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acemapleeh · 3 years ago

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I See, I See, What You Do Not See

May 24th: Historical

Summary: A rainy fall date to one of the best museums in the country leads to reminiscing and forgotten perspectives.

Written for Day 2 of @nedcanweek, May 24rd: Historical

Characters: Netherlands, Canada

Word Count: 2365

Read on ao3

Late Fall, Amsterdam, Netherlands, 2014

“How long are you going to stare at this painting for? You know there are over eight thousand other things we can look at. Two thousand of them are from my Golden Era alone. Eighty rooms, eight hundred years of history to look at.”

“I told you, I’m trying to see how many paintings I can find you in. There’re so many people here and it’s a harbor so, of course, you have to be here somewhere.”

“Is this what you do when you visit your own museums? Ik zie, ik zie, wat jij niet ziet?”

Matthew let out a dry laugh. “Please, any paintings that were done of me were from Father’s commission and those are all looming in the English countryside gathering dust.”

“And you think there would be hundreds of artists who would find me a perfect muse?”

“More you than me.”

Jan sighed, moving his attention to the program guide. He was interested in seeing the newest photography exhibit that covered most of the 20th century. He’d been to this museum several times since it opened and he liked coming back whenever renovations or new exhibits were finished. Taking Matthew here simply made sense for a day out together. "If you sat still for me, I would paint you." He had leaned forward, resting his chin on Matthew's shoulder. "And I'm right there by the way. Closest to the ship with the ledger and hat."

Matt promptly swatted him in the chest with his own booklet. "You're an ass. I would have found you in the next five seconds." He was flushing slightly, not that it took much. "You can just take a picture of me- which I've seen you do. You take terrible candid shots of me. Why do you have a photo of me shoving poutine in my mouth as your phone background?"

"Because you hardly ever let me take any photographs of you. I have to practically beg you."

He snorted and began walking to the next piece of a snowy town and a large crowd going about their day, navigating the winter freeze. “And you can keep on begging. Not all of us can be photogenic.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you are?” Jan reached out to hold the other’s hand, something that had taken years for Matthew to be comfortable in public with, but now squeezed his hand back lovingly. “I highly doubt that in all the museums in your country, you are not in a single one of them. If I can very clearly see how beautiful and handsome you are, then so do your people.”

“Stop, there’re too many people around.” He was grinning though, biting his bottom lip to hold back laughter. “I’m sure there’s something somewhere; I just know all the ones I actually sat for, Dad has hung up or stored. I do not want a portrait of myself in my own home.”

“Would you oppose to me having one of you?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. “A tasteful nude portrait perhaps?”

“Johan van Schipper- you will not hang a nude of me over your sitting room fireplace nor will I pose for one. You can get off to those terrible photos of me eating.”

They dropped the topic for now, deciding to browse through the next several paintings hand in hand. It wasn’t a terribly crowded day. There weren’t too many tourists, but there were a few school groups taking guided tours and university students seated on benches taking notes or figure drawing.

Matthew was able to pick out Johan in a handful of other paintings. One where he was actually in the foreground along with Antonio at the Ratification of the Treaty of Münster, another where he was just another member of a crowd that took Matt nearly ten minutes to locate, and a lone oil portrait from the early 18th century that had been a part of the exhibit for over a hundred years.

“You should grow your facial hair out again, it looks good on you.”

“No thank you. I will entirely leave that to you. I’ve had my centuries of careful grooming and spending too much on beard oils and mustache wax.”

There was a healthy amount of snickering at the carefully preserved clothing articles and accessories. Johan didn’t blame Matthew for finding the ruff of linen and needle lace to be less than useless. He had come into the world a mere toddler when they were beginning to fall out of style, at least, for the rest of Western Europe; not that they would be useful in fur trapping and chopping lumbar but knowing Francis he still likely donned one while playing mountain man as long as Paris still deemed it the highest of fashion.

“Did you just continue wearing them out of spite or because you looked really dashing in them?”

“Philip IV of Spain did ban them in 1623, so partially spite, partially because it was made by my people as well as the starch that stiffened them, partially yes, I did look nice in one.”

“Would you ever consider wearing one again?”

“Would you ever wear a starched shirt collar again?”

Matthew wrinkled his nose and loosened the top button of his flannel.

By half past noon, they were seated at the museum’s café for a much-needed break. Coffee was served with Dutch gin and whipped cream and between the pair, plenty of farmhouse cheese, rye rolls, and smoked meats were shared.

“The photography exhibit is in this wing right?” Matt asked, licking spilled butter from his fingers. “You finish eating. I’m going to get a head start, I’ll meet you there.” With a kiss laced with dill and sweetness, he left Jan to enjoy the rest of his midday meal. He watched as Matthew trotted off, thinking how well he blended in with the rest of the crowd with his height and fair hair. Perhaps to an outsider, he could pass for being a local. How quickly he was reassured that was his Matthew when he accidentally bumped into someone, drew his arms into himself, and blurted out an accented apology that could easily be made out amongst the crowd. The reflective glint of the maple leaf keychain on his bag made him smile inwardly.

Johan took his time finishing his meal, the still life soup warm on that breezy autumn day as he listened to the rain pound against the wall-sized windows. He was still amazed he had convinced Matthew to leave the bed that morning at all. Jan had roused at his natural hour, limbs long and bare tangled in the sheets. An equally long and bare arm was draped across his lap, a silent plea for him to stay right where he was but a request he was going to have to deny. There had been a tug at his joggers the moment he pulled them up to his hips. Matthew peered up at him, most of his face hidden in the duvet, and Jan caved in mere seconds. The Canadian was much more compliant after a sensual morning of lovemaking that Jan had absolutely no qualms with. Breakfast was on the go to make up for lost time so they wouldn’t be late for the museum’s opening hour.

Not wanting to leave Matt waiting too much longer by himself, he finished the last roll and cleared the table.

Matthew was standing alone in front of a collection of photographs that his form blocked Jan from seeing what they were.

“Shifting through more crowds?” he asked, joining beside him. “Found me yet?”

“Yeah, I have actually,” Matt’s voice was flat. It was distant like he was speaking from a star but his voice didn’t have the proper projection. Jan followed his gaze to one of the black and white photographs. It was a collection of works regarding the Liberation as well the later years of the war, Jan only had to glance at each piece to know every location or event that was captured. Matthew was focused on the pieces on the right, several of which featured Canadian soldiers celebrating alongside Dutch citizens.

It didn’t take long to figure out which one had caught his attention for however long he had spent standing in front of it.

Matthew’s hair might have been longer, glasses missing, and facial hair in desperate need of a trim but it was unmistakably him.

Johan placed a hand on his shoulder, kneading the muscle there tenderly. “Are you alright?”

“I think so- I guess, I just never really looked at photos of myself from back then. Shit... it’s like I know that’s me but it doesn’t... really feel like me.”

They often jested of the age difference between them, how Matthew being only three hundred something years old meant he was slightly older than a mere child in the eyes of the Old World but ancient in his own. Jan's scars on his body were older than him, known nations his age twice over. He had a home with more memories than Matthew had in a lifetime. They shared the same understanding of mortal immortality, of being far older than every single person that lived in their country and beyond. But the weight of that feeling was one that took ages to adjust to. Jan could look at the old paintings of himself, a memory of long ago that happened that he could never really forget but was simply that.

The photograph was of Matthew seated closely with Johan next to the crumbled remains of a windmill, the latter looking worse for wear with bandaged cheeks and arm in a makeshift sling. Cigarette butts were pressed together, eyes half-lidded and gazing into each other. The foil wrapping of a chocolate bar shimmered amongst the grime and dust. Evidence of celebration was around them, blurred and hard to make out, but present nonetheless.

Jan couldn’t forget the captured moment. It was right after the initial high of the announcement of the war being over wore off. He had been trembling and sobbing and the pair sunk to the ground with a lazy kiss. All his aches and exhaustion had hit him at once and Matthew had silently cared for him, sitting together for what felt like hours until the feeling in his legs returned.

It was a memory of a moment in time, important and dear to him, but another moment of history he had to remember as he’d done hundreds of thousands of times. It was just a part of what they were, one endless task they were entrusted with no matter what those memories contained.

For someone his age, it was as simple as taking and exhaling breath and putting one foot in front of the other.

For Matthew? His Matthew who housed a heart too willing to take on all the burdens of the world that weren’t always his own? To store guilt for a century, or even more? Who stayed up well into the early hours of the morning, turning questions over in his head on whether he was loved by the man sleeping beside him?

In those moments when Johan felt like the lowest part of his country, like his lowest of lands were sinking and flooding, Matthew held out his hand and pulled his head above the churning waves. Matthew stood at his full height, made him warm drinks, wrapped him in blankets, and loved him carefully and fully. He hadn’t questioned back then what turbulent thoughts ran through the other’s head and how much he struggled he stay afloat.

The years it took of them sitting together, carefully trying to figure out the best way for Matthew to find his voice- for Johan to see through him and help him say the right words. ‘I will listen, tell me everything, and when you’re done, we’ll keep talking. If you don’t know how we’ll figure it out together.’

He entwined his fingers with Matthew’s carefully and kissed the side of his head, the scent of his partner’s favorite shampoo filling his senses.

“I promise that’s you and that I love the person in the photograph the same amount as the person I’m holding hands with. I know we tend to distance ourselves from the version of ourselves from the past, but it’s still us, no matter how much we change.”

“But that wasn’t me.” Matt’s voice was a whisper. “That confidence? It was only for the war. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to do my job. It was a bravado. You met this fake version of myself.”

“Really? Because the Matthew I know is caring, patient, sweet, and willing to step up to do anything for the people he loves. I’m certain that’s the one I met.” He leaned his head against the other. “You met me when I was less than functional and extremely vulnerable. Do you think that you met a false version of myself?”

“Well,” Matt drawled, biting his lip. “No, I don’t. I never did.”

“In the middle of chaos, as my heart lit up with the cheers of my people, I saw you. I found you without having to look, and wordlessly, you pulled me in and celebrated with me. Without warning my heart was yours.”

“Alright, alright, you made your point.” He tugged at his arm and Jan could see the tips of his ears were tinted bright pink and matched the rest of his face. “Come on, we still have this whole exhibit to look at. I don’t want to mull anymore about this until we get home. You can praise me there.”

“Did I not do that just this morning?” Jan followed him in tow.

“Maybe I need to hear it again. I don’t think I heard you that well.”

“You’re blind, not deaf.”

“So?”

Jan grinned, bumping his shoulder. “Do you believe me when I say I love you for both your looks and personality?”

“Please stop saying things that make me want to blow you in public.”

#hws canada #hws netherlands #nedcanweek2022 #look i wanted a specific thing to happen #so it's not entirely accurate #hetalia #ace writes #also am i late #will i continue to be late #yes #am i determined to still try?#also yes #i love this pair too much #nedcan

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coepiteamare · 4 years ago

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depth of field

pairing: yoongi x female!reader genre: angst (are we surprised), fluff, reader is an actress, yoongi is photographer warning: a lot of feelings, uhm there’s like 2 lines about sex but it’s not super explicit, bad break ups, not beta read, heartbreak, header credit: lovely isa! she’s so talented please check her out @monvante word count: 9.5k (how and why this became the longest thing i’ve written, i don’t know) rating: sfw though slightly mature (2 lines about sex but not explicit) collab: the valentine’s day collab with a bunch of awesome writers! please check out everyone’s stories!

summary: yoongi is a nature photographer and you’re an actress who’s spent her entire life in front of the cameras. when he’s hired (against his will) for a photoshoot, he’s not quite expecting you: all smiles and charm and mystery. (alt: you laugh, and yoongi hears the night sky crumble into a thousand shooting stars. he fumbles with the settings, his heart rattling in his chest like the camera in his hands, but for the first time, the picture doesn’t do the sight in front of him justice.) A/N: this is....so late because i am big dumb + life changes + writing is hard. i have extremely mixed feelings on this one, but if you do read it, i hope it makes you feel something. if you listen to epik high, a lot of this was written while listening to “sleepless in _________”.

[Triptych: Sleepless In The City.JPEG]

[alt.image: Black and white triptych of a view outside a bedroom window. The position of the shot is the same in all three: all of them are directly facing an open window depicting the Seoul skyline. Towards the bottom of the picture, the edge of a bed can be seen: a plaid blanket with a light coloured bed frame. Right below the window is a dark wood dresser with a glass of water on top. At the center of the frame is a square, side hung window with light coloured (white) curtains on the sides. The first frame depicts a light blue coloured sky. There’s a lens flare at the top right of the corner. The second frame depicts a gradient sky. There’s light from the buildings shining through. The third frame depicts a darker sky, but the building lights are still on. The glass of water lies in the same position through the pictures, with little to no change in water amount.]

There’s a loud bzzt bzzt coming from the side of his bed as sleep clings to his eyelashes and glues his eyes shut, exhaustion still running through his veins. His fingers fumble, groping in the darkness, for the source of the noise until his fingers clasp around his phone and silence it. He rubs his face in his pillow and lets himself settle in again, sleep creeping back when—bzzt, bzzt—there’s another round of vibrations from his phone. Yoongi knows he turned on the do not disturb mode, so he contemplates answering as his fingers make contact with his phone, before pressing the side button and turning it off.

He shuts his eyes, but sleep doesn’t call his name this time around. Someone else does, as the door swings open.

“Yoongi!”

Yoongi groans and pulls the covers over his head, letting the weighted blanket settle around his body, but Hoseok peels it off his body without a struggle.

“You could have called when you came back,” Hoseok opens the black out curtains, afternoon light flooding through the window and making Yoongi’s vision dance.

“You could have called before you barged in.”

“I did,” Hoseok settles on the edge of his bed, laughing when Yoongi kicks him off, “you didn’t answer.”

“I was busy.” He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the afterglow of his dreams fading from his mind.

Hoseok looks at the suitcase still packed at the corner of his bed, at the instant noodle cups on the counter. “I see that.”

Yoongi shrugs and reaches for the camera bag on his nightstand, fiddling with the zippers and refusing to meet Hoseok’s eyes.

It’s quiet before there’s a sigh that paints the silence between them. Hoseok reaches his hand out, eyes a little soft, smile a little apologetic, and Yoongi gives him the camera.

“So how was Greenland?”

“Cold. Colder than here. Not green at all.” Hoseok laughs at that, and perhaps it’s the weather, the lack of people Yoongi has seen the past few months, or Hoseok’s sunny disposition dispelling the shadows, but there’s a small warmth that blooms through Yoongi. “It was nice though. Nice pictures.”

“I can see that. Did you have an exhibition in mind for these?”

“No. I just wanted a change of pace for a bit.” he clears his throat, trying to unstick the words clinging to his esophagus. “New environment. Clear my head. Look for new inspiration.”

Hoseok hands him back the camera. “I signed you up for RKIVE LAB’s Valentine’s Day exhibition.” Yoongi stops fiddling with the buttons and grips the camera a little tighter. “Portraits of love. Pictures of people required.”

“I don’t take pictures of people.”

“You used to. Before.” Hoseok doesn’t say it—knows to shut his mouth even before Yoongi glares at him—but the presence of the words stains the air like an unwanted lens flare smudged across the picture. The weight of it lingers, glaringly obvious in the silence, as heavy as the blanket curled up at Yoongi’s feet.

“Used to. Not anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do it again.”

“And that doesn’t mean I want to. Besides, I’m not ready for another exhibition.”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok takes a seat on the bed and this time, Yoongi doesn’t chide him for it. “Your last exhibition was a year ago. You stopped photographing people for 8 months. 4 months ago, you decided—out of the blue, mind you—to pack up and visit Greenland, 2 weeks before your exhibition. Not only was PR an absolute nightmare, but you also scared me. I was worried about you.”

There’s a sense of guilt that trickles through him at Hoseok’s words. Yoongi hugs his knees to his chest and tucks his chin over them. He’d sink into the floor if he could, let it swallow him whole if it meant he could avoid the conversation, but knowing Hoseok, he’d continue, even when it closed back up.

“You need to let go,” Hoseok squeezes his shoulder.

“I need to sleep. I’m still jet lagged.”

“It’s been a week since you’ve come back!”

“Exactly,” he pouts, and tries to reach for his blanket, but Hoseok gently slaps his hands away. His voice softens when he opens his mouth, insecurity painting the edges.“I just don’t think I’m ready for an exhibit. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

“I think you just need to try.”

The sigh that leaves his body doesn’t do much for the heaviness that he can’t seem to dispel. He’s tried. Tried to take pictures, tried to photograph people, but he doesn’t know how to capture them without the lens of heartbreak, without finding pieces of his ex hidden in filters. He’s tried to forget, tried to remember, tried to drown everything out to the bitter taste of alcohol, and nothing worked. He tries, and nothing works.

“I don’t know how to take pictures of people anymore,” Yoongi says weakly.

Hoseok’s smile is bright, too bright, the picture of false reassurance. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve already made a call.”

[Ready Or Not.JPEG]

[alt. Image: An out of focus, blurry, god shot, full body photograph of a girl. She wears a short red dress with thin straps and black platform boots. There’s a pink and green image/texture projected on top of her as she poses with her arms stretched over her head. The woman is not at the centre of frame, but more towards the right. The photograph appears to be taken hastily, as if the photographer was falling down when taking the shot.]

Yoongi’s forgotten how much light is involved with studio shoots: the moment he steps into the studio, there’s a flash of bright light, and there’s small spots of light dancing in the corner of his vision. He wants to go home, curl back into his cotton sheets, and hide under the covers.

It’s convenient, he’ll admit. Outdoor photography, especially nature photography, means hours and hours of planning ahead, of trekking into the wilderness and adjusting lenses and camera angles, and tripod placements to get the perfect shot, only to have something—be it the sun, or a bug, or an animal, or a tree that decides to fall at that moment—interfere and ruin the moment. But indoor photography means that everything gets to be controlled, adjustable to his whims.

Yoongi fiddles with his camera settings, finger nervously itching for something to do in the unfamiliar environment. He’s not sure if he likes these kinds of photographs, the ones scripted and tweaked until perfection is smudged against the frame of the picture. He likes spontaneity, likes the unpredictability of nature, but he also likes the idea that everything can be adjusted, picture perfect, to the way he wants it. (No one leaves, no one hurts. Just pictures. Just his ideas.)

“I didn’t know we were getting a new photographer.”

He spins around and almost stumbles backwards at the sight of you. He could easily have deemed you as one of the set pieces: clothes perfectly pressed, skin glossy, not a hair out of place. You're brilliant and dazzling and beautiful, pressurised to perfection, and Yoongi doesn’t know if he likes that. Doesn’t like the crisp edges of your pants, the sharp angles of your shoulders.

