.

By the time you reach the last hall of artwork, the sun has started to set outside, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Seokmin watches as the light catches in your eyes, making them shine in a way that leaves him a little breathless. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you look around.

As you both step outside into the cool evening air, he catches your eye, intentionally this time, his smile small but genuine. “Thanks for coming here with me,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.

“Anytime,” you reply, and the word feels like a promise. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 

The night starts with laughter and neon lights as Seokmin leads you through the bustling street to the karaoke room, his two friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, trailing just behind and rambling on about something indiscernible. The place is lively, bursting with music from rooms down the hall, each one echoing snippets of songs and off-key shouts. 

Seokmin can’t help but beam when he sees how easily you fall into conversation with his friends, joining in their jokes and even taking a dig at Seungkwan when he hypes himself up as the “true vocal talent” of the group. Having heard Seokmin sing just a few weeks back, you couldn’t help but feel defensive on his behalf. 

Once everyone’s settled, drinks start flowing freely. The first few songs are cautious, each of you easing into the familiar, buzzing rhythm of karaoke night. But as the night goes on, any sense of shyness melts away in the glow of pulsing lights and laughter.

Seokmin watches with undeniable fondness as you and Seungkwan bicker over song selections, and he tries not to grin too widely when he catches you belting out the lyrics with Soonyoung during a duet. 

At some point, he notices how naturally you fit with his friends—the way you make Seungkwan laugh with a remark about his questionable song choices, or how you nod along enthusiastically as Soonyoung gives a dramatic toast, proclaiming you as “one of them now.” For Seokmin, it’s everything he hadn’t realized he wanted: his closest friends getting along with you.

As the night hums along, Seokmin picks up the microphone, sending you a lopsided, slightly tipsy smile that makes your heart flutter before selecting a song. His choice surprises you—it’s one of those classic ballads that’s probably too high for anyone but the original singer to sing. The melody starts slow, and his voice flows soft and easy, but with a control that reminds you just how talented he really is. You practically feel your admiration soar, and as you watch him, his hazy, glossed over eyes settle on you. 

Every so often, he adds a bit of exaggerated flair, trying to coax a laugh out of you, playfully stretching out the notes or adding dramatic hand gestures to match the lyrics. It’s impossible not to smile, and you feel yourself relax as his antics draw you in. The song suddenly feels a little less serious, a little more fun, as he throws in a wink here, a knowing grin there.

As he finishes, you clap, unable to hide your smile. "You know," you say, a little breathless, "it’s honestly unfair that you’re this good."

He laughs, cheeks pink from both the praise and the drinks. “What can I say? Talent just comes naturally,” he jokes, a little bolder, that playful gleam returning to his eyes. Then he looks at you, his expression softening. “How about we do one together?”

“Oh no,” you protest with a laugh, shaking your head, “I can’t follow that.”

“Come on,” he coaxes, handing you a microphone and grabbing you by your hand to pull you to your feet,  “I’ll sing the verses, you can handle the chorus. It'll be easy.”

With a mix of reluctance and excitement, both of which mix together with the alcohol in your system, you take the mic, scrolling through songs until you settle on something you both know—The music starts, and the two of you exchange a grin before starting.

At first, you both sing a little awkwardly, tipsy laughter interrupting every other line as you stumble over the lyrics and try not to trip over each other’s parts. But as the song goes on, you find a rhythm, and every so often, Seokmin leans into the mic to harmonize with you, his voice blending with yours. By the end, you’re both laughing, the microphones forgotten as you clutch your sides and stumble around, out of breath and giddy.

Seokmin looks at you, eyes bright, face flushed, smile so wide that you could count his teeth if you wanted to. He reaches out, touching your hand ever so lightly, his fingers warm and steady. “You did amazing,” he says, voice soft, his smile a little shy despite everything.

“Likewise,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s more than just the drinks. And as you both sit there, you realize that there’s other people in the room. 

Before you even have time to catch your breath, Soonyoung jumps up, grabbing the microphone. “Move over!” he declares with a grin, completely ignoring the indignant look Seungkwan shoots at him as he stands up to join him. “It’s duet time for real now.”

Seungkwan, rolling his eyes, snatches the other mic and leans in with a smirk. “Prepare yourselves. You two are about to be outshined.” He cues up a song with exaggerated flair, and the upbeat tune starts, loud and impossible to take seriously as they start belting the opening lines completely off-time.

“They’re usually better than this,” Seokmin tells you, “especially Seungkwan. I think it’s the alcohol.” 

You laugh as you watch the pair start to coordinate with each other, finally managing to sing to the beat of the song. 

“It’s good!” You argue, “Are you all just super talented?” 

Seungkwan’s voice suddenly cuts through, loudly. “Hey! I can’t hear myself over you two!” He shoots you both a look, his mock glare breaking into a grin as Soonyoung pulls him back to belt out the chorus.

Seokmin shakes his head, laughing as he leans in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I warned you about them, didn’t I?” he says, his voice soft, he’s close enough that you feel his breath beside you, gaze lingering as he speaks. He’s a little past the point of tipsy, cheeks and nose slightly flushed, but somehow the hazy glow of the karaoke lights makes him look even softer, easier to smile at.

You giggle, feeling a little light-headed yourself, but whether it’s from the drinks or the warmth radiating between the two of you, you’re not entirely sure. Your eyes subconsciously bat at him as they trace his features, tugging at his heartstrings as Soonyoung and Seungkwan sing with wild abandon in the background.

Seokmin’s arm rests casually on the back of the booth behind you. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning just a bit closer, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The words are simple, but somehow they send a warmth spreading through you, making the whole room seem to slow down. “Me too,” you say, a little shy but meeting his gaze, feeling that same unspoken something settle around you.

Then, somewhere between another toast and Soonyoung’s next drink, things start to get a little fuzzy for him. Soonyoung has, predictably, taken things a bit too far, eyes glazed as he sways to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics that don’t match the song on screen. Seungkwan sighs knowingly, standing and giving Seokmin a helpless shrug. “I’m taking him home before he tries to start chugging Soju.” He nods at you, adding with a smirk, “Good luck with this one.” And then, with a wave, they’re gone, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room, half-empty drinks scattered on the table.

Alone with you now, Seokmin’s pulse races, the soft glow of tipsiness making him feel both bold and nervous. The room feels quieter, somehow more intimate, with just the two of you here. He reaches for the remote, scrolling through song choices, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the way you’re leaning back on the couch, your gaze drifting over to him with a glint he can’t quite decipher.

“Do you want to pick the last one?” he asks, his voice a little more shy than he intended.

You smile, shrugging casually, but he doesn’t miss the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Only if you promise not to laugh if I butcher it.”

He grins, feeling his own face warm. “I make no promises,” he teases. But there’s something in his gaze—a hint of anticipation that he can’t quite hide, even if he tries.

As you start singing, he watches, captivated by the way you let loose, tipsy confidence making you bolder. The words are a little off-key, your voice rising and falling with the tempo, but to him, it’s perfect. When you’re finished, he can’t help but clap, cheering as if he’s at a concert.

“You sounded amazing,” he says, his voice softer than the playful bravado he’d intended. He feels a little too exposed under your gaze, a little too aware of just how close you’re sitting. 

“Thank you, thank you,” you reply with an exaggerated bow, but your eyes linger on his a little longer than they should, and the tension between you feels thick, heavy with possibility. 

He clears his throat, laughing nervously. “You’re going to put me out of a job with that voice.” But his words sound almost sincere.

There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet beat where neither of you says anything, just looking at each other, the warmth of the drinks and the moment settling over both of you. You move a little closer, your knee brushing against his, and Seokmin swears he feels his heart stutter.

“Seokmin,” you say, voice barely a whisper, eyes bright with that boldness that only alcohol can provide.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out breathier than he intended, and he has to resist the urge to reach for your hand.

You smile, almost shyly, but there’s a warmth in your gaze that reassures him. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had… a really great time.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. His hand, almost on instinct, drifts a little closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles.

As you step out of the karaoke bar, the cool night air feels refreshing, and Seokmin falls into an easy rhythm beside you. The streets are quiet, the lights soft and glowing, casting a warm hue on everything around you. He insists on walking you home, and you can see a bit of that familiar determination in his expression—a mix of sweetness and subtle nerves, the kind that makes him even harder not to smile at.

The two of you talk softly as you walk, laughter spilling into the night as you recount moments from earlier, but the conversation drifts into a quiet calm. Seokmin feels a little tipsy, though he knows it’s not solely the drinks making him feel this way. It’s the warmth in your laugh, the way your gaze lights up when you look at him. Everything feels a little brighter, softer, like the world’s colors are blurring into a hazy glow.

Eventually, you pause, looking over at the buildings below the hill you’ve climbed, and above them, the faint sparkle of stars cutting through the city’s glow. Seokmin stops beside you, following your gaze, but when he looks back down, it’s not the skyline he’s mesmerized by. It’s you, standing there with that quiet, contemplative look in your eyes.

At that moment, he’s overwhelmed. Something about this night, this moment, feels like a dream—one he’s afraid might slip away if he blinks too long. He wants to say something, to tell you how lovely you look standing there, bathed in city lights. He can feel his heart pounding. He’s been trying to find the right words for some time now, something that could capture the feeling building up in his chest when he’s with you. He’s not sure if it’s the night, the laughter still echoing in his mind, or just the way you’re looking up at the sky. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he takes a breath and speaks, his voice just a little unsteady. “You know… you look beautiful right now.”

It’s the first time he’s said something so openly to you, and he can feel his cheeks heat up the second the words are out. You turn to him, a bit taken aback, your eyes wide with surprise before a smile slowly spreads across your face, soft and a little shy.

The moment stretches between you, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with laughter or play it off. He’s content just looking at you, watching that glow in your eyes as his words settle in. 

A soft laugh escapes you, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him. “I was going to say the same about you.”

He can’t help but laugh, his own nervousness melting away a little. You both stand there, caught in the gentle pull between you, feeling a little bolder, a little lighter.

When you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and this time he doesn’t pull away, letting his fingers linger close enough that if you reached out, they’d intertwine. It’s a simple gesture, but it says everything he’s been holding back, and as you walk together through the quiet streets, he knows something has shifted.

The stone path thuds beneath your footsteps, clumsy and unsteady as you both navigate the uneven terrain, sharing quiet laughter over your shared lack of coordination. Seokmin, glancing down, suddenly stops.

"Look!" he says, his finger pointing at a small penny on the ground, glinting faintly in the light. “What’s this doing all the way out here? Take it. For good luck.”

You shake your head, amused, and explain, “It’s only good luck if it’s face up when you find it.”

“Ah.” Seokmin considers this, then immediately drops into a crouch, carefully flipping the coin over so Lincoln’s head is proudly facing the sky. He straightens up with a grin as if he’s just accomplished something important.

“What’d you do that for?” you ask, your tone laced with affection.

“Now someone else can have good luck,” he replies.

You feel something warm tug at you in response, watching him as he stands there, content with his small gesture of kindness.  Suddenly, you see very clearly the kind of person Lee Seokmin is. It’s so like him—turning even the smallest, most mundane thing into something significant. As he begins walking ahead, you linger just a moment, looking back at the coin on the ground, then up at him.

You don’t move to follow him. Seokmin halts, slightly startled, his gaze questioning as he glances at you. But before he can ask why, you step closer, closing the space between you. You’re both quiet, caught in a bubble of giddy anticipation, his eyes searching yours, wide with surprise. And then, without a word, you reach up, resting a hand lightly on his chest, and lean in.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like everything else falls away, replaced by a feeling that’s as soft as it is electric. He lets out a small, breathless laugh amidst his shock, hands stuck to his sides as your mouth presses to his.

When you pull back, you find him grinning, a little dazed, his eyes bright with surprise. Then he closes the space again, meeting your lips in another kiss, quick but more eager, like he’s savoring the feeling.

And then another. His hand drifts to your waist, drawing you in just a little closer each time your lips meet, each kiss growing a little bolder, a little sweeter, until the space between you disappears entirely. By the fourth kiss, his fingers have settled at the small of your back, warm and sure, and this time he lingers, letting the kiss deepen. It’s slow, unhurried, something unknown flooding through him as he feels your hand slide up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you so you can taste his mouth with ease.

You both feel a little unsteady, leaning into each other for balance, your hands anchoring each other as the world spins quietly around you. His heart races, thrumming against yours, and there’s a shy smile on his face when he finally pulls away, keeping his forehead close to yours, his eyes searching yours, dazed and happy and overcome with affection.

“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice a little unsteady but full of quiet excitement.

“I wasn’t planning it,” you admit, your cheeks flushed, but you don’t pull away, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, breaths mingling in the cool night air, as if tethered to each other by an invisible string. Then, without thinking, you lean back in, your lips finding his once more. This time, there's no hesitation, no pause, just a shared need to be close—as close as possible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in with a touch that’s both careful and desperate, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

He lets out a quiet laugh against your lips, a sound that’s soft and breathless. It makes you laugh too, and you pull back for a moment, catching your breath, only to find his lips chasing after yours again. There’s something almost frantic in the way you keep returning to each other, like you’re both overwhelmed by the discovery of this closeness, unable to let it end just yet.

His hand moves gently to the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he’s holding onto you. 

His voice is barely a whisper, warm and a little breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His words, shy and sincere, only pull you closer. Hand in hand, you start walking, the quiet night around you filled only by the soft sounds of your steps. He keeps his grip loose, fingers intertwined with yours, thumb brushing along the side of your hand as if he can’t bear to let go ever again. You walk in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches, both of you stealing glances, unable to stop smiling.

Every so often, he pauses, as if some thread is tugging him back to you. He leans in to press a brief kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw, reeling over the way your eyes flutter closed from the feeling, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. You laugh against his mouth, feeling both light-headed and grounded in a way that’s wholly new and otherworldly. He pulls back with a grin, his eyes crinkling, looking both bashful and thrilled, like he can’t believe this is real. You’re unreal, you have to be. A fabrication of his imagination, so delicate, so perfect, so you. 

As you continue walking, his arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet contentment that settles over you feels as natural as breathing. When he stumbles slightly, you catch him, and he grins sheepishly, pulling you close again in a half-hug that turns into yet another kiss.

“I might never get home at this point,” You say breathlessly.

“Would that be so bad?” Each word is mumbled into your mouth as his fingers weave into your hair, holding the back of your neck and letting his tongue shyly lick your bottom lip. 

The hum that you let out, either as a response to his rhetorical question or his tongue now moving against yours, makes his head spin. Your nails, raking down his chest over the material of his shirt, your hips pressing to his—it’s all too much and at the same time, not enough. 

The closer you get to your doorstep, the slower your steps become, as if prolonging the walk will somehow stretch this night just a little further. Every so often, Seokmin pulls you close, and you laugh as he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, each one deeper and more unhurried than the last. 

Neither of you speak, as if words would break the fragile spell cast over the night. Instead, you stand there, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft, dizzying kisses that grow lazier, more lingering. 

There’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft, and he murmurs, “I should probably let you go.” But even as he says it, his hand remains on your cheek as if he’s not quite ready to leave.

“Probably,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his, but neither of you moves. It takes a moment, maybe two, before he reluctantly lets out a quiet laugh and pulls away, his hand slipping from your cheek to squeeze your hand, holding onto you just a moment longer. He gives you one last look, filled with a warmth and tenderness that leaves you breathless.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks softly, already a few steps down the hall, as though he’s hoping for just one more promise to look forward to.

“Soon,” you reply, his gaze lingering on you as he walks away. You watch him go, the warmth of his kisses still lingering, the last few moments of the night settling over you as you turn to head inside, feeling light, tipsy, and wonderfully, utterly alive.

[click here to continue]

[amymbona]

Challengers - the band

Among equally famous Arctic Monkeys or Gorillaz, fans have got nuts over the quickly rising indie band formed in 2006. Challengers consists of three uniquely charismatic members, each one equally as genuine, and yet they all fit together like pieces of puzzle, creating a what fans appreciate as the trio of the decade.

Fitting into the genre of pure english indie, the trio doesn't fear to bounce into the world of rock or deliver a heart-touching ballad, so versatile that it appears unbelievable to many. The critics deem Challengers as an immortal piece of music that will continue to live on and be appreciated decades into the future. Even the thirsty fans seem to agree.

Tashi Duncan

The frontman - in this case the front lady - carries the aesthetic part, providing a gentle caress with each of her smiles, known widely by her fair amount of dark toned lipsticks and pairs of leather pants. As the main vocalist, her voice is heard in most of the songs, and she is essentially the voice of the band.

The gorgeous grace with which she carries herself can hardly he matched, and by many, Tashi is often refered to as the bitch, which takes away from the beauty of her soul. Contrary to a popular belief, Tashi Duncan is a gentle human - a fact supported by all the fans that have met her - as she never misses an opportunity to hug a fan or sign a paper.

A sex symbol, often compared to Amy Winehouse or Fiona Apple, she's often reduced fo a pretty face - much to her fans' disappointment. The talent she possesses is nothing short of a gift, given to her by gods above, and certain female singers have expressed both their jealousy towards and support to the star.

Art Donaldson

Known as the people's sweetheart, the most one could spot of Art Donaldson is the messy mop of his curls peeking from behind the drum set. With often admired set of muscles - which many female fans attempt to grasp once the drummer ventures in public - it's no issue for him to be pounding into the drums and cymbals all night.

His steady beats offer a stable background to all of the band's songs, resembling the rhythm of our heartbeats. But the man who's been named as the best drummer of the current music wave is much more than that.

It's no secret that Art Donaldson does most of the songwriting, providing his fans an insight to his soul, which doesn't resemble the harshness of his clothing style at all. Upon further observation, it's clear that most of the lyrics are centered around love, affection, eroticism and gut-wrenching feelings. This gentle compassion, paired with a cute smile, makes Art the most wholesome face of the genre of indie.

Patrick Zweig

This man is not famous just for his pretty face, though it is the feature he is the most recognized for. With the electric guitar constantly glued to his hands and the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old, Patrick Zweig jumps from one side of the stage to another. Some might say he is a bad influence, supported by the handful amount of evidence of nicotine and alcohol induced behaviour.

Known for his unrealistically swiftly executed guitar riffs, Patrick is the one to transform the ideas into music, as the band itself has mentioned. Most of the early hits were made purely under his supervision, which helped set the initial direction the band would evolve in. Perhaps he is the one we should thank for having Challengers become real.

It was particularly Patrick who stole the hearts of many young ladies, successfully earning himself the title of the womanizer. Multiple women were spotted leaving the Zweig residence over the last few months, wearing evidently less clothing that they entered the luxurious villa in. As the most extroverted and publically followed member, Patrick Zweig might as well be the loudest element of the three-man band.

[nandolonso]

UNDISCLOSED DESIRES (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

TITLE: Undisclosed Desires – aka who is the biggest fan of whom? (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

I got inspired after Baku. P6 BABY, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO!

FYI: English is not my main language nor is Spanish. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: self-doubt, self-image issues, kind of shy reader, reassuring and slightly dominant Nando (who worships the shit out of you), happiness, positive social media presence, Spanish, dirty talking and fingering, smuttish – I hope you enjoy it. 😉

Recommended song: Undisclosed Desires by Muse

Explanation: Y/N – your name, Y/H/C – your hair color

Also, this GIF is chef's kiss, his gaze is so intense. GOSH!!! 🔥 I hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think! ❤️‍🔥

//

It was race day in Baku.

You were sitting in the paddock waiting for Fernando Alonso to show up. Your boyfriend. It was hard to comprehend that he was your man, your partner. It was an unbelievable title – but it was true, he really was yours.

However, the last period has been challenging for both of you. On the one hand, Alonso has spent several periods away from you, as Aston Martin has struggled to get a good position in recent months. Of course, Fernando took his job very seriously, so he helped the engineers where he could. They did a lot of test laps, planning, thinking.

As for you: you were an average person. You were not a reporter or a supermodel. You were completely different from Alonso's previous partners. You were ordinary – in the best possible way. But it was a very difficult situation for you. You often questioned yourself: were you good enough? Were you good enough not only for yourself but for him? Where did you belong in this world? Especially seeing the other WAGs, and how pretty and thin they were… And you could go on. So, all that time you spent apart didn't help your already fragile mental state.

It was tough for you not to project your self-doubt onto him. And you hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to be there to support him in every race. To be there for him, always. But a lot of times your state of mind, the media presence, and all the hustle and bustle didn't help you at all. That's why you stayed mostly in the background, as you didn't want Fernando to worry any more than he had been worrying lately.

Fortunately, Aston Martin recently managed to sign Adrian Newey to the team, and you could almost see the "life" returning to Fernando's eyes. The love of your life was shining as he entered the paddock: his stance was firm and confident, that mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth was back, and his gaze was sparkling with fire which you hadn't seen for a long time now.

You couldn't help thinking how good he looked. How he deserves to be world champion again. Your world champion. The thought made your chest tighten. You loved him so much it almost hurt. You wanted him to be happy and succeed so much – it was sometimes physically impossible to bear.

You have never felt this way about anyone, and you didn't want to lose him. You had been together for almost a year now, but you noticed your feelings for him growing every day. So, you thought this weekend was the perfect time to surprise him and actually show that. To be there for him not just mentally, but physically.

You pulled yourself together: you wore a custom Kimoa x Aston Martin shirt that fit your body perfectly. While you didn't have a supermodel figure, you were definitely gorgeous. You had a lot of heads turning in the paddock.  

Your Y/H/C hair glistened in the sunshine, your fingernails painted the typical "Aston Martin green". You counterbalanced the shirt with a black skort that showed off your body perfectly but wasn't too much. To top off everything, you were wearing a sneaker to keep it casual. But the way you wore Fernando's name on your body – front and back, sparkled in his colors, and carried his brand proudly, you were anything but "casual".

As soon as Fernando entered the garage, he noticed you. But he had to look twice just to make sure you were really there because he was not used to seeing you around. Although he made no secret of you, he was very aware of how much you tried to avoid the public. He could understand that you were suffering with your own demons, and he knew exactly how harsh the media could be on F1 drivers and their loved ones.  

But at that moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone. Just you. And all he felt was pride. You were a perfect fit. His perfect fit. And the fact that you were wearing Aston Martin colors, and his brand made his heart beat faster. Suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling.

The way he looked at you took your breath away for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room (even though it was half in the open air). The fire that flared up in Fernando's eyes was so intense, that you feared he would burn everyone alive. But mostly you.

Your feet rooted to the ground; you gulped as he strode confidently towards you.

"Mi vida," Fernando began, and leaving you no time to think, he pulled you close to him, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

In that moment you forgot that other people were standing around you. There were probably a few photos taken of you, but you didn't care. At that moment, it was just the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you to deepen the kiss.

Not only his eyes were fiery, but so was the passion he kissed with. There was almost no space left between the two of you as he pulled you shut to him, his hand holding your waist tightly.

Your tongues brushed against each other to have a taste. You almost moaned out loud at the sensation, and you knew you had to stop now, or you wouldn't be able to contain yourself. This man brought out emotions that you never had before. With him... Well, you were always horny, so to speak.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought of him taking you there and then, so you broke the kiss. You tilted your forehead to his.

"Nando," you said breathlessly. "People are watching."

"I don’t care, mi amor," he replied, his Spanish accent getting heavier, which tends to come out when he's very passionate or angry. You hoped it was the former. "Estoy tan contenta de verte," he murmured into your lips in Spanish. It meant he was very happy to see you. You have spent the last year trying to learn as much of the language as possible, which he of course appreciated. You were of a different nationality as well and English was your common language.

You learned a lot from him in bed. He was quite vocal – to say the least. Calling you pet names and talking through it… Enough, you thought to yourself, snapping out of your trans.

Fernando laughed at your expression and how easy it was to make you riled up just with a simple sentence. It was as if he could see inside your head. It was easy for him to read you. And he enjoyed teasing the hell out of you.

He pulled you closer to him for a hug and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

"I'm really glad that you're here," he said once again, this time in English, squeezing you gently to mark his words. "And you look beautiful too," You hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his chest and taking in his intoxicating scent. The smell that always kept you going: something leathery and woody. It was very masculine, but somehow still comforting and reassuring. Thanks to Boss. They were doing God's work with this man.

"Here to support the best," you muttered into his shirt. You pulled away from him for a moment to look him in the eye. "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that." He loved the way you were looking up at him: the way you were glowing with love and desire. How your lips were swelled up after the kiss, how you stood there in the garage, proud to belong to him.

Alonso was like you. He hasn't felt that way about anyone for a very long time. And although he did everything he could for you, somehow it was very difficult for him to talk about his feelings. And not because he was ashamed of them or because he wasn't sure of himself – he was too sure of what he felt. And it frightened him. He was afraid to open up and might lose you. He was old enough to know what he wanted, and he didn't want to start over again with anyone else. All he wanted was you. In the end, somehow, he was still afraid. You had been together for about a year, but he was afraid to say those particular three words, even though he kept calling you "my love" and its synonyms in Spanish.

And at the moment as he looked at you… He was sure. He was sure he wanted you for the rest of his life and that you weren't his biggest fan, but more like vice versa. And he wanted to prove it to you.

He pulled you into his embrace once more.

"I know, mi amor," he mumbled into your hair and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. "I'll put myself out there, just for you," he added with a gentle chuckle. You squeezed him and then let him go, knowing how much he had to do before the race. You took a few steps back just to take him in, now there was even more determination in his eyes than before. Fernando was almost vibrating with excitement, knowing you were there to cheer and support him. And there was something in his eyes as well that made the butterflies in your stomach revive.

"I…" you wanted to say something, but how his eyes softened with tenderness made you speechless. He slowly reached for your hands, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin of your palm.

"Can I take some photos of you guys?" suddenly one of the team members of Aston Martin popped between the two of you. He was clearly making some content for the team's social media channel and even though you were nervous, you somehow felt put together and wanted to support Fernando all the way. "You look so good together," he added with a soft smile. You tried to find lies in his eyes, but he seemed sincere. Maybe it's time to really believe that you're GOOD and that you looked great together. Fernando Alonso wasn't with you for nothing.

Fernando looked at you and waited for your approval. You nodded slightly and Alonso immediately pulled you to him by the waist.

"The best girl on the grid," Alonso said loudly and proudly, pushing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but smile at his affection and you pulled him closer to you as well, while the social media guy snapped a few pics.

After that, he showed you all the pictures. As Fernando looked at you in the photos, all his emotions were clear: his eyes radiated with love and respect. And you were definitely glowing next to him. The guy went on to show you some of the photos, eventually stopped when he had taken the two of you kissing. You indeed looked very good together.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," he mumbled to himself. Fernando tensed for a moment next to you, waiting for any protest. But you didn't. You really did look good together and wanted nothing more than to show the two of you to the world.

"It’s okay," you started. "The pictures are really great," you reassured the guy and Fernando next to you loosened up. He pressed another kiss to your temple then took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry, mi amor, but I have to go now," he said. "Enjoy the race," Fernando added with a wink. That damn wink. And that damn smirk. Gosh, that will be the end of you. Pendejo.

You turned back towards the social media guy, and at that moment you realized that because of his interference, you didn't say out loud what you wanted to a few moments ago. You wanted to declare your love to Fernando for the very first time, out loud, but now you missed your chance…

"Can I take a few more of you, especially the shirt and nails?" he asked shyly, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You seem like a truly great soul who supports and respects Alonso, and I want to show that to the world," you were almost touched by his words. You were definitely genuine with Fernando and didn't want to use him for anything. You were just there because you were his greatest fan. And that was the best thing for you.

You nodded softly and you guys managed to make a full-on photoshoot in the end. You were surprised at how liberated you felt at the end, and you even chuckled and did some "model-poses."

"You're a natural," he chuckled but you soon stopped as the race began.

//

The race was very exciting. Full of overtaking and adrenaline. At the end of the race, Alonso managed to score P6, which is a very big word from Aston Martin these days. You couldn't help but be excited all the way through, expressing emotion and knowing you were going to be all over social media, but you didn't care. Because Fernando Alonso won. In your eyes that P6 was P1.

After the race, you ran up to him and hugged him. He still had his mask on, but you pressed a kiss to the plexiglass. Of course, the cameras were clicking around you, but you didn't care. Because you were incredibly happy, and you were glad for Alonso. And at that moment, that was all that mattered. If it didn't bother him that you were in every picture (and it probably didn't, because he'd asked you to come with him to the paddock countless times), why would it have bothered you?

In that moment you realized that even though you never said those three words, it was clear how you felt about each other. Alonso lifted you up as he celebrated.

"Yes, baby," he said then laughed. You loved it when he was so excited. And you couldn't wait to see what the new season would bring him under Newey's aegis.

//

A few hours after the race, you were sitting in your hotel room looking at your phone.

Social media, especially Aston Martin's official Instagram page, was full of you and Fernando. You couldn't stop smiling as you saw the hashtag #couplegoals and the many, many supportive comments from fans. What were you afraid of in the first place?

Sure, there will always be some people who don't like certain things, but the majority of commenters were supportive. At least, most of them. You locked your phone and looked out the window. You were thinking about everything that happened that day and you couldn't help but admire the wonderful view of the old town of Baku. You tried to take in every little detail, but your mind kept wandering back to how truly happy you looked at those pictures. And how you guys looked good together.

You let a soft sight as you snapped back to reality. You were waiting for Alonso and he was always on time. You were more the late type, but now you're well ahead of schedule. You wanted everything to be perfect. Not just for the night but for you as well. After the race, you took a thorough bath, did the typical "girly routine", used lotion, did your hair, your make-up... You wore his favorite perfume that made you both sweet and seductive – just to make sure he loses his mind. Then you put on an Aston Martin green evening dress that perfectly accentuated your figure and hid what you were less than happy with. That's how you were waiting for him as the two of you arranged to have dinner tonight to celebrate his placing. Just the two of you. You took your eyes off the city and slowly stood up and went to the full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom to examine yourself.

You've smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, but you've looked quite nice – even you were satisfied, which is a big thing. You nodded to yourself, just when you heard a knock on your door.

Slowly you walked over and opened it. There stood Alonso, in all his glory. He was wearing a black shirt and a black suit. For some reason, the color combination looked very good on his skin. His stubble was short and thick, the hair was all set. You were instantly struck by the typical "Alonso scent", the leathery, woody, Boss-y fragrance. Gosh, he looked delightful. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

But as he looked at you, he was the one taken aback. You looked like an angel in that green dress. And he was ready to be your demon in that black attire of his, to lead you into the dark mysteries of the night as his eyes locked with yours. You were like the perfect match for him: black and white, Ying and Yang to each other.

"Y/N," he basically growled, as he stepped closer to you, his accent heavy. He tried crossing the distance between the two of you. The emotions of the whole day were stirring inside him. As he stepped closer, you stepped back. He looked at you as if he were the hunter and you were his prey.

His eyes burned with a fire you'd probably never seen from him before. You were almost afraid that as soon as he got close to you, it would burn. And you weren't sure you didn't want to burn all the way.

As you stepped back, he stepped forward one more step, closing the door behind him.

The back-and-forth game continued until you got to the bed. As soon as your knee hit the thing, a truly devilish smile spread across Fernando's face. His eyes almost darkened, with only one thing in his mind: you. Oh, he wanted to explore every inch of you like he'd never done before.

Suddenly you didn’t know why, maybe because of the intensity of his gaze, you felt very shy. You felt almost naked even though you were fully dressed up. You were almost certain that he saw right through you and he could see your flaws and mistakes. At least, that's how you were with yourself. Because when it always came to "that", it was very hard to switch off and let go.

"Mi amor," he started. "Look at me!" he ordered, and you obeyed. Not that you could argue with that: he stepped closer to you to lift your chin, so you had to look him in the eye. He could read you like an open book. He knew your past, your traumas, your hurts. "I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide."

That sentence meant more to you than you knew. The knowledge that he saw you, like really saw you, that you didn't have to hide yourself from him, and that he accepted you as you are, said more than anything. You tried not to get emotional, but you couldn't help it as a single tear rolled out of your eye. Fernando slowly wiped it away with his finger.

His gaze became a touch gentler, his hand slid down your face, down your arm, all the way to your fingers. There he intertwined his with yours and slowly guided you to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

"Trust me," he said confidently, as you stood in front of the mirror. The mirror was tilted a little so you could see both of your figures quite well.  "You are the one," he whispered softly to your ear from behind.

You shivered a little, then let go and leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Fernando stroked your arm again, from the bottom all the way up to your neck.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, leaning your head back to his shoulder.

"As I said, mi amor," the words rolled out of his tongue. "You're the one for me." You opened your eyes and again met that burning look in the mirror as he held your gaze. "I love you, Y/N, just the way you are," he admitted. "Completely and utterly."

The air caught in your throat at the confession. You looked at him with eyes full of emotion, then turned in his arms so that you were face to face with him.

You tried to analyze every little movement of his. Was it true? All the alarm bells went off in your head, but you wanted to believe it. And he seemed sincere. You deserve to be happy too, so it's time to give yourself to it.

 "I love you so much, it almost hurts," you confessed as well. Fernando grabbed the fabric of your dress, it was really hard for him to contain himself. His lips hovered just a few inches above yours.

His chest tightened at the sound of your words, and he could barely restrain himself from taking you at that moment. But he wanted to make sure you felt worshipped and loved – just how you deserved it.

He brushed his lips against yours, looking at your reaction. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he loved the sight of it. He wanted you to see it as well. He wanted you to see how he makes you react. And how he makes you feel good.

He firmly but gently started to turn your hips between his hands. He encouraged you to turn back, so his chest could face your back and you could see yourself in the mirror once again.

"I'm only going to say this once, mi amor," he began, running his hand down your arm again. His voice was firm and dominant. You just loved it when he was like that with you. You knew deep down he was devoted and wanted only good things for you. "Keep your eyes on me," he said in the mirror. "I know it's hard," he added. "But can you do it for me, princess?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Así amor," he murmured into your neck.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of your neck, then moved his hand lower, now on your hip. There he firmly grabbed the dress and almost ripped it off you so that now you were standing in front of the mirror in just your underwear. As he saw the black lace piece, another growl erupted from his throat.

"Mierda," he cussed at the sight of you. You would have preferred to hide. You didn't want to tear yourself away from his gaze, but you didn't want to look at yourself either.

Just like he could read your mind he said: "You're beautiful," sliding his hand from your waist to your stomach, so that he could slowly slip his hand inside your panties. "What did I say, mi amor?" he asked in a dominant voice, suddenly stopping in his movements.

You knew exactly what he meant: you swallowed hard. Once again.

"To look at you," you answered, searching for his eyes again. As your gazes interlaced, he began to move his hands once again.

"Así es," he whispered softly into your neck, then left a hot trail of kisses behind. At the same time, he started to move his fingers skillfully, reaching for the perfect spot: where he could feel your aching desire for him. The need started to pool between your legs larger and larger.

You wanted to close your eyes and lean back to him, to lose fully to the sensation but you knew him just well enough that if you would do that he would stop. He kept eye contact while his fingers were deep inside you. The demon in black, your demon who wanted nothing but to make his angel come undone at his touch and mercy.

"Nando," you whispered, as you looked at the two of you in the mirror.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked, looking into your eyes while he kept his steady rhythm, collecting your wetness on his fingers, now pressing the end of his palm to your core. You bite down at your lower lips at the sensation, letting out a soft moan. "Use your words, princess," he smirked, knowing how hard it was to concentrate right now. He loved seeing you like this, and you loved the effect you had on him, as you could feel his hardness pressing against your behind. His intense gaze, his body, his touch, and his words almost sent you over the edge. Almost.

Then he suddenly stopped. You let out a frustrated breath and you get a chuckle in return.

"I…" you gasped and then shut up.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked once again, tilting his head to the side as he was looking at you in the mirror. You desperately craved some friction, you even tried to rub together your thighs, but nothing helped.

"I…" you started once again, and he looked at you with encouraging eyes. "I want to…" your cheeks heated up at your words and you didn't even know why. "I want to cum." you finally managed to blurt out. 

He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips with one of his hands and he slid back his other under your panties.

"Was it so hard, princessa?" he asked, and he started using his fingers again. This time more passionately and faster. With one hand you grabbed Fernando's forearm while still trying to keep your eyes on him. "That’s it," he told you as he tried to help you finally push over the line. He knew how much you loved him when he talked you through it. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come undone for me," he whispered into your ear and that's what it took. You shook in his arms as you finally reached the highest highs, fireworks playing before your eyes and at this point, you couldn't help but close your eyes. Your feelings for him, his voice, his touch – it was just too much. You suddenly stumbled, but he was there to catch you. And he always will be.

"That's it, mi amor," he whispered, holding you close to him, while he pressed soft kisses to your neck as he guided you through your high.

For a few moments, you stayed in silence. Then he spoke: "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that," he repeated your words from earlier. Your chest tightened at his confession, and you turned in his embrace, now facing him. A soft and loving smile played on your lips as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“But you’re the one who won, we should celebrate you,” you said mischievously. You started to push him back towards the bed where he sat down, so you could straddle him. Fernando groaned as he felt you move against him. His whole body was becoming hard.

“Oh, we will celebrate, mi vida,” he chuckled darkly. “All. Night. Long.” he said and kissed you with so much passion that it consumed the two of you. Each one was like a promise, a seal, a mark for your happiness and a long, prosperous future together.

[mylifestylearedilfs]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ joost klein x friend (with benefits)!reader ࿐ྂ

ੈ✩‧₊˚ LUNCH : not smut ; a bit of angst (but not really) ; fluff ; imagine ; all is fictional ; english is not my first language

part two

, , ,

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ YOU WERE FRIENDS with joost for few good years, you two met at the set of his song ‘ome robert’, since then you became inseparable. you never thought that this acquaintance would last for that long and you also never had in plans to care that much for this crazy little dutch guy. sometimes other people was saying that you two were clones, who shared the same sense of humour and even the same clothes from time to time. long story short you were acting like an old sweet couple.

you have always founded each other attractive, at first it caused some awkwardness, even if you both tried to ignored by typical for you jokes. but after one party, when you both were a bit of drunk, but still capable of thinking rationally, you finally decided to do something with that sexual tension that was between you. that was the moment when he proposed you to start kind of friends with benefits type of relationship.

, , ,

right now we are in the present times, when joost was chosen to represent the netherlands. you were extremely proud of him, you knew the whole story, about how he watched eurovision because of his parents. that’s why you also wanted to make this whole event special and memorable for him, and with help of apson and martijn by your side it was super easy to achieve.

you always thought that the whole contest wasn’t that exciting, because people who worked as their social media management wasn’t that creative. that’s why all of you wanted to make it a bit more interesting, because let’s be honest, all the contestants were great people and they had such a potential to advertise eurovision with their personalities not only with their songs.

it was you who recorded all iconic joost’s clips, sometimes you even were taking part in some videos, as a ‘interviewer’ for example. it was a lot of fun for not only you, but everyone; by other contestants and of course by viewers. people quickly became interested in your persona, because you have never been active on social media, that’s why when you finally started getting more attention online, joost’s fans were simply curious who you were and what kind of relationship you had with dutch man.

it was a moment when you started to ask yourself, who you really were to joost. of course you were aware that you both cared for each other, but officially it was in friendly way. on the other hand let’s be honest, in privacy you didn’t acted like friends more like a lovers. but the truth was that you were tired of being just friends (with benefits but still friends). you wanted to be officially couple and the fact, that his career was developing in unbelievable fast way, wasn’t helping.

you understood that having casual relationship was convenient for him, because he didn’t have to worry about how busy he sometimes was. but you started to feel that sex that you shared, wasn’t that sweet and special, it was kind of opposite you felt that he only treated it like a stress reducer, which hurt your feelings. you weren’t selfish though, that’s why you kept it all for yourself, because right now it was about joost and eurovision, there wasn’t room for unwanted drama.

but maybe someday he will find out that you didn’t want to be just friends anymore.

, , ,

⇢ ˗ˏˋ thank you for attention! do you guys want a part two?

[stormblessed95]

Watching Are You Sure?! EP 2

A reminder of how I do these reaction posts as I watch things. I just write my reactions and thoughts down literally as a happen. Think more of a bullet point format. I'll include links when I can to videos, thanks to the people who twt who upload clips. And at the end, I'll do a better wrap up of all my opinions. I hope everyone enjoyed the show so far!!

July 15th now! Day 2 here we come! Over an hour of Jikookery!!

Starts off with JK on his motorcycle and Jimin riding witht the crew and admiring how cute JK is, while they are on the phone the entire time. Adorable. "He likes being cool." Lmao

I love how the staff indulge them too, like with Jimins "prank" of spraying washer fluid at JK 😂

Jimin lagging super far behind everyone in the hike at first saying it's because he thinks is nice to go slow now that he is older.... But also honey, are you sure (lol) that's not just your upset tummy talking? 😅😂

JK asking Jimin for a cover of Seven. I know they were mostly joking.... But um, Jimin.... Where is our cover?!?! Please!!

Jimin showing off his beautiful smooth legs 😂😂

Jimin being bit by mosquitoes constantly and JK deciding to take a turn into vampirism and vore 😂🤣 as well as calling Jimins thighs the best entree? 😏🫣 Lol OKAY

You just gave me butterflies holding onto my back like that?? Lmfao has he said that EVERYTIME he drags Jimin around holding onto the back of his shirt?? 🤣😂🥰😍 Butterflies like love, JK?

Turns out, he said making my heart flutter. I think that makes it worse. And the informal/formal flirty tones. Yup. Definitely worse 😅😍🫣😂 and it absolutely usually has romantic connotations. Both in English and in Korean

Someone get Jimin a dang bottle of bug spray!! The heck!

The way they both felt so free and peaceful on the ocean that they fell asleep for a nap together. Jimin sleeping for much longer since he wasn't feeling good though too. Also brief mention for the way JKs hands kept straying over to rub on Jimins smooth legs and kept getting cut in the video lol

JK telling Jimin he looked so pretty when he first got to NY and now our poor baby is so tired and sick

JK preforming Seven for Jimin. Lol let's NOT talk about how he sings the "I kiss your waist and ease your mind" line while staring into Jimins eyes. Or how he turns back to look at Jimin while singing "you wrap around me and you give me life" before playfully swatting him too. Just for Jimin to end things there by playfully wrestling back 😂

Jikooks Titanic 😂😂🥰🥰😍😍

JK exploring and touching all over Jimin's body looking for mosquito bites.... Lmfao ALRIGHT. "You are obviously looking for bite marks" why is this so flirty? Why are they doing this with all their staff right in front of them STARING AT THEM with the cameras too 😂🤣😂 I guess at some point you get so used to it, you start tuning them out. And Jikook are, for the most part, 10+ years used to it. And all that play wrestling comes to an end when Jimin's upset stomach and toilet issues come back to remind him that they exist 🤣🤣 (see first picture at the top of post lmfao)

Thinking of things to name the show and among the many suggestions JK makes, "come out" is one. That would've been an interesting title lol

JK sharing a whole bag of food with the staff on the other boat. He is such a sweetie

Jiminie somehow ending up with JKs hat between cuts while eating

The way they spent almost all day on this boat man. And we got a montage of them just smiling at each other through the day 🥺🥺🥺

JK looking up their song stats and the way they both got so excited for how well their songs were doing on the charts 🥰🥰🥰 I'm so proud of them both!