“My name is Y/N. It’s nice to work with you.”

He stares at the hand in front of him for a second before wiping his palm on his pants. Your smile doesn’t fade as Yoongi gingerly shakes your hand. “Yoongi. I’m just here to watch Vante on shoot. I haven’t photographed people in a while, and our agent thought it would help me to watch him in action.”

The way your eyes sparkle, light up brighter than the studio lights, feels uncanny: he knows he’s seen it before, but he’s not sure where. It stirs up a familiar feeling in his tummy, like the anticipation that builds just as he’s about to press the click of a shutter.

“I’m sure you’re a lot better than you think you are,” your smile is warm, but it sends a chill down his spine. It feels wrong, like he’s stuck in the wrong picture frame, the wrong background. The ground is blurry, his head is light, and when he blinks, everything feels cold.

“You’re a lot better than you think you are, Yoongi. I’ve seen the photos. I know you,” his voice is warm, and Yoongi can hear the smile in the way he grips his hands. “I want to see the exhibit you put up, and I know other people will too.”

“Hey,” there’s a jolt of electricity when you touch him. He blinks, and your face is in front of his, brows knitted. “You okay? I lost you for a moment.”

“Fine,” his voice is scratchy, so he coughs to clear it. “I’m fine. Just-uhm-it’s been a minute. Memories. I haven’t stepped foot in a studio for a while.”

“You must have loved it. Taking pictures of people,” when he tilts his head and tries to make sense of your words, you smile and let go of his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction if you didn’t love it. I’m a firm believer that the things we love never leave us. So you’ll find that spark again. I believe in you.”

When the shoot starts, Yoongi moves around, trying to remember what it was like to work with other people other than him, what it’s like to capture the soul of a human being through a split second. But his mind is still standing where you left him, trying to digest your words to the tune of shutter sounds and someone else’s voice.

All throughout the shoot, he wants to puke, wants to unclog the memories that won’t drain and be forgotten. But they keep playing—over and over and over—and refuse to stop. He talks to Vante in a daze, but he’s unable to wake up from the voice that he hears over and over again—you’ll find that spark again, Yoongi. I believe in you—until your voice cuts through the fog.

“Wait!” he grabs your wrist, and quickly lets go when you turn back, eyes wide. “Wait. i-uhm-have an exhibition and I was wondering if you would be interested. In being the subject.”

“I’m flattered, but-” you pause and bit your lip, eyebrows furrowed, and there’s that feeling again, the click of a puzzle piece falling into place: everything feels all too familiar and foreign at once, like a dream he knew long ago, a photograph he’s taken and forgotten about. Jamais vu and deja vu all at once.

It’s stupid, he knows. But there’s something about you that he doesn’t know how to let go. He’s not sure he’s ready to let go.

“What’s your exhibit on?”

“Love.” He takes a sharp breath in. The word feels a sucker punch to the gut, like touching a wound that hasn’t healed. “What it means to fall in love.”

He knows his face gives away more than he wants to, but you don’t press him for answers. You continue to smile and ask him other questions about his photography instead, but something about the way you pretend like everything is fine reminds him of him, and everything hurts more. He answers the questions, tries to see you instead of his outline over yours, but still sees him in the way your eyes smile, in the sharp raise of your brows, and the quick way you navigate his defenses and gives him his space.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for an exhibit.”

“I don’t think we ever know if we’re ready for anything,” you smile, and he feels nauseous again, like something is trying to crawl out of him. He hears the voices in his head crash over him like a wave, drowning out the sounds of everything and everyone else.

How do you know you’re ready? He hears his voice wobble from the weight of his sorrow, quiver from the pressure of composure. He can’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t think we’re ever ready for anything, Yoongi. But we don’t know until we try.”

“But we do it anyway. Because we never know until we try, right?”

“Right,” he repeats soullessly. (He wasn’t ready then. He doesn’t know if he’s ready now. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to move on.)

“So I’ll do it.”

Yoongi snaps out of his reverie at your words, blinks away the fog. “Pardon?”

“I’ll do it. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do this,” you purse your lips. “I do have a favour to ask though.”

“What is it?”

The smile that spreads over your face, slow and cheshire, makes him grip his camera tighter. “How do you feel about going to a party?”

[Are You In Love.JPEG]

[alt image. Nighttime. A girl in a white dress on a rooftop with skyscrapers behind her. Her hair is blown back by the wind. Although her face is mostly turned away from the camera, there’s a hint of a smile on her face. Her eyes are closed as she spins around, dress billowing around her. The ends of the dress are unseen because the photograph cuts off at what would be her knees to show the cityline behind her. The skyscrapers are out of focus, blurry, so the girl is highlighted. Despite the lights in the background and the moon in the corner, she is the brightest piece in the photograph.]

Yoongi has never been a fan of parties or crowds. He doesn’t like the rush of people, of bodies pressed against each other as they slide across the floor; he hates how the lights are too dim and too bright. It’s too loud, bass amplifying his insecurities and dampening his social skills.

Even at this gala, stuffed with people with important positions and famous titles, where the music is moderately loud and the tables are posh with red velvet tablecloths, Yoongi feels out of place. His glass flute feels awkward in his hand, tie a little too tight no matter how much he pulls it down. He knows he doesn’t belong here (or there or anywhere. It was always him who belonged and Yoongi who followed): security had stopped him before he entered telling him “paparazzi not allowed,” and gave him a once over when he fished out the invitation from his pocket, hesitantly letting him enter the venue and side-eyeing him the entire time. Minutes tick by, and there’s only so many hors d'oeuvres s he can devour, so he pulls out his phone to send you a text of rushed excuses (i have food poisoning. My pipes burst. My car broke down?) and hasty apologies. Just as he manages to get halfway to the exit, squeezing in between crowds, he sees you.

A smile dawns over your face, and all his insecurities melt into the background. “I’ve been looking all over for you”

He points towards the buffet at the back. “They have good crab puffs.”

You laugh at that, and he feels his cheeks stretch into a smile. The silence that hangs over the two of you now feels comfortable, like the world is dimming down to highlight you both, and Yoongi takes the moment to watch your eyes sparkle under the crystal chandeliers twinkling above you. You look at him, quirk an eyebrow and nod towards the exit. “Want to get out of here?”

“Yes please.”

You grab his hand, lace your fingers with his, and pull him up the stairs to the roof, letting go to run to the edge. He feels where your palm was in his, the loss of your warmth, and wants to reach back out to you.

“How pretty.” The wind is cold, sinking teeth through skin and tearing through hair, but you cross your arms and fight back, planted firmly where you are to look at the view beneath you: small glimpses at people living their lives.

Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of you. “Yeah. Pretty.”

“I like coming to the rooftops at parties. Sometimes, when the world is too loud and too much, I go up to the rooftop and I just stand here. ” your teeth chatter, and Yoongi rushes to take off his coat and drape it over your shoulders. Your fingers brush against his and something about you, he realises, feels like a fever dream: hot, hazy, and electric, even in the bitter chill of the winter winds. “I come up to the rooftop and I just look at people living their lives and wonder what I would be doing if I wasn’t here.”

Something about the way you look, empty and hollow, carves a hole in Yoongi’s chest. His fingers itch to reach for the shutter, bring it back to his eye and catch you in his view, but he fiddles with the camera strap around his neck instead. “What does it feel like? Being at the top?”

What does it feel like? To be at the top? Yoongi writes and deletes over and over and over again.

Your laughter sounds as bitter as the wind, but your smile is still fixed in place when you turn your body to meet his. “Like a rollercoaster. Only it’s going backwards as it goes up, so I can see the floor, see the bottom. I am always aware of how far I have to fall. I see the damage before it’s done, so I am always anticipating the drop.”

Your shoulders sag, his jacket slipping down, and Yoongi, for a moment, thinks he sees stars glimmering in your eyes, catching the light of the city and threatening to fall. But when he blinks, all traces of it are gone and you’re back to the girl in the ballroom, smile shy and coy and knowing.

“So what about you, photographer? What does it feel like to be in love?”

His brows furrow and there’s a flush of heat blooming on his cheeks. His heart beats a little faster, staccato against his ribcage, like it’s trying to outrun the shame of being discovered. He’s not sure how you know, so all he can do is stutter. “I don’t-I mean-”

You raise your eyebrow, quirk your head to the side. “Isn’t that your exhibit theme? Explorations of love?”

“Oh,” before he can stop it, a film strip of memories starts playing through his head, snapshots of a relationship shelved in the back of his closet. It’s a slow slide show that sticks to his throat with every image, printed and smudged into the corners of his thoughts. He feels the corset of his ribcage tighten until he’s breathless, so he looks everywhere. Everywhere but you. “I don’t really know what love is supposed to feel like anymore.”

When your hand gently presses against his chest, Yoongi’s eyes widen, feet gently fumbling backwards from the chill of your fingers. “Does it hurt here?”

“What?”

“Are you heartbroken?”

The words fall off your lips casually, like you were asking him how he took his coffee (no sugar, no cream) or how he liked his steak, and not plunging into his insecurities the way the cold of your fingers sink into his skin. The two of you blink in silence as Yoongi struggles to find the words. Everything feels wrong, his tongue twisting and falling to form the correct sounds—

“Stop thinking about it. Feel it here.” you press a little harder against his chest, “Are you heartbroken?”

(Empty coffee cups, songs unfinished, laughter in the walls that he’s unable to scrub off. Yoongi remembers all of it.)

“Yeah.” it’s quiet, his voice stuck in his chest, but he sees the corners of your eyes soften and knows you hear his honesty over the howling wind. “I am.”

You retract your hand and hug his coat a little closer. “I don’t think there’s just one form of love, just as I don’t think there’s just one way to love someone. We love differently, and we love different people differently. Heartbrokenness is just another form of love. Just because they’re not there doesn’t change the way you love them or the fact that you love them. It just means all the love you have to give is still sitting here,” you bring your hand back to his chest, cover his heartbeat, “with no place to go. Isn’t that love?”

Isn’t that love? Seokjin asks him, sitting in the corner of Yoongi’s room. The sun casts a golden glow over his skin, kisses his dimples, and Yoongi swears Seokjin has always been more ethereal than mortal. “You take photos and bring me food when I forget to leave my desk because that’s what you know how to do. I write you songs and love letters because that’s what I know how to do. We say I love you in different ways, but does that make it any less love?

“I guess it doesn’t make it any less love.”

You look his way and laugh, brilliant and dazzling and beautiful, and nothing in the sky can compare: not the moon, nor the comets, nor the galaxies. You laugh, and Yoongi hears the sky crumble into a thousand shooting stars. He fumbles with the settings, his heart rattling in his chest like the camera in his hands, but for the first time, the image through the lens doesn’t do the sight in front of him justice.

But he tries anyway. He presses down on the shutter and tries to stuff your laughter into a freeze frame, even though he knows it won’t compare.

It could never.

[____Struck.JPEG]

[Alt Image: A girl sits with her chin over her knees next to a floor length window as a rainstorm blurs the background into hazy lights. The lighting is dark, but there’s a flash of lightning outside as it lights up the girl’s face. She stares outside her window, at the sky, deep in contemplation.]

Yoongi finds that Seoul sparkles when you’re next to him. Even the bitter winter winds that blow through his parka can’t steal the warmth of your hand in his when the two of you walk through the streets. The two of you start to spend more time together, getting food and eating in your apartment and taking pictures of nature. You’ll have glasses and a cap and a mask on, and there’ll be more of you he can’t see than he can, and still he finds you to be the brightest star in the night sky. But he likes you best like this: dressed with a smile and his t-shirt, face free of the traces of your day, in bed with him. He’s not sure when he’s found himself to be at home in your place, but he finds himself there instead of his studio apartment. Outside the window of your penthouse apartment, he can see the Seoul skyline and skyscrapers: if he looks down, he can see smudges of people walking through the streets, living about their daily lives.

Sometimes, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting on the floor, against the floor length window, looking at the world below you.

“Come back to bed,” he’ll murmur, sleep still fogging his vision, and you’ll smile, set your tea on the nightstand, and wrap your arms around him as he pulls you closer to him until the andante of your heartbeats lull him to sleep.

Tonight, however, your head is leaned up against the glass, watching as the rain pours down, and there’s something about the moment that makes Yoongi reach for the camera to take a quick shot. He knows the lighting is off and the shadows are dark, but something about the way you’ve tucked your knees under your chin and folded in on yourself makes you seem so small, so different from the girl he sees on the billboards and magazine covers and television shows.

You turn around when the flash goes off. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“The thunder,” he explains, just as another flash of light strikes through the sky. You hum, but don’t move towards him: this time, you look back out the window. He’s tempted to wait for the lightning to strike again so he could have the shot of your face illuminated in light, but the image through his viewfinder looks so different from what he’s used to, so he takes the camera with him and sits down across from you. He leans his face against the cool of the glass.

“Hey,” you smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He sees the shadows under your eyes, the build up from over night shoots, and it tugs his heart. There’s something beautiful about you like this, in the normalcy.

“Hey,” the two of you sit in the silence for a minute. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Another flash of lightning, then a roll of thunder. “Just thinking about how many people are out there, just living their lives. I wonder if they all know me, if they have an opinion of me, if they’ve seen me act. I wonder who I am to them, if I am anybody at all.”

“What do you mean?”

You pull your fingers away from the glass, but don’t look at him. “I feel as though I am always playing a character. So, I wonder what character they know me as. If they would be interested in knowing who I am.”

His hand reaches out to yours, and he moves his body closer to yours, until your knees are knocking against his and your legs are entwined. “I’m interested.”

Another flash. You smile, but it fades as quickly as the lightning does. “What about you? Anything on your mind? You seemed pretty distracted earlier.”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to not meet your eyes. There’s a slew of umbrellas below, a bunch of colourful blobs against the pavement. (Seokjin liked the rain. Do you like the rain? He’s not sure.)

“It’s nothing.” He can’t meet your eyes.

“Is it hard to let them go? The one who broke your heart?”

Yoongi hears the way your voice softens, the way it carries through the room gently, the same way you asked him if he was heartbroken up on the roof weeks ago. You’re always a little more perceptive then he gives you credit for, a little too good at reading in between the lines. He lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah he is. I still think about him sometimes. Sometimes, I still hear his voice in my head.”

He feels your gaze on him, but neither of you say anything for a while.

He knows you have a busy day tomorrow, jam packed with schedules and meetings and shoots and bits of sleep in between. (Not that your days are ever not busy. You’re always running from here to there, a blur of motion in the screenshots of his memories.) But the two of you just look out the window, at the storm that refuses to quell, and listen to the rain fall.

He wakes up next to the lingering warmth of your body heat, your shampoo still clinging to the pillows and sheets. There’s not much to do today, so he takes his time getting ready to go back to his apartment and edit. Just as he’s putting his toothbrush into your toothbrush holder, his phone starts to vibrate.

Before he’s even said hello, Hoseok’s voice cuts through the phone. “How’s your exhibit coming along?”

“Good morning, Hoseok. How was your sleep? Mine was lovely, thank you for asking.”

There’s a sigh that comes through the phone. “I slept great. So how’s your exhibit?”

“It’s coming along.”

“Word on the street is that you’re getting close to Y/N.”

He catches a look at himself from the entrance mirror and is glad Hoseok can’t see him right now. There’s a small constellation on the dip of his collarbone from a couple nights ago. “We’re working together on the exhibit, yeah.”

“Yoongi, I’m serious. I’m glad that you’re editing and taking photos; I really am. I just think—if you are more than just coworkers—you should take it slow. You remember what happened last time-”

“It’s not like that this time Hoseok.”

“I know. But it’s happened before. You always fall too hard, too fast and then you don’t know how to dig yourself out of the hole when it’s over. “

Yoongi gently shuts the door behind him, shoves his free hand into his coat pocket. “When do I need to send you the pictures?”

Another sigh. This one is heavier than the other. “Next Friday.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.”

“Just take care of yourself, Yoongi.”

“I know,” there’s a hum from the other end before he presses end call. “Trust me, I know.”

[Love Looks Pretty On You.JPEG]

[Alt Image: A girl turning around to smile at the camera as she holds the hand of the photographer. There’s a lens flare at the upper left corner of the picture. She glows as she smiles, sunlight hitting her cheekbones. The picture is a bust shot, and though the girl is in the centre of frame, she is slightly out of focus: the photo is mainly focused on the interlocked hands due to the depth of field.]

It’s strange how in love you are with the mundane. You like coffeeshop dates, holding hands in public, and the ability to walk down the streets without covering up your face, things Yoongi has never thought twice about. He prefers time spent in doors, tucked away with food and natural lighting. But you prefer the outdoors, the sun on your face, even if it isn’t the great outdoors. No, you like pavement and parks and everything in between if it means you don’t have to cover up.

“I’ve never really had that,” you told him once, mouth stuffed with street food. “I’ve always been conscious of the way people look at me, how they’re going to view me, and the eyes. I’m always aware of people’s eyes on me. Growing up in the spotlight, working in this industry for so long meant I don’t get to have the normal things in life.”

So he tries to take you out more, though more often than not, it ends with the two of you running away from shadows and bright lights. More often than not, the two of you find your way to his or your apartment, tucked away from the eyes of everyone else with take out spread across the floor. He dreads the moment you pull your hands away from him, when the hands on the clock move too quickly for his taste. Tonight, however, he has you all to himself.

So, he takes his time: delicately arranges the bouquet of purple across your chest and up your thighs, gently plucks your moans from your lips, and plants kisses on the field of your shoulder blades when the bloom of pleasure becomes too much.

Your chest gently rises and falls under the white sheet, while his heart rapidly flutters inside his ribcage. Before he knows it, his fingers are on camera, trying to immortalise the moment before time takes it away from him too.

When the shutter goes off, you bring your hand to his, pull his body to yours, and nuzzle your face in his shoulder. “So.”

“So?”

“Exhibition soon. Have you figured it out?” You pull back and trace your finger along the constellation you drew on to his chest. “What it feels like to fall in love?”

He’s not sure. It feels fast: time seems to slip through his fingers when he’s with you. It feels slow: every moment is a picture frame, a freeze frame of a small infinity. It feels quiet: neither of you are loud, reveling in the silence and the quiet, sharing the same breath. It feels loud: you smile and he hears the sirens go off, ringing his mind until it’s drowned out by the pounding in his chest. I don’t know. It just feels different with you, he wants to say, but it sounds stupid in his head. It’s similar to how he felt like with Seokjin, but brighter, a saturation of colours and experiences.