And I love hearing JK talk about his goals with Golden. Same with Jimin about Face/Muse. I'm so so proud of them, it's unbelievable

The way everyone shops so different is why some people won't grocery shop with others 🤣🤣 the cuts between Jimin sighing frustratingly "Jungkook ah" and JK going "cheese cheese" had me CACKLING lmfao 😂😂 and it's all really because of what JK wanted to cook FOR Jimin for dinner 🥺

The parking lot dance break was adorable 😂🤣 their giggles are my favorite thing

The way that Jimin keeps taking cute little pictures of JK at their destinations. That's his baby

They rented a house with 4 entire bedrooms. Lmfao for what reason?! Jikook technically got separate rooms here.

Why do they take such MASSIVE bites when they eat? Lmfao is this engrained behavior from spending their formative years living with 6 other teenage/young adult boys? 🤣😂

"I'm just honored to have your food" JIMIN 😭😭😭

JK being very insistent about hearing Who. Lmao not Like Crazy or any of his songs that are out. But his new song. It's giving how sulky he was when he didn't hear Face songs first. Making sure he wouldn't get left out again! I loved this though! I really genuinely love listening to them talk music and singing techniques though. Loling though at the way JK told Jimin he should growl more in his vocals. Think his YouTube algorithm showed him any fan made comps about said Jimin vocal growls that always caused ARMY to lose their minds 🤣🤣

"should I sleep next to Jungkook tonight? Will he hit me again?" 🤣🤣🤣🤣 And JK already being in the room lol

Toothbrushing acrobatics. You know, the norm lmao followed by the huge cut too lmao what happened

The way they filmed JK tossing and turning in his bed for a bit and then absolutely zero filming in Jimins room after bedtime.... And in the morning, JK had to turn the camera outside Jimins room back on.... I'm not saying that JK didn't spend the entire night in his own bed and instead slept in Jimins... But I'm not, not saying that either 😂

(we are now in July 16th!)

JK joking about leaving Jimin behind since he is sleeping in so much, just to immediately go climb into bed with him. This is the most domestic type of morning waking up intimacy and cuddles. Because TF Jikook. Lol all that. And it was clearly a lot because of the amount of cuts in that short period of footage.... Where they were laying next to each other just sharing space, cuddling, being a little silly. And then randomly going like "oh we need to remember to get a sponge today." Lol domestic 101.

No because really, let's talk about that cuddle? TF Jungkook. First we got him coming up to crawl into Jimins bed where he like palms his bare thigh, straightens his leg out so he can rest against his bare (shaved/waxed) thigh. And he makes that growling/groaning sound he ALWAYS does when presented with a sexy Jimin or often when he touches Jimin's bare skin. Like CMON dude.

Followed by Jimin then being silly and pretending to go elbow JKs nose. Lol and JK clearly went to retaliate by simply wrapping him up in a hug to start spooning, but Jimin ready to defend himself so he kept blocking JK with his arm. Lmfao only to be quickly overpowered. Spanked, ass caressed, and then JK snuggles into him and basically disappears behind Jimins back he is snuggling so hard. And then spanked again when JK got up 😂 so much ass appreciation in this clip

Not to mention apparently it's being suspected that JKs mic was already in Jimins room and he just picked it up and pretended to unhook it from his shirt before climbing into Jimins bed... Who knows

Round 2 of Jikook walking around the house this time with Jimin hanging off the back of JKs shirt. This is really just the natural state for them huh. Lol

Riding to Walmart on the motorcycle together is the cutest and most amazing thing. JK reminding Jimin to be careful because the motorcycle is really hot underneath. 🥰

When JK accidentally steps on Jimins heel walking into the store... The way that Jimin pinches his neck in retaliation was crazzzyyy lol

Them meeting the ARMY in the store to buy the pizza is the cutest freaking thing. The whole interaction. And when JK goes in his sponge adventure, she got a hug and autograph from Jimin 🥺🥺🥰🥰 and how complimentary and excited they were about meeting her too!

Jimin being like those damn dongsaengs after losing JK in the store for the second time 😂😂😂

JKs water curse has to be one of the funniest unexpected recurring themes of these episodes lol "I don't think there has been a day where I didn't get wet." Lol poor Kookie

Jimin with his sleeve rolled up and that backwards hat transported me STRAIGHT back to 2014 😳😂

Rainy day fight pt 2 with the umbrella in a parking lot, followed by JK step it up dance in the rain edition 😂🤣

JK ordering for the table again 💜

Someone count the amount of times that Jimin fondly watched JK and said that he looks cute or cool, because it's been a lot lol

Jimin waiting patiently while his TikToker boyfriend bestie takes crazy cinematic videos of their food before ending on a close up of Jimins face 🤣😂 Beautiful honestly lol

They ended their trip with comments about being so happy and having such a good time. 🥰💜

And JK saying they should do at LEAST 12 seasons and travel together until they are like 50 😂🤣😂

Wrap up thoughts:

I am both not surprised by anything and yet also fully taken aback by their little morning routine in bed there that one day 😂 I've pretty much said all I can say on that though above.

Jikook both clearly have the exact same sense of humor, sarcastic and dry at times, stupid giggly at others. Again, nothing new information wise but something I'll always enjoy seeing. Boy do they bicker in the cutest freaking ways lol

That hyung/dongsaeng relationship, yeah that doesn't fucking exist for them at all. Lol yeah sure, they use the words.... Sometimes. But that is not their dynamic. Again, we been knew. But the constant consistency from them is always nice. Lol

There is zero filter and zero boundaries and yes, we knew that too. And while yes we technically should have known that all of BTS, having lived on top of each other for so many years, have absolutely seen each other at their absolute lowest. It's another thing to witness the zero filter about toileting troubles 😂 and how zero issue it was too. No embarrassment, no judgement, just taking care of him and jokes and having fun anyway.

Jikook are the definition of matching each other's freak. 100% lmfao

They LOVE taking care of each other. The cooking, the babying, the constant wanting to do something for the other, the musical praise and discussions.

I liked this episode even better than the first! This is my new favorite show, thanks Jikook!!

[lovifie]

For my dear @lyralein (@support un-naughty my girl, you coward!!) and her mastermind of a mind, that came with the (correct) thought that Mr. Alex Keller would be a big shot at French porn. And et voilà! ✨The porn✨ (and when I say porn, I meant it. There is no plot.)

Monsieur Keller

Smut | 4320 words (Back to the masterlist)

Working for the CIA has granted Alex the opportunity to visit a multitude of countries, to meet unbelievable people and to push his limits on uncountable occasions.

In a couple too many times he has been at the verge of death, buildings collapsing, missiles flying a tad too close for his liking, friends turned enemies in the blink of an eye… But after all, that's what he signed up for.

Plus, sometimes, it also had some advantages.

Like meeting you.

And hearing your voice so sweetly call for him. “Monsieur, Keller!”

He whips his head around towards the sound of your voice like a dog well trained, turning to look at you standing on the porch of the little palace you lived in.

He drinks you in, standing barefoot on the first step of the short stair, pretty white summer dress accentuating every curve of your body and moving along the jiggle of your body as you effusively waved your hand at him.

He takes advantage of the distance, enough for you to not be able to tell the ungentlemanly places he rests his eyes at. The top of the dress, pulled to the center in a bow and pushing your boobs together calling him in like a siren's song.

He doesn't peel his eyes away from you, unable to do so; walking up to where you stand smiling like an angel upon him.

You shouldn't be calling him. The daughter of the owner of the wine yard shouldn't be talking to the lowest class of the employees. Alex's body is covered on a thin layer of sweat from working outside under the sun, hands grimey with dirt and clothes less than appropriate to be talking to you.

Still, when Alex slightly kicks the stairs to remove the loose dirt from his boots to not bring it inside, you are quick to jump at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him under the shade.

“You shouldn't be working at this time! It's too hot!” You reprimand him, the french accent obvious on your tone making him smile.

“Désolé, mademoiselle…” He attempts to excuse himself, cutting himself short when he sees the offended expression on your face at his french.

“Where did you say you are from again, monsieur Keller?” You ask, trying to switch the language to English again.

Alex looks at you, trying to remember what his last lie was so he can match it. “Quebec.”

You nod, raising your eyebrows at the doubt he is actually from Quebec but choosing to indulge him on his lie. You point to the washbowl on the table, a kind smile still on your face as you order him. “Wash your hands and face, I'll get us something to drink.”

And with that you disappear into the house, letting him the full view of your behind as you walk away. He turns again towards the bowl, using the fresh water to wash off the dirt from his face and hands, cleaning under his nails to make sure not a crumb of dirt has the chance to pollute you.

The door creaks when you open it again, a small tray on your hand that you quickly set on the table beside him. An unnecessary intricate jar full of iced lemon water with two just-as-intricate glasses beside it. But the first thing you grab is the small towel with your family initials embroidered in it.

He picks it up, patting his face and hands dry and checking he did a good job at cleaning himself before handing it back. You drop it on the table, slightly bending forward to pour the water on the glasses, and Alex's eyes are glued to the curve of your ass.

The heat of the summer hits you too, no matter how much of a local you are and he can tell by your clothing choices. The dress you are wearing is so dainty the beauty marks of your skin are visible through the fabric, as well as your lack of underwear.

It causes Alex to swallow a groan at his reaction over such a small detail when he feels his dick stir on his pants at the thought of pulling your dress up. His hand moves on its own, creeping closer and closer towards the flimsy material keeping the touch of your skin from him.

You turn around, filled glass in hand, jumping when you feel his hand rest on the curve of your hip but still, you look at him with the warmest smile on your face. You look down to where his hand is placed, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“So pretty…” He mumbles, grabbing the glass on your hand without moving his other hand.

“The dress?” You ask, warmth rising to your cheeks at his touch while you try not to break the contact with his blue eyes.

Alex furrowed his eyebrows for a second confused before softening his expression. “...yeah, pretty dress.”

He is the one to break eye contact, dragging his eyes over your body, down to the hem of your dress. He bends forwards, glass still on his hand as the other moves to rest right where the dress ends.

Teasingly, he walks his middle and pointer fingers up your thigh, flicking the skirt up with each step and exposing more bare skin of the leg, while you watch on with bated breath.

He looks at your face again, so he doesn't miss your expression when he finally lets the palm of his hand rest on the softness of your thigh; dangerously close to your core.

“Monsieur Ke- Monsieur Keller!” You call him, trying to sound scandalized when he starts to close his hand, the fat of your inner thigh being squeezed.

But no matter how appalled you try to look, leaning back against the table; Alex notices how you slightly pull your thighs together, pushing his hand towards the middle in the process.

He turns his wrist in one swift motion, with the palm of his hand resting on your cunt. Making you jump to wrap your hand around his wrist, keeping his hand between your thighs as you squeeze them together.

His index finger moves between your folds making you whine as you close your eyes, your hold on his wrist losing strength. It doesn't take long for him to feel wetness dribble over his digit. The feeling making you unclench your legs, allowing him more space between them.

The arousal slowly dripping from your core allows him to slide more easily his finger along your folds, making it easy for him to probe at your entrance, making you close your eyes as little moans and whimpers start to fall from your lips.

Such delicious sounds making him thirsty, but not for the glass of water on his hand. He tries to set it down on the table, but unable to peel his eyes from your pleasured expression he knocks it down making the water run over the surface of the table.

It snaps you out of it, finally pushing his hand away and you stand, turning around to pick up the glass. “I- I better clean it up.” You hurriedly say as you place the glass back on the tray as well as everything else on the table.

He tries to call your name when you turn, but his words die on the back of his throat when he sees the wet fabric of your dress stuck to your plush ass. And it is enough to have him walk behind you, following you inside the house and into the kitchen just a couple of steps behind you.

“You were right, I shouldn't have been working…” He says, making you turn once more with a surprised expression on your face. “I think I might be overheating, mademoiselle...”

You look up to him as he walks closer to you, unable to say anything, intoxicating on his proximity. And when his hands finally wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you against his hard chest and his lips crash against your, the only thing you can do is kiss him back.

He moves his hands up, cupping your face as he hums at the satisfaction of finally feeling your lips against his. Then takes one more step forwards, keeping you trapped between the countertop and his body.

You can feel his groin pressed against your abdomen, feeling it grow and harden with each swim of his hips against your body. The need to feel his skin under your touch making you pull his shirt out of his trouser so you can bury your hand under, your nails dragging over the firm muscle of his waist.

His lips pull apart from yours to kiss his way down your neck, sucking your taste in and letting his tongue roam flat against your skin, feeling your pulse rise up at his actions.

One of your hands moves to the back of his head, tangling your fingers with his hair as you push his face into your neck. “Alex…” You softly moan when his tongue presses on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

He shushes you, smile appearing on his face. “Now, now, sunshine… Where did Monsieur Keller go?” He asks, pulling back, standing to his whole height as he lets his hands rest on the counter behind you, caging you in. “Let's not lose our manners, alright?”

You nod, mimicking his movements when he does; you mind already getting driven by your body and not your brain. You follow his gaze when he looks down and see his hands pulling your dress up again. He licks his lips at the sight of your thighs trembling with anticipation and he knows that if he pulled them apart they would be glossy with your arousal sliding down.

He chuckles when he sees you look so bashful, averting his eyes but still unable to look away from him, needing to see what his next move will be.

To your dissatisfaction, he lets the dress down; which makes you look at him with questioning doe eyes when he steps back. You are about to question the reason for his change of heart when you see him pull the chair from the kitchen table.

He turns it, sliding it until it's right in front of you. You look from the chair to his face, questioning his plan; and instead of answering your unspoken question he simply sits down, pushing it even more forward. He pulls your dress up again, stuffing the hem of the dress into your cleavage as if it was a napkin to keep it away from his meal.

He pushes down on your chest with the same movement making you lean back on the counter, propped up on your elbows and with a seamless movement, he slides his hands behind your knees and effortlessly moves then to rest over his shoulders.

The surprise of the movement combined with the way he presses his tongue flat against your folds takes every ounce of strength away from your body making you lay flat on your back.

He groans at the taste of your arousal on his tongue, his fingertips sinking into the fat of your thighs around his head when he dives in again. Sliding his tongue between your folds, catching at your clit with a flick.

It makes your thigh tremble, threatening to close; which only encourages him further. Repeating the motion, feeling them flex on each side of his head; his hearing getting muffled with each stripe he licks.

But no matter how tightly you suffocate his skull between them, he can still hear loud and clear the moans and whines dripping from your lips.

He finally opens his eyes, not even aware that he had closed them as soon as he got a taste, letting the rest of his senses enjoy your body. But once he opens his eyes, he can't close them back.

From between your legs, the first thing he sees is your abdomen flexing at the feeling of his mouth lapping at your clit, your back arching at the attack of his tongue. The dress that he so carelessly stuffed on itself, sliding out of your cleavage with your movements. He wishes he could undo the bow keeping your boobs from his prying eyes, but not yet, not when he can prolong it and savor every minute for longer.

The only thing he doesn't love it's that he can't see your face, your head falling back; only letting him see your chin. He wishes he could see your face, see the product of his work in the shape of a pleasured expression just the way he's listening. But he'll see it later, when he's buried deep into you.

For now, he buries his tongue as deep as he cans into your cunt, feeling your inner walls clamp down on it when his nose rubs against your clit deliciously as he shakes his head. It makes you spread your legs, urging him deeper with a hand on his head. You manage to prop yourself on your free elbow, looking down at him. With your fingers tangled on his brunette hair and his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh to keep you close.

His pupils are blown, two black voids looking at you when you finally manage to make eye contact with him for a fraction of a second; before it is the last drop throwing you over the edge.

Your legs closing against his head again, unable to muffle the moan of his name as you come down from your high. His head is pressed so tightly against your cunt he can't even breath, but he would so gladly die there.

The moment your legs free his head he pulls back just enough to breathe, inhaling your smell in the way. He kisses the inner side of your tight leaving a wet spot and then stands again, standing between your legs licking his lips like an animal after eating.

The sight of your body, sprawled and fucked under him, get his dick impossibly harder. Then you raise your hand, using your thumb to collect the juices left on his mustache and before you can pull your hand back to lick it yourself, he grabs your wrist keeping it close and sucks your finger into his mouth. His scorching hot tongue cleaning the juices from your hand without breaking eye contact, it makes you whimper softly; cupping his face with your thumb still inside his mouth and you pull him closer.

“Monsieur Keller…” You whine, calling him like a moth to a light. “Please…”

“I know, love, I know.” He says once he pulls your finger out and he kisses you softly, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands find their way around your waist pulling you closer and you circle his hips with his legs.

He picks you up, just for a second before sitting back down on the chair with you on his lap. Your hands rest on his shoulders, being you the one to kiss him this time. He can feel you grind your hips against him, the softest whine falling from your lips at the feel of the rough material of his jeans against your sensible cunt.

He moves his hand down, undoing his belt so he can pull his length free. You wish you could see it, but the dress serves as a tent when it slaps against his abdomen. The little wet spot of his seed turning translucent the fabric so you can see the red tip underneath, angry with the lack of attention.

You raise your hips, letting him slap his length against your folds; your arousal getting it slicked and desperate for the feeling of your warm walls engulfing him like a vice.

But he's not the only one desperate for it, and the moment his tip catches on your entrance you pull down in a swift motion taking all of him in, moaning into each other's mouths at the feeling. His hands rests on your hips, keeping you in place.

“Stay there for me, sweetheart.” He moans, head falling back over the backrest of the chair. “Just keep it in for me, fuck…”

His hips move in the smallest thrust, the movement would pass unnoticed if it wasn't for how deep it reaches inside of you. He finally pulls his head back up, coming face to face with your chest. And no matter how pretty the dress is or how good it looks on you, it's the only thing keeping him from seeing you and it's time it goes away.

His hands grab each side of the bow, easily getting it undone and groaning when your boobs finally spill over. He hugs your middle, burying his face between your breasts taking your aroma in before he starts to lap at them.

Licking, sucking and biting every centimeter, his hips immobile making you whine pathetically at the delicious torture of both his attention and the lack of it.

You whine his name again, needing more than just his mouth on your chest. “I know, I know, sweetheart. Just let me taste you some more…” He tries to say, words dying down on his throat when you begin to move your hips.

“T-tu… tu es… trés…” He tries to say again, so enamored with the feel of your tight cunt around his cock it makes him switch languages.

He doesn't get to finish his attempt before you push your hand over his mouth, pushing his head back. “Enough with the shitty French, Monsieur Keller…” You moan, the feeling of his length hitting every sweet spot inside of you getting ruined by his continuous butchering of your language.

He apologised against your hand, doing it again when you beg him to fuck you, your thighs getting tired of the cramped position. He pulls your dress up, pulling it off your body, finally having you completely exposed to him. His hands roam your body, getting distracted from his original plan.

Only remembering when you whine his name again, picking you up to lay you down on the kitchen table like the most precious and delicate piece of art. You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with lust and hunger in your eyes.

He spreads your legs, laying his dick flat against your folds, sliding it in between making the two of you moan softly. It finally gives you the chance to catch a glimpse of his length.

The droplet of precum slowly falls over your mount of venus when he glides forwards, allowing you to see the glistering layer of your arousal mixing with his.

He moves you to lay on your side, moving your leg up, your knee almost touching your shoulder when you prop yourself up on your elbow. And at the same time he buries himself to the hilt, the double stretch making your mouth fall open as you look at him, a deaf moan waiting to be spilled.

“Big stretch, sweetheart “ He grunts as he sets himself inside of you, bending down to kiss your open mouth. He might have already been inside of you when you were both sitting down, but the new position has you feeling it all again as if he didn't.

The moan finally comes to life when his hand meets his shaft, collecting the fluids flooding for your cunt to wet his thumb and rubbing soft circles around your clit. You moan his name, your hand grabbing his shirt to ground yourself.

“Fucking hell, sunshine… Taking me so fucking good…” He moans, hiding his face on the crook of your neck. “Fuck… This cunt was fucking made to take me, love. Fucking perfect, you are. My fucking perfect sunshine.”

His thrusts start to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping on skin getting louder and louder; only overshadowed by the song of moans falling from one mouth to the other.

He is still almost completely dressed, his pants still over the curve of his ass. So slowly sliding down with each snap of his hips, the belt clinking with each movement. It works as proof of his desperation to be inside, no matter how uncomfortable the clothes are, it is not worth it wasting time on taking it off.

Not when your cunt is sucking him in so deliciously, each rub at your hooded clit making you clench around him; urging him impossibly deeper. His shaft dragging along your wall, caressing each and every sweet spot inside of you.

It has you closing your eyes with your eyebrows furrowed, an expression that would make him think you were in pain if it wasn't by the loud moans of his name leaving your lips like a mantra.

“Open your eyes, please, sweetheart… Look at me, love.” He moans, moving his free hand to cup your face so you will look at him. Resting his forehead against yours, your breath hitting his chin. “I wanna see your pretty face when you cum, sweetheart, please.”

You finally open your eyes, looking right into his when he slightly moves back and it is like an arrow went through his heart. He notices how your free hand grabs the arm on your face, not wanting to let escape any kind of contact and his heart melts when he notices you lay your face on his hand, kissing his palm.

Such a small gesture that has his blood rushing to his head making the tip of his ears blush, as if he wasn't balls deep into you. But he feels his ball tighten with the want for release, and he can't miss the opportunity to feel you come undone around his dick.

So using every ounce of self restraint he pulls the hand from your face away, moving it back to where you are connected, rubbing his thumb over your clit making you mewl.

He can feel you get tighter and tighter as your orgasm approaches, making it harder for him to move freely at the immensely pleasurable feeling.

It's only when he finally feels you unclench, your head falling back in a silent cry and your legs shaking slightly; that he feels you cum, your arousal spurting out of your drenched cunt with each thrust of his hips.

He groans, having missed your fuck out expression when you let your head fall and deprived him of the desired sight. So he moves his hand from your clit, moving it to the back of your head to move it forward so you look right at him.

And you look so beautiful, if he died right there he would die happy, so he can't help himself when he bends forwards, kissing you sloppy and nasty with his horny brain.

The last thrusts of his hips hard and deep making you bounce and whine, moaning softly and long when you feel him spill deep inside of you. A shiver running down your spine at the warm sensation, your hand on his shirt falling down to help you support yourself.

And it's when you pull apart from the kiss, hair sticking to your forehead from the sweat, your chest rising at an unsteady pace and your cunt still pulsing around his length that he realizes how deep under his skin you have buried yourself.

He can't keep living like this, not able to sleep in the same bed as you every night, waiting for another opportunity like this, hoping everyday will be the day. He needs to see your smile everyday, to have your number, for you to have his surname, everything. Absolute smitten with you, enamored even. Falling so deep in love after such a short period of time, his heart aching at the thought of pulling away, how could he not love you when you are so obviously his soulmat-

“D'accord! That was a good one, let's wrap everything up, tout le monde!” The director shouts, bringing the situation down on Alex.

He suddenly realizes everyone around the two of you, the cameras, the crew, the assistants, the director.

The whole vineyard owner's daughter plot of the porn movie was a bit odd from the beginning, but when he laid his eyes on him he didn't give a damn about the plot.

Being a CIA agent had made Alex live in strange situations, but starring on a porn movie in a foreign country had to be the top one.

He barely remembers how this was related with the mission, something about some suspicious money being moved along with the crew. But in all honesty, he would also move all his money after you.

Especially when you clench for a last time around his girth, the aftershock of you orgasm that makes him groan as he finally pulls out. “Sorry” The two of you mumble, chuckling at the echo and blushing like you didn't just fuck eachother brains off.

He helps you stand back on your feet, his hands resting on your waist and unable to peel his eyes away from your face.

“Are you alright, Alex?” You ask, rubbing his biceps in a consoling way.

And you look at him so softly, almost unaffected by the whole ordeal, that it sends Alex into a spiral. Were those noises you were making real? Was the way you were clinging onto his shoulder true? Would you moan his name just like you moaned his surname?

He needed to know the answer to those questions, and there was only one way to find out.

“Y-Yeah, don't worry about it, love.” He says making you smile wider. “But I was wondering… do you know any good restaurants in the area? Maybe one you wouldn't mind having dinner at with me?”

[jokeroutsubs]

ENG SUB: JokerOutSubs x RADIOaktivno collab: Joker Out – Šta bih ja

Audio + CC link here

We want to thank once again Boštjan Najžar from RADIOaktivno podcast (Facebook, YouTube), for collaborating with us for a third time. We’ve previously worked with him on the English subtitles for the 'Umazane misli' album presentation and 'Demoni' album presentation. Please check them out, if you haven’t seen them yet.

We’d also like to extend our sincere gratitude for the shout out during the interview! Acknowledgements of our hard work and positive comments like this keep us going, and the whole team was so pleasantly surprised! It is very much appreciated!

Credits: Transcript and translation by @kurooscoffee and an anonymous member of JokerOutSubs, proof read by IG GBoleyn123, captions by @kurooscoffee and X pastellibianchi.

Transcript below the cut👇

Host: Bojan from Joker Out is with me. Hi.

Bojan: Hi, hi!

New songs are slowly trickling towards completion, or not?

Bojan: Let's say 'slowly trickling', is a very good expression, yes.

So is the creative process also slower because of all your other occupations or not?

Bojan: Yeah, these concerts are a bit of a distraction, the heat outside certainly doesn't have the best effect on working before four or five in the afternoon, so the pace isn't the fastest, but I still think that it's the right one for this moment.

And if you also look at last year, would you say it was a great year?

Bojan: Yeah, that year was… Really, to say dreamlike would be an understatement, because even when we were dreaming, we couldn't have imagined that, so, truly unbelievable.

After all, 'Carpe Diem' was the most played Slovenian song?

Bojan: Yeah, yeah. It's true.

And then there's the golden record in Finland.

Bojan: Yeah, we never imagined that we'd get a golden record in Finland before we got it in Slovenia, but here you go, anything can happen.

And you have also literally taken Slovene around the world.

Bojan: We have, yes. Which is a very interesting phenomenon, that can't be fully grasped either by the locals in the places that we visit, nor by us, but it's beautiful and very magical to come to a new place every time and to hear the people, whom you actually can't differentiate, while they're in the crowd, from the Slovenian audience, in terms of singing.

The 'See You Soon' tour is also behind you. That was an actual, real, tour. How did you experience all this?

Bojan: Yeah, now we've actually experienced this, let's say, a tour as we imagined it from music documentaries and films from abroad and I have to say that it was a really good mixture of intensity and pleasure. We went into all of it, I'd say, quite maturely and professionally, so that we could make it through all the concerts healthy, and get one hundred percent out of ourselves at each location. So it'll forever be one of those very, very, very beautiful memories.

I guess it all requires quite a bit of physical fitness as well?

Bojan: Yeah, which, honestly, I'll speak for myself, I don't have, but cardio at concerts somehow meets at least the basic needs.

But it looks different on stage. You're always in good shape there, when I see the various clips online.

Bojan: Yes, exactly! I'm somewhat in shape on stage, but offstage, (laughs) unfortunately, not so much.

You've already played new songs on the tour and one of them has now become a single. It's the song 'Šta bih ja'.

Bojan: Mhm.

This time in Serbian.

Bojan: Yeah. 'Šta bih ja' was basically the first song that we did in London, when we went to make music for the third studio album and somehow, already in the rehearsal space, it suited the band the most. And the first time we played it live, it was apparently also very well… it had a very good response from the audience and we stuck to the song and we recorded it in the studio as the first one and released it as the first single, because it was kind of expected by the fans.

Considering the activities that you all have in the band, or that you have yourself, then you don't have either a house or an address?

Bojan: Unfortunately, no. (laughs)

In that case, maybe you prefer to offer or give out hotel addresses to everyone?

Bojan: Yeah, yeah. You could find a lot of hotel addresses because we've tried out plenty this year.

There's also an animated video that accompanies the song?

Bojan: Yes, the music video is… actually the work of one of our fans. On his Instagram profile, for each of our songs, he posted 15- to 20-second video animations which we always thought were, I'd say, original, different, and we decided that we wanted to do something different for this one and something that we haven't tried before, so we contacted our friend and asked him if he could make a music video. Fortunately, he responded with a positive answer, so we are very satisfied with how this came out. And again, involving the fans in our work somehow completes the picture and gives it an overall conclusion.

You mentioned earlier, Bojan, that you're preparing a new album, when can we expect it?

Bojan: You can expect it, let's say, by the end of October at the latest, I hope, and if not, certainly by the end of the year.

Will you be switching between languages on the album as well, Serbian, Slovenian, English?

Bojan: Absolutely, yeah. All three languages. will be present on the album.

When will there be a song from you in Finnish? Considering the fact that you did pretty well with Finnish?

Bojan: Oh! It's not in the plans as of yet, but I'd say that if things continue developing the way they are at the moment, something like that could happen very quickly, yes.

Because Käärijä's latest single is also a collab, or rather, a 'featuring', if I remember correctly. It was released not long ago.

Bojan: Yeah, yeah, yeah! He recorded the latest collab with Joost Klein, a Dutch musician, so, I don't know, well, maybe, like I'm saying, there may be some kind of a collaboration, or even an independent Finnish project in the future.

We'll say more when the album comes out, so we don't break the tradition.

Bojan: Right

By the way, the two interviews that we've done (T/N: 'Umazane misli' & 'Demoni' album presentations), have already been translated into English by a team that also works for you, or rather supports you.

Bojan: That's right, JokerOutSubs, who diligently review the materials about us on a daily basis, as they come out, and translate them into English and many other languages, so one huge huge hello to them, and a big thank you.

As I said, the song 'Šta bih ja' is now released. When is 'Bluza' coming?

Bojan: 'Bluza' is coming in the near future, but to be completely honest, I have no idea when we're planning to release it.

But now, on the air, we'll hear the recent one, 'Šta bih ja'. Bojan, šta bih ja radio? ('Bojan, what would I do?')

Bojan: Šta bih ja u ovoj crnoj noći bez tebe radio? ('What would I do in this black night without you?')

ŠTA BIH JA

Everyone: We are Joker Out!

Bojan: And you're listening to RADIOaktivno.

[aliwritex]

BLUE LIKE THE SEA yt22

AZUL DA COR DO MAR

summary: brazilian!reader x yuki. Your friends want you to get together with Yuki so they plan a whole trip just for you to see each other again. part 2

warnings: fingering, finger sucking, flirting, drinking, semi public.

wc: about 1.5 k

notes: writing for yuki even tho no one asked bc i love him. lmk if yall want a part two. this was originally titled “azul da cor do mar” after a brazilian song then i changed for a english title and now people are reading it sooo

When Kika asked you if you were up to play tour guide in your homecity for Pierre and his friends you really wanted to say no, but that was really not you. They were planing for their winter getaway to be more of a summer one, so what better than Brazil, where she had your guidance. If you were being honest with yourself, you only accepted because she said her boyfriend's ex-teammate would be there and she knew it. You had met Yuki a few months prior at the São Paulo GP, you went on a date and had been flirting through dm's ever since.

So you all met at the airport and drove straight to your family's beach house you would be staying at.

The day was fun, Pierre had rented a boat and you were making drinks all day till everyone was drunk enough to dance. Kika was brave enough to ask you to teach her how to dance funk. You would've hesitated if you hadn't had a few drinks but the alcohol in your body discarted all the second thoughts. Everyone watched as you first started to guide her hips and as soon as she got the rhythm you bent your body over her own, hands on her hips as you both started twerking.

You hadn't really seen all the eyes on you but Kika definelly did. When the song finished she pulled you back to the small litchen where you started making yourselves drinks, telling you how Yuki wouldn't take his eyes off you and how his jaw dropped at the way you danced. You denied it all, blushing at the idea that you could have that effect over him. She had just started telling you that Pierre can't take Yuki asking about you everytime when she saw him walk in.

"Vou ver se o meu namorado ainda consegue andar. E tu, vê lá quem é que está a chegar." Im gonna see if my boyfriend can still stand. And you, look who's coming over. She said, placing a straw in her drink and walking away.

"Te odeio!" I hate you

"Can I have a drink?" he asked increbly close to your ear as he came up behind you.

"Sure, what d'ya want"

"One of those with lemonade that you made earlier."

"Uma caipirinha" you explained, watching as he leaned back on the counter, his arms flexing in the process.

"Exactly, can I have one of those?" you nodded, gathering the ingredients and starting the drink. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” you giggled, turning away from the drink to look at him.

“The dancing, this bikini, how gorgeous you look when you tan. You’re driving me insane.”

“Am I now?” he nodded “then do something about it.” you teased and he pulled you closer my the waist, lips crashing into yours harshly. You could taste the vodka on him when you pushed your tongue past his lips but it was cut short by him pulling away. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you off, Yuki, that’s just how we do things around here.” you explained when you saw his eyes widen.

“No, it’s fine, I just wasn’t prepared, c’mere” he pulled you back in as you threw your arms around his neck, this time he pushed his tongue in, showing he got the hang of it. His hands lowered to your ass, lifting you up to sit on the counter behind you. Your legs spread instantly, making him settle between them, his body now impossibly close to yours. After a couple of minutes you had to pull away before you did something stupid, your chin rested on his shoulder and his on yours.

“The sun is setting, don't you wanna get in the water one last time before we head back?”

“Only if you come with me.” you shook your head “you’re the only one that didn’t get in the water, come on”

“You have no idea what will happen with my hair if I wet it.”

“It’s just hair, cmon. If you don’t jump I’ll push you in.”

“Fine, let me just finish this drink first."

After your quick jump in the water you headed back to the shore. Everyone packed their things back in the cars so you could head to the house. You convinced them to let you drive since you were the least drunk and you managed to get everyone safely home. After everyone got settled in their rooms, you had dinner that you bought on the way there and played some pool. While everyone was outside you stayed in, cleaning and prepping some things for the other day.

“What the hell are you doing inside?” Yuki asked when he caught you in the kitchen.

“Baking bread”

“Bread? right now?”

“It’s for tomorrow, gotta have freshly baked bread in the morning for the full Brazil experience, just gotta make sure it’s ready for it. You like bread, right?”

“I’m not really allowed to eat it for majority of the year, so yeah”

“Great. I’m not a big fan, myself but apparently I’m good at making it.” you said, setting the dish aside and turning around to wash your hands

“And are you done yet?” he asked, watching as you walked around the kitchen. He just couldn’t get enough of you in those tiny little shorts, unbuttoned dress shirt showing your bikini and your natural hair up.

“Just cutting up some fruit for tomorrow, don’t wanna wake up hang over and still have to do this.”

“I could help” you nodded, handing him the knife you were using and shuffling to the side where you finished off your brazilian lemonade by pouring it in a jar and putting it in the fridge.

“You’re good at this, look at that, all your cubes are the same size.” he chuckled at your comment as you put the papaya cubes in a bowl, stealing some as he washed his hands. “so you just have hidden talents like this?” you asked, sat on the counter, head rested on the wall by your side as you sucked the remaining fruit off your fingers.

“I like cooking so it’s just practice.” he said as he walked over to grab the desk towel that rested beside you.

You hummed in response, still licking on the pad of your finger. “Come here. Try some, it’s really sweet.” you fed him a piece of the fruit and held them to his mouth. You watched carefully as your fingers went past his lips, you bit your own at the sight of him sucking them. He placed himself between your legs, finally popping your finger out of his mouth and kissing you. You kissed him back intensely, pulling him closer with your legs and your hands meeting the hair on the back of his head as his met your ass. Your tongue pushed into his mouth and he started guiding your hips back and forth against his own. His lips left yours to focus on your neck, first behind your ears, then under your jaw, and lower till he met your collarbones and going all the way back up.

“What are the chances you let me finger you right here?” he whispered against your ear as his hand cupped you through your shorts.

“Pretty high, I’d say” you smiled against the skin of his neck that was pressed to your face.

He wasted no time and started unbuttoning your shorts and snaking his hand inside them. Yuki smirked against your lips when he felt the wet spot on your bikini and circled it, making you buck your hips at his touch. His other hand pulled on the ties of your bikini that hanged on the sides of your shorts, making more room for his hand inside them. Yukis fingers touched you with nothing in the way now, spreading your lips to reach your clit, flicking it quite harshly before circling with the pads of his fingers.

Your mouth on his was nonstop, kisses so erotic you could hear the smacking and sliding of tongues, but it stopped when he penetrated you with two of his fingers. Your jaw dropped at how deep they were inside you and he smirked again, your reactions making him feel cockier. He started curling them up, hitting all the perfect spots inside you, his palm pressed against your clit giving you the slightest of friction. He caught your lips back in his, left hand going up your body and meeting your boob, kneading it ever so slightly. When Yuki realized your hips bucking into his palm he managed to use his thumb to stimulate you.

“Fuck, Yuki, so close, come on” you groaned making him shush you, not wanting people to come in and see you like this.

He sped up his fingers, feeling you start to clench around them but when he tweaked your nipple between his fingers you couldn’t take it. You came for him, bitting his shoulder to try muffling your sounds but a strangled moan escaped, making the person who was sleeping the the living room next to the kitchen turn in their sleep and start snoring. You giggled against his neck, feeling him smile against yours before stretching his neck to check who it was.

“It’s one of Pierre's friends. Don’t worry, he’s completely passed out.” he pulled his fingers out of you taking them to your mouth and making you lick them clean. “You’re so fucking hot, you know that?”

“I get told often, yeah” you teased, before giving his thumb a quick lick. “So, i’ll be in my room, alone, if you wanna know. I’m done in the kitchen for tonight.” you slid off the counter and gave him a kiss before heading to your room.

PART 2

[bl4ckph0enix]

Daybreak

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You've tried to help your husband. Yet, you are forced to watch the wrong person getting crowned...

Wordcount: 1.9k

A/N: So, maybe many of you cannot relate to this. The idea came to me while I listened to the song 'Daybreak' by Dimash Qudaibergen. But I just had to write this because as someone who has to fight with very intense emotions, I can relate to this so unbelievably well. My heart broke for both Aemond and Aegon during the crowning scene. Aemond may be the villain of House of the Dragon, but it wasn't really his choice. No one gets born this malicious, one is made this way. And even when it actually is a deliberate choice at some point, growing up in a family like the Targaryen's only means that this attitude is forced upon you without a real chance to escape it.

English isn't my first language, please forgive any mistakes!

Stiffly, you stood together with your family-in-law on the podium in the Sept. Thousands of citizens were gathered in the hall, squeezing each other in order to get in to be able to see the crowning of Aegon II Targaryen. Your facial expression was completely blank and shock cursed through your body, causing to numb every emotion and dull every sense, and coldness slowly seeped into your bones. It's been three years now since you got married to Aegon's younger brother Aemond Targaryen. The both of you hadn't had a great start. Mean words and accusations had been thrown in both directions and you had actually hit him one or two times. He was the only person in this world that could get you riled up this much. And he also was the only person that you loved more than your own life.

You hadn't been able to avoid to fall in love with him. The both of you had partially been forced to spend time together and over the course of months, you had come to know Aemond better. You knew of his favorite things, of the things he hated, of his doubts and dreams. Especially his dreams. They were ones you shared. Having spent three years in his family, you knew as much as Aemond that he was a better man than his brother. He should be the one to be crowned today. Instead, he stood next to you, as stiffly as you yourself, his eye looking over the crowd with no emotion. Your fingers were intertwined with his and you could feel the warmth of his hand on your palm. Normally, it was reassuring and calming. But today, it did nothing to you.

You felt completely numb as you watched the kingsguard enter the Sept and build a corridor in the crowd for Aegon to go through. The tips of your fingers became cold and your breath slightly hitched in your throat, barely audible. One second later, you could feel the gaze of your husband on you, almost burning the right side of your face with its intensity. Of course he had heard you – he would always hear you, no matter where you were or how far away. It was your special bond that you both shared with each other after your Valyrian marriage; a bond that had developed with hate and rage, pain and tears, and that had turned into care and happiness, passion and love over time. The surroundings receded into the background, only noticeable at the edge of your field of vision as your empty eyes followed Aegon walking through the crowd. Somewhere distant in your mind, you registered that he seemed as unhappy and desperate as you felt right now deep down.

The events passed you by in a blur. You vaguely heard the Septon speak from far away, not able to follow the words that were spoken; you saw Aegon accepting his fate, the crown on his head, and you barely managed to hold yourself together as the searing pain that you had buried deep within you for today began to rise to the surface. But you held on. Because you knew that right now was not the time to lose it. You knew the pain Aemond held within himself that he never allowed to be seen. You knew of his childhood and youth, full of the bullying from his siblings and nephews, the lost of his eye, the expectations especially his mother had with him which he hadn't been able to meet, and his burning wish to follow his father on the throne after Viserys' death, to prove himself. Your hand that still held Aemond's became completely cold, even his warmth couldn't prevent it as you saw your meticulously detailed plan going down the drain right in front of your eyes. You knew that Aegon didn't want to be king, as much as Aemond and you didn't want him to be.

You couldn't explain when it all had started to go down the hill. Everything had been perfect. A few days before this important day, you had spoken to Aegon after having gone through everything with Aemond beforehand, how you wanted to do it. You had explained it in detail to Aegon and he had not hesitated to give his approval. One of the preparations had been to bribe the right people who you knew would support you to make Aegon disappear. They had agreed to help you because they had been able to see in Aegon's face and attitude that he did not want to be king. After everything was prepared, everything had gone smoothly today, almost as if everyone around you just wanted to play into your cards. Aegon had disappeared to hide above the dragonpit where no one would suspect him and would just have waited for an opportunity to board a ship to leave Westeros. Even when Aemond had come to you to tell you that his mother had sent out Ser Criston in order to search for Aegon, you had known that this wouldn't change anything.

And yet, here you stood, helplessly watching how the wrong man got crowned.

You could feel tears bubbling up in your throat and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. Still not the right time. You were thankful that Rhaenys Velaryon freed her dragon and disturbed the crowning ceremony, causing utter chaos and pain as her dragon hurt and killed people. You barely registered Aemond pushing himself in front of you to protect you, his hand on the right side of your hips to reassure himself that you were in fact behind him. You saw Rhaenys escape with her dragon as they tried to close the doors to prevent both her and the people from fleeing. But what happened next, you didn't know. You had a few flashing pictures of the kingsguard escorting you through the Red Keep to your chambers, which you shared with Aemond. The door was quietly closed behind you, but you didn't react at first. You still felt eerily numb, though the ripping pain was lurking beneath the surface, and you couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened during the last hour in your life.