“Feels like you,” he tugs you closer.

His brows furrow when you reach away from him, and he tries to pull you back: he reaches for your hand, but you slip away from him with a small smile. “Tea. I’ll be back.”

He hears the pitter patter of your footsteps as you walk into the hallway, and he waits for you to come back. He waits and waits, until his eyelids grow too heavy.

When he blinks again, the light is shining through your curtains. The blanket is tucked under his chin, but the bed is empty. He rolls over, but it’s cold.

The pillow doesn’t smell like you.

[Apparition.JPEG]

[Alt Image: A picture of someone’s eyes. The eyes are staring directly into the lens. One eye is lighter than the other, due to the angle of the sunlight. Although they are in the center of frame, the face is turned slightly to the side, as though they turned around for this picture.]

It gets harder and harder to meet you through the interstices of your schedule: you text him less and less, and he finds himself trying to find every possible reason to see you.

Did you eat?

Are you free anytime soon?

I miss you.

Every short text finds an even shorter response, crammed between short breaks. He spends more time fiddling with his phone, shooting up at the glow of his screen, than he does with his camera. His camera sits on his nightstand, untouched for the past few days: every time he tries to take a picture, all he can see is you. You laughing at dumb cat videos he sends you. You squealing in delight as the unpredictable Seoul weather brings rainfall. You leaning your head against the glass, lost in thought.

He sees you in unfinished pizza boxes and unfinished netflix shows and half empty mugs strewn around. He finds you in everything. So when you show up at his doorstep, pizza box in hand and hat over your head, he almost dismisses you as an apparition.

You stick your foot in his doorway to stop him from shutting the door. “You’re not kicking me out so soon? Not when I brought pizza?”

He takes the pizza box from you, still a little unsure if you’re real, but then you call his name.

“Hi Yoongi,” you smile, and it’s so much prettier than he remembers. He knows you’ve had a long day—eyes glazed, shoulders drooping, smile falling—and something about the way you’re trying to hold your smile makes a corner of his chest squeeze tighter, until it hurts to breathe. He’s not sure what to say, not sure how to move past the breathlessness, so the two of you wordlessly chew on your pizzas.

When the tension grows thick, the silence hard to breathe through, the clump of feelings in the pit of his stomach feels harder to hold on to, so he blurts out, “I love you.”

His confession rings through the room, echoes in the silence, and crashes against your chest. Though neither of you say anything, he continues to hear the ripples in his head, his voice repeating over and over again. You don’t look at him, and his leg won’t stop bouncing, his hands won’t stop fidgeting with the camera settings.

“I love you,” he says once more, just in case you didn’t hear it. He hopes your silence is because you didn’t hear it the first time. He knows better, from the way you bite your lip (your nervous habit) to the way you shrink into yourself (another tick he’s noticed).

“I should leave. I have an early shoot tomorrow.” you stand. The smile plastered on your face makes him want to hurl, too reminiscent of your first meeting when you held him at an arm’s distance. When Seokjin held him at an arm’s distance, right before he told Yoongi I don’t think I’m the person you’re in love with. I don’t think this is going to work out. When Seokjin smiled and told him I’m sorry but wasn’t sorry enough to answer the phone when Yoongi’s heart was bloody and broken and drenched in alcohol.

“But I love you,” it’s quiet and hoarse this time, and Yoongi doesn’t know if you can hear it over the sound of his heart breaking, but you turn around. The smile on your face—brilliant and dazzling and empty—burns something in him, the hollowness of his chest suddenly swelling with rage.“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“That,” Yoongi motions to you, brows furrowed and anger coating his tongue. “Stop looking at me like I'm a screenplay and a set, like you’re trying to read me and understand what I want. I don’t want anything from you.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone wants something.”

“Fine. I want you to be you. not what looks best on screen, not what you think I want you to be. But you. I want you to be you.”

“What’s that supposed to be like? Being me?” the anger lacing your voice, the way your smile drops quickly off your face, makes Yoongi’s anger fizzle out into a cold chill. “You don’t realise how biased the camera is, how you’re seeing the picture the way you want to, the way you want to frame things? Tell me you look at me and you don’t see what could be changed. that you don’t see how you would adjust the exposure, how to narrow or widen the depth of field.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, mouth glued shut and sticking together with shame. There’s a heat licking up his neck to his cheeks that burns through his skin and into his chest that only grows hotter when you continue.

“My job is to give people what they want, squeeze myself into a character and a script. Become a fantasy they can project on. I’ve spent my entire life being different people and fitting myself into the role they want me to play. I don't exist, Yoongi. I only exist between action and cut. I am constantly in some form of a take. I am constantly shooting different movies for different people, being the different characters they want me to be. You want something from me too, Yoongi. Don’t you get it?”

He forces himself to look up at you.

“Did you like me for me, Yoongi?” You tilt your head, eyes tired. “Or did you like me because something about me reminded you of your ex?”

Yoongi recoils, hurt spilling out of his veins. He opens and closes his mouth, but nothing falls out. Instead, it’s another roll of memories that plays through his head.

I think we should break up, Seokjin tells him and Yoongi drops his fork. When you look at me, it feels like you’re seeing someone else, a version of me that exists only in your head.

Who are you seeing when you take a picture, Yoongi?

Who am I to you?

What do you see through the lenses?

When you smile this time, it’s more of a grimace, like his silence gives you an answer. Your eyes fall to the floor, shoulders trembling as you laugh humorlessly, and you start to leave.

Yoongi tries to say something—anything, the correct thing—and frantically pulls at his brain. “But I love you.”

That makes you stop. You stay at the doorstep, hand gripping the doorknob, but don’t turn to face him. He waits for you to say something, anything, for you to turn around. But you don’t.

You open the door and close it behind you, never looking back.

He’s alone again.

[Blank.JPEG]

[alt.image: A black square. Darkness. The absence of light. The shade of broken heart. Is it nothing or everything? Is it too much or too little?]

Everything about you is intentional, from the tilt in your head (precise and exact, calculated) to the gleam in your eyes. The way your lips curl as you smile.

He wonders if his broken heart was also something written into the script, if he was playing the role of a character he never signed up for, if his broken heart was something you calculated from the very start, just like the angle of your head tilts and degrees of your smile.

His camera suddenly feels all too heavy, too fragile, and too much like his heart. If he wasn’t a photographer, would he have met you? In another world, would he have seen you through the view of his camera, just a subject and nothing else? No coffee dates and rooftop talks, no heartbreaks? He grips his camera tighter, and a flare of anger rushes through him, filtering every other thought and piercing through his vision. When he blinks and the lights settle, there’s a dull sense of pain near his foot and a dent in the wall.

There’s shards of broken lenses on the floor, but he shuffles back to bed, sob clawing at his throat.

Maybe you were like a film camera, brilliant and beautiful at first glance. Until the film is dipped into chemistry and developed and the errors are hung out to dry.

So why does it hurt so much?

There’s a loud bzzt bzzt coming from the side of his bed as sleep clings to his eyelashes and glues his eyes shut, exhaustion still running through his veins. His fingers fumble, groping in the darkness, for the source of the noise until his fingers clasp around his phone and silence it. He rubs his face in his pillow and lets himself settle in again, sleep creeping back when—bzzt, bzzt—there’s another round of vibrations from his phone. Yoongi knows he turned on the do not disturb mode, so he doesn’t contemplate answering when his fingers make contact with his phone, pressing the side button to shut it off.

He shuts his eyes, but sleep doesn’t call his name. Neither does Hoseok.

Instead Hoseok gently shuts the door after slipping off his shoes at the entrance. He makes his way over towards the bed, and Yoongi pulls the covers over his head. He waits for the tug, but it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a gentle dip to the side of him when Hoseok takes a seat, silent.

They sit like that for a while, Yoongi gently breathing—up and down, up and down—with a chest that feels broken and a heart that rattles inside his ribcage. He still feels the hum of alcohol in his system, sloshing in his lungs as they rise and fall.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Hoseok’s voice vibrates through the silence. “I’m sorry you were hurt. But you can’t keep yourself holed up.”

Yoongi shifts under the blankets, but doesn’t say anything. He wonders if sleep would drag him under if he pretended long enough. His head is throbbing, and he wants another drink, but he knows Hoseok won’t let him while he’s still here. He knows because the last time he was heartbroken, he shut himself inside his apartment for two months until he was more alcohol than water. He stopped going out, stopped answering phone calls, stopped taking pictures because everything reminded him of Seokjin.

Now that his camera is broken, he can’t be reminded of you. He drinks up until he can forget, until the film of memories is damaged, so he can fall asleep. When he wakes up and he remembers you still, he drinks up again to forget, shot after shot after shot. He doesn’t want to remember.

“I called RKive. Told them you weren’t doing it.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Yoongi’s so tired and his head hurts, and he just wants to get this over with as quickly as he can so Hoseok can leave and Yoongi can pour out his sorrows into a shot glass that never seems to run dry.

I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do this.

He wishes he could stop hearing your voice in his head, stop seeing you in every corner of his room, stop smelling your perfume on his sheets. He just wants to go to sleep, dream in black. Stop remembering you.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Are you heartbroken?

“Yeah,” the tears fall and his shoulders shake when he sobs. “Yeah, I think I’m heartbroken.”

“Oh Yoongi,” Hoseok hugs him close, and Yoongi lets out the wail that’s been stuck in his chest the past week. For the first time, he wants to let go instead of take in, so he weeps into Hoseok’s chest, until his throat is dry from the sounds it’s making. His body trembles from the stuttering in his chest and the remnants of his sobs.

“I just want to stop hurting,” he hiccups into Hoseok’s shoulder as Hoseok gently pats him on the back.

“I know. I know.”

“How do I stop hurting?”

Hoseok gently peels himself away from Yoongi until he’s looking at him directly in the eyes. “You have to learn to find closure. Whether that’s talking to her, making art, or just going about your routines until it doesn’t hurt anymore. You have to try.”

“What if I’m not ready to move on?”

I don’t think we’re ever ready. But we do it anyway. Because we never know until we try, right?

“Moving on isn’t a step; it’s a goal, Yoongi,” Hoseok squeezes his hands. “You can work towards it. But it’s a conscious choice we make and conscious steps we take. And when you make those steps, it gets easier to breathe and visit places you used to. And one day, you’ll look around and realise that you’ve done it. Maybe not completely, but enough. But you can’t just hole yourself up in your apartment or flee the country. You have to try.”

Hoseok’s eyes are soft when Yoongi looks at him, and Yoongi understands that he’s never allowed himself to move on from Seokjin, just slapped a bandaid over his wound and pretended it didn’t exist. When he met you, he used you as a gauze to staunch the injury and called it healing. He didn’t notice that he bled all over you, didn’t see that you were bleeding over the red of his blood on your wounds. You were trying to tell him you were hurting, and he was too fixated on how similar you were to Seokjin, how he found love again, to hear.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi reaches out for his arm, squeezes his hand. “I want to do it.”

“Do what?”

“The exhibit,” his voice is muffled under his insecurities, but he wants this. “I want to do it.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he lies. “I think I need to do it. For me. To move on.” He’s not sure if he’s ready; he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready. So he takes the step anyways.

Yoongi knows Hoseok is thrilled: he hasn’t stopped smiling since before the exhibition, when there was a crowd of people outside waiting to enter the exhibition, and even before that, when Yoongi was collecting the photos and taking more. Yoongi’s worked tirelessly through the nights to meet the Valentine’s Day exhibit deadline, but now that he’s here, he’s a little proud of himself.

He should find Hoseok, tell him thank you. He should also talk to Namjoon, the owner, and congratulate Jimin, Namjoon’s assistant, on a successful exhibition. He should talk to Jeongguk, the painter, about the rose installation piece that’s at the centre of the gallery. He should talk to Vante about the giant photograph of a bird’s eye view of Seoul. He should, but he’s looking for you.

You were the only guest he wanted to invite, even when Hoseok raised an eyebrow at him and asked him if he really wanted to do this. (He did. He texted you over the course of two weeks and deleted each message before it was sent. In the end, he sent you his heart the old fashioned way, with stamps and an envelope, and sealed it with the hope that you’ll receive it in time.) He doesn’t think you’ll come, so he tampers down the anticipation, tries to not look for your laughter or hear the way your eyes form crescents when you smile too hard. Despite the invitation, he doesn’t know if he’s ready to see you again, so he tries to keep himself busy and talk to the visitors about the pictures. He tries to not think about you.

But it’s hard when you’re all he has up for his exhibit, when your face is at every corner. When you’re all he’s been able to think about.

And as it slowly starts to get closer to the close, he tries to not be disappointed. He puts on a smile and asks Jeongguk about the sun and moon holding hands, discusses lighting techniques with Vante, and manages to make Jimin beam with pride when he compliments him about how nice the exhibit set up is.

When the clock strikes 5, Yoongi packs up his camera and tucks it into his bag with his disappointment and begins to head out.

“Take care, Jimin.”

“Bye, Yoongi!” Jimin chirps. “By the way! There’s a lady in front of your exhibit. I think she was captivated by it; she’s been standing there for the past half hour if you want to talk to her!”

A very familiar silhouette greets him.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You don’t turn around to face him, just stand there looking up at the picture of you smiling at the camera with the covers pulled up to your chin. He hears the people in the background, the faint hum of murmurs and laughters, but you stand there, quiet and arms crossed. He takes a step towards you before shuffling back to his original spot, shifting his eyes to the portraits before him.

At first glance, you are the same girl in the portraits, but the longer he looks at the portraits, at you from the peripherals in his vision, the less the two of you look alike. The girl in the photographs is soft and bright and sunny, draped in warm light and colour corrections, saturated in happiness. The girl in front of him is worn down and exhausted, cloaked in disguises and fronts that she doesn’t have the strength to put on properly. “I remember this day, but I don’t remember it like that.” You nod towards the picture in front of you.

“What’s it like? In your memories?” he asks, and wants to take it back. There’s too many questions bubbling inside of him—Did you love me? Do you remember how I smiled when you did? What do your frames of memory look like? Do they look like mine, painted in a golden filter?—but he doesn’t know how to develop them into words. He’s not sure he wants to compare the photographs of your memories in the fear it’ll corrupt his.

You’re radio silent, so he stands there, shuffling his feet back and forth as his heart drops with each second. He understands what you meant, back at the rooftop, when you had said about riding a rollercoaster: he sees the answer to your question before you’ve spoken, sees the damage he’s caused through the lens of hindsight. Yet some part of him still wants to hear the words from you.

“I don’t remember a lot of it. I remember it was going well. And then I just remember the hurt. I remember realising you saw someone else when you looked at me, just like everyone else. How I wished I could take back everything from the beginning. I wished I could take back the first time I met you. What would it have been like if I had said no? Would it still hurt?”

“I’m sorry,” his hand reaches out for you automatically, too used to the warmth of your body and the lull of your heartbeat to alleviate the stiffness in his chest, but he pulls his hand back as he realises there is too much space between the two of you: he’s not sure if you want to shorten the distance, if you want him at all.

“Why did you say yes?” he asks instead of what he really wants to ask. “To this. To being the subject. You could have said no.”

“I could have.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because you seemed genuine.You looked like you were genuinely looking for a reason—for something, for anything, for purpose—and I liked that. I haven’t met a lot of people like that. Genuine. Earnest.” Your body turns to him, but your gaze is still brushing against the floor and clinging to your hands. “I think a part of me wanted, desperately, to be the source of your purpose. So I let myself believe that you genuinely wanted me for me.”

“I think I loved you.”

“I think the both of us were looking for someone to love,” the corners of your mouth wobble, a pale imitation of the blown up picture of your smile on the wall. “Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Because we were blinded by our desperation.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. The way you look—so curled up in yourself and so vulnerable—slowly makes him realise there’s so much to you he wasn’t able to see. Were there more moments you tried to open up to him, only to have him turn a blind eye because he was still thinking about Seokjin?

“I wish I had met you later. Maybe in a different universe, you and I have a different story line, one where when you and I meet, I have learned to accept love and you have learned to accept heartbreak. Maybe we would have been ready for each other then.” Your smile wobbles, just as it did last time, and Yoongi’s heart wobbles too. When you start to walk away, he tastes the bitterness of his memories surfacing.

“Wait!” he reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezes it a little too tight. When you turn, eyes wide, it feels like a scene he’s seen somewhere before, a picture he used to know. “We could. We could start over. We could make that universe this one.”

“I don’t-I’m not following.”

He drops your hand and offers you his. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Yoongi.”

“Yoongi, I’m not-”

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you tentatively take his hand and shake it.

“It’s nice to meet you for the first time. This is my exhibit,” you smile, head tilted in confusion, but the light in your eyes is warm, so he keeps going,” and I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee?

You bite your lip, but don’t let his hand go. He tries to keep his smile on his face, but his heart is beating with the force of a supernova and he feels his nails cut through the skin of his anticipation. When you look down at his hand, he knows you can feel the tremors that run through it, the electricity of anxiety crackling through his veins, but he keeps his eyes on you and the way your eyes search his for clues, for cues and stage directions.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile, and it feels like the first time he’s seeing you.

He’s not sure, this time, of the damage: he’s not sure he can anticipate the fall, the wreckage caused. Doesn’t know if he wants to.

It’s a brand new film strip. A new camera. A new storyline.

He’s never been more ready.

#yoongi fic #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts x reader #thebtswritersclub #heartsforbts #bangtaninn #btswritingcafe #bangtanuniversity

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pineapple-hoseok · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday!

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: A whole lot of fluff, soft Yoongi, 13+

Warnings: Some cuss words and Yoongi being a lovesick puppy

Word Count: 3.7k (wow that’s the longest one shot I’ve ever written)

Summary: It’s your birthday and Yoongi doesn’t know what to get you. He has a huge crush on you and he wants everything to be perfect.

---

Your birthday was tomorrow. You knew it, your best friend knew, the boys knew it, Yoongi knew it. How could Yoongi forget one of the most important days of the year? Well, it wasn’t as important as everyone was hyping it up to be, but it was for Yoongi. Especially because he had the biggest crush on you since Jimin introduced you to him and the others over a year ago. And he was going to use this day to finally tell you how he felt, using the advice Jimin gave him.

The only problem was, he didn’t know what gift to get you. You were supposed to be meeting up at their dorm tomorrow afternoon so they could celebrate with you and Minah, one out of two of your best friends, and he still had no idea what to buy.