Your gaze wandered out of the window at an extremely slow pace while your heartbeat started to quicken as your brain tediously began to catch up with what had happened. You knew that your emotions would nearly kill you the moment they would start to devour you. You tried to hold it back, to give yourself more time to maybe prepare a little bit for what was about to come. But you couldn't. The first sob escaped your throat mere seconds after you felt the barrier that you had built around your feelings begin to crumble down. The quite rustling of clothes somewhere beside you drew your attention and you saw Aemond standing a few feet away from you as your gaze flickered over to him, looking completely desperate, pained, and defeated.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that the man you loved with every fiber of your existence had to suffer this much.

Something finally snapped somewhere in your mind. Burning pain ripped through you, hatred for Queen Alicent and her father melted your intestines and rage flowed through your veins like liquid fire. The first chalice crashed against the wall with a loud noise, accompanied by your furious scream. Everything had been perfectly planned, even Aegon had agreed to your plan and had supported you. And now, here you were, damned to see your soulmate suffer. The next chalices, glasses, and plates were thrown through the room, clattering to the ground and crashing against the walls, splintering into a thousand pieces just like your soul did at the sight of Aemond. You weren't able to hold yourself back; blankets, pillows, cups, plates, chairs, and books were thrown through the room by you while you simultaneously screamed your throat raw. For you, it was the only way to handle this all-surrounding pain, rage, and hatred within you that chewed venomously at you and devoured you whole. Tears were streaming down your face and your silver-blonde hair was an absolute mess, the long strands completely tangled, but you couldn't care any less.

Nothing was anymore where it had been before. Even the table had got toppled over by you in your rage. You didn't even really notice that you grabbed the glass vase that stood on the windowsill with pretty flowers in it – a gift from Aemond's mother yesterday. Now it seemed to mock you. Before you could do something more, your knees finally gave way due to exhaustion, but that didn't stop you. As soon as you were sitting on the ground, you slammed the vase onto the stone with your hand still attached. The physical pain that shot through your hand as a big piece of glass cut deeply into your palm, was what brought you finally back a little bit. Your voice went quiet and soundless sobs shook your whole body, big tears still streaming down your cheeks and dropping to the ground and on your dress. You could see the dark color of a pair of breeches as Aemond knelt on the ground next to you, carefully taking your injured hand into his own.

“Please,” you sobbed. Your throat was sore and hurt, your voice hoarse and raspy, cracking at the end and almost swallowing the next words you choked out, “Please, Aemond, make it stop. It hurts so bad.”

Another wave of tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him. New pain tore your heart to shreds the moment you saw the wet shimmer staining his beautiful face. “I know,” he whispered, his own voice breaking and thus barely audible. He looked down at your hand again, turning it around and inhaling sharply when he saw the large shard of glass that stuck in your hand, drawing blood that already started to drop to the ground, accompanying the new tears that streamed down your cheeks.

“It hurts,” you breathed. There was no need for you to explain to Aemond that you didn't mean your hand. Your other hand came up and the tips of your fingers grazed his hairline and the upper part of his forehead, lovingly and soothing. “I am sorry,” you whispered, causing his head to snap up again to look at you. “I have failed you, my love.”

You could see the pain in his eye as you said these words. “No,” he contradicted you and shook his head. “No, you didn't fail me, Y/N. You gave everything I could have asked for, and even more.”

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuhyz zaldrīzes,” you said weakly and finally started to calm down, exhaustion slowly settling in. “So much that it hurts.” (I love you, my dragon.)

“I know,” was all Aemond said to this. “I can feel it.” He grabbed the shard of glass carefully and started to pull it out, causing you to contort your face in pain. “We will fix this, byka mēre, I promise you.” (little one.)

“Okay,” you sniffed and wiped the tears from his cheek. All that you wanted was to see him happy, truly happy. It had become the center of your life the moment you realized that you loved this man that was still a broken little child deep down. You knew that sitting on the Iron Throne with that crown upon his head was what would make him truly happy.

And you would give everything to get him on that throne. In the end, even your own life.

Maybe one day, I'll write another part, but I just had to get that off my chest.

[nightmare-of-homophobes]

I Missed You ~ (Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal), (Lilia Calderu x Alice Wu Gulliver x Jennifer Kale)

Second Day of AAA Week: Band AU

Words: 5,2k

Warnings: NSFW!; the coven is a polycule; breakup; mention of toxic relationships; not so friendly towards Lorna Wu; BDSM as therapy (because Agatha's way to open up about her feelings is being punished/tortured first); tying kink; shock kink; dom!Lilia Calderu; but all of this is introduced in a non-sexual scene; probably too much ooc (especially with Lilia); mentions of Lithario (Lilia/Agatha/Rio) being a thing in the past; no beta reader; no editing/review; smut in the end; oral and fingering (Rio receiving); maybe hurt/comfort at some point?; mentions of Billy and Wanda; Wandagatha as one of Agatha's previous relationships; maybe I should turn this into a multi chapter fanfiction; seems a bit rushed…; MINORS DNI!

Tag list: @confuseuniverse @jubshead @yourbasicqueerie @kenzie-floops @hexy-lynesdein @gilmoresliarss ( @thegoddamnfeels adding you here so I won't forget to tag on the headcanons)

If you want to be tagged or taken from the list at any moment, just let me know!

English isn't my native language, so be kind! Enjoy, xoxo!

***

One thing everyone knew about the music business was how cutthroat it was. And for that, the whole idea of an indie rock band, specifically composed by queer women, surviving past the 90s and making their name into the top of the charts for most of the 2000-2010 was almost unbelievable.

Yet, The Coven made it. They did it with style and creativity.

Composed by five members (each one representing a kind of witch), they out-shined other bands by not only offering a show, but an entire theatrical experience.

Of course it wasn't that way in the beginning, no. At first there were only three of them and a group of rotative people that would fill in the gaps the band needed. But then, when Agatha, Rio and Lilia started writing the story they wanted to tell to the public, the need for permanent members showed off and they eventually found Jennifer and Alice.

So the tale of The Road was finished. Each member of the band knew the role they would play in that story and all of them were equally important to it.

Agatha Harkness – the lead singer and second guitar – was the Spirit Witch and her role was to guide the show and the story. Her colour was purple;

Lilia Calderu – the bassist and higher voice – was the Divination Witch and the one who eventually tied them together as a group. Her colour was yellow;

Rio Vidal – the drummer, background voice and Agatha's girlfriend – was the Green Witch and the one who would help everyone to grow out of their shells. Her colour, obviously, was green;

Jennifer Kale – the lead guitar and background voice – was the Potions Witch and the one to hold the group, not believing in her own potential. Her colour was pink;

Alice Wu Gulliver – the pianist and lower voice – was the Protection Witch and the youngest witch, the one that rejected her own being. Her colour was red.

Together, they all narrated, with their songs and dramatization, a story about witches making other witches accept themselves as they are. A tale about growth, female empowerment, women supporting women, rejection of labels, self acceptance and love.

Well… At least it used to be like that.

It worked until the mid-2010s, then the great breakup happened and things had to change quickly.

After a long time together, Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal ended their relationship due to toxic behaviour towards each other and creative differences. Being two of the three pillars, it was almost impossible that the band proceeded without one of them leaving the ship. So Rio did it. She left them and started a solo career as The Green Witch.

With the absence of one less member, they had to find someone to put in Rio’s place.

They changed the story when they found Wanda Maximoff, naming her The Scarlet Witch and placing her as the villain of a new story. One where Rio Vidal was Death and Wanda worked under her orders. One where Agatha would lose everyone and everything at the end. Over and over and over again. Only to be left trapped into the Scarlet Witch's spell at the end.

But, of course, Wanda couldn't be with them forever and once she served her time with the band, she moved on, leaving that fifth spot in the band empty again.

So they found Billy Kaplan and the story changed again. Billy's role was Teen, a mysterious boy who would free Agatha after The Scarlet Witch died, encouraging the Spirit Witch to reunite her coven while he dived into a search to discover who he really was.

But Billy also couldn't stay in the band forever and, now, well… They were fucked.

– Any news about the drummer? – Agatha asked anxiously one morning. Billy had left them one month ago and they still hadn't anyone as a real option to that spot.

– No one we interviewed ‘till now could keep up. – Lilia said, splattered on a couch, her head on Jennifer’s lap.

– But there's another one this afternoon. – Alice informed while throwing in an armchair. Jennifer and Lilia exchanged knowing looks. – And they seem to be very experienced.

Agatha nodded. If the new drummer played well enough, they could learn the rest in the band rehearsals.

– But we've been thinking… – Jennifer started, catching Agatha's attention again. – We wanted to write this arc of the story.

Agatha rolled her eyes.

– Again with the protagonism talk? – she scoffed. – I'm sorry I'm the protagonist, Kale.

– It's not that. – Alice intruded and was about to defend her girlfriend when Lilia lifted her hand, silencing the younger.

– What Jennifer meant was… You wrote the Teen's arc alone. And, to be honest, our characters were kinda shoved in the dark…

– Literally shoved in the dark. – Jennifer intruded since, for the first act of the show, they literally didn't appear under the spotlights.

– And we think it's only fair for us to write this one. – Lilia finished her point, arching an eyebrow to Agatha.

Agatha shrugged.

– Yeah, whatever. – cause she would never dare to go against Lilia. She tried once, but it didn't go well. – As long as it's not lame.

– You dare call my art lame and I'll beat this attitude out of you. – Lilia warned.

And the matter died with that.

***

In that afternoon, when they all gathered in the car to go to the studio to meet the new candidate for the drummer's spot, Agatha felt that something was off. As if a disaster was to fall on her just around the corner but she couldn't really prevent it.

To worsen everything even more, she was damned to watch Alice, Jennifer and Lilia's being too touchy for her liking.

– The three of you can't spend a minute without being together? – she groaned, crossing her arms and paying attention to the blurred buildings out of her window. She did not want to see how Jennifer was shamelessly distributing kisses along Lilia's neck.

– You could always join, you know that. – Lilia's rich voice answered. A smirk on her face as she provoked the brunette only because she could.

– Fuck off, Lilia. – Agatha mumbled.

– Oh, I could. – the older woman giggled devilishly before occupying herself with Alice's mouth.

Once they arrived at the studio, Agatha left the car as fast as she could, afraid that if she stayed a longer minute, Lilia would make her witness, again, the dirty acts of the three women.

Jennifer, Alice and Lilia left the car just after her, chuckling to themselves at the other woman's desperation.

– You know, for an old batty, you're very, very dirty, Calderu. – she said.

– You're welcome. – the bassist shrugged as she passed Agatha with the two women on her trail.

They went into the building, going into the elevator to the studio's floor. Entering it, they were met by their producer, Mrs. Davis:

– Ah, girls, you finally arrived! – she said happily as always. Sharon Davis always was their best support, always relishing in their creative ideas and music.

– Though a bit late, don't you think? – Lorna Wu Gulliver, their agent and second composer, was there too. – Hey, Alice.

– Hi, mom… – the woman mumbled. Their relationship wasn't the best, but they were trying.

– So, the drummer? They're already here? – Agatha asked, wanting to get down to business as quickly as she could.

– Yes… – Sharon said hesitantly. – She's already here.

– She? – Lilia teased. – That's refreshing.

– So, you're all ready to hear her? – Lorna asked.

– Yeah, go on. – Jennifer said, already sitting down at the large couch at the wall.

Lorna told the drummer the members of the band had already and they were ready to hear her. Sharon gently told the person not to be nervous and prepare herself cause they would play the tracks they gave her so she could accompany it with the drums.

Opening the audio channel so the women could hear the sound coming from the acoustically isolated studio and avaliate, they let the recorded track on.

As the drummer started playing, something in Agatha's chest snapped. Not only on hers, actually. All the “witches” kind of felt something. Something like nostalgia or missing… Or like if someone they loved had just come back into their lives. What was very odd for them since no member after Rio had made them feel such strong feelings.

The person playing not only knew how to play their songs perfectly, she had a style so similar to Rio's that it got the band wishing to know who was inside that room.

Well, the band except for Agatha.

Agatha was actually scared of knowing who would come outside once that test ended.

But she had no time to prepare herself for it, because Lilia interrupted the whole thing:

– It's enough, I can work with these drums. What I really want to know now is if I can work with this person, call her here.

The drummer and bassist was a duo that needed to match in every band - more than any other combination -, so Lilia's word on the choice was the strongest.

Sharon and Lorna exchanged a worried look. They noticed the emotion not only in Lilia's demeanour, but in the whole group.

Interrupting the test, Sharon called the woman out. Jennifer and Alice were at the end of the sofa that faced the door to the studio and once its door opened, their eyes widened and their jaws fell.

Agatha panicked, but hoped she was wrong.

All her hopes, however, died when she heard Lilia murmur under a sigh:

– Rio…

She stood, not wanting to face the woman. Walking to the door so she could leave the studio, she stopped at her tracks when the familiar voice greeted her:

– Agatha… – Rio's voice was soft.

Agatha hesitated, her mind and her heart racing the same race, competing to see which one would reach Agatha's lips first.

– No. – her heart won. It always did when it came to Rio.

And with that, she left the room.

Jennifer, Alice and Lilia were still in their places, each one of them feeling their own mix of complex emotions.

Rio turned hopefully to Lilia, her always-widened eyes boring into the brown doe one's of the older woman. Lilia almost looked like a deer trapped under the light of a car headlight.

– Lilia…?

Lilia looked between her and the door Agatha left open. A choice to be taken. A hard one since Lilia had to choose between her girls. Again.

With tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she approached the younger woman to embrace her.

– Doll… – she whispered softly, closing her eyes as tight as her arms around Rio's body.

Rio smiled emotionally, returning the embrace as strong as she could.

– Lilia! – she repeated herself, the name coming out of her lips with joy now.

– It's been so long! – Lilia laughed heartily while holding the drummer.

– Too long for good! – Rio agreed, a big grin at her lips. – I'm sorry, I should've kept contact… – she started.

– Don't be silly, we both share blame for the distance! – Lilia scolded.

– Get off, Lilia, we want to greet Rio too! – Jen said, approaching the two of them and starting to push the older woman.

– Jen! – Lilia exclaimed a bit offended as she was practically shoved aside by her girlfriend.

Alice approached them too and both Jen and her hugged Rio tightly with big smiles on their faces.

– We missed you. – she said.

– I missed you too. – Rio exclaimed holding the two of them.

Watching that scene with her heart thumping agains her chest, Lilia couldn't help but feel like her family was complete again. Her coven.

Yet… There was a piece to fix in its place before she could celebrate Rio's return.

– I'm very happy we got to see you again, Rio… – Lilia started. – But I need to go after Agatha now.

Jen and Alice felt how the woman tensed at the other woman's name.

– Okay. – she nodded softly.

She watched as the three women exchanged a whole conversation just with their eyes. She always admired the way the three of them made their relationship work against all the odds.

– You know, it's great everything went well. – Sharon said finally, remembering the rest of the women of hers and Lorna's presence.

– This is just the calm before the storm… – Lorna said a bit tiredly.

– And you will be lucky if I get Agatha to not fire you after this. – Lilia warned the woman. Lorna's attitude wasn't professional at all.

Of course they were in a rush to find another drummer, but she could've at least told Lilia so she could’ve tried to set the stage for such a shock.

With a final nod towards Jen, Lilia left the room, already calling the band's driver, a young man called Ralph Bohner.

– Ralph?

– Yes, ma’am? – the man answered.

– Is Agatha with you? – she asked to get in the elevator again.

– No, ma’am.

– But did she leave the build?

– I don't know, ma’am… – the man said a bit insecure.

Lilia huffed exasperated.

– Honestly, do I need to fire you again? – she ended the call.

She left the elevator and was so distracted that almost missed the seated frame in the benches close to the elevator.

– Oh, thank fuck, you're here. – Lilia said, approaching the other woman and sitting beside her.

– I don't want her back in the band, Lilia… – Agatha said, her tone almost pleading.

– Couldn't you, at least, give her a chance? – she asked the brunette. – She can behave.

Agatha huffed.

– Agatha… – Lilia took the other woman's hands into hers. – It's been so long since all that happened… Don't you think it's time to move on? – she caressed the woman’s hands. – It would be so great if you two reach good terms.

Agatha tried to take her hands from Lilia’s.

– Let me go. – she said coldly, her tone flat and without emotions.

– We need her, Agatha. – the bassist said.

– You’re a two faced-snake, Lilia! – she made out of Lilia’s grasp. – I don’t need her! I don’t need you! I don’t need any of this fucked up situation, leave me alone, you old bitch!!!

They fell into a heavy silence, Agatha regretted her words almost immediately, her eyes widening as she watched how Lilia’s eyes darkened. She knew she was fucked up.

Taking her phone out of her black pintucks pants, Lilia called Jen.

– Everything okay? Did you find Agatha? – Alice answered the phone.

– Yes, pet, I’m taking her for a walk. – Lilia’s voice was cold and steeled even if it was Alice she was talking to.

– Oh… – there was a beat of silence and some whispers were heard in the background, one of them being “Agatha’s screwed”. – Okay. – Jen’s voice was heard then. – Do we have to wait for you?

Lilia stood from her seat.

– No. Take Rio back to her place, I’m leaving Ralph for you.

***

– So, how are you going with your solo career? – Alice asked Rio once the three of them fit into the back of the car.

– Well, hard, but I’m very satisfied with it. – Rio said.

– Then why did you decide to return? – Jen questioned bluntly. – Not that I don’t relish your return. I do. But… Why only now, Rio?

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her place, her eyes driving out of the window.

– Because I wanted to. – Rio simply said, avoiding the matter.

Alice looked at Jen and shrugged.

– How has Agatha been? – the drummer asked, not being subtle at all. She never was. Not when it came to Agatha.

– Well… You know Agatha. – Alice said.

– I used to, at least.

– Uh, yeah, – Alice resumed talking. – But, y’know, Agatha is Agatha. She had been doing the same. Partying, drinking, fighting… Oh, but Lilia made her quit drugs. She wasn’t handling it well after the breakup.

– Oh, she did? – Rio seemed surprised. – Great for her.

She seemed to be deciding if to stay quiet or not before finally asking what she wanted to know the most:

– Did she find someone else?

– Do you really want to know, Rio? – Jen asked. She didn’t want to upset the woman.

She nodded. She knew it would hurt her, but she did want the truth.

– She had her fair share of affairs and nights out.

– Any of you? – Rio asked, not knowing how to feel if Agatha had been sleeping with one of her ex-bandmates.

– Oh, no! No... – Alice promptly denied. – Well, maybe with Lilia, but we don’t ask her.

– Anything lasting?

Alice and Jen shared another glance.

– She did have something a bit long with Wanda, but they never made it official. It was like a… Friends with benefits?

– Yeah, friends with benefits! – Jen confirmed.

One of Rio’s eyebrows went up.

– Oh… – it was everything that came out of Rio’s mouth.

***

Agatha found herself in a hotel room while Lilia was occupied tying her on a chair.

– I hate doing this with you in this way. – she said as she did tight knots on Agatha���s pulse.

– Yeah? Then why do you keep doing it? – the brunette provoked.

– Because it’s the only way to make you listen, isn't it – the bassist pointed an accusatory finger to the other woman.

She kept tying her down with quick movements. Once Agatha’s legs, arms and hands were finished, Lilia moved on to her next step, putting a collar on Agatha. A shock collar.

Sitting down at the bed of the hotel room, Lilia crossed her legs and stared at Agatha.

– Now be respectful while answering. – the older woman said while swinging the controller in her hand, demonstrating that she wouldn't hesitate to use it. – Why are you acting like this, Agatha? You do want her back.

Agatha stayed silent. Lilia punished her.

She groaned, it wasn’t even hurtful anymore for her. She grew so used to that level that it felt as only a tingling on her skin. She chuckled.

– Is this the best you can do? – Agatha spit out. – You're getting rusty, Lilia

Another shock ran through her and she definitely felt it better than the first, so she knew Lilia had increased the voltage.

– Do I really need to repeat myself? – Lilia asked harshly.

– I DON’T WANT HER BACK! – Agatha yelled and fought against her bonds.

Lilia punished her again, her eyebrows frowning and her lips pursuing forward.

– You’re a liar, Agatha Harkness… – she said irritated. Then her tone softened. – Why are you lying to me, doll?

Agatha’s eyes widened and she averted it from Lilia’s. But not fast enough, Lilia saw the vulnerability in them.

– I don’t want her, Lilia. Not anymore. – Agatha lied again. The voltage increased again. She swore as this one kinda hurt.

– You know I’ll keep doing it until you’re ready to talk to me. – the other woman said.

– You can fuck yourself. – was what came from the brunette’s mouth.

Agatha received the highest level of voltage she could take because of her lack of respect. At that she gave up on her attitude, knowing Lilia wouldn’t give up on their little session.

Letting the tears fall from her eyes, she sobbed as quiet as she could. She always was one to cry silently, never wanting to be seen as weak.

Lilia threw the control away somewhere on the floor. Approaching Agatha, she started undoing the knots that held the woman on the chair. All the while whispering sweet nothings to her.

Once Agatha was free, her hands immediately reached out to Lilia, holding onto her as if she was her lifeboat, hiding her face on Lilia’s neck.

Lilia took the shock collar off Agatha before taking her to the bed in the room.

– Come here, doll… – she said while bringing the woman to her lap. – Let it out.

She rubbed the younger’s back and kept holding her, comforting her, being there for Agatha as she finally let herself feel something.

– I love her, Lilia. – she whispered brokenly.

– I know you do, love… – Lilia answered, meeting Agatha’s gaze as she leaned back on her lap.