Even as he stood in the middle of the shopping mall about a mile from the dorm, he was clueless and running out of time. So he did what he thought of as a last resort and dialed a number.

The boy on the other line answered with a tired ‘Hello?’, making it clear to Yoongi that he had just woken up from a nap. “Jimin-ah, I need your help.”

“Are you trying to find a gift for Y/N but you have no idea what to get her so you’re calling me to see if I can give you an idea of what to buy since I’m her best friend and I know her better than she knows herself?” That left Yoongi speechless.

Jimin knew of the older boy’s crush on you, hell, all the boys did. Even Minah, who was also one of the densest people in all of Korea, knew. Everyone could tell by the way Yoongi’s mood would lift every time you walked into the room, his obvious attempts of getting closer to you on movie nights, spending hours in his studio showing you songs he’d been working on, even letting you hear him sing after he swore he didn’t have the ability to. And when you told him you loved his songs and his voice, he felt his heart do a backflip in his chest. But somehow, you didn’t notice.

“How the fuck did you know that?” Jimin rolled his eyes so hard, Yoongi could practically hear it.

“You’re so easy to read when it comes to her, hyung.” The Busan boy sighed, sitting up in his bed once he realized he wasn’t getting any more sleep. “You already know Y/N’s really into photography, and I just happen to know her camera just broke. She needs a new one.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, wondering to himself how he didn’t think of that before. “Thanks Jiminie, I owe you.” Jimin mumbled a simple ‘hell yeah you do’ and hung up the phone, but not without reminding Yoongi how much he loved him. The older male externally gagged, but internally smiled.

He knew you would never accept a brand new camera from him, but he was going to force you to take it, since he knew how much photography meant to you. He couldn’t live with himself if he knew you couldn’t do the thing you loved, and that he had a way to help. So he walked into Best Buy and made a beeline to the camera section. He knew absolutely nothing about cameras, but he was lucky to have a worker show him the best one for taking 4K pictures. Yoongi thought you’d really like an upgrade from your previous camera, which was kinda crappy considering that you got it for cheap.

Oh yeah, Yoongi thought, Y/N is definitely going to kill me. The boy, who usually kept his feelings to himself, found himself smiling at the thought of what your reaction would be. You’d definitely give him the worst death glare you could muster up, but he knew you would be actually trying your hardest not to cry. So as he swiped his credit card in the card reader, his excitement to give you this gift only grew.

Yoongi sat at his desk later that night, ignoring the calls of all the boys and their questioning of the bag he had in his hands. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, getting to work on the second half of his gift for you.

Meanwhile, you were laying on Minah’s bed while staring up at the ceiling, your best friend sitting on her desk chair. You had no idea what she was doing, but you didn’t question it. Everyone seemed to be keeping something from you lately. First, Minah begged you to sleep over, then you caught her talking to Jimin on the phone about god knows what. Now, she was telling you that the two of you were going over to the boys’ dorm because she forgot her favorite sweater there.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and texted the only person you thought you could get information out of.

If Hoseok didn’t know anything, that means they probably kept him out of it. He was probably the worst liar you had ever met, he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. But you dropped the subject as soon as Minah stood up from her desk chair. She gestured for you to move over so she could get in the bed too. Back in Busan, you, Minah, and Jimin had been sleeping in the same bed since you all were in diapers, so this wasn’t weird at all to either of you.

“Minah?” You spoke in a soft voice, causing the girl to turn to look at you.

“What’s up?”

You bit your lip, thinking for a second. “What if everyone forgot my birthday? The only person that has said anything about it was Hoseok.”

Minah had to keep herself from smiling. “I’m sure everyone remembers, there’s still a half hour until your actual birthday. Don’t worry, okay?”

You took her word for it, trying your best to calm your racing thoughts. For the next half hour, you and Minah talked about memories you both had from middle school, including the time the two of you drew all over Jimin’s face in middle school when he fell asleep in class. He was still holding a grudge against the two of you for that.

Before you knew it, the alarm clock on Minah’s bedside read twelve am.

Minah jumped up and wrapped her arms around you, screaming ‘happy birthday!’ so loudly in your ear that you were sure her neighbors heard her. You laughed, the girl’s strength knocking you down on the bed while you hugged her back.

“Thank you, now get off of me!” As soon as she did, your phone rang. It was your parents calling you from Busan to wish you a happy birthday. You thanked them, making sure to tell them that you were gonna visit soon before you hung up. Other than that, you had no more calls. Not even from the person you wanted to call you the most, Yoongi.

Everyone knew about your crush on Yoongi, the two of you were really bad at hiding your feelings. But apparently you weren’t, because neither you nor Yoongi knew how the other felt.

Every time you hung out with him and the boys, you always found yourself smiling more than usual whenever he talked to you. And the moments you two spent in his studio listening to a song he wanted to show you only made your stomach fill with butterflies. He seemed to get you more than anyone else did, not even Minah and Jimin. You also couldn’t forget how gentle he always was with you, despite what people have said about him having a cold exterior. Whenever you had a movie night with the boys, Yoongi would always end up sitting next to you, even sharing his blanket with you when you got cold. He’d scold you whenever he caught you speaking badly about yourself, telling you never to do that again. Whenever you were upset and needed comfort, he always let you call him no matter what time of night it was. You couldn’t help but fall for him, which is why you felt disappointed when you didn’t get a text or call from him at midnight.

Your lips turned down in a small frown, but Minah didn’t notice. Instead, she explained that the two of you should sleep so you could go to the boys’ dorm early in the afternoon. You turned onto your side, pulling the covers over your shoulder as you closed your eyes and let sleep take over you.

You woke up to the sound of a higher pitched male voice singing happy birthday. As your eyes opened, you noticed it was Jimin singing to you while holding a cupcake with a single candle in it, Minah smiling widely behind him. They gave you a second to sit up in Minah’s bed, a wide smile taking over your features. You closed your eyes, making a single wish before blowing out the candle on the cupcake Jimin was holding out for you. He set it on the nightstand, allowing you to jump into your best friend’s arms and thank him profusely. Jimin’s arms picked you up and lifted you off of the bed, spinning you around once before setting you down on the floor.

“Happy birthday, loser.” You laughed, reaching up to ruffle the boy’s hair.

“Yah, that’s noona to you.” You honestly didn’t care about honorifics, but you did it just to tease Jimin about your one year age difference like you always did. He rolled his eyes, pushing your hand away from him while you laughed even more.

“Now go brush your teeth and put on something nice after you shower, you stink.” Minah pushed you towards her bathroom, leaving you confused. If you guys were only going to the dorm to pick up her sweater, why did you need to wear something nice? At this point you learned not to question anything Minah said, so you just went along with it and started getting ready.

About an hour later, you were dressed in a black skirt and a matching black blouse that you found in Minah’s closet after you forgot your clothes at your house. All you did to your hair was brush it out and style it a little, but you liked the way the wavy style looked on you. Once you stepped out of the room, you found Jimin and Minah whispering about something, with Jimin briefly looking down at his phone.

After you cleared your throat to get their attention, they turned to look at you.

“Perfect, let’s go.” Jimin grabbed your hand and brought you over to the door, telling you to put on the black low top vans you came in before leading you and Minah to his car. Throughout the entire car ride to Bangtan’s apartment building, Minah kept bouncing excitedly in her seat. Jimin on the other hand, kept telling her to stop before he threw her out of his porsche.

Soon enough, the three of you arrived at the building, making your way up the familiar elevator before walking down the hall. You were about to put in the code to the front door before Jimin slid in front of you so he could do it himself. What a child.

He sent a quick text from his phone before putting in the door code. The lights were off inside the big apartment, and you wondered where the boys were. Were they all out and Jimin was the first one home? Dismissing the thought, you took your shoes off at the entrance and put on the slippers the boys got you a few months into your friendship with them. You were about to start looking for Minah’s sweater until all of a sudden, the lights turned on and six boys jumped up screaming.

“Surprise!” You would’ve fell on your ass if it wasn’t for Minah who caught you from behind, everyone laughing at your reaction. All around you were balloons and streamers in an array of colors, the entire living area of the dorm looking festive.

You started tearing up, your hand fanning your eyes as you looked around at the seven boys -- plus Minah -- that planned this surprise party for you.

“You guys did all of this for me?” They all nodded, all of them running over to hug you before you could burst into tears. You hugged all of them individually, each boy wishing you a happy birthday. Hoseok came up to you, wrapping his arms around you in a friendly hug. Aside from Jimin, Hoseok was the next boy you considered as one of your closest friends in Bangtan.

“I swear, Y/N, I didn’t know anything about this until an hour ago.” You laughed, hugging the boy tightly.

Next was Yoongi. He walked up to you with a smile on his face, holding his arms out for a hug. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his wrapped around your waist, your heart doing backflips and somersaults in your chest.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you to say happy birthday at midnight, they took my phone so I couldn’t contact you and ruin the surprise,” He spoke, his lips right next to your ear making his soft voice send shivers through your body. You hugged him for a second longer than the other boys before pulling back from the hug.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t worried.” That was a lie, but you decided that Yoongi didn’t need to know that.

The two of you walked over to the living room where the rest of the party was, your body immediately taking a seat next to Seokjin when he offered you one of the switch remotes to play Mario Kart with him.

That’s how the party went for the next few hours. A Mario Kart tournament between you and your eight friends took up a lot of the time, but you ended up beating everyone. You knew all of them had let you win, because there was no way you could beat Seokjin, Jungkook, AND Taehyung. But you didn’t mind, you got a crown made out of paper as your prize.

At last, it was gift opening time. Everyone sat on the living room floor, letting you use the couch as your throne as you opened each gift.

“I told you guys not to get me anything.” You whined, earning a bunch of comments from the peanut gallery to shut up and open your gifts.

So that’s what you did, starting with a gift from Jungkook. He got you the new pair of vans you’ve been wanting and were telling him about last week. Taehyung got you a gucci necktie to match his, Hoseok got you a pin that says ‘I <3 New Zealand’ from when they visited the year before (which you laughed at), Seokjin got you an Eevee plushie to match his, Namjoon got you a copy of the book he was reading which you asked him for a while ago, and Jimin got you a signed cd of his single ‘Promise’. After each of the boys gave you their gifts, you hugged each of them and made sure to tell them how much you really liked everything.

Then Yoongi gave you his. It was in a wrapped box and it felt heavy. You prayed that he didn’t get you something expensive, after you specifically told everyone not to buy you anything expensive. But you carefully opened it anyway, the wrapping paper revealing the box of a brand new Canon camera. A chorus of surprised sounds came from everyone, your eyes widening while looking down at the box. This camera was a huge upgrade from the shitty one you had before, which broke after some random guy bumped into you while you were taking pictures one day.

“Min Yoongi, I’m gonna kill you.” You mustered the best death glare you could give him. If looks could kill, the boy would be six feet under by now.

“Well I’m not taking it back, and there’s no refunds or returns so you have to accept it.” He wore a smug smile on his face that you wanted so badly to wipe off completely. You would definitely murder him in his sleep later.

You set the box down next to you and sighed in defeat, going over to hug him too.

“Thank you, it really means a lot to me.” Your voice was soft as you thanked him, and you could feel him smile against your cheek. You were about to go back to your seat when Yoongi stopped you.

“Actually, there’s something else I have for you,” He looked around at the curious eyes of everyone staring up at him, “in private.”

This set off another chorus of ‘woah’s from all of the boys, Minah only snickering in the corner. After telling them all to shut up, Yoongi stood and gestured for you to follow him to his room. You stood and followed closely behind him, ignoring the stares you felt on the back of your head.

Yoongi led you into his room and closed the door behind him so you two would have privacy. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, wondering why he brought you here.

“So I kinda wrote you a small note, and I didn’t want you to read it in front of everyone so I brought you here.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to you with red cheeks. You didn’t know how to react except for responding with a small ‘thank you’ before opening the note.

Dear Y/N,

I kinda feel like an idiot writing this letter to you, but I didn’t know how else to tell you. Okay I’m just gonna say it, I like you. Like really like you. I like spending time with you, whether it’s with the boys or alone, I like showing you the songs I’m working on, I like when you sit close to me on movie nights, I like when you smile and literally light up any room you walk into, I like how little strands of your hair fall into your eyes and you don’t even notice it, I like the way your dimples pop out every time you smile, I like everything about you. I really like the way I feel when I’m around you, like I get this tingly feeling in my stomach and I can feel my heart do little flips in my chest, and I just feel really happy when I’m around you. Everything in me just wants to keep you happy, because you look really beautiful when you smile, and your laugh is probably more contagious than Hoseok’s (and that’s saying a lot). My point is, I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve right now and I just wanted to ask you something.

P.S: Look back up at me when you’re done reading this.

You had tears in your eyes by the time you looked back up at a nervous Yoongi, his hands shoved in his front pockets to keep himself from fidgeting with them.

“Now that you know my feelings, will you please be my girlfriend?” Yoongi couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours, not until he heard your answer. Right now, he was giving his heart to you in hopes that you wouldn’t break it. He was revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you got to see, and that he had never shown anyone.

You smiled as a few tears slipped past your eyelids, which made Yoongi immediately go into panic mode.

“Oh shit, did I do something? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that-“ You cut him off by chuckling lightly, shaking your head.

“Shut up and kiss me, idiot.” Your hands reached up to rest on his cheeks, pulling his face closer to yours until your lips met his. Almost immediately, his hands rested on your waist, pulling your body closer to his.

The kiss lasted a little less than ten seconds before both of you hesitantly pulled back just enough to look at each other’s faces.

“Yes,” You spoke softly, causing a confused look to take over Yoongi’s face. Laughing lightly, you realized he completely forgot about his question. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Yoongi smiled his gummy smile that you absolutely adored, his arms wrapping around your waist to hug you again. The size of your smile mirrored his as your hands ran through his hair.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” His head pulled back, leaning down to kiss you again. You broke the kiss after a second, though, much to his dismay.

“As much as I just want to kiss you all night, we have a crowd of people waiting for us outside.” Yoongi whined, only making you laugh more. But you were serious about going back out there, taking hold of his hand and walking back out of his room. The two of you walked hand in hand back to the living room, smiling at all of the surprised faces staring back at you.

“Finally!” Jimin called out, earning himself a slap on the back of the head from Seokjin. But everyone agreed with Jimin’s opinion, congratulating you and Yoongi.

You all decided to end the night with cake and a movie. Everyone called for you to pick the movie while Minah got up to grab the cake in the kitchen, so you picked ‘Toy Story 2’ again. They all started complaining, but you just smiled and pressed play on the screen.

Instead of sitting on the couch like you normally would’ve, you decided to sit on the floor in between Yoongi’s legs, leaning your back against his chest. You felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, looking back to see your now boyfriend looking back down at you with a smile on his face. Making sure no one was looking, you leaned up to quickly kiss his waiting lips before resting your head back on his shoulder, your arms resting on top of his.

This was officially the best birthday ever.

#bts oneshots #min yoongi #yoongi oneshots #yoongi drabbles #yoongi fluff #bts suga #suga #agust d #suga oneshots #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts drabbles #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #boyfriend yoongi

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hotdogct · 4 years ago

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as dreamers do ||| n.jm

pairing: na jaemin x reader genre: fluff words: 2.2k a/n: hello!!! this is my first piece of writing in a very long time, so apologies if its all over the place/makes no sense!!! obviously this is all a work of fiction, disclaimer, blablabla, idk what i’m doing i just wanted to write drabbles about nct lmao, so with that being said!!!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you trust me?”

You roll your eyes in the direction of your coworker, Jaemin, who was sitting across from you in the fluorescent lit break room located just behind Splash Mountain’s gift shop and exit. The two of you were part of the massive workforce of college aged youth that Disney recruited every year to staff their theme parks and resorts. While you weren’t initially thrilled with your role as a custodian, you learned to appreciate its quirks - and that included the unique cast of characters otherwise known as your coworkers. From the full-timers that did their best to ignore your presence, knowing another semester would just bring a fresh wave of new faces, to your fellow program cohorts - Jaemin being one of them.

Assuming he was just quoting Aladdin at you, you offer no response to Jaemin’s initial query and continue scrolling through your phone, shoveling the few remaining cheese crackers from the nearby vending machine down your throat, intending on savoring the remaining minutes of your last break for the evening.

Your thoughts wandered back to your fellow cast members. There was Daehwi, sheltered and away from home for the first time, affectionately nicknamed ‘baby’ by everyone he befriended. Wendy, with her melodic voice and cheerful disposition, eager to break into song at a moments notice. Lucas, who might’ve come to Florida to party first, but worked equally hard. Hani, who arrived a few weeks after you, always the first to come help when you radio that your restroom has overflowed, again. Even Jinho, who had initially fooled you with his youthful looks before revealing this was his third time through the program, had somehow wormed his way into your heart. But nobody had been as captivating as Jaemin. When you first met him in passing in the cramped break room, you were convinced casting had made a mistake, that he was lost on his way to costuming for entertainment. He certainly looked like a prince - perfectly straight teeth, boyishly handsome good looks. A few days later he was assigned to clean the same bathrooms as you - “bathroom buddies” as everyone affectionately would call the practice. There, in the shared stockrooms, you learned who Jaemin was beyond his beautiful face - how his friends back home called him Nana, that he was studying photography in college, that he was an only child, a helluva flirt. Even your music tastes were similar, a fact you discovered on one of the many cramped, late night bus rides back to program housing where the two of you stood packed shoulder to shoulder, like sardines in a can. Jaemin interacted with guests both young and young at heart with an effortless charm and grace. Your managers loved him immediately, and before you knew it, you found yourself incredibly enamored with him too.

It wasn’t until his hand suddenly broke through your field of vision, blocking sight of your phone, that you realized Jaemin had stood up and was now standing directly in front of you. His head covered the harshest of the overhead lights, casting a soft halo glow around his black, messy hair and broad shoulders. He smiles down at you, innocently, and you feel your heartbeat accelerate when your eyes meet his own.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, again. This time, without thought, you place your hand firmly in his.

******

Jaemin leads you out of the blinding light of the break room silently, into the dark of the early winter evening. Eyes still adjusting, you follow behind him, thankful that your corner of the park was mostly deserted - Splash Mountain still closed for the season, only a few stragglers were coming and going to use the restroom in the area. You vaguely remember that Jaemin had been assigned a nearby zone to clean that evening - which was it again…?

He leads you up a flight up stairs, then, and that’s when it hits you. Train Zone. The Frontierland Railroad Station. It was an easy zone to clean, as the railroad shut down early each night before the fireworks display. Gathering the trash in an empty zone like this was a godsend, especially when compared to the other ride queues you had to clean, oftentimes fighting constant guest traffic like a fish swimming upstream.