– Why do I still love her? Why? – she asked desperately. When it came to feelings, Agatha Harkness always acted younger than she should. She never really learned how to deal with feelings, or feeling too much, or not feeling at all. – I feel so stupid!

Lilia hated Evanora Harkness for that. She fucked up Agatha's creation.

– You’re not… – the gray-haired woman stroked Agatha’s hair. – But you need to talk to her, doll. You know that. You two have been prolonging this talk for too long.

Agatha held Lilia’s hands to her face, leaning into the calloused and warm palms.

Lilia guessed her next move, turning her face to the side so Agatha’s lips met her cheek instead of her lips. Holding Agatha there, she whispered before the other could over react:

– You know it’s not me you’re seeking.

***

Rio Vidal sat on her new bed. Well, not exactly, “new bed”, it was her old bed. In her old room. The room that wasn't entirely hers, because Agatha shared it with her back then.

After two days from the test, Lorna made contact with Rio to let her know she was back in the band. After it, Lilia suggested she should move back into The Coven's house, so it would be better for all of them to rehearse and get everything on time for their tour.

The first weeks were a bit hard for them, especially because Agatha was in her most unstable moment. She would often call the rehearsals over before its time, letting the rest of the group finish it without her.

Lilia, Jen and Alice were keeping secret about the new story arc, only sharing it with Lorna and Sharron. That alone was enough to tickle Agatha’s nerves, but along with the fact that Rio was back and was making sure to bump at her in every opportunity she got to, was even more distressing.

– What?! Are you really going to chase me around the house now? – she snapped at Rio one day.

– I only want to talk to you…

– But I don't! Can't you tell yet by how much I've been avoiding you?

Rio lifted her hands in redemption.

– Well, you know where to find me when you change your mind then…

– I won't.

Rio only looked at her, lifting her eyebrows at Agatha because she knew that was a lie. Even after a decade separated, she still knew Agatha.

And she was right about Agatha changing her mind. Of course she was.

It didn’t take long, but it did take some glasses of red wine. It was the first evening that they were able to rehearse all the new songs - for some miracle, Agatha let them do it - that Lorna composed from what Alice, Lilia and Jen had already written. After the successful rehearsal, they decided to go out and have dinner.

Agatha remained pretty civil at the dinner and it was almost as if they had gone back in time. Back to that time where they were all a great family.

After dinner, they got back home and Lilia was the one to suggest they should open a bottle of wine to finish the night. A bottle turned into two and without them even realizing a third one was already being opened.

They were all a bit drunk, but once Lilia started getting too loud and uninhibited, Alice and Jen decided it was time to get her in bed.

– Come on, mama… – Alice wrapped one arm around the older woman. – Up we go.

– Let me just take this with me… – Lilia tried to take the rest of the wine, her words very slurred.

– No, no, no… – Jen took it from her. – You already had enough.

– Come on, Jenny… – Lilia pouted, giving her those big brown eyes.

– Let the woman have some fun, Jen! – Rio’s words were as slurred as Lilia’s. And she didn’t even drink that much.

– Yeah! – Agatha agreed, nodding to the woman. – Let her driiink!!!

– Oh yeah? And will you two take her to bed after it? – Alice asked, amused. – I don’t think so.

– I could take her to bed… – Agatha said with a sly smile.

A loud chuckle escaped Lilia’s lips.

– It would be just like the old days. – Rio completed Agatha’s reasoning with a singing tone, a similar smile on her own lips.

Jen hushed their girlfriends to upstairs while calling back:

– Well, revive the old days without Lilia!

As the trio left, the room went awkwardly quiet, Jen’s words playing into the women’s minds. Agatha shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.

– You know… – she started. – I think I may owe you an apology.

Rio's head snapped into her direction, her interest being piqued immediately.

– Do you? – she asked.

– I think we should try to talk. – Agatha said, her movements kinda slow.

Rio nodded slowly too.

– Yeah… I think it would be great.

***

In a moment they were talking, in the other they were bumping against the walls, making their way to Rio’s room. To their old room.

– Rio… – Agatha panted against the drummer’s lips.

– Yes? – she answered in a similar tone, her lips going to Agatha’s neck.

– Open this fucking door before I fuck you on this corridor. – she demanded, pulling the other woman’s hair so she could look at her.

Rio quickly disentangled herself from Agatha’s embrace, almost ripping her door from the doorframe with the force she used to open it.

Agatha pulled her into the room, slamming the door behind her before slamming Rio against it. She wasn’t worried about being quiet.

Latching their lips back together, the women moaned at the sensation of being reunited again, their bodies still remembering how to fit into each other. In a rushed and intense dance that they had committed to memory a long while ago, they ripped their clothes off, each piece being replaced by touches and kisses.

When Agatha laid Rio on the bed, the drummer murmured to the singer:

– I missed you… – her big and deep eyes melted Agatha’s heart. She missed those eyes looking at her in that way.

– I missed you too. – she answered as she sat on Rio’s lap, her hands holding the brunette’s face. Rio held onto her pulse as she did that, a habit internalized.

As their lips met again, Agatha couldn’t help herself but to grind down on Rio, hearing how the woman groaned below her, her own hips bucking up to meet hers.

When they ran out of breath, the singer didn’t waste time, immediately replacing her mouth with her fingers, relishing in the way Rio took it without hesitation. Kissing down Rio’s body, the drummer’s moans filled Agatha’s ears as if it was music.

– Nice bush you got here... – she said while reaching between Rio’s legs, kissing there. The drummer’s familiar musk smell flooded her senses and she groaned at it.

– Agatha… – she moaned around Agatha’s fingers.

– Yes, my love? – she teased the other woman, the long forgotten pet name falling from her lips with ease.

– Please.

– Please what…? – she took out her fingers from Rio’s mouth, letting her answer it properly. She always liked to hear her beg.

– I need you. – the brunette pouted.

– How much?

Rio’s hand found Agatha’s chest.

– My heart only beats for you. That’s how much I want. – she said, her eyes searching for something into the singer’s face.

She must have found it cause she seemed relieved when Agatha leaned again to taste Rio’s mouth again, pouring her heart into it.

When she went down on Rio’s body again, she put the woman’s legs on her shoulders, wanting to taste something else now. Rio moaned as she felt Agatha’s mouth meeting her pussy, her tongue darting out to dive into her folds.

– Hmm… You’re as sweet as I remember. – she hummed against the drummer. Her voice sending delicious vibrations through her.

Putting herself to work, she used all her years of experience to bring Rio to her favourite state: just on the edge. She would make Rio plead for her fingers.

– Agatha… – the brunette started, knowing exactly what the other woman wanted her to do. What she was about to do. – Agatha, please… Please…

The word kept falling from her lips as an infinite mantra until the singer finally fulfilled her requests, slipping her slick fingers inside Rio’s slick hole, satisfied at the reaction she got and at how easily they slipped inside her.

Pumping her fingers in and out, Agatha latched her lips to that soft bundle of nerves, using her tongue to play with it so she could drive the drummer even more desperate and needy.

When Rio’s hand entwined in Agatha's hair, she knew she got the other woman. She was holding back her orgasm, waiting for permission.

Releasing Rio’s clit with a loud pop, she demanded:

– You can cum.

That was enough to make Rio throw her head back and moan shamelessly, her hips uncontrollably bucking against Agatha’s fingers and tongue.

– Fuck! – she exclaimed as she came from her high, a sweet giggle escaping her as she put one of her hands in her chest, feeling how her heart was thumping against it.

Agatha crawled her way back to be on top of Rio, staring down at her masterpiece.

– Your turn. – the bottom tried to turn them around, but the other made no mention of letting her do it.

Instead, Agatha laid down in Rio's body, who immediately embraced her.

– You can return the favor tomorrow morning… – she said softly. Now that emotion of the moment passed, she was trying not to think of the complications her actions might get her. She was always a woman of the moment and that was her curse.

– So… Is this a sign that there will be a tomorrow for us? – Rio asked hopefully.

Agatha sighed in her chest, feeling how Rio was playing with her hair.

– I don't know… We didn't talk at all.

Rio giggled at that and she couldn't help but chuckle along. When they both fell in silence again, the drummer said, not wanting to press the other woman:

– You can leave if you want to… I know we're not in our right minds right now.

Agatha looked up at her. Her eyes carried an old sadness.

– I don't want to leave you. Not again.

Rio's eyes mirrored her lover's.

– Me too. – she answered softly.

Sharing so much in those looks, they leaned towards each other again, their first slow and passionate kiss being savoured deeply by the women. Oh, how they missed each other.

There, in each other's arms, they drifted into a quiet and comfortable slumber. Just as quiet and comfortable as their band colleagues shared in room's of distance, piled up in a large queen sized bed that fit the three of them.

After ten years of being incomplete, The Coven finally had one of their classic drunken nights.

It wasn't known to Agatha and Rio yet, but that was the plan since Lilia opened the first bottle of wine for the night. Against Jennifer and Alice's worries, she knew that her girls were ready to get back together… Or at least she hoped they were.

She knew there were only two possible ways to end the night: An even worse break up. Or just how Alice, Jen and her wrote in the band's new arc: with the Spirit Witch giving herself back to Death.

.

.

.

[jess-ence]

Cloud & Aerith are Orpheus & Eurydice

An Analysis:

Hello! I wanted to share my analysis on how Cloud & Aerith represent the Ancient Greek legend of Orpheus & Eurydice, one of the most well known tragic love stories. I love this game and I love this legend and after seeing connections I wanted to share it with others. This is my opinion. if you disagree, you can keep scrolling, and have a nice day <3

There have been many different variations of this story from Hadestown to Moulin Rouge. I will reference the broadway show Hadestown a lot, because I’m a huge fan of the show and it represents Orpheus & Eurydice’s story very well. With this analysis, I’m going in with the belief that Hollow and No Promises to Keep are Cloud and Aerith’s songs that are about each other, who those songs are about is a whole different argument, but to ME, it’s obvious who they’re about and I’m using them to push this analysis further.

In the Greek legend, Orpheus & Eurydice fell in love, and one day Eurydice died from the bite of a viper. Orpheus was so ruined by grief that he traveled to the underworld itself to find Eurydice and bring her back. Orpheus sang about his love for Eurydice to Hades and Persephone, who were so moved by it that Hades gave him the opportunity to bring Eurydice out of the underworld, he just has to take the long walk out of the underworld with Eurydice behind him, and he cannot look back at her the entire walk until they are out of the underworld, or else she will be sent back down. Towards the end of their walk, Orpheus is worried that Hades had tricked him because he could not hear Eurydice behind him. He loves her so much that he is driven mad by the fear and doubt that enter his mind. So much so that he ends up looking back at her, and she is sent back to the underworld.

Now for the comparison to Cloud and Aerith.

Obviously, much like Orpheus and Eurydice, we see their relationship become a precious and cherished thing, until Aerith is suddenly killed. If you really wanna get into details, guess who has eyes like a viper, Sephiroth. The one who kills Aerith.

Now Cloud is not a singer or a poet, but he does have a theme song called Hollow in the Remake. This song is heavily theorized to be about Aerith, and makes the most sense to be about her. It describes how lost and hollow he feels without her, which is so unbelievably Orpheus of him. In the lines;

“Bloody and bruised, Brought to my knees

When beaten down, When broken up

You would appear, Reach out to me,

Heal every wound, And make me whole”

It makes me think of a scene in Hadestown, where Orpheus gets beaten up while in the underworld trying to get Eurydice back. Persephone is inspired by Orpheus’ determination to get Eurydice back, his love for her and determination to get her back keeps him going even when he’s beaten down.

Throughout Hollow, he says a lot of words like “Guide me to you” “I’ll never let you go”. He still wants to find her somehow after feeling so empty from her death. Again, very Orpheus.

Let’s look at the lyrics for Wait for me that Orpheus sings in Hadestown;

“Wait for me, I’m coming

Wait, I’m coming with you

Wait for me, I’m coming too

I’m coming too”

Before Aerith even dies, she is kidnapped by Shinra, and Cloud makes it his personal mission to go get her back. After she is kidnapped in Remake, he has a vision of her, where he tells her,

“I’m coming for you”

In Rebirth, after she “dies” he tells her “I’ve got this” in English, but in the Japanese version, guess what he really says?

Wait for me.

There’s also a play called Loveless in FF7 Rebirth, where Cloud and Aerith play Alphreid and Rosa, whose story is very reminiscent of their real story. (I’m aware of how Rosa’s part can also be played by Tifa and Yuffie, but the story of this play fits Cloud and Aerith’s real story the most, as well as Rosa’s character fits Aerith the most. So I wanted to include it)

There is a line that Alphreid tells Rosa;

“You needn’t promise that you’ll wait. For I know that I will find you here”

Key words: Wait and Find

In Hadestown, Eurydice sings a song called Flowers. And guess who in FF7 is a flower girl? Aerith.

The song talks about how Eurydice regrets becoming a worker for Hades (in this version she is very poor and hungry, and Hades convinced her to sell her soul for the safety of it all) but she misses the world above and remembers Orpheus and her happiness with him in the fields of flowers.

Aside from the obvious flower connection, this almost makes me think of how while Aerith had a responsibility in dying and saving the world, she may have regrets since all she wants is to be happy with Cloud (we see her wishes on her dream date with him, spending time with him is how she wishes her life would be without the burden) and in the Advent Children script, when Cloud rides his motorcycle by a field of flowers where her ghost is standing and watching over him, it describes her feeling lonely.

Another thing to note, in Hadestown, a flower is used as a symbol for the whole show. Most notably for this analysis, Orpheus uses it as a reminder of her as he travels to the underworld and tries to give it back when they reunite. And guess what happens when Cloud and Aerith meet? She gives him a flower that represents the reunion of lovers.

In Aerith’s song, No Promises to Keep, Aerith describes this burden she has of being the last Cetra while also saying lines like,

“Till the day that we meet again

Where or when?

I wish I could say

But believe know that you'll find me“

Also:

“Still I hope someday you'll come and find me“

This just screams Eurydice waiting for Orpheus in the underworld, knowing he’ll come find her. Shes saying, come and find me, while he’s saying, guide me to you. Pair that with how Cloud keeps saying Orpheus lines like “Wait for me” and “I’m coming for you” Hollow and No Promises to Keep are such Orpheus and Eurydice anthems, even without the context of FF7 or Cloud and Aerith, those songs fit Orpheus and Eurydice so well. A man feeling hollow without his love, a woman trusting the man to come find her. *chefs kiss*

In the original FF7, Cloud gets a glimpse of Aerith after the final battle, and that’s when he says:

“the Promised Land...

I think I can meet her...there.”

Now we don’t have a clear answer as to what exactly the Promised Land is. Since Aerith is dead at this point when Cloud says this, it makes you wonder if it’s related to where you go when you die, or maybe just where Aerith goes since she is a Cetra. Regardless, she is still dead and Cloud still wants to find her, much like Orpheus when Eurydice dies.

In the Advent Children film that takes place two years after Aerith dies, Cloud himself is dying from geostigma, and sadly enough, is pushing away his friends, accepting death rather than fighting it, seemingly searching for Aerith amongst it all with how he sleeps in her church. Orpheus was known to have never been the same after Eurydice died, completely swallowed up with grief until he had the idea to see her again in the underworld.

Another interesting detail in AC, when he has visions of her, Cloud cannot look at Aerith because of his guilt until the very end where he decides to keep living on.

In the FF7 Remake, it takes a little different approach than the original FF7 did. There are multiversal aspects that have made people question if Aerith’s fate is final this time. Since we don’t know how Part 3 of the trilogy will play out, some of this is theorizing. But what I believe is that there was a new timeline where Cloud saved Aerith, it’s not the current timeline that Cloud and the rest of the party are in, but Cloud knows of this other timeline where Aerith is alive because he is the only one that can see into that timeline.

No Promises to Keep plays when they part at the very end of the game, the same song that talks about how she wants him to come and find her, just like he did when she was kidnapped by Shinra. This makes me wonder if maybe he will try to cross between different worlds (much like Orpheus with the underworld) to try and get her back. If this will be successful or not, we will see, he is Orpheus after all.

There’s another song in Hadestown called Road to Hell, about how even though Orpheus and Eurydice’s story ends in tragedy, the people in the musical keep singing it over and over hoping that one day the story will change and that one day they’ll be reunited.

“It's a sad song

But we sing it anyway

'Cause here’s the thing

To know how it ends

And still begin to sing it again

As if it might turn out this time”

A common theme with the Remake project is defying fate, repeatedly saying it’s not set in stone, that maybe it can be changed, so we’ll have to see if it’ll turn out this time.

I am one that does not mind either way if Aerith lives or dies by the end of this new trilogy. Simply because the tragedy of their romance was already great, it would be emphasized even more with this hope that maybe we can get her back. Both we and Cloud actually see a possibility of her being alive with these parallel worlds. There’s a chance he can get her back. And if he in fact still does not get her back, it would hammer in their original idea of this tragedy even more, making it more tragic. And if he does get her back, I feel like It the original idea would still be there (since we DID still see her die) but it would transcend both OG and remake that after all this time he finally found her, and maybe he’d finally be happy for it, I know people would be mad and say that it cheapens the purpose of her death or whatever but personally it would be beautiful to me. Getting that hope then getting the same result is very reminiscent of Orpheus and Eurydice. But I will say I am hopeful that Cloud can defy fate and get his Eurydice back, I would love to see them happy together by the end.

[yourimagines]

Hi can you write for angryginge13 where he takes the reader to a Manchester United game please

I hope you like this, I did some research I hope it’s good enough

Football Date

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Triggers; fluff, swearing

Y/N POV

I was following Morgan to the right entrance. “Babe come on, don’t leave behind.” He said while reaching out for me. “Don’t be so quick, it’s not starting yet.” I grabbed his hand as he pulled me closer. “On your pace they will.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Stop being so dramatic Morgan.” He pulled me to the entrance. “Your tickets?” A young guy asked. Morgan gave them and he scanned the tickets. “Thank you have fun.” “We will.” Morgan dragged me through the crowd. “Here, you go to our seat I’ll get us some food.” He gave me my ticket. “Okay, I see you there.” He kissed the top of my head and walked off to the food stalls. I walked to our seat. The arena was full with people. People everywhere. ‘Why did I say yes?’ I looked around and tried to find our seats.

“This is for you.” Morgan walked up, hands full with drinks and some food. I grabbed the two drinks out of his hands. “I’ll got you.” He sat down. He gave me some food as I gave him a drink. “So, now we wait for the game.” He wrapped an arm around me, starting to tell me everything about the game.

The game was happening, he was yelling and screaming at the players. I just laughed at him. “Unbelievable.” He sat down, shaking his head. “Just unbelievable, that was a red card.” He pointed it out as it was the most simple thing in the world. “But why didn’t he get one?” “Because they are blind.” I giggled he looked at me. “What’s so funny?” He chuckled. “You Morgan, they way you yell and get so excited about this, I find it adorable.” He shook his head. “Adorable? I’m not adorable.” “Yes you are.” I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. He looked at me with a smiles on his face. “Ohh!” I jumped up as a Manchester United player scored. Morgan missed the whole scene but still jumped up and screamed. “Yess! Let’s go!” He grabbed me into a hug. “See baby, amazing!” I just laughed.

We walked back to our ride, Morgan was singing. “Baby, are you happy they won.” I said with a smile on my face while recording him. He turns around and looks at the camera. “Darling I’m so happy you they won while I took you out here on a date.” “Aww that’s so sweet.” He smiles into the camera. I turned it off. “Let’s get something to eat, but not here, it’s to crowded.” He wrapped his arm around me and guided us through the crowds while singing some song out loud.

[official-wonho]

[INTERVIEW] Wonho talks return to music, US tour, upcoming album: 'I feel really happy every day'

Midtown Manhattan is bustling beyond its normal fast pace on Dec. 13, and it's not just because of the holiday season. The iHeartRadio Jingle Ball is in town.

Among those performing at the concert's pre-show All Access Lounge is Korean solo artist Wonho. It's his first time back in the States since being discharged from his military enlistment in September.

"I'm surprised that I was able to come back so quickly to the U.S.," the 31-year-old tells USA TODAY backstage at the Hammerstein Ballroom. "And I think it's due to my fans support."

Wonho's schedule has been packed, but there's so much that he's grateful for.

"Now that I see my fans in front of me, I feel really happy every day," Wonho says.

Challenges in returning back to the stage

Wonho says it was challenging to readjust after nearly two years away from music.

"It was a little bit strange to be back on stage performing again. It had been such a long time ... I even felt like I was so nervous that my legs were shaking" he reveals. "I thought that it was a little bit awkward to get used to making facial expressions to the camera again, and it took a little bit of time."

Prior to his Jingle Ball performance in New York, Wonho performed at Brooklyn Steel Dec. 12 as part of his "Welcome Back, Wenee" tour. And despite the muscular musician's physique and calm demeanor, he still gets shy.

"I feel nervous now, because I'm constantly in new places and in front of new fans," he shares. "Each stage is different, especially in the U.S.."

On his first solo tour, Wonho made stops in six cities, including Houston, Seattle and Los Angeles.

But on stage, Wonho has been able to acclimate with ease. He commands attention with his smooth voice and compelling choreography.

Wonho shares his love for Wenee

Coming back to music was an easy decision for Wonho. After all, his fans are what kept him grounded during his enlistment.

He says he would read fan letters and recall shared memories as motivation. All of those "helped the time go very quickly," he adds

Wonho's fans, called Wenee, are the impetus for his artistry. They are one reason for his latest single, "What Would You Do".

"I came back with an English single because English is a global language, and I can reach fans all over the world," he says.

And to be able to see his international fans so soon has felt unbelievable.

"Each each day is actually very memorable, and today, too is special in its own way," he says.

Wonho's morning routine on tour

The last month has been busy for Wonho, but his days always start the same.

He takes a wellness shot in the morning, easing into his schedule and then working out. "That's basically my morning routine every day, no matter where I am in the world," he says with a laugh.

"As for workouts, arms would be an easy day," Wonho says. "Chest is probably the worst. So sometimes, I skip those days." Wonho does, however, like leg workouts.

And Wonho's must-have tour items include a massage ball, a massage gun, pairs of white and black athletic socks and his medicine pouch.

Wonho's upcoming album teasers

Wonho calls "What Would You Do" a new start. "My goal is not really charts or numbers, but I just want to make a lot of good music," he explains.

In 2025, he plans to release a new album. "I actually recorded a song in Chicago, and I've been constantly working on music," he reveals. "For my future album, I want to try out new styles."

When writing music, Wonho sees it as a point of connection with his fans. He focuses on expressing his emotions in each song, so that others can apply the lyrics to their own experiences.

"I want them to remember the moments that we shared together," he says. "I think now I just want to really focus on making the mood of the songs."

via: usatoday.com

[the-authoress-writes]

Wherever You Go Chapter One

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Aviator!reader (Callsign: Thorn)

Moodboard by @bradshawsbaby

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: Tom Kazansky made a mistake.

Or rather, a series of mistakes.

He chose to take the assignment as an instructor at TOPGUN.

He fell in love with one of his students.

He broke her heart.

He chose to leave TOPGUN, and redeploy.

Now, he was stuck onboard the USS Nimitz with the woman whose heart he broke, with no way out.

Unbelievably, that’s not the problem.

Problem is, he still loves her.

Series Warnings: Teacher/Student relationship (but you already knew that) with no real age gap, warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Warnings: Here be cursing, because these are people in the Navy.

I don’t think there’s anything else, though.

Author’s Note: “It’s only going to be a oneshot.”

Yeah, freaking right.

This took forever (become a church musician, they said, it’ll be fun, they said, you’re in charge of the choir for the Advent season and Christmas while the choir director is on medical leave), but I’m fairly happy with how this turned out.

I think.

The impostor syndrome do be impostoring.

Thank you so, so very much to @roosterforme for hosting the Top Gun Rocktober Fic Challenge, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s rock ballads, “The Flame” by Cheap Trick.

Lyrics from the song will be peppered in throughout this series, because it’s too good not to, and the song is the reason this story exists, as it is what birthed the plotline.

A huge thank you and shout out to @thatsrightice, who helped me so much with the hop maneuvers, by researching the F-14 and A-4 high and low for me.

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Tom Kazansky x reader! fic is all your fault; but thank you so much for dragging me down with you, it’s been an absolute joy!

Previously on “Wherever You Go”…

And as he ate Carole’s heavenly consolation in a cookie, Tom reflected on just how he’d ended up in this position.

Two months ago…

“So, you looking forward to teaching the next generation of stick jocks like us, Ice?” Mav spoke, barely intelligible around the food he had in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak whatever language that was, because it definitely wasn’t English.” Tom deadpanned, looking up from his forkful of the fairly-decent facsimile of scrambled eggs from the famed Officer’s Mess Hall of NAS Miramar.

Mav rolled his eyes and hastily swallowed his own forkful of eggs. “I said, are you looking forward to teaching the next generation of pilots like us, Ice?”

“Like me?

Yes.

Like you?

No.”

With Slider’s approval, he had taken the instructor assignment after it was offered to him shortly after the Layton, he and Slider wanting a little stability for two or three years—maybe even four—the Layton mission having shaved off what felt like a whole decade from their lifespan.

The fact that he was going to be able to fly and show off—sorry—instruct, was a nice bonus.

And the fact that his wingman, the only other pilot who could hold a candle to him, was also an instructor, was another plus.

They’d kick the asses of the hotshots they were going to teach, no problem.

“Oh, come on, you know I’m the best,” Mav grinned, nearly maniacally.

Tom put his scrambled eggs in his mouth, and made a show of chewing and swallowing, before replying, “Second best,” gesturing with his fork.

“I’m the best and you know it,” Mav practically vibrated.

Tom squinted at his wingman. “How much sugar did you put in your coffee?”

The other pilot froze guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed—hyper Mav was even more of a chaotic gremlin than normal Mav.

The younger man had an incredibly high, almost unnatural, tolerance for sugar, but put enough of it in his system, and you got one Pete Mitchell who could fly without a jet.

Tom had personally seen the other man put what seemed like half a sugar bottle in one cup of coffee. “Why?”

Mav pouted, looking like a child, and not the twenty-four year-old naval aviator he was. “I just wanted to indulge myself a little, Ice, ‘cause, you know, we’re instructors—together—we’re gonna kick ass—it’s gonna be great!”

“I know we’re gonna kick ass, but you’re not going to be able to instruct if you’re vibrating so much they can’t even see you,” Tom chuckled, shaking his head, trying to figure out how he could burn off Mav’s extra energy before they, along with Viper and Jester, had to head to the classroom to greet their new students later that morning.

“I know—but I just wanted something a little sweet as a treat,” Mav murmured, green eyes cast down and glazed with shame, and he got a glimpse of the child his wingman must have been over fifteen years ago.

He softened on the younger pilot, and reached out to ruffle the raven hair with a soft smile. “‘m not mad at you, Mav, it’s okay.”

Mav pulled away with a grimace and a slap at Tom’s hand, before fussing with his dark hair, but the familiar light returned to the other man’s eyes, though with considerably less mania than two minutes ago.

They continued eating, but Tom’s devious side reared its head. “You do know what this means, though, right?”

“Wha’?”

Tom nearly laughed right there.

Mav had half a forkful of eggs balanced on his lower lip.

“You and I are going to go for a little run around the south hangars, to burn off that energy.”

An intense green stare fixed on him, clearly considering. “Okay, fine—I might… might have overdone it a little bit with the sugar packets.”

“A ‘little’, huh?

Good for you, bud, getting more self-aware.”

“Fuck you, Kazansky,” Mav smirked.

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Tom grinned. “Come on, finish up, so we can get a decent shower after our run.”

“You okay there, old man?” came the smug voice not far above his head.

“Two—two years, that’s all you have on me, Mav,” Tom muttered, massaging the ankle and knee of his right leg, stretched out on the bench of the instructor’s locker room, mentally cursing the old injuries he’d sustained there from a bad ejection he and Sli endured during one of their first deployments, on the Constellation, when the arresting gear failed because a new crewman didn’t check the weight on the valve of the wire.

It was why he had to wear a wrap on his knee and ankle whenever he and Slider played volleyball.

Mav continued, “You know I was gonna kick your ass running even if I wasn’t amped up on sugar, right?

Tall people wear out faster—that’s what you get for being freakishly tall.”

Tom frowned. “If I’m freakishly tall, what’s Merlin?”

Long pause.

Smirk.

“No,” Mav accusingly pointed, “I refuse to fall for that—I will not speak ill of my RIO, even though I’m his teacher.”

Tom chuckled.

Merlin had been lucky to be selected for TOPGUN again, though it was with the caveat that he wouldn’t be able to win the trophy in his session, as his pilot was going to be an instructor.

Merls had taken it well in stride, glad to be at TOPGUN, even if it meant he’d only graduate, as a reserve RIO for his session.

“Hey, did you hear?

History’s being made this session—we’re teaching the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN,” Tom remarked, once he’d eased the ache in his knee and ankle.

“Yeah, I know—and I know her; hell of a pilot,” Mav nodded. “Hell of a woman too.”

“Oh?” a blond brow rose wryly.

“Yeah, I met her two or so years ago, when the Black Aces chopped in on the Big E.

Callsign’s Thorn.

And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Mav’s voice was slightly muffled as he dug through his locker for a stick of deodorant. “Like you think I know her… carnally.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t flirt with any woman with a pulse.”

“Only most,” Tom nodded sagely, a smirk tugging his lips, even though his wingman couldn’t see it.

A finger was flipped in his direction over a shoulder. “Get in your khakis already, Icy-Hot-Man.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fuck you, Mav.”

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Mav threw back, and the shit-eating grin was audible in his voice, which made Tom secretly smile, to know his wingman and brother was happy.

After the two of them managed to get into their khakis in record time, they came up to the building with their classroom right with Jester and Viper, who spotted them and waved off their salutes. “Kazansky, Mitchell.

It’s good to see you both.

You ready.”

It was more statement than question, but despite the stoicism on the Vietnam veteran’s face, Tom could see the pride in his CO’s eyes, and the added glint of paternal pride, when he looked at Mav.

Though it made him sad to see that, reminding him of what he used to have, Tom was glad that the other aviator had a paternal influence in his adult life.

He’d had one before—Mav, on the other hand, hadn’t.

He really missed his Dedushka.

He pushed the thought away in time to see Viper gesture to follow him and Jester inside.

They all slipped their garrison caps off once they were under the fluorescent lights of the building, and the classroom door was in sight after a short walk.

“Alright,” Viper sighed, gaze running across all of them, a smile reminiscent of his callsign on his face, “time to school another batch of hotshots.

Let’s begin.”

The two wingmen exchanged a little grin, before squaring their shoulders and following Jester inside as Viper trailed behind.

“ATTENTION!!” Jester barked, striding to the front, Tom and Mav moving to the right side of the classroom, opposite the TV, following the order like everyone else in the room.

“At ease.”

At this, they all moved to parade rest, Tom and Mav having the luxury of clasping their hands before them, while Jester picked up a clipboard. “I will be calling out the driver and RIO teams.

After I call both your names, make yourselves known.

Lieutenant Solomon Bates, callsign “Warlock”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Kenneth Han, callsign “Shogun”.”

“Present, sir!” an Asian man about Tom’s height, and a tall African-American man enthusiastically chorused.

“Lieutenant Stephen Ruth, callsign “Babe”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Timothy Martin, callsign “Priest”.”

“Here, sir!”

“Lieutenant Edward Arellano, callsign “Belter”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Gabriel Presleigh, callsign “Elvis”.”

“Yes, sir!”

Lieutenant Henry Baker, callsign “Snackbar”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Matthias Novak, callsign “Links”.”

“Sir!”

“Lieutenant Julian Howell, callsign “Ash”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Randall Simmons, callsign “Igor”.”

“Up and ready, sir!”

The pilot, Howell, it was plain to see, had an arrogant, smug look on his face, almost like he felt it was inevitable he’d be at TOPGUN, and Tom sent Mav a sideways glance, which the other man returned.

Any hop with that particular pair was going to be interesting, and it was clear from the look on his wingman’s face, that his immediate dislike of the pilot was shared by Mav.

Tom looked forward to him and Mav educating Howell as to who were the best pilots, in the final hops.

“And finally, Lieutenant __ __, callsign “Thorn”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Emmett Kinford, callsign “Romeo.””

“Yes, sir!” came a resonant alto and an even, low baritone, the call jarring insofar as it was to hear a woman’s voice mixed with that of a man’s in this room, heretofore the demesne of men.

Both had even expressions on their faces, pilot and RIO gazing straight ahead, while the OCD part of Tom’s mind registered that their khakis were in better form than even his own, ribbons not the slightest bit out of place, with creases you could cut yourself on, and that was saying something.

Her hair was carefully pulled into the regulation tight bun, not a single strand out of place, and her RIO’s dark waves were also the picture of military perfection.

“You may be seated.” Jester said after a beat, casting his gaze shrewdly around the room. “I am Commander Rick Heatherly—callsign Jester.

I am the Executive Officer of Fighter Weapons School, known to all naval aviators as TOPGUN, and your Lead Opposing.

Each one of you have been selected for a very specific reason; to become the best of the best’s best.

Blinds.”

The room went dark as the blinds were shut, and the familiar video began playing, the familiar speech being recited.

Soon, Jester finished his speech, calling for the blinds to be opened.

Light flooded into the room, and Tom fought to look dignified, not squinty, even as the sun assaulted his eyes.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your Junior Instructors, and this school’s Secondary Opposing; Lieutenant Tom Kazansky, callsign “Iceman”, and Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, callsign “Maverick”, last year’s Top Gun, and second place finisher respectively—”

Both he and Mav somehow straightened further, nodding professionally at their class.

“—and finally, our Commanding Officer here at TOPGUN, the very first man to win the Top Gun Trophy; and there is not a finer naval aviator in the world.

Captain Mike Metcalf—callsign “Viper”.”

Viper strode in and told the first class of ‘87 much the same things he did the flyboys of ‘86, and they all turned to get a good look at the Top Gun Trophy, whose newest brass plaque bore the engraving “LT T. Kazansky & LTJG R. Kerner — 1986”.

“You think your names are going to be up there?” Viper gazed speculatively at the class.

However, this time, no one filled the silence with an affirmative response—unlike Mav the year before—though Ash and Igor had hungry and yet self-assured looks in their eyes.

“Well, regardless of whose name ends up in brass at the end of these five weeks, at the end of the day, you—we—are all on the same team.

Gentlemen—and lady,” Viper nodded towards Thorn, “this school is about combat—there are no points for second place.

Dismissed.”

“Report to the quartermaster for your housing assignments, you’ll have today to get settled.” Jester called out to the room at large, “and remember, tomorrow’s first class starts at 0800.”

Most of the class quickly shuffled out of the room, but not before a few of them shot Thorn and Romeo, both of whom were still seated, skeptical—and in Ash and Igor’s case, outright dirty—looks, looks which she ignored, though one would have to be blind not to notice the protective menace emanating from her RIO despite the similar expression of indifference on his features.

But once her classmates had filed out, Thorn looked towards him and Mav, her indifference giving way to a radiant smile.

“Mav,” she exclaimed, striding over.

“Acey!” his wingman laughed, pulling her into a hug, briefly lifting her a slight distance off the floor.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you!”

“You too—it’s been too long.”

“Yeah—” here her expression sobered, “and I’m so sorry—I heard about Nick—Ro and I couldn’t believe it.”

“Nick was a great guy, it was such a shock—damn canopy of all things,” Romeo said, having walked over to give Mav a warm pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Mav breathed evenly, a bit too evenly for Tom’s liking. “Oh, uh, Thorn, Romeo, this is my f-friend and wingman, Tom Kazansky.”

All too glad to take the spotlight to give Mav time to breathe, he stepped forward, extending his hand. “You can call me Ice, it’s good to meet you.

Mav’s told me about you, Thorn.”

“Oh?

Only good things, I hope,” she said, shaking his hand.

Her hand had the same callouses he and most fighter pilots had—which gave him a bit of cognitive dissonance, because he was used to only feeling those callouses on other men—with a strong grip, and a confident posture as she looked up at him.

“Practically praised you to the stars and back,” he smiled, letting go of her hand.

“Hello, I’m chopped liver,” Romeo wryly stated as he shook Tom’s hand. “Call me Ro.”

“You’re hardly chopped liver, Ro, you’re the sixth best RIO I know,” Mav interjected, his voice and breathing seeming more like baseline.

“Thank you, I guess?” Romeo frowned.

Thorn broke in, “I gotta admit, for a second, I was kind of worried that you’d suddenly become too good for the likes of me and Ro, Mr. TOPGUN-Instructor and Three-Confirmed-Kills, I swear, Mav, that was the stillest I’ve ever seen you.”

The aforementioned man shrugged. “That’s Ice’s influence.

Got to stand still so you hotshots have a chance to admire us.”

Thorn huffed a light-hearted laugh, but Mav continued, “And I only got those kills thanks to this guy.

I had to lead some of the MiGs away so that he could have one all to himself,” Mav beamed, waggling his eyebrows.

Thorn blinked, “Oh yeah, you’ve got one too.”

Before he could reply, Mav proudly cut in, “Yes, he does—and this guy held out against five MiGs.”

“Sli and I’d have burned in if you didn’t get there in time, Mav,” Tom said, determined that his wingman would get the praise he deserved.

Said wingman turned, eyes narrowed hopefully. “Is this you admitting I’m the better pilot?”

He scoffed lightly, “Any pilot would have trouble against five adversaries, the best or not.”

“I’ll get you to admit it one day,” the diminutive pilot muttered.

Tom clapped Mav on the shoulder. “Today is not that day, buddy.”

Another huffed laugh had the two wingmen remembering that their students were still in the room.

Romeo was shaking his head in the way of those who have fondly dealt with the inimitable Pete Mitchell, and Thorn had a small smile on her face, but it was no less bright than the one she had when she greeted Mav. “You look good, Mav.”

“Uhh… thanks?

But I always do.”

Thorn scoffed, and Romeo rolled his eyes so hard, Tom was surprised the RIO didn’t pull something.

She turned to him, a look in her eyes that spoke as if he had passed some test he didn’t know about, turning the tables on him, her instructor, and they weren’t even in the air yet. “You keep taking care of this Firebird for me, huh?”

Something about receiving her unsought approval shot a bolt of feeling through him, searing through his being, like standing in the middle of a lightning storm. “Of course.”

“Good,” she breathed, her small smile turning to a grin. “I guess—I guess Ro and I better go, because I’m sure our classmates got the good housing already.”

“We’ll accompany you to your housing, once you get your assignment—the uh—” he cleared his throat and sniffed, “the housing here is laid out pretty weird.”

Tom could feel Mav’s gaze snap to him at a practically supersonic speed, but he ignored it, in favor of shooting Thorn a charming, if not slightly awkward, smile.

Her head tilted at a slight angle, keen gaze analyzing him like he was some sort of problem she couldn’t quite solve. “If that’s what you want to do with your time, sure thing, sir.”

His brain shut down on him for a split second, for some odd reason, but he managed to evenly reply, “We’re the same rank.”

“That shiny Junior Instructor title of yours begs to differ, but whatever you say… sir.”

A nudge at his side snapped him out of whatever strange fugue his brain was trying to drag him into.

He’d have to get more sleep, he figured.

“What’d I tell you, Ice?

Sometimes I wonder if Acey here should have been the Firebird instead of me—because I’m well on my way to becoming an ace, as you all know,” Mav declared.

“Imagine being deployed with this for months,” Thorn sighed, but with a teasing glimmer in her eyes.

“Imagine agreeing to get stationed with him, and being his wingman,” Tom reparteed.

“Oh, I can,” she nodded knowingly. “I have stories, by the way.”

“Oh?

Do tell,” he grinned, playfully ignoring the groan from his wingman.

She blinked, her expression frozen for a split second, before she gestured to the aisle, “Mind if we walk and talk?”

“At your leave, Lieutenant.”

She shook her head slightly, but strode onwards, their strides matching in less than half a beat. “So there was this one incident with some shaving cream…”

When the four of them arrived at the quartermaster, as Thorn predicted, her and Romeo’s classmates were long gone.

“Hello, shitty housing,” she muttered, as she and Romeo approached the quartermaster, while he and Mav stood a ways behind.

“You’re being weird.”

“What?” Tom turned to see Mav staring at him like he was an F-14 requiring diagnostics and a shit-ton of maintenance.

“I said you’re being weird—”

“Yeah,” he slowly began, “I heard you the first time, Mav, what do you mean?”

“You—you’re being… nice,” was the other aviator’s perplexed reply, accompanied by an equally consterned gesture.

It was his turn to stare. “I am nice.”

“Uh-huh, but you’re not usually this—this, to people you don’t know.

Who are you, and what have you done to my wingman?”

If Tom were to be honest, he himself knew that he wasn’t exactly acting in character, but there was just something that tugged him to… be warmer towards Thorn and Romeo.

He put it down to wanting to repay the TOPGUN students for being kind to his brother, when not many others were.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Mav,” he said, sounding somewhat lame to even his own ears, truthful as it was.

“Okay, sure,” the other man nodded, in an extremely distrustful tone.

“Got it!” Thorn declared, she and Romeo marching up. “Let’s see what Government Issued shanty we’ll be put up in, shall we?

Looks like we’re at… 315 Vraciu.”

Tom spoke up. “That’s not bad, I think; a couple of our classmates last year were put up in that same housing—Charles Piper and Marcus Williams—and I don’t think they had any problems.”

Romeo clicked his tongue, “Well, that’s a first—less-than half-decent housing’s usually par for the course for me and Thorn.

This’ll be a refreshing change.”

Tom would never understand why good pilots were blamed for things they couldn’t change, Mav for his father’s “betrayal” and his own unconventional flying style, and Thorn for her gender, through relentless hazing and/or poor treatment.

If he ever rose high enough to change things, he swore he would.

The housing was a basic, cookie cutter home a little over a five minute drive from the main TOPGUN building, and on the way there, Thorn and Mav were seated in the back of Tom’s truck, catching up, while Romeo sat shotgun.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Tom saw that both pilots were animatedly discussing things that had happened since the last time they saw each other, including the infamous inverted-over-a-MiG situation.

“Are they always like this?” he said in sotto voce to the RIO beside him.

Romeo flicked his dark gaze to the backseat, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah.

It’s nice to see her happy.

Not a lot of people think much of her, since she’s a woman, you know.

But Mav, he and Goose, they never saw that, they just saw a good pilot, and I’m grateful.

They were the only ones who wanted to fly with us.”

Tom frowned in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

If Mav was singing her praises, she must be a phenomenon in the sky—who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

“Nope.

They were the only ones who volunteered, so they kind of got stuck with us that whole deployment.”

At this point, they arrived at 315 Vraciu, and they all hopped out, the two students carrying their seabags to the door.