Lost in your thoughts, you follow behind Jaemin as he completes his task diligently, making sure each trash can within the train station is empty and re-bagged for the next morning. It had been a few days since the two of you had worked in neighboring areas, and you often found yourself tongue tied when around him. The background music loop of Frontierland was noticeably absent, the speakers within the station shut off for the night. This led to Jaemin singing nonsense songs while tying up trash bags and wiping down surfaces, dancing lightly on his feet.

Turkey leg-g-g

At the train

D-d-d-driving me insane~

All you could do was laugh at his antics, and before you knew it, the nearby banana boat parked at the exit ramp was full of trash bags. Satisfied with the results of your hard work, you were about to begin the walk to backstage, where the dumpsters were located, when Jaemin turned about face, walking instead towards the train station.

“What are you doing?!” you hiss, not wanting to shout but needing to stress your confusion at his actions. Jaemin stops at the gate, unlatches it, before turning around, beckoning you over with a smile.

“I asked you if you trusted me, didn’t I?” his voice low in your ear upon your arrival at his side, banana boat now parked safely out of any guest traffic. Jaemin unlocks the gate for you, both of you falling silent on your walk back up into the depths of the train station - no more cute, silly songs spilling from his lips.

“Are you sure we aren’t going to get caught?” your voice carries louder than intended across the empty room as you go through the turnstile, and you wince.

Jaemin’s boisterous laugh took you by surprise, followed a moment later by his hand ruffling the top of your head, messing up your hair. As if to say, foolish.

“Getting the trash from up here is technically our responsibility. So what if it took us a little long?”

He was right - the best part of your job was the agency it provided. Sure, you were cleaning up garbage and bathrooms and vomit, but you could walk around freely. Explore hidden corners and crevices of the park. You knew all too well the allures of the shared hallway between the Frontierland restrooms, the stock closet next to the Veranda breezeway, the dumpster behind the Haunted Mansion - places the rest of your desperately horny coworkers had used to hook up in weeks prior. As you follow Jaemin around a corner towards the front of the station, through an open passageway, you wonder if that’s what he has in mind. That is, until you see the view in front of you.

Jaemin had led you to a small balcony that overlooked the whole expanse of Frontierland. From above you could spot guests walking about the park to and fro, the Rivers of America flowing gently behind them in the distance. Bits and pieces of Cinderella’s Castle were visible through the tree line, shining bright in multicolor as the nightly projection show proceeded to play.

“Jaem, it’s….”

“Nice, isn’t it?” He finishes your thought for you, his hand brushing over the staged decorations of fake barrels and crates against the wall of the balcony that seemed perfect to sit upon. Moments later, Jaemin plops down with a satisfied smile on his face and pats the space beside him, silently asking you to join him.

“Nice is an understatement” you offer in reply. A small laugh leaves his lips, a breeze rolls through. For just a moment, it is quiet and still.

“I’ve been wanting to show you this place for a while, but the stars just never aligned right until tonight.”

“You mean, the computer system that automates scheduling and staffing didn’t randomly place us in neighboring areas of the park until to-” Jaemin’s stiff elbow into your side lets you know to drop the wit. That you could do, but a question lingered in your mind, still, and you did have to voice your sole concern.

“How do you not get caught up here?”

Jaemin turns around, points to the solitary light on the balcony, and it’s then that you notice the bulb is off. You might feel exposed looking down upon everyone, but quickly realize that nobody is looking up at the closed train station - let alone looking for two cast members in white uniforms in the dark, goofing off on a weeknight.

Fooling around…

You were thankful for the cover of darkness in that moment, as you felt your cheeks turn crimson at the thought. Being alone, with Jaemin, this close, in the dark...This all seemed very sudden, despite everyone knowing about your big crush on Nana - he had to know too?

“So,” Jaemin’s voice cuts through your ever-racing thoughts, and your chest goes cold. “A little birdie told me there’s something you really, really like…”

If jumping off the balcony was a safe option, in that moment, you would’ve taken it. A confirmation of your worst fears - that Jaemin was aware of your ridiculous, schoolgirl like crush on him. You are speechless, sunken, pulse racing, and terrified.

Without the usual cue of area music, caught up in the last hour, you had missed your usual clues. A loud boom caused you to jump in your seat, out of your brain, head immediately turning towards Jaemin - only to make eye contact with him, bright lights reflecting off the surface, who smiles and motions for you to turn around. Of course.

If you were known for one thing amongst your cohorts, it was that you loved fireworks. Even on the most hectic of nights you found a way to make sure you were outside during the nightly display, never taking for granted that you were being paid to watch the sky light up in time to music. You had your favorite spots to watch from, but had never once considered the train station. From the corner of Frontierland, it felt like the fireworks were almost on top of you - cascading down upon Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the expanse of empty night sky providing the perfect canvas. As the speakers above you were silent, there was no accompanying soundtrack, but it didn’t matter - you knew the whole show by heart. You were unaware of how long your mouth had been hanging open in blissful, childlike wonder, only noticing when Jaemin gently pressed his finger up against your chin, closing the space between your upper and lower lip through simple momentum. Moments later, his hand brushed over yours, testing the waters, and finding no complaint, interlocked his fingers with yours, and gravity pulls your head to his shoulder. A soft, steady hum leaves his lips, as you settle into this newfound bliss.

The rest of the fireworks show plays out in front of the two of you - two white ghosts in a dark shadow, illuminated by glowing streaks and bursts of color from the night sky. You’re working at the most magical place on earth, sure, but this felt like the most magical moment of your life.

Before you know it, the sky calms again, signaling the end of the show. You remain frozen for a moment, not wanting to leave. When you finally stand back up, awkwardly untangling yourself from Jaemin’s frame in a rushed manner, you can almost feel yourself floating back down to the ground, back to reality. Jaemin, your co-worker, Jaemin the flirt. He brought you up here just to watch the fireworks after all. Had you been a bit more outgoing, a bit less awkward, maybe...

Taking a few steps towards the entryway, a sudden hand on your wrist pulls you against the wall - thankfully, out of sight of any guests, but now engulfing your entire body in shadow. And it’s here in the darkness that Jaemin’s hand releases itself from your wrist, finds its way up to your cheek. Here, he leans in and kisses you - pressing his chapped lips against yours gently, but with enough intent and purpose that you swear you were seeing stars after a few moments. It doesn’t last long, as all fairytales would tell you. When you part, Jaemin rests his forehead against yours, both slightly damp from the Florida humidity, and you can feel him smile against you, somehow breathless, letting out a low chuckle, before asking,

“Did you think I was talking about the fireworks?”

#na jaemin #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream #nct fluff #jaemin #nct scenarios #na jaemin fluff #na jaemin fic #jaemin fic #jaemin fluff #nct x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream fluff

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tealin · 4 years ago

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Observation Hill

To see the post in its original format, please visit twirlynoodle.com/blog

There is no mistaking Observation Hill when you arrive at McMurdo, if you know anything about it. It is a distinct cone, right at the end of the peninsula – even if you've never seen a picture of it, its name alone tells you it's a prime lookout, and sticking out into McMurdo sound as it does, it has clear views in every direction.

I had seen pictures of it, but I was still surprised how it loomed over the station. Unlike the vastly larger Mt Erebus, it is visible from everywhere; whether you're eating in the Galley or crawling back to bed from the Crary lab in the wee hours, it's always looking over your shoulder.

Though not apparent in the above photo, it is clearly visible in person that there is a large cross mounted nearly at the peak of the hill. Visitors especially from the States might assume it is just another expression of religious devotion – Christ died on a cross on a hill, so hilltop crosses are not unusual in a country which puts great stock in expressions of Christianity – but this is not another one of those things, in fact it isn't even American. This cross was erected in January 1913 by the surviving men of the Terra Nova Expedition, as a memorial to Captain Scott and the other members of his party who died out on the Ross Ice Shelf on their way home from the South Pole.

Before the ship arrived it was decided among us to urge the erection of a cross on Observation Hill to the memory of the Polar Party. On the arrival of the ship the carpenter immediately set to work to make a great cross of jarrah wood [an Australian hardwood]. There was some discussion as to the inscription, it being urged that there should be some quotation from the Bible because "the women think a lot of these things." But I was glad to see the concluding line of Tennyson's "Ulysses" adopted: "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

... Observation Hill was clearly the place for it, it knew them all so well. Three of them were Discovery men who lived three years under its shadow: they had seen it time after time as they came back from hard journeys on the Barrier: Observation Hill and Castle Rock were the two which had always welcomed them in. It commanded McMurdo Sound on one side, where they had lived: and the Barrier on the other, where they had died. No more fitting pedestal, a pedestal which in itself is nearly 1000 feet high, could have been found.

(Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World, pp.565-7)

The establishment of the cross took two days: the first, to hack a hole in the volcanic rock in which to mount it, and the second to carry up the pieces and erect them.

It stands nine feet out of the rocks, and many feet into the ground, and I do not believe it will ever move. When it was up, facing out over the Barrier, we gave three cheers and one more. (ibid., p.567)

106 years later, there is a hiking trail up Observation Hill. I had intended to make a pilgrimage since the moment I arrived, but with everything else going on, and the ongoing challenge to get enough sleep, it wasn't until quite late in my visit that I finally made it.

My first attempt was on a relatively fine day, when I thought I could get some good views. The trailhead was clearly marked on the station map, but when I got there I couldn't find a way to reach it without crossing a fuel pipeline, and I had a dim recollection from orientation that this was a big no-no. I wandered about looking for access until I started getting a headache from the fumes, and gave up.

The next opportunity came a few days later, after I'd found out from a veteran that it was OK just to step over the pipeline there. It was a thickly cloudy day, and hazy by Antarctic standards, so I wouldn't get as good a view, but that did mean I could look forward to having the hill to myself. So I stepped over the pipeline and started up.

It looks like a terribly steep climb from the bottom, but once on the slope it's not so bad, and is far less slippery than the gravel slope of Arrival Heights. Partway up I passed a mountain rescue class, but beyond that the trail was entirely mine.

Like the rest of Ross Island, Observation Hill is volcanic in origin – in fact it was once a small volcano of its own. Unlike the subglacial volcano that is now Castle Rock, which grew cylindrically through a hole it melted in the ice, Observation Hill must have been uncovered in its later years at least, because it has the classic cone shape made by molten rock running down the outside. It is a lighter colour than much of the rest of the exposed rock in the area, and in places, it gives a really good impression of being sedimentary rather than igneous.

While the climb was not as physically intense as I had feared, it did still make me very warm, and I had two pauses, not to catch my breath but to cool down. One was to watch the rescue class, the other was when, somewhere near the top, I lost the trail, and examined the terrain for a while to guess which side would be least fall-off-able. I chose the wrong one, it turns out – I didn't fall off, but I did have to pick my way over some bare rock and came out above the cross, which is mounted in a pocket of rubble just off the peak.

It's hard to tell from the photo but it is in fact quite large – I am an average sized female and I stood well under the crossbar. The inscription is still there, but over a century of blizzards have battered it, and some parts are just barely decipherable.

The names – above of the worst of the blowing grit – are still legible. This gave me one of those moments which always seems to come by surprise. I have lived most of my life, and certainly all of my career, in close proximity with fictional characters, who demand to be believed in, either out of escapist necessity or professional duty. Most of the time I am off in my own little world, and the fact that that little world is now a historical moment in Antarctica does not, necessarily, make it more real, in relation to my literal present reality, than any movie I've worked on. I know these guys were real, I have seen film footage of them, and read their handwriting, and, some of them, even met members of their families! But when I'm up to my elbows in the work, it's easy to give it the part of my brain that suspends disbelief on a production. Suddenly something will come along that jolts me back to their reality: in this case, a name carved on a physical object by someone who knew them personally.

At the same time, this physical object impressed upon me again just how much time separates their reality and mine. Originally the cross was painted white, with the incised letters filled in black. Only a little of the white paint remains in the deepest recesses of what are quite shallow letters, now. In 1960, when Silas Wright returned and was photographed up here, the wood had already been scoured clean. His visit was 47 years after the cross was put in place, and 49 years before mine. The same imagination that conflates historical realities with fictional ones can make those years evaporate, but that is still a lot of years, and erosion, unlike imagination, doesn't lie.

Cherry may have believed that the cross would never move, but it has in fact blown down twice, once in the winter of 1974 and again in 1993. Its restoration in 1994 was a significant effort: a new concrete "boot" was made for it at Scott Base and delivered to the site by helicopter, and the cross itself was relayed up the hill by teams of helpers. (You can see photos of the event here, p.44) I cannot say how moving it is to see such an outlay of resources and enthusiasm by people who never met the Polar Party, to perpetuate their memory.

The cross isn't the only thing to see at the top of Observation Hill, of course – there is everything else. It turned out to be the perfect way to end my tour of Terra Nova landmarks, not only because it was the last bit of home territory the Terra Nova men themselves visited, but because I could see nearly everywhere I'd been from up here.

As you can see, it was not the greatest day for landscape photography, what with the matte light and the taller mountains being covered with cloud. But I had not come up here to take pictures. The sombre atmosphere befitted what I had come to do, which was to remember these men and thank The Powers That Be for the blessings that had been showered upon me in the last few weeks.

The cross faces south, towards their last camp, and the Pole. This is, of course, a thoughtful and fitting aspect of the memorial. It also gives the impression of a beacon, a light in a window, a lighthouse on a headland, guiding them home. The men who erected it knew the men were dead. They are still dead. We all know this. But they are still out there somewhere, and it is not impossible to imagine some small irrational part of the human psyche wanting, in some small way, to show them the way back, and call them back by name.

Minna Bluff was covered in cloud, so I couldn't use it as a bellwether, but the wind started to pick up and was colder than before, so I thought I should start heading down again. The correct trail was obvious from this end, and I poked along it for a little way before everything caught up with me and I sat down to have a little cry.

The cross is a historical artefact, and while it is not as plum or as complex as the huts, it still requires conservation. Alarmed by the degree of erosion on the lettering, the Antarctic Heritage Trust has devised a shell to protect it from the worst of the winter winds. That will do something, but it has already lost a lot. When I was up there, I wondered why it hadn't ever been repainted, as the paint would go a long way to protecting it, and when the paint wore off it could just get repainted instead of eating further and further into the wood. The raw timber is more harmonious with the environment, and I like it better aesthetically that way, as do many others I'm sure – the white cross with black letters in Debenham's photo from 1913 is very stark and artificial in such a magnificent landscape. But it would last a lot longer.

On the other hand, generations of Antarcticans now have the cross as a touchstone, not only as their link to the history (not everyone gets to visit Cape Evans) but as a landmark in their own experience of Antarctica. It was personally important to the men who painted it white and put it up, but it is also personally important to hundreds, if not thousands, of people since then, who have never seen it white and don't know that's how it started, and might see the repainting as a travesty. If it were to be conserved, to what extent would that go? Would the letters be re-carved deeper, obliterating what remains of Davies' original work? At what point does conservation end and adulteration begin?

The alternative is to take down the original and keep it somewhere out of the weather – Scott Base perhaps – and replace it with a replica. Jarrah is still available, the letters could be carved afresh, it could be the bare wood everyone has known and loved for the last fifty years at least, and the original could be saved from the effects of weather once and for all. But doesn't this defeat the intent of the original in some way, and make it – dare I say – a Disneyland version? Do we owe more to history to keep it as it is and let the elements wear it down, or to preserve it as long as possible and do whatever might be necessary to extend the experience and historical understanding of a place, if not its authenticity?

These are all questions that curators and conservators have been grappling with for years, so I leave it to them to make the decisions. I am grateful to have seen the original, and to have a moment to myself up there to reflect on these things, and more. I hope, whatever happens with it in the future, Observation Hill is not de-crossed entirely. How else will they find the way home?

#antarctica #mcmurdo station #observation hill #conservation #history #memorial #artefacts #scott expedition #terra nova expedition #scott base

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emilycollins00 · 4 years ago

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A3 Actors! Knight in shining armour

Type: Oneshot

Pairing: Omi Fushimi x Reader

Themes: Love-longing / Subtle / Bitter / Hope

“Nah, it can't be”

“I swear on my life”

“No way!”

“I'm telling you Kazunari, it's like that every time”

The summer member laughed at the seriousness of your voice, leaning back on the couch of the dorm. Frowning at the lack of support you weren’t expecting, you opened your mouth when the bell from the entrance rang, the strong voice of the main cook of Mankai annunciating his arrival.

Seeing this as an oportunity, you raised an eyebrow at the blond “Watch”

Turning both of your heads towards the kitchen, you saw Omi entering with hands full of shopping bags.

“Welcome back, Omimi!”

“Hey, Omi”

“I’m back. Oh, Y/N” he smiled as he left the food on the table “Didn’t know you were coming today. I decided to go buy some things on sale and time flew by”

You paid no mind to his apology. You had been the one to come unannounced after all “It’s fine. Hey Omi, I like you, want to go out with me?”

“Mhm?” Omi turned to you, blinking for a few seconds before he nodded, a warm smile on his face “Well, I don’t see why not, it’s early. That new camera shop you told me last week, right? I’ll leave my things and we can go”

As the university student left, you didn’t even bother to look at Kazunari, moving your hands tiredly as if to say ‘what did I tell you’

Startled, he looked at you both confused and fascinated "What the…? That was high-key so-”

Whatever he was about to say didn’t get to leave his mouth, the loud voices of other autumn members arriving from the hall. Banri was commenting something about stances as he pointed Taichi’s script when he noticed you, glass of soda on the table next to a bag of chips. His expression changed from a focused one to entertained.

“Ah, If it isn’t the person who doesn't live here but it’s startin’ to look like it”

You greeted them as if you took off an imaginary hat, not bothering to bite back “Hey there Mr. Joker, Taichi”

Banri scoffed, heading to the table to steal the food as the red-head cried indignantly “Man, why does Ban-chan always gets to be called that? Y/N, I also want a cool nickname!”

You laughed.

“Why would you want to be even called something by them?” Banri asked, taking a few chips. Frowning, you took the bag of chips from him and pinched him in the ribs “Hey!”

"Jerk"

“You say that because you got a badass nickname!”

“Whatever. Did you finally do something about Omi-san or what”

“Come on, not you too. I was talking about the same thing with Kazunari here two seconds ago!”

You had been Omi’s classmates in the photography club since your first year of university and falling in love with him was not something you had really planned. You were supposed to be friends. Nothing in between.

Easier to say than do, considering the boy’s personality and looks. Ever since his eyes kept locking warmly with yours, taking time to visit new places for panoramic shots or having lunch together to discuss your favorite ways to take photos at dawn… You knew you had pretty much fallen for that lovable and gentle giant.

He was kind, generous and was always a huge help whenever anyone had any kind of trouble. By the time you really started trying to show your feelings, you also discovered the reason why someone like him was still single.

"Why does everyone think I'm not doing anything?” you raised your arms, groaning tired “I’ve tried everything, he’s just the thickest person I've ever seen in my entire life! It's like God put all the good things to show him off and went ‘Hah, let's see who can crack this one!’ Can you believe yesterday he…”

You kept ranting. You were the first one who didn’t know how he had gotten so much into your heart. His obliviousness drove was driving you crazy.

By the time you finished talking, everyone in that room was speechless. Banri, Kazunari and Taichi looked at each other.

“I’m back” Omi appeared carrying a jacket and his camera “Ah, did you guys finish practicing? We were about to go out, if you guys want to join- everything okay, Y/N?”

Even though you were mentally facepalming, you lifted your head and nodded. Taking you bag, you waved as you headed towards the main door. Omi watched your back and started to follow you when Banri called him out.

“Omi-san, might wanna tell your significant other about tea, they seem more on edge than usual”

He laughed, as if Banri had said some kind of joke “They do look tired, right? Anyway, I’ll try to be back before dinner. If I'm late there’s some stew on the pot so everyone can heat some rice to go with it”

After closing the main door. The autumn members and Kazunari stood in silence processing what had just happened again.

……………………………………

“You were right, they had so many new adaptable lenses, I think I'll come here to buy the new stuff they told us they'll receive next week”

After visiting the camera shop- which was true you had wanted to go- you and Omi wandered around Veludo Way.

“Do you mind if we go to the park before we leave? I like the light it has around this time” he turned to you and watched you shrug, indicating you didn't mind.

“Sure, you’re the boss now”

He chuckled, and your heart skipped a beat at the sound. He was so not fair.

Arriving at the park during dinner time meant the playground was mostly empty. Just a few kids playing here and there and birds chirping along in the background. The sky was turning a warm toasted orange tinted with red, with the wind howling between the branches of the trees, as if it knew that in the world there was no sweeter music than that of the sounds surrounding a sunset.

You loved sunsets.

“That’s a great smile right there”

You rolled your eyes as you saw Omi’s camera focusing on you. You tried to look mad, but knew the smile that was on your face said otherwise “You really need to stop doing those things. I already fell for you”

Omi laughed turning and taking some other photos around you two. You lowered your gaze to the ground.

“Omi”

“Mmm?”

“I like you”

“Uh, me too?”

“I know. I also have an important question”

“Sure” he put the camera in front of him, focusing on the sun hiding behind the buildings. Your eyes followed his movement longingly.

Omi was kind, compassionate, diligent. He was something brought out of a fairy tell. The knight in shining armour everyone wanted. You pursed your lips together. You loved him.

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

But maybe he didn’t need someone like that at the moment.

From the corner of his eye, Omi peeked at you, putting the camera down and staring at the view in front of him. None of you spoke for a while, the only sound heard being of the birds and cars in the distance.

“You… are an amazing person, Y/N”

You tried not to let the lump on your throat be noticeable and laughed, sitting on one of the empty swings around the place “I should be the one saying that”

He shook his head “Unlike me, you are not afraid of saying what’s on your mind, and you act on it. It’s... admirable”

As you gripped the chains of the swing, you thought about the concept of knights in shining armour again.

They looked perfect, but perhaps they were like that because little things could truly find a way through their armour, hiding a self that was vulnerable and damaged.

“Will I be a bother… if I ask you to let me stay with you?”

The smile he had a few moments ago was replaced with a sigh when he looked at you “You know, my siblings used to say I always looked like a big tree, big and dependable” he chuckled “Don’t know were they got it from but I-”

“What do you feel like?”

Omi scratched the back of his head, thinking about it for a few seconds “Sometimes I imagine myself as a leaf leaving a tree, you know. It… falls upward first, then slowly towards the ground”

It was as if every ounce of breath was taken from your lungs and now floated in the air “Will... that leaf ever fully fall?”

“I want to” he looked up at the horizon once again “One day”

You smiled. You didn’t mind waiting.

“One day”

__________________________________________________________

I love Omi so much, he deserves everything good. I truly hope at some point he understands that too.

Hope you liked it! Have a wonderful day 💕

#A3! Actor Training Game #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 act #a3!#a3 #omi fushimi #a3 omi fushimi #omi fushimi x reader #omi x reader #a3 omi #one shot #a3 banri #a3 taichi #a3 kazunari #reader insert #a3! mankai #sad ending?#hopefull ending

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youbloodymadgenius · 5 years ago

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Photographs, Cuddles and Hot Cocoa (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: Happy birthday, @flowers-in-your-hayr 🎉 May your day be the most beautiful! 🌺 Hope you’ll enjoy this silly thing I wrote. And @maggiescarborough, thank you for planning this special challenge.

Of course, I chose an Ivar's moodboard. And now it’s Christmas in May 🎄

Once again, I wholeheartedly thank you, @inforapound. You’re the best beta ever. And my friend 🌷

Obviously, the moodboard belongs to you, @flowers-in-your-hayr 😉

Summary: You’re tired and wanted to cuddle but Ivar’s got other plans. You’re not thrilled.

Warnings: fluff with no plot; Ivar may be a little OOC, sorry about that.

Words: 2066

"Ivar, where are we?"

Looking around, frowning, you don't even try to hide how annoyed you are, your head resting against the car window. He gives you an amused smile, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek.

"You don't remember? I thought you'd recognize this place."

He seems slightly disappointed, which doesn't help your mood. Because you should be the disappointed one. Well, you probably are. More disappointed than he is, anyway.

"No, I don't."

He lets his hand fall back into his lap, clearly surprised by your increasingly irritated tone.

"Just look around, love."

"That's what I'm doing, Ivar! I'm not sure what you want me to say. That we are in the middle of nowhere? Okay, we are!" Blowing up, you raise your voice. "I'm not stupid, Ivar! I know we're on the heights of Kattegat, not far from the chalet since we didn't drive long. But we could be anywhere! It's white, white and white! There's snow everywhere!!! How am I supposed to recognize this fucking place, Ivar???"

"Okay, take it easy Y/N!" Smiling, he squeezes your knee. It's infuriating how he can stay calm on the rare occasions when you're the one who gets angry. "Remember, we're on vacation and we've got all the time in the world. Just tell me… what's wrong?"

You soften in spite of yourself when his forget-me-not blue eyes peer into yours.

"Imtiredandwantedtocuddle." You mumble, suddenly shy and embarrassed, sucking on your lower lip.

You're speaking the truth. Christmas Day with Ivar's family had been surprisingly successful. Sigurd had behaved, Aslaug's cooking had been, as usual, scrumptious and the gifts appreciated. Your somewhat grumpy lover had even been cheerful – well, most of the time. So yeah, everything had gone well. But it had been exhausting. Waking up at dawn, baking a cake, a two-hours drive to Kattegat, a whole day of smiling and keeping the conversation going, you and Ivar eventually had arrived at the Lothbrok's chalet very late last night, for a well deserved week's holiday, just the two of you. And this morning, all you wanted to do was cuddle, wrapped in a thick blanket. But here you are now, wearing your brand new snow suit, in the middle of nowhere, at the insistence of Ivar, your stubborn fiancé.

Ivar stifles a chuckle, scrunching up his nose. "Fuck, I love your pouty face, Y/N!"

Sticking your tongue out at him, you can't help but close your eyes, purring with delight as his hands cup your face. You love him so fucking much.

Still, you're not ready to admit defeat. Not just yet. "I'm not that easily bought, Ivar!"

Flashing his trademark smile, he gives a peck on your forehead, laughing. "I know, love!! If I promise tons of cuddles later, will you be less angry?"

"Maybe." A whisper escapes your mouth while a faint smile appears on your face. As much as you'd like to, you can never stay mad at him for long.

"Then I promise." His voice is soft now, his smile genuine, his eyes full of love, and you know he won. You'd do anything for this man, for his happiness.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring his hand closer, kissing it gently while releasing a light sigh. "Okay, let's start again." You stop, glancing around one more time. When you speak again, there's not the slightest hint of annoyance in your voice. "Mind telling me where we are? Because I swear to you, I don't have a clue."

Leaning forward, Ivar points at a snowy tree out on the right side of the car. "Doesn't that oak remind you of anything? Really?" Frowning, he looks truly astounded, maybe disappointed too. Realizing that you probably unwillingly hurt his feelings, you stare out at the winter scenery, paying particular attention to the majestic old tree. And it just hits you. Shit.

"Oh gods Ivar, I'm so sorry… Of course I know where we are. But you know, with all that snow, I had no bearings. Yet I should have known. Oh gods, I can't believe I didn't recognize…" Stopping your useless rambling, you can't help but cringe, mentally scolding yourself. Your hand grazes his cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Swallowing hard, you lower your gaze, slightly ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Ivar. That's our tree."

Your tree, which regally overlooks a small pond. This is your little paradise. Your secret place, where you first kissed eight years ago, after he gave himself to you like never before, revealing all his fears and insecurities. Your secret place, where he proposed to you last summer, crying in your arms, gobsmacked that you said yes.

"Yes, our tree." Smiling softly, Ivar grabs his camera from the back seat. "I'm glad your memory returned, I was beginning to wonder if this place meant as much to you as it did to me." He winks at you, but you can see concern in his eyes. Ivar will never be completely sure of your love, no matter what you say or do, because he thinks he doesn't deserve it.

"It's the best place in the whole world, Ivar." You reassure him, your hand barely squeezing his thigh. "I'll gladly forego a long cuddle session if it means spending an hour here with you." Tilting your head, you reach out, fingers skimming his jaw, before kissing him tenderly. You're the first to pull away, looking intently into his eyes. "Now tell me, my love, why did you choose to come here today? If this is about asking me to marry you, you remember I already said yes, right?" Chuckling, you pepper light kisses over his face as he wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you closer.

"Actually, I've wanted to take pictures here during winter for a long time." Backing up just enough to show you his camera, he gives you one last peck on the lips. "I've never had the chance since we usually only come here in July or August. So yeah…", he shrugs, looking sorry, "that's why I rushed you a little bit this morning. But just look…" Getting excited, he gestures wildly, showing you the scenery around you. "All this fresh snow, it's beautiful. And the brightness today is amazing. A perfect day for perfect pictures. It would have been a shame not to come."

His words bring a broad smile to your face. You love seeing him like this, passionate and committed. Photography is his happy bubble. A world where his legs don't matter, where he doesn't have to compete against his brothers. A world which taught him patience. And gods, he's good at it! One day his pictures will be exhibited, you're sure of it.

Scratching the back of his neck, he scowls for a second, his hand squeezing yours. "I realize just now that it was silly to bring you here. You could have stayed at the chalet. Shit Y/N, I'm sorry. Do you want to wait for me here? You could stay in the car, so you won't get cold. I promise to be quick. What do you say?"

Shaking your head, you put on your woollen gloves, your pompon beanie already on your head. "No way, Ivar. Of course I'm coming with you."

Your hand on the door handle, you give him a questioning look. "Where do you want to go? At the risk of repeating myself, there's snow everywhere."

"I know that," he giggles at your obvious, rolling his eyes. "We'll go to the pond of course, where else?"

Doing a double take, you stare wide-eyed at him. "To the… pond?" Your high-pitched tone giving away your unbelief, you see Ivar furrowing his brows.

When he speaks again, it's with an expressionless face, apprehension clear in his voice. "That's what I said, yes. Is there a problem?"

A problem? Of course there is. The truth is, there is a problem. A long list of problems.

First, walking in the snow is always challenging for Ivar, his leg braces and his crutch. And right now, even the wheelchair friendly path leading to the pond is nonexistent, covered with a thick layer of snow.

Second, it's too cold out here. Too cold for his legs, which will stiffen in no time, causing him terrible pain.

Third, he woke up this morning unwell, wincing, swallowing with his orange juice a double dose of painkillers while complaining about how the previous day had been stressful and tiring.

You're about to talk, to explain, when you catch his pleading eyes. He knows exactly what you're thinking. There isn't a sound out of him, but it's not necessary, you can't miss the silent question in his gaze. “Please. Don't."

Overwhelmed with mixed feelings, you remain silent for a minute. You hate seeing him in pain, struggling to take a step and knowing he'll pay for it later makes you sick. Yet, you don't want to be the one clipping his wings. You can't be the one restraining him. You're his lover, not his mother. Your task is to trust him, be there for him no matter what, not to coddle him. You have to remember that your high school sweetheart is not as reckless as he used to be. He knows his limitations as well as his abilities. He's learned not to overwork himself.

Biting your lip, you release a shaky breath. "I won't." Your whispered answer to the question he didn't ask brings a faint smile to his face. He nods, closing his eyes for an instant, relief written all over his face. "Thank you."

***

"I'll be right there, love." Leaning heavily on his crutch, Ivar slowly crosses the kitchen, heading to the open-plan lounge, two mugs of cocoa in his free hand.

Getting up off the couch, you rush to him, a warm smile on your lips. "I got them." Reaching out, you quickly grasp the cups, putting them on the coffee table before returning to him.

As soon as you slip your hand on his waist, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, a gesture expressing a sign of affection as much as the need to be helped.

He's in pain and exhausted. You know it, you see it but it was worth it. His radiant face, his joyful exclamations, his childish enthusiasm were worth it. Watching him taking pictures for almost two hours, his eyes full of stars, raving about the pristine white landscape was worth it.

"Here, careful." You don't let go of his arm until he sits down, cursing under his breath. "Don't tell me 'I told you so', please,” he mumbles, hiding a wince as best as he can.

Kissing his forehead, you laugh, shaking your head, “How could I? I've told you absolutely nothing,” before grazing his left leg. "May I take off your braces?" Knowing that he trusts you and he won't mind, you get to work right away, gently removing the heavy contraptions. He gives you a grateful smile as you carefully lift his legs, helping him to settle on the wide couch before snuggling against him, the both of you tucked up under a fleece blanket.

The crackling fire, the invigorating cocoa, the warmth of your man, the love you feel, your two beings radiating happiness and those cuddles you were craving for, everything is perfect.

You're dozing off when Ivar breaks the silence, his fingers brushing your side. "How about a bath?" You lazily raise your head, yawning and stretching. "Hmm… A relaxing bath… Sounds like a good idea,” you say, as your hand lightly rubs his thigh, feeling each and every knot.

Sighing with relief, Ivar sits quietly for a while before grabbing your wrist, his suddenly husky voice startling you. "No… not necessarily relaxing… See… that's what…" sucking on your earlobe, he's hard to understand as he puts your hand on his crotch, "… I was thinking about."

Bursting out laughing, you playfully squeeze his cock. "Is that so? Well, all you can think about is sex, right?"

Hand on his chest, Ivar gasps, playing that he’s offended, making you laugh even more. "How can you think so little of me? Of course not! All I can think about is you, Y/N. I just can't help it, you're so beautiful. And so fucking perfect!"

Gods. This is your man. And he's so fucking perfect too!

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @waiting4inspiration @hecohansen31 @a-mess-of-fandoms @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @lonewolf471 @milkkygirls @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @flowers-in-your-hayr @maggiescarborough

#ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar #modern!ivar x reader #modern-ivar #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings imagine #vikings #vikings ivar #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #flowers-in-your-hayr #Happy Birthday #birthday fic

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verai-marcel · 4 years ago

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This Is Perfection (RDR2 Fanfic, Javier x F!Reader, Biker AU, 18+)

This is part of the series Ride Through My Heart. Read the other parts here.

Summary: You are an intern at a photography studio, and lately you've been crushing on the male model that works with your boss. Javier is sex on legs and your eyes are drawn to him every time he's near. On top of his looks, he's also kind and funny, which made you doubly fall for him. Little did you know, he's had his eye on you too, for he knows your secret identity: a semi-popular cosplayer on the convention circuit.

Author’s Notes: Trying another Javier x F!Reader fic because he deserves love too. The title of this fic is yet another obscure lyric from a popular song, so try and guess! Also I’m not in the photography or modelling industry, so most of that stuff is just conjecture and internet research.

Tags: fluff, romance, gentle to passionate to rough sex, mild dirty talk, neck grabbing (but no choking), some use of a different language

AO3 Link is here, sweetheart.

Word Count: 4457

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

“See you next week, Javier.”

“Later Charles,” Javier threw over his shoulder as he left Charles’ cat café. He finished his latte, jaywalking across the two lane road to get to his bike. Bright red, his Ducati Streetfighter was his prized possession, his baby, his joy. When he wasn’t working, he loved to take his motorcycle to the nearby lake and ride around the backroads, enjoying the scenery.

But lately, he had no excuse to go out. He felt he had overbooked himself this month, running from one photo shoot to another. He had to sleep, had to eat properly and work out so that he looked his best, and that cut out practically all of his free time. Feeling the stress steadily creep up his spine and into his brain, his only breaks were his weekly meetings with his friends, which he could count as business since he was their marketing manager. Self-appointed, of course.

He only left Sunday for himself, which he had been using for personal and wardrobe maintenance. Javier was nothing if not meticulous about his look. He had to be, when it was the product he was selling. But lately, even his Sundays were being booked with side jobs.

He chucked the empty latte cup into the trash and got onto his bike. It was Sunday morning and he had once again broken his rule and picked up an extra gig at the beach by the lake. He almost hadn't taken the job, except that there was a lady working today that he absolutely wanted to see.

***

You were sitting inside a minivan with the sliding door open, cords coming out of your laptop and hooked up to a power strip, connected to an orange extension cord that was coming out of the visitor’s center. Your boss was testing shots by the new mural that had been painted on the retaining wall next to the beach. You had helped her set up most of the lighting gear already, so at this point, the two of you were just waiting for the model to arrive. While you had wanted to spend the weekend touching up your costumes for the convention next week, you also needed the extra money. It had nothing to do with that fact that the model for today was none other than the delightful (and very sexy) Javier Escuella.

Ever since you had started working with this modeling & photography company, you had done a lot of random work that wasn’t really related to your college degree. However, you learned a lot about the profession and discovered that the thing you really loved more than photography itself was the photo-editing.

While you were editing some of your personal photos, you heard the sound of a motorcycle pulling up. Looking over at the source of the sound, you watched as Javier pulled his helmet off his head and shook his hair out. As he took off his bandana and biker jacket, you made a mental note to remember this moment forever, his biceps revealed, his sleeveless shirt wrapped around his torso like a lover.