Thorn unlocked the door, she and Romeo tossing their bags in the entrance. “Well, thanks for the ride,” she nodded, Romeo doing likewise behind her.

“No problem, my pleasure,” Tom replied, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I’ll see you both around, I guess.”

He imagined that her eyes lingered longer on him than they did on Mav, and… he didn’t exactly know how he felt about that.

Mav threw off a nonchalant salute while he sent a respectful nod, before they moved to go back to his truck.

They were halfway there when they heard, “Hey Mav!”

The two of them halted, turning to see the fire of challenge in Thorn’s brilliant eyes. “You gonna take it easy on me?”

Mav scoffed, “You think I’m an idiot?”

She carefully maintained a blank look, and Mav flipped her off with a grin.

Her expression sharpened, gaze landing on him, callsign all too accurate, as the edge of defiance in her voice rang through the air. “And how about you—are you going to take it easy on me?”

He had to admire her for that already.

“If you’re as good as Mav says, that’d be a damn injustice.”

Her answering smile was dagger-keen. “Looking forward to seeing you up there, then.”

Something in him thrilled to the thought of having another worthy opponent in the sky. “It’ll be a highlight of my day, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see.”

Though not unkindly, the door shut in their faces soon after.

Tom stared at the door a moment longer, before again turning to see Mav frowning.

“You’re really being weird.”

“…Shut up, Mav.”

“Alright boys—just to remind you, we have the classes in the morning, and we’re going up in the afternoon.

For the first hop, it’s going to be Jester against Thorn and Romeo, Mitchell against Warlock and Shogun, then Ash and Igor.”

An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over Tom as he realized Viper’s hop arrangement meant he wouldn’t get to fly against Thorn the first day, but he managed to keep most of the expression off his face, especially with Mav treating him like a problem to solve the whole rest of last night.

Indeed, the shorter man was and had been surreptitiously studying him.

“Which leaves me with Belter and Elvis, and you, Kazansky, with Snackbar and Links, then Babe and Priest, for the second hop.”

Just a banner day for Thomas Kazansky, wasn’t it?

Couldn’t fly against Thorn, and didn’t even get to school Ash and Igor.

“Everyone understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!”s rang through the room, and Viper nodded, pleased.

“Dismissed, then.

To your classes, gentlemen.”

Viper knocked a fist against the table twice before he and Jester departed the briefing room.

Tom gathered his folders and looked at his wingman, who was neatening a very short stack of papers. “I was hoping to have first crack at Ash and Igor,” he muttered.

“I know,” Mav smirked.

Resigned, he sighed, “Well, kick their ass extra hard for me, will ya?”

The smaller man’s smirk took on a devilish quality. “I’ll draw first blood, then you wipe the floor with them, and us together, it’ll be game over,” he stated, as he extended a fist.

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom nodded, sealing the agreement with a fist bump.

As he bent to pick up his attaché case, Tom’s eyes were again drawn to the minuscule stack of papers the other man had. “You got the material for your class today, right?”

“Uhhh, yeah, sort of,” Mav shrugged.

“‘Sort of’.

What exactly do ‘sort of’ class materials look like?”

Mav spread his hands, and he knew. “In all honesty, I was gonna just kind of wing it.”

Tom honestly should have seen it coming—but Maverick mavericking was what made Maverick, Maverick.

“Okay,” he replied, trying to hide his grin. “Sounds good.

Good—good, good.”

He managed to hold his laughter in until he reached the hall, but even then, an “Up yours, Ice!” followed him around the corner.

Tom’s class went smoothly, and after a lunch that he eagerly finished, he eventually found himself in his flight gear, fidgeting in the instructor’s ready room.

Having completed his preflight, he decided to chalk his restlessness down to the novelty of flying an A-4, a single-seater, with no Slider in his ear or backseat, as he listened intently to the comms for the first hop, Viper doing the same across the room.

Mav and Jester engaged Warlock and Shogun, and Thorn and Romeo, respectively, once the Commander called “Fight’s on!”, and Mav made short work of Warlock and Shogun, getting tone on the other pilot and RIO in a little over two minutes.

Commendable, in his opinion, for their students.

Mav called for them to knock it off and return to base, before moving on to Ash and Igor.

It was then that he realized that Jester was still engaged with Thorn and Romeo.

Romeo was evenly calling out altitudes, positions, and break directions, while Thorn composedly called maneuvers out, interrupted only by the sound of the two aviators g-straining, the F-14’s engines in the background.

He briefly turned his attention to Mav, who had engaged Ash and Igor; the two were, as he predicted, scrambling wildly for their “lives” (and based on what he was hearing, would get tone locked in a matter of seconds), in radical contrast to Thorn, who was calmly holding her own.

In his head, he could see a vague picture of what was going on up there with Jester, Thorn, and Romeo, and Tom realized that he wasn’t sure how it was going to end, the sound of Mav getting tone on Ash and Igor fading into the background.

Tom could hear the strain in Thorn and Romeo’s voices as they fought more g-forces while calling movement and other things out—they had to be at or near corner speed to make them sound like that.

Tom could hear the faint, steady beeping which warned of imminent tone lock, and he hoped she would win this, if only to prove his wingman’s faith in her skill correct.

Just as the beeping grew faster, Thorn muttered, “Just a little… come on, come on…”

He leaned forward in his seat, and realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to inhale.

Then suddenly, the blare of confirmed tone.

Disappointment for her sake sank in his stomach, but only for the briefest moment, because the voice which triumphantly called out “Good lock!” was distinctly female. “That’s a kill, Commander!”

And Tom could breathe again.

Holy shit, Mav was right—she was a hell of a pilot.

Thorn managed to keep too much of the gloating out of her tone, but it was a fairly narrow thing, and in his opinion, it was justified.

A faint sound caught his attention—if he didn’t know any better, Tom could have sworn that that was a… fond chuckle that came from Jester.

“Copy kill.

Well, knock it off, Lieutenant, and RTB.”

“Yes, sir!”

Without really thinking about it, he went to the flight line, in time to see the three F-14s and two A-4s land.

His eyes were drawn to her jet as she pulled in to the flight line, and he was faintly aware of Mav’s A-4 pulling up beside his.

She’d done the impossible; Thorn, a female naval aviator, got chosen for TOPGUN, and got tone on her instructor the first day.

Technically, that wasn’t anything new—Mav had done similar—but in a sense, it was.

Women were just starting to be seen as capable of being in the military, in combat roles, to be exact, and to see a woman do something that had been the domain of men for decades, centuries, and do it just as well as a man—better even; as evidenced by the fact that in her hop, she was the only one to get tone on her instructor…

He really had to admire that—admire her.

“That good enough of an ass kicking for ya, Ice?”

Tom was snapped out of his introspection from the sudden appearance of his wingman at his side, running a hand through his hair, helmet under his arm.

“What?”

Mav grinned, “I got tone on Ash and Igor in roughly a minute or so.

How the fuck those two got picked for TOPGUN eludes me.”

Tom scoffed and shook his head in agreement. “Bet I can get tone on them faster, though.”

Mav slapped him on the shoulder, “We’ll see, Ice.”

A sudden whoop of jubilant laughter drew his gaze, and he could see Thorn about thirty paces away, coming ever closer, and his breath caught in his throat—her mouth was split in a beaming smile, wild and passionate, illuminating her from within with effervescent joy, her shining eyes endlessly reflecting her exhilaration.

Her bun was coming slightly loose, tendrils of hair framing her face and swaying in the breeze, while her flight suit clung to her figure, helmet dangling insouciantly from her fingers; it was decorated with a briar all over, red roses among thorns made of black aces, and it had her callsign across its brow.

Her eyes landed on him, and her smile took on a mischievous quality. “We got Jester, nailed him on the first day.

You gonna be ready for us?” Then, as if she only noticed Mav next to him at that moment, she amended, “Both of you?”

He grinned, just shy of showing too many teeth, nonchalantly stepping closer, shifting his weight to lean towards her, hip slightly cocked to keep his balance, barely paying any mind to the tension in Romeo’s stance behind his pilot. “We’ll see who gets tone on whom first.”

Thorn smirked as she looked him up and down, teeth tugging her bottom lip for the briefest moment before she clicked her tongue, “Good thing I’ve got front row seats for that show, then.” She pivoted on her heel, walking backwards as she sent him a casual salute, before turning to stride back to the locker room, Romeo following her with a minutely narrowed glance over his shoulder at him.

“Huh.”

He turned from watching the pilot and RIO, to see Mav again at his side, glancing back and forth between him and Thorn and Romeo.

Tom frowned, “What ‘huh’?”

“Nothing, nothing,” came the too-quick answer. “Just huh.”

“…Now who’s being weird?”

Tom’s hop with Viper was not quite as interesting as Mav with Jester’s, though he did have to commend all three pilots for holding out for a few minutes, which was more than Ash and Igor could say.

The debrief was a thing of beauty—going in reverse order from lowest to highest hop score, meant that he got to witness Mav positively eviscerate Ash and Igor as the first order of business, and the sheer stupidity that Ash displayed in the air, made Tom wonder what guardian angel or deity sent this idiot to TOPGUN.

He mentally saw a dozen different maneuvers that Ash could have done, that, while they might not have gotten him tone on Mav, they would have helped him last longer against the other pilot.

The debrief drew on, Tom stepping forward when it was his turn, not sparing the other pilots their vivisections, though theirs were not quite as harsh, by sheer dint of them not being as idiotic as Ash and Igor, and finally, it was the debrief he was waiting for; Thorn and Romeo’s.

He had an idea of what happened in the air, but he wanted to know what exactly she had done.

It was textbook and yet genius.

He was right; once they hit the merge, flying at corner speed through a series of turns, Thorn had maneuvered to force Jester to increase his turn rate, bleeding his airspeed, playing the Skyhawk’s weakness against it, before placing him in her sights.

“…all in all, great work, Lieutenant,” Jester complimented, writing her hop score of 5 on the board, the highest number of all the teams that day, sending her a nod.

Her face was impassive as she replied, “Thank you, sir,” but Tom could see the vindication in her eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all learned something from your classes and most especially, your hops today,” Viper declared, pacing the front of the classroom. “This is only the first day, and to borrow a saying from our SEAL cousins, ‘The only easy day was yesterday’.”

The Captain stared the students down, pair by pair, searching for something in each of them.

Finally, he stated, “You’re all dismissed.”

After Jester and Viper left, leaving him and Mav, as the junior instructors, to neaten things, Ash and Igor were predictably the first out the door—just shy of storming out, while most of the others looked at Thorn with less suspicion than the day before, a few actually lingering.

While he was fixing the markers, out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Warlock step forward first, a light smile on his face. “Hey, uh, that was great, what you pulled today—I’m Solomon, but you can call me Sol or Warlock, whichever you prefer.

This is my RIO, Ken, but he prefers Shogun.”

The Asian man genially lifted a hand in greeting, “Really wish I could have seen that.”

Babe chuckled, “Yeah, that was good, wish I’d have thought of what you did, maybe I’d have had a chance against Kazansky—I’m Stephen.”

Priest, his RIO, cooed, “Aw, you embarrassed by your callsign, Babe?”

“Shut up, Tim,” Babe glared.

Priest raised both hands in surrender. “Not my fault your last name’s Ruth—I’m this stick in the mud’s RIO, Tim—call me Priest, that there’s Belter and Elvis.”

Tom almost laughed at the expression Thorn made; the momentary shock on her face was palpable, but it was swiftly concealed—the only reason it registered for him was because he was so used to reading Mav’s microexpressions.

“Thanks—nice to meet you all.

I’m Thorn, this’ Romeo, my RIO.”

Romeo shook hands with them all, a pleasant, but guarded expression on his face.

“You weren’t too bad up there yourselves, from what I heard,” she continued.

“Yeahhh, but who got tone on their instructor first day?

Not this guy,” Priest waggled his eyebrows, jerking both thumbs at his pilot, “and not any of these guys,” making the others groan or laugh.

Tom ducked his head, hiding his smile; he was glad that the others seemed to be warming up to her, he wanted her to have the same experience as he did at TOPGUN—establishing a brotherhood with his classmates.

“—Tom!”

He pivoted to see Mav snapping his fingers close to his face, and he reflexively flinched back from his wingman’s hand in his face. “What?”

He belatedly realized that he’d been saying that a little too much recently.

As if he were speaking to a particularly dull child, Mav spoke slowly. “Do you think I can erase the board now?”

“Yeah, uh, but not the scores.”

“Of course not.

You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah—fine, it’s just a… long day.”

The suspicion in Mav’s eyes didn’t fade as he sighed and nodded. “Feel up to The O Club tonight?

Maybe decompress a bit, have a drink?”

“That sounds great, actually.” Maybe a drink was what he needed, his mind seemed to be all over the place.

“‘Kay—meet you there?”

“Yeah.”

Once he finished with the room, he followed Mav out, sending a look to where Thorn was still talking with her classmates, to see that her gaze was already on him.

Her eyes immediately went back to her classmates, but nevertheless, he felt branded by her stare, like it was a tangible thing, searing through his veins, sending a paradoxical shiver down his spine.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he could admit it; he didn’t know what it was, but he felt drawn to her.

To what end… he didn’t know.

And that…

That scared him.

Tom eased his precious Chevelle into a parking spot near the door of The O Club; a rarity, but one very welcomed, given how busy the bar seemed.

(The fact that it was within sight of Mav’s highly recognizable Ninja was a perk—he and Slider had stopped one too many parking lot beatdowns.)

He reached for his Shooters, narrowly stopping himself from putting them on (Mav hated it when he did that at night; “It makes you look like a dick”, according to his wingman), instead tucking them into the pocket of his whites, carefully opening the driver’s door, squeezing himself out of the narrow gap he afforded himself.

The black metal flake paint was pristine, and he intended to keep it that way, it didn’t matter how ridiculous he may look.

The O Club was, as the parking lot showed, busy, full of people in service whites, throwing him back to last year, that first night for the flyboys of ‘86.

He cast his gaze around the bar, peering through the haze of cigarette smoke and the people, searching for his wingman’s squirrelly figure, before a call of “Ice; over here!” pierced through the sound of numerous conversations and the jukebox, before a hand flailed wildly, becoming visible over the heads of the crowd.

Mav had claimed seats at the bar; prime real estate with the place this hectic—he didn’t want to know how the other man had kept the seat next to him free when every Tom (hah), Dick, and Harry were clamoring for a seat at the bar.

He made his way through the crowd, gratefully settling onto the barstool next to Mav, also dressed in his service whites. “Hey Mav,” he greeted.

“Hey; I ordered already, I assumed you’d want your usual vodka on the rocks.”

“Thanks; you know me too well.”

“Kind of hard to miss when it’s literally what you order every single time,” Mav smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes—he was a creature of habit, sue him.

(And if vodka on the rocks reminded him of his Dedushka, what was wrong with that?)

“Seems like all of Fightertown is here tonight,” he muttered to Mav.

“You’re not too far off on that, I saw basically all of our students here,” the other man replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Only ones I haven’t seen are Thorn and Romeo, actually,” he finished casually.

Rather against Tom’s will, something in him lurched forward, his thought process halting, making him feel like he’d just snagged the third wire on the carrier deck.

Despite that, he managed a calm—at least in his opinion—“Oh.”

“Mmm.” Another calm sip of beer from his wingman—too calm.

He narrowed his eyes and sighed at Mav. “What the fuck is that ‘Mmm’ for?”

The dark-haired aviator pulled an expression like he just sucked on a lemon. “What, can’t a guy just ‘Mmm’ anymore?”

“Not when you’ve been fucking weird for the past two days,” he replied, sending the harried bartender a grateful nod as they slid his vodka on the rocks over to him.

“I’m not weird, you’re weird,” was Mav’s reply, and he narrowed his eyes at the muted shimmer of something in the other pilot’s eyes.

He was about to retort when his eyes were drawn to the door, and the bulk of Romeo walked in, his head and whites-clad shoulders peeking above quite a few people’s.

It was mere curiosity, he told himself, that led him to lean to see if his pilot was also with him.

It took a beat, but then, several people in the crowd moved, and he saw her—her hair cascaded down her shoulders, as sharp eyes surveyed The O like it was the skies, dressed, unlike everyone else in the Navy who occupied this space, in civvies; a loose, white blouse tucked into jeans, cinched with a thick brown leather belt at her waist.

And everything seemed to fade into the background, the sight of her drowning out the sound of the bar, and Mav’s howling laughter.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

Faceclaims

Russian glossary

Disclaimer: translations are from the interwebs.

Please don’t kill me.

Dedushka: Grandfather

Two years is the real-life age gap between Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer.

The story behind Ice and Slider’s bad ejection actually did happen to a pilot-RIO pair, then-Commander William Switzer and then-Lieutenant (junior grade) David “Bio” Baranek on December 19, 1981, aboard the very same aircraft carrier that I mentioned.

You can read the detailed description of the incident here, retold by Commander Baranek, for the Ejection Tie Club of the Martin-Baker company, who specialize in making ejection seats—including those of the F-14 Tomcat—for pilots and backseaters who have ejected using a Martin-Baker ejection seat.

VFA-41, the “Black Aces”, based out of NAS Lemoore, were featured in Top Gun: Maverick as the squadron of Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, and I thought that would be nice to include that, in this universe at least, Phoenix is a member of the squadron with the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN.

Icy-Hot is a liniment that has been on the market since before 1931.

The name of LTJG Kenneth “Shogun” Han is a reference to this scene in the now-ABC hit series, 9-1-1, where paramedic/firefighter Howard “Chimney” Han, played by actor Kenneth Choi, replies that if he weren’t a paramedic/firefigher, he’d have liked to be a Navy TOPGUN graduate, with the callsign “Shogun”.

The names of Henry “Snackbar” Baker, Stephen “Babe” Ruth, and Timothy “Priest” Martin are a reference to both the original name of Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe—Henry Ruth—and the Martin-Baker company.

The speeches that Jester and Viper give are nearly word for word the same as the speeches that they gave in TG86, with some authorly variation because I didn’t want to rehash the same speeches that we heard in the movie word for word.

Again, VF-1, a now inactive squadron based out of NAS Miramar, is the squadron that Mav and Goose belonged to before they went to TOPGUN, although it must be noted that, like most of the squadron patch designs in Top Gun, the patch design as seen on Mav and Goose’s flight suits, is incorrect and not matching the squadron designation, instead bearing the insignia of VAW-110, the “Firebirds”, who flew the E-2 Hawkeye, which was shown as Comanche in TG:M.

Alexander Vraciu was a WWII Navy ace who downed 12 Japanese aircraft and sank a Japanese merchant ship with a direct hit to her stern.

The merge is a concept used in air combat, where aerial warfighters engage with enemy aircraft by steering their plane toward the adversary—this maneuver is referred to as “going to the merge.”

Corner Speed

Did anyone catch the TG:M line reference?

Special thanks to @valmare for the Ice has a Chevelle headcanon!

Service Whites

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[zoe4math]

Recently, I found this picture:

I am sure that there must be some wonderful stories in it.

However, I know this picture is not clear, and neither my English nor Japanese abilities are good.

So, I will try my best to translate this picture. If you have found some grammar problems, please let me know, and I'll improve it. 🥹

【Geordo】

Dear Catarina,

It has been a month since we became lovers. Although I stayed by your side as your fiance, when I accomplished to tell you my feelings, and the time you accepted it… do you know how joyful I was? I believe if I hadn't known about you, I would never understand those feelings.

From now on, I want to go to various places with you more than ever and spend time together. I want to know more about what you like.

I love you, Catarina.

Geordo Stuart

【Keith】

You may not notice, but since I met you, my daily life has changed incredibly. Knowing you makes me understand that such happy feelings really exist, and being accepted is such a wonderful thing. I will definitely protect you well from now on. I hope you can rely on me more.

And…if possible, I want to do something a little more like lovers with you…though, I don't really know what kind of things lovers do…

Anyway, I love you.

Let's always be together.

Keith Claes

【Alan】

To Catarina.

Becoming…becoming lovers with you is still unbelievable to me…but yes, we really develop to this kind of relationship. And it reminds me of one thing: I care about you more than caring for myself.

When I look up at the sky, I would think of your eyes’ color, and at the concert, I often choose to perform the songs you like. I can't take my eyes off of you whenever we meet, and if I am ignored by you, I will get mad as a child. I feel like thinking about you all the time is a little weird, but every day, I feel happy.

Catarina, I am grateful for the days with you.

Let's make these great days continue.

Alan Stuart

【Nicol】

To my beloved Catarina,

Honestly, sometimes, I am still afraid that this mysterious reality is only a dream. I have hidden my feelings since I was little, and I thought that I should be satisfied with protecting your smile.

However, you who are already by my side are neither a dream nor a longing, which really made me delightful.

Please stay by my side from now on. I love you, and I will surely make you happy, I promise.

Nicol Acsart

【Rozy】

To Catarina.

I am eager to know what you are doing. I am thinking about you all day, and even Silva is arguing with it and asking me not to think about you so often. But I miss you so much that I think my feelings are going to burst out, that's why I am writing this to you.

I love you, Catarina. I want to hug you right now. You always blush and make a little embarrassing face when I hug you. You are so cute and make me want to hug you even more.

…I love you, Catarina.

I am looking forward to the day we will meet.

Rozy Lind

【Silva】

I think writing a letter is not wasting time, but…well, sometimes doing things like this isn't bad, is it? Especially you, always forget things quickly. Now you can read my letter to you and think about me during the time we can't meet each other.

You are precious to me. Of course, I am saying this is not as a friend but as a lover.

I love you…l won't leave you. That's it. Make up your mind now that you will be by my side forever.

Silva