Then he looked at you and grinned. He had caught you staring. Again.

How many times in the past three months since he started to work with your company had he caught you staring? And how many times had he just grinned at you, knowing he had caught you?

Too many. Didn't he think you were a creep? And yet he still smiled.

“Hey you,” Javier said smoothly as he walked over to you, the slight sway to his hips taunting you. He was a natural-born model, his movement graceful as a cat and his charisma amplified by his seductive smile. Taking a seat next to you, the space between you two barely a hair’s breadth apart, he leaned over to look at your screen. “What are you working on?”

You quickly tried to shut the laptop, but just as quickly he stayed your hand. His hand was bigger than yours, encompassing and warm. His fingers, wrapped around yours, gently moved the laptop screen back up, and you couldn’t stop him, so enraptured by his touch.

Apprehensively you watched him as he looked at your latest shots of you in your almost completed costume. You swallowed. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize you? After all, you had your glasses on, a big beanie over your hair, and an oversized sweater. Your photo had so much more makeup on and a wig, perhaps he wouldn’t—

“Oh, I know this Insta account.”

You paled.

“I’m a big fan.”

"I'm editing for a friend–"

"Don't lie," he said softly. "I can tell it's you. I've known since I started working with you."

You squeaked.

He turned his blazingly glorious smile onto you, and you felt like the sun was shining straight into your eyes. While you were reeling from his admission, he continued to talk to you.

"You're going to that big convention next weekend, right?"

You nodded.

"Can I come?"

Shrugging as you tried to play it cool despite the slight tremor in your voice, you replied, "I'm not sure if tickets are still available, but I wouldn't stop you."

He leaned in a little closer. "What if I told you I already had a ticket?"

You gulped. "Re-really?"

Nodding, he stood up, giving you room to breathe. "I may not look like it, but I enjoy comics too."

Noticing that your boss was starting to head over, you quickly said, "please don't tell my boss about this. I don't want her to think I'm slacking or anything."

Javier smiled and winked at you. "Of course. Your secret is safe with me." He leaned down to look at you in the eyes, and you were mesmerized for a moment from the intensity. "Just promise me I get a photo shoot with you at the con."

You nodded, your head moving so fast that your glasses dipped down your nose.

He laughed as he casually reached down and moved your glasses back up, his fingers brushing against your temples.

"Then it's a date," he said as he walked away to greet your boss.

Grabbing your laptop and pulling it off the charger, you followed as they went to the shooting location, your heart pounding a million miles a second.

***

After the photo shoot, Javier traded his phone number with the lovely lady who had been the subject of his heated dreams as of late. He hadn't wanted to scare her; she always seemed so jumpy when he approached. But he always noticed the way she stared at him before he caught her eyes. The look she gave him was pure woman, and he craved more.

It wasn't just the looks that brought her to his attention. He started following her Instagram account a year ago when he was looking at last year's masquerade winners. Her smile, her energy, and her creativity drew him in. He had found himself liking all of her posts in a day, scrolling endlessly through her archive.

So when she had shown up at one of his photo shoots three months ago, he had been delighted. But she seemed shy and even denied that she had an Instagram account when he had asked her. He was even more surprised to find that she wasn't a model, but the photographer's intern.

At that time, he had let it go. She was clearly hiding it, clearly didn't want to draw attention to herself. But every time he got to work with her, he felt frustrated that she hid herself so carefully behind her wide rimmed glasses and oversized hoodies. Her cosplay photos were amazing, her smile brilliant, her makeup impeccable, her costumes were bold and full of color combinations that seduced his vision.

At the same time, having her hidden away made him feel a bit better about her safety. What kind of wolves would go after her if they knew how gorgeous she was under her baggy clothes?

As he slowly got to know her, his affection for her had only grown. With each job, he talked with her more and more, and she had opened up to him. While they hadn't traded phone numbers until now, he could say with a certain level of confidence that they were on good terms. Almost friends, really.

He couldn't wait for next week. He had gotten his Comic-Con ticket months ago and had been preparing on his own. Javier grinned under his helmet.

She was going to be so surprised to see him.

***

"Thanks for working today. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No problem, see ya later!"

Your boss waved as she went to her car and drove off. The two of you had dropped the company van back at the office, so now you had the rest of the day to yourself.

Getting into your car, you started it up, put your favorite music on…

And you promptly screamed in both excitement and anxiousness. You had a date with Javier. You. Had a date. With Javier.

You drove home, got to your apartment, and started working feverishly on the rest of your costume.

Next weekend had to be perfect.

***

You finished your make up and looked at yourself in the mirror. You had arrived at the convention center early and started getting ready in the bathroom as other cosplayers had begun to trickle in. For everything else in your life, you were unsure of yourself, constantly second guessing your choices and worrying if you were, in fact, wrong about everything.

But in this space, you felt strong. Confident. Because, despite the occasional hater in your comments, the majority of your feedback was positive. Besides, you were someone else when you put on your outfit. You were Star.Bright.909, a cosplayer with over a thousand followers. Not as many compared to the big name cosplayers, but you were proud of yourself for getting this far.

So when you came out of the restroom looking your best, the few gasps you heard were worth it. As you walked outside towards the photography area that had been set aside for cosplayers, you already had five people asking to take photos of you.

You smiled and posed and thanked everyone who wanted to take a photo. You were gracious and patient, even though you were trying to meet up with some photographers you had spoken with online. When you reached the small plaza, you met up with them and worked for the rest of the morning, posing as the photographers asked and networking with other cosplayers in the area.

Just as you were about to head off towards the lobby to check out the dealer's hall, a man walking through the crowd caught your attention. Dressed up in a skin tight lycra Spiderman outfit, you could tell immediately that his muscles were real. The way he moved was smooth, graceful, and awfully familiar, despite not seeing his face.

Wait.

It couldn't.

As he came closer to you, he bowed in a gentlemanly fashion and held out his hand.

"Hola, mi Estrella."

You squeaked. "Javier?"

"Just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Perhaps we could take a photo together?"

"Of course," you said, suddenly shy. A professional model wanted to take a photo with you. Granted, you knew Javier, but he was still a pro, while you were an amateur.

"Do you mind if I put my arm around you?" he asked politely.

"That’s fine," you said, your face warming.

He nodded and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close for the photo. You grinned, channeling your happiness into your smile. Holding up the phone for a selfie, Javier took a few shots before taking a look at them to check their quality.

He still hadn't let go of you.

"Whoops, sorry," he said, finally letting go.

"It's okay," you quickly said. "I… I didn't mind."

He looked at you, but his mask prevented you from seeing his expression.

"Are you free now?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm free for the rest of the day." You had worked yesterday and some of today, but you always left the last half-day of any convention for shopping or panels.

Javier held out his hand and you gladly took it, letting him walk you back to the entrance of the convention center.

As the two of you walked past one of the hotels that lined the plaza, you saw the laces of one of your boots hit the ground.

"Hold on," you said as you stepped off the main path to tie it back.

Then you felt the splash of liquid come down on your head, the smell of alcohol pungent and seeping into your wig.

For a moment you were shocked. Then the overwhelming sense of frustration hit you and all you could do was stay still and will yourself not to cry. Not in front of Javier.

Warm hands touched your wet shoulders.

"Sweetie. Come on, let's get you changed. Can I escort you to your hotel room?"

You looked up at him, at his compassionate eyes, and you shook your head. “I drove here this morning.” You had driven here from your apartment, an hour away.

“Oh. I see.” He took your hand and began to lead you down the road, away from the convention center.

"Where are we going?"

"My hotel room, if that’s alright. Or would you rather go back to the convention hall?"

“You got a room?” you said in surprise.

He shrugged. “I have other business in the city tomorrow morning, figured it’d be easier to spend the night.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, unsure of what else to say.

“So… are you okay coming with me? I won’t do anything, I promise.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” You put your hand on his arm. “I trust you, Javier.”

He nodded and continued to walk with you. He was taking you to his bedroom. No ulterior motives, he just wanted to help you get clean.

But part of you really wished he had some ulterior motives.

***

“I’ll get you some extra clothes from my backpack,” Javier called out to you as he left you to clean up in the bathroom on your own.

You stared in the mirror; your make up was ruined, your wig would need an extreme clean up when you got home, and your costume was stained and reeked of alcohol. As you took off everything and tried to rinse out what you could in the sink, you counted yourself lucky that this had happened at the end of the convention rather than the beginning. At least you had all of your shots and you could maybe sell a few prints to make some of your cash back.

You showered and dried your hair as quickly as you could, not wanting to take up more of Javier’s time. He had left a shirt and shorts in front of the bathroom door for you, and you opened the door a crack to pull them inside, throwing them on. They were a bit loose on you, but that was a welcome relief, compared to the skin tight costume you had on earlier.

“Alright, I’m good,” you said as you exited the bathroom. Javier was lying on the bed, his legs still on the floor. His costume was unzipped to expose his torso, his arms up in the air as he was typing on his phone. Turning his head to you, he gave you a lazy grin before patting the bed next to him.

“Have a seat, I’m just finishing this post for Insta.”

You sat next to him and took in his body from up close. His abs were perfect; you wanted to run your hands down them to see how they’d feel under your fingers. He was lean, tanned, muscles, everything you lusted after.

“What do you think?”

You quickly looked up at him, as if he hadn’t just caught you staring at his body. He was holding out his phone, a picture of the two of you with your costumes. The caption said, Found my favorite cosplayer today! She graciously took a selfie with me, isn’t she wonderful?

You felt warm from his kind words. “You’re too nice to me,” you mumbled.

Javier laughed softly and sat up. “I like being nice to you.” He posted the photo and put his phone down. Turning towards you, he reached up and stroked your face with the back of his knuckles. “I just… like you.”

You swallowed. The fact that he was saying that now, with you wearing baggy clothes, your make-up gone, just being your unglamorous self, meant so much that you started to tear up.

“Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No,” you said between tears. “I like you too.”

He started to lean in for a kiss before he stopped. “May I?”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” you said without thinking.

A moment passed, his deep brown eyes searching yours. “Anything?” he finally said.

You nodded. Time to own up to your words, to your feelings that you had been denying for so long. “Yes.”

“Well, I’d rather do whatever we want with each other,” he said, smiling gently.

You leaned in and kissed him, surprising him and surprising yourself. Your hands rested on his chest and you gave in, exploring his toned body, his skin underneath your fingers, feeling warm and inviting to your touch. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you back, a passionate inhalation of your very spirit, as if he wanted to merge his soul with yours.

Soon he pressed you down against the mattress and kissed you for a few moments more before he pulled away. “Wait here for a few, I’m going to shower so I don’t smell like sweat and spandex. You deserve better than that.”

You laughed as he kissed your cheek and went to shower.

Laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you managed to find your brain again. You, and he, were about to…

Your brain left again and you just grew warm between your legs. You wanted him so much.

In a daze, you didn't notice the sound of the shower turning off. You didn't notice the door open and close. You only noticed when he came back to the bed, wearing just a towel around his waist, smiling down at you. The tendrils of his black hair clung to his cheeks, still damp from the shower, as drops of water slid down his neck to his chest, drawing a line you desperately wanted to trace with your tongue. As your eyes moved lower, you noticed his towel wasn’t exactly hiding his desire for you.

"I've wanted you for so long, querida," he said, his voice like fingertips gliding down your spine as he stepped to the foot of the bed. Taking off your shirt and throwing it aside, he grabbed your breasts and kissed them, laving each nipple with his tongue before pinching and teasing you with his dexterous fingers until you were a writhing mess. You could feel your panties being soaked by your desire, and you shifted your legs, wanting to remove them.

Your movement attracted his attention, and he looked down at you. Reaching down to pull at the waistband of your (his) shorts, he pulled them off, revealing your beige panties.

“Aw, I thought you would have gone commando,” he teased as he tugged your underwear down your legs, his fingers caressing you along the way.

“They weren’t soaked with alcohol,” you mumbled.

“They’re soaked now,” he said with a cocky grin, tossing them aside. Then he placed a hand at each of your knees and spread your legs open, revealing your most intimate body parts to him. Licking his lips, he knelt down and pulled your hips to the edge of the bed.

The moment Javier’s tongue brushed against your core, you nearly came. He was hungry, so hungry, and ate you out like a man starved. With one hand he held you down, his fingers splayed out on your stomach and occasionally digging into your soft flesh while he slipped one finger inside of you, stretching you out slowly.

“Let me hear what I’m doing to you, baby,” he said before diving back in.

“Y-you’re, making me, feel really, good,” you managed to say between sharp intakes of breath.

“Bien, bien,” he praised, petting your belly. “Come on my tongue, querida, I want to taste your happiness.”

With that command, he slipped another finger inside of you and sucked hard on your center, his eyes on you as he drove your body into a heated frenzy, barely able to hold you down as you keened. Your hips undulated out of your control as the spiral unraveled and you let go, euphoria zipping up and down your body. You cried out wordlessly as you peaked and then fell, landing in a fluffy cloud of afterglow.

“Oh my god, Javier,” you breathed. “That was amazing.”

“Who said we were done?”

You lifted your head up just in time to see his teasing grin as he stood up.

And he dropped his towel.

Your lust went through the roof; you were so ready for round two.

His hands on your knees, he pushed them up to your shoulders.

“Hold your legs open for me.”

You willingly obeyed.

Javier cupped your cheek and leaned down to kiss you, the taste of your release still lingering on his lips. You felt him nudge you open, his length sliding inside of you as the two of you shared a moan, swallowed up by each other’s kiss.

He continued to kiss you as he slowly pressed forward until his hips were flush with yours.

“You feel like heaven,” he said as he leaned back so that he was standing over you, his cock deep inside of you, your hips barely on the edge of the bed. He gripped your waist, his hands warm in contrast to the cool hotel air. Slowly sliding out of you until only the tip of him remained, the only warning you got was the feel of his fingers digging into you before he slammed back into you.

“Oh my god!” you yelped.

“Too much?” he asked, looking a little worried.

“Keep going, please,” you begged. “I want it hard!”

“Oh yes,” he moaned before going all out, letting loose all of his lust for you as he fucked you in a frenzy. He fell upon you, crushing you into the mattress as he wrapped a hand around your neck. “Like this, baby?”

“Yes!” you breathed out, your voice cracking. “More, more!”

Javier’s eyes lit up as he pulled out of you and picked you up effortlessly, tossing you into the center of the bed and rolling you onto your stomach before climbing up onto the bed. You felt his length sliding along the curve of your ass before he lifted your hips up slightly and mounted you from behind, moaning softly.

“You’re perfecto,” he whispered into your ear when he covered you with his body and began to fuck you from behind, his hand wrapping around your neck again. You could feel the brush of his hair along your skin as he rutted into you, his deep sounds of pleasure echoing in your ears.

His long fingers found their way to your clit. One stroke and you flinched, still sensitive from your last climax. He didn’t show you any mercy; the hand around your neck tightened, his legs trapped yours in place, and his fingers found your core once again, stroking you oh so perfectly. The pressure from his touch was just right, the feel of his breath against your ear as he slipped into another language to tell you how much he coveted you.

Javier’s head pressed against your temple. “Give me everything, baby. I want you so much.”

His words, his touch, his absolute possession of your body made your release so much stronger this time around. You cried out his name as pure pleasure rocketed through your bloodstream, a high better than any drug. His hips kept pumping as you spasmed beneath him, wringing out every last gasp and moan from you until you were shaking with the aftershocks.

“Let me make a mess of you,” he growled.

“Yes, please,” you said mindlessly, willing to do whatever he asked.

He pulled out of you and rolled you onto your back. Straddling your waist, he took your hand and wrapped it around his cock. You stroked him rapidly, watching his eyes burn with ecstasy, his breathing grow heavier as he reached his peak. Reaching for his balls with his other hand, you fondled him gently, looking up at him with a smile.

That flipped a switch, as he reached for your neck again, his other hand wrapping around yours to apply more pressure to his cock as he came, spilling himself all over your breasts. He moaned your name as he finished, looking at you in complete awe.

“Fuck,” he breathed, letting go of your neck and hand as he fell to one side and rolled to face you. “I haven’t come like that in forever.”

Looking at his satisfied face, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a one time deal or if this was the start of something, you weren’t sure what.

You must have looked concerned, because he frowned, his brow wrinkled with concern. “What’s on your mind?”

“Um, I… never mind,” you quickly said, deciding not to voice your thoughts.

He leaned in, placed both his hands on your cheeks, and squished your face a little. “Please tell me.”

With his gaze so intensely close to you, you spoke without filtering. “Is this a one time deal? Or can we be… something more?”

He stopped squishing your cheeks, but he kept his hands on your face. Kissing your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, he smiled at you. “I want something more. Do you?”

You nodded enthusiastically.

“So let’s try."

You couldn't help the grin that broke out on your face.

"That's the smile I fell for," he said, smiling back. As he tried to pull you close, you pushed on his chest.

"I'm sticky."

Javier just laughed. "Let's take a shower then." He cupped your cheek and kissed you again, his lips lingering on yours before he pulled back to gaze into your eyes. The way he looked at you pulled at your heart, while his next words made you happier than you had ever been.

"You're the brightest star in my life."

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

End Notes: A bit on the nose, but the lyric is from Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira. Hope you enjoyed this story! One more left in this series. I’m going to wrap it up with the last Arthur x F!Reader!

Also happy birthday to @eddescuella!!! I waited so I could post on your special day! 💖💖💖

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #javier escuella #javier x F!reader #nsft #fanfic #writing #biker au #lemon fanfic

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friendofhayley · 4 years ago

Photo

This one’s a little late because I’ve just started work again this month! Thank you again to all the fandom content creatures for giving us an escape. Here are the best fics I read in August and they’re all bangers. This rec includes 13 fics from the One Direction, Teen Wolf, and Umbrella Academy fandoms. The starred ones are fics I would drop in front of your door if I was your cat.

Larry (One Direction)

1. Naked Attraction by reader_chic_2 | reality tv au - Louis is basically a pixie dream guy - rock star Harry - true love - 12k

Louis Tomlinson was the only gay and unfortunate staff member chosen to step in for one of the six possible partners when someone dropped out. He hated working there, and he definitely didn't want to agree, but it was too good of an offer to be turned down. Nothing would come out of it, surely, and they even agreed to keep his identity a secret.

That all changed when famous singer Harry Styles walked out. Louis had no idea who he was, and Harry liked that about him.

2. thick alpha (series) by @eeveelou | a/b/o - Louis just wants to take care of his man and that includes kink hijinks - emotional hurt/comfort - chubby kink - 3+ parts

Louis loves Harry's body from the first moment he sees him. It takes Harry a little convincing to see what Louis sees.

3. *still feel the same around you* by @gaycousinlarry | this gave me cavities!! - out of order - girl direction - older Larry - 13k

Twenty-five years is a long time to fall in love with someone, to learn all the ways a person can fit into one's heart. It’s also an awful long time to lie to one of the most important people in your life.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

4. Who Can Take the Sunshine (series) by Anonymous | fae Stiles - dad Derek - this is just so pure and can just take you out of any bad mood! - see how magic works - 12+ parts

It all starts when Derek and his five year old daughter meet Fairy Stiles at the market.

5. *Blood is (Not) Thicker Than Water* by Anxiety_Baker02 | tw: abusive extended family - BAMF Stiles - pining Derek - this WILL get you worked up - 78k

Stiles hasn’t seen his extended family in years- mostly because they’re assholes. His cousins bully him relentlessly, and his aunts and uncles aren’t much better. So when he hears that they’re coming out for a family reunion, he’s understandably upset. He knows the next week is going to be hell, and it’s made worse when a new pack shows up, vowing revenge on their pack.

6. Be still, my love (series) by tugela54 | werewolves are known and discriminated against - omega Stiles - pining - misunderstandings - 3 parts

When Stiles’ boss unexpectedly goes into rut, he offers himself to the lycan, knowing all too well how utterly terrifying it can be.

Will his gamble pay off, or ruin everything…?

Klave (The Umbrella Academy)

7. Like Real People Do (series) by ObliqueOptimism | yeah so Klaus self-harms himself to deafness - family bonding - good siblings communicate, who knew? - fluff and angst - 6+ parts

Vanya got a call from the hospital, Klaus had harmed himself while in rehab. She decided then and there to be there for him. Together they heal, grow, become the family they'd never been, and change the future in immeasurable ways.

8. And When I Look In My Window, So Many Different People To Be by ObliqueOptimism | witch Klaus - BAMF Klaus still has daddy issues - bless this author - the more ghosts you know - 24k

If you were to go looking for Klaus, you wouldn't look to the alleys where drugs are bought, or to a rave where you could lose yourself in dance, no. No, you would look to his garden full of protective herbs, to his bedroom at three in the morning where he tends to make magic amulets. Klaus grew into his power, both as a witch, and as the Séance.

9. Tombstones In Their Eyes by @siriuspiggyback | disabled Klaus - despite themselves this family can care! - hurt/comfort - angst with a happy ending - 12k

His siblings don't pay a lot of attention to Klaus, don't notice the dog tags and new tattoos, but even the Hargreeves have to notice a missing limb.

10. *Choirs Threaten in Voices I Only Feel* by @veteranklaus | hey veteranklaus? I’d die for you - blind Klaus - I love how this fic changes Harold Jenkins - Ben as a seeing eye ghost? perfection! - 61k

The last time Klaus saw his siblings was at Allison and Patrick's wedding. A lot had changed since then; including the not-so-accidental, irreversible loss of his sight.

There's no time to tell them that, though. Not with the return of their long-presumed-dead brother and the impending apocalypse. Plus, it doesn't matter. He's got Ben as a good seeing-eye ghost.

11. *Numbers (series)* by @veteranklaus | this series legit made me disocciate for a few days especially since I just finished The Accident by Wiesel - the Holocaust is a trigger warning - very dark - the writing is literally award-winning, like the research done? the empathy paid to the characters? god tier!! I’ve written several research papers on post/during-holocaust times and i just want to applaud you for the work you’ve done in writing this - 2+ parts

The briefcase transports Klaus into a time to fall in love with a bookshop owner and photography enthusiast with soft amber eyes and a yellow star sewn into all of his clothes. And later, Klaus will stand next to that same man behind a fence, and he'll hold his hands up to a camera and pray to a merciless god that his siblings open a history book and find him.

12. *At the Edge of the Universe* by @veteranklaus | this is turning into a veteranklaus rec post but i don’t care - this is the life Klaus and Dave deserved!!! - the gays are really winning today y’all - cottagecore but make it the 1970s - 58k+

There is a knock at the door. With a heavy sigh, Klaus untangles himself from the mess of Dave's limbs with a mutter of 'I've got it'. They rarely get visitors out here, their closest neighbour being about three miles away, and Klaus didn't even hear a car or see any headlights outside.

He opens his door, expecting to see old Mrs Richards asking for one of the dog treats they always keep for the occasions her dog runs off. He does not, however, expect to see his siblings - all of them, standing outside his door. Well, Five is being held up by Diego, and Vanya is being carried by Luther, but they are all there, on his doorstep, on this evening in 1970.

13. Counting Down The Days To Go by @siriuspiggyback | sick Klaus - sibling bonding - Klaus goes to therapy - there are some lines that just kick the breath out of you - 24k

It started off small. Easy to explain away. That was his downfall, in the end. By the time they diagnosed him, it was too late; the cancer had gotten a tight hold on his body.

Klaus wouldn't tell his siblings, not yet, no matter how much Ben begged him. He wanted to feel as normal as he could, for as long as he could.

#larry fic rec #sterek #the umbrella academy #klave #monthly fic recs #august #monthly reads #larrie hijinks #tua

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051093 · 4 years ago

Text

let’s make another | v

words: 2534

pairing: jihyun “v” kim x reader

genre: dad!v, fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, i destroyed myself writing this, implied sexual content, just cute shit tbh

description: in which seven and yoosung visit their favorite baby girl — and you and your husband celebrate your fourth anniversary.

my masterlist.

“Lucy!”

You squint at the house, waiting for her head of haphazard hazel hair to appear any second, but it’s so silent that you can hear the summer breeze threading through your hair. Cicadas chirp in the distance.

“Lucy Kim!” You try again, raising your volume to a shout that bounces around the courtyard. “Get down here! Your uncles are here to see you!”

More silence. A laugh sounds from behind you.

“Well, Yoosung,” Seven quips. “I think it’s time we headed back. It was great seeing you, Y/N.”

You give him a stern look and he puts his hands in the air.

“Or not. Wow. I’ve forgotten how well you mastered the motherly glare.”

“If only it worked on my daughter,” you mutter, drumming your fingers against your hips. “Where in the world could she be?”

“Is she playing hide and seek again?” Yoosung laughs. “Do you remember last time I visited? When you couldn’t find her for the longest time and she was in your closet all along?”

“The day I nearly lost my mind, you mean? How could I forget?” You shake your head. “I would’ve called the police if Zen hadn’t heard her evil cackling while he was in the restroom upstairs.”

Seven sighs fondly. “She takes after me so well.”

“Come on. Let’s go inside for now. I’m sure she’ll turn up.” You drape an arm around each of the boys’ shoulders. “I missed you both.”

“We missed you too,” Yoosung hums. “How are you? How’s V?”

“We’re good.” The three of you walk up the porch stairs. “I‘m working from home to take care of the little maniac, and he’s been going on photography trips regularly again.”

“That’s right. I heard about that. Doesn’t the Korean Museum of Modern Art—” He stops mid-sentence, amber eyes widening. “—you angel. Is that Ph.D Pepper I see?”

You’ve stepped into your living room, an open, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows bathing the area in sunlight. Indeed, the table in the center has been laid out with cans of Seven’s go-to beverage, side by side with freshly baked buns for Yoosung. The boys’ faces brighten upon seeing the refreshments.

“Oh, yes. I ran to the grocery store an hour before you got here.” You gesture. “For Saeyoung, the soda he loves far too much for his own good, and for Yoosung…you like the red bean ones, right? Did I remember correctly?”

Yoosung gives you an elated hug. “Yes! You’re amazing. I complained to Seven the entire way here about being hungry. Thank you thank you thank you.”

They sink into the couch and dig in, satisfied.

“Anyway, what was I saying?” Seven says, now with a Ph.D Pepper in hand. “Oh, right. I heard the Korean Museum of Modern Art wants to open an exhibit just for his photographs.”

“Yes. He’s working on that right now,” you say. “The new collection is absolutely beautiful. He thinks it might be his best work yet, and I completely agree.”

“Aw, look at her proud smile,” Yoosung teases through a mouthful of bread, then pouts. “You guys are so cute. It’s been almost four years and I’m still jealous.”

“Hey, what do you mean, jealous?” Seven says, nudging Yoosung with a foot. “Have you forgotten about that girl from the internet cafe already?”

“What?” You say, swiveling towards Yoosung, who’s turned beet red and stopped mid-chew. “There’s a girl, Yoosung?”

“N-no,” he stutters.

“Yes there is!” Seven sings gleefully. “There’s a girl!”

“Oh, I expect to hear all about this,” you say, but you know by the sound of thunderous footsteps that you’re about to be interrupted.

Bright eyes, far too big for her tiny face, appear around the corner. Things you notice: she’s covered in paint. She’s barefoot. Her hair is a mess. And all three and a half feet of her are now hurtling in your direction.

“SEVENY! YOOSUNG!”

“LUCY!” They shout in perfect unison. Both boys immediately forget about the food in hand and jump to their feet.

She barrels into Seven’s arms first, the redhead sweeping her tiny frame into a tight embrace, then leaps into Yoosung’s lap next, small arms thrown around his neck. Her eyes crinkle from her grin and her mouth splits in a delighted shriek as Yoosung gives her sides an affectionate tickle.

You can’t help but mirror her grin. The girl has always had a knack for making those around her smile a little wider, and the members are no exception. She’s close to them all, due to their frequent visits and unwavering affection towards her, but she once whispered to you that Seven and Yoosung were her favorites. You’re not surprised — there’s playful and hilarious Seven who makes her laugh like no other, and there’s Yoosung who’s so sweet and kind that he’s essentially her big brother.

“Mommy!” Lucy says brightly, looking at you from her seat on Yoosung’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hi, sweetie.” You cradle her hair and press a kiss to her forehead. “Where’s your dad?”

As if on cue, a second set of footsteps come down the stairs. You lift your head and a fond smile tugs at your lips.

Everything about your husband is familiar by now, from his cerulean eyes to sharp jaw, tall frame and lean build, but you’ll never get tired of the way he looks after spending time with Lucy, that aura of tired bliss. Happiness looks good on him, you think to yourself as he walks towards you. So does that shirt.

“Hey,” you murmur as he curls an arm around your waist.

He dips his head and kisses you in lieu of hello, one that’s short but sweet. The taste of coffee and mint lingers behind on your tongue when he pulls away.

“Sorry we’re late, darling,” he says. “Lucy made a bit of a mess.”

“That’s okay. Painting again?”

“Mhm. It’s all she wants to do recently. I think I’ve created a monster.”

Now that he’s closer, you see that the material of his linen shirt has fallen victim to the paint as well, tiny polka dots of color spattered here and there. “She’s good at it, clearly. I like what she’s done to your shirt.”

“Ah, you do?”

“Yes. You look absolutely dashing.”

He leans in to kiss you once more, this time smiling against your mouth, his voice a deep whisper. “Thank you, my lovely wife.”

“EWW!” Seven shouts from the other end of the room. “Cover your eyes, Lucy. Your parents are being gross.”

You begin to pull away, your face flushed. V presses one last kiss to your cheek before letting you go.

“Hi, hyung!” Yoosung says cheerily.

“Yoosung. Saeyoung,” V greets warmly. “You’re both well, I hope? Thanks for coming all this way to visit us.”

“Lucy,” Yoosung corrects, his arms wound tightly around the little girl. You can’t tell who of the two looks happier. “Came here to visit Lucy.”

“Of course,” V laughs. “Then you’re both staying for dinner. For Lucy.”

“Wheeeeee!” Lucy squeals. “Stay for dinner! Stay for dinner!”

“You know, I actually had a bit of work left…” Seven’s voice trails off into a smile. “But alright. Anything for you, little Luc.”

“Great,” you say. “I’ll be off to cook soon, since it’s almost dinnertime. Care to help, Yoosung?”

“Yes, of course! I’ll be right there.”

The two of you head off for the kitchen, and you hear Saeyoung’s bright plea as you walk away.

“Oh, right, V! Will you show me your new collection?”

“It’s not ready — ”

“I don’t care. I want to see!”

“I WANT TO SEE!” Lucy echoes emphatically.

You open the fridge to conceal your smile. It’s like you and V have two kids instead of one.

....

“Mommy, I think I ruined daddy’s shirt today.”

You can’t help but laugh at Lucy’s sudden revelation, lifting the blanket for her. “You got a little paint on it, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Lucy crawls into bed, lying down and resting her cheek on the pillow. “But I didn’t mean to!”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It was pretty,” Lucy murmurs sadly. “Can we clean it up again?”

“Yes. Here, I’ll tell you what.” You tug the covers up until they cover her shoulders, then smooth them down so you can see her face. “We’ll clean it off together tomorrow.”

She looks up at you. “We will?”

Even four years later, it blows your mind at times how your adopted daughter could easily pass for your biological child, with long locks the same color as yours and V’s eyes, and your heart swells affectionately at the sight of her glimmering blue irises, suddenly bright with anticipation.

“Yes, my dearest.” You nudge the apple of her cheek with a gentle knuckle. “I promise. But stop worrying about daddy’s shirt and first get a good night’s sleep, okay?”

A smile tugs at her lips, and she allows her eyes to fall shut. “Okay.”

“Sweet dreams, little one.” You crouch and lean forward to press a quick kiss to her nose. “I love you so so much.”

“I love you more more more.”

“Nuh-uh. Mommy loves you most.”

“Well, I love you…mostest!” She erupts into a fit of giggles and you can’t help but laugh with her.

“Good night, silly girl.”

You turn off the lights on your way out, looking over your shoulder; in the glow of the nearby night light, Lucy burrows deeper until she’s reduced to a head of hair and a tiny lump beneath the sheets. There’s a small, loving smile on your face when you leave the room and close the door behind you.

Your room is similarly dimly lit. The source of light is coming from the bathroom and accompanied by the gentle sound of swishing water. You crack the door open. V stands shirtless in front of the mirror, bent over and washing something white in the sink.

“Oh, no,” you lament, and he looks your reflection in the mirror as you walk up behind him. “Lucy wanted to wash that out for you.”

His hands freeze in the sink. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You gently wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your face against the toned muscle of his back. “She just told me how bad she felt about getting paint on it.”

He chuckles. “Did she mention her own clothes? They were essentially her makeshift paint palette.”

“No. I was thinking about that, too,” you laugh. “It’s a weird, selfless girl we have.”

“Like mother like daughter.”

He turns around to face you. “You promised her she’d wash the shirt?” You nod. “Maybe we should mess it up again then.”

The sudden proximity (and the planes of golden muscle, the dip of his collarbones, the definition of his arms and neck) leaves you breathless. You run your fingers down his chest, your voice softening.

“I could think of a few other things we could mess up, handsome.”

The last thing you see is a boyish grin that only appears when you’ve said something suggestive and then his lips are on yours. He movies with the comfort and confidence of someone who knows your lips all too well; in no time, there’s a tongue brushing against your lower lip and an arm snaking around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

The next thing you know, you’re being lowered onto the mattress. Your head hits the pillow and V is on top of you, arms flexing as he holds himself above you, kissing you languidly, heatedly. You groan into his mouth, threading your fingers through his silky locks and tangling them at the nape of his neck, hooking a leg over his hip, wanting him closer, closer —

Through the open window comes the first chime of midnight.

There’s a church not far away that has a bell tower and sounds off the day’s hours. It’s become a commonality, but there’s something different about it tonight, something that causes you both to hesitate. V breaks the kiss, labored breath tickling your skin as the two of you listen.

Twelve chimes. Midnight.

You turn your head back to V. When you meet his gaze, his eyes are barely visible, but the small amount of moonlight that seeps through the curtains allows you to see how his face has changed entirely. His pupils are still dilated from lust, but his expression has softened. His lips have parted, unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, the beautiful aqua of his irises swimming with something you know well. Love. Adoration.

“Is it…?” He breathes.

You lift a hand to his cheek, a weak smile appearing on your lips.

“Happy anniversary, Jihyun,” you whisper.

Though he’s been living contentedly for a long time now, he’s always been quite serious. You know this is due to the ghost of his past that trails him wherever he goes; he still dreams of his mother, and often reminisces on the deep depression he fell into after Rika’s alleged suicide. The memories have undoubtedly taken their toll on him, even after all this time.

But there are rare moments when he actually looks his age, and this is one of them: when the smile that breaks across his face is, in one word, happy, so happy.

His arms wind around your waist as he leans in, dusting a kiss to your jaw, then your collarbone, where he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Four, is it?” He whispers.

“Four,” you say.

A few moments pass, the only sounds being his gentle breathing and the rhythmic beat of your pulse in your ears. And the shift of fabric as he lowers himself onto the mattress beside you, his arms circling around your waist.

“Four years,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your skin. “You know, I’m glad I have photography in my life again, as well as the friendship and trust of the RFA members, and there’s no doubt those things make me happy, but I have to be honest with myself here…you’re the reason. For all the happiness, all the love. My heart and my soul have been so at peace for so long because I’ve had you by my side.

“You and Lucy have made me the luckiest man in the world.” His voice drops, his words so quiet you only just make them out. “Thank you for coming into my life four years ago, my angel. I love you endlessly.”

You graze a finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up so you can kiss him. This time is sweet, deep, and grateful, if the grin etched on your lips is any indication.

“And I,” you say, pulling back to wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, to rest your forehead against his, “love you too, Jihyun. To the ends of the solar system and back.”

He gazes into your eyes a few moments more, and then the devilish smile is back and he’s leaning in to press a trail of kisses down your neck. You arch into him, barely hearing him over the sound of your own moan.

“Fuck it,” are his words. “Let’s make Lucy a baby sibling.”

#jihyun kim x reader #v x reader #mystic messenger #jihyun x reader #jihyun x mc #mysme #v x mc #mysme fanfic #mystic messenger oneshots #mystic messenger imagines #mine

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mythicamagic · 4 years ago

Text

Sesskag week Day 4: Comedy

Summary: Kagome resolves to snap a photo of the infamous Killing Perfection, which proves more difficult than expected. Oneshot.

AN: For Sesskag Week Day 4 - Comedy.

Rated T

2,900 words

(all prompts posted on Ao3, fanfic.net and Dokuga)

Camera Shy

To the surprise of pretty much all who knew her, Kagome pursued art and photography in those three years away from the feudal era. In fact, even after the well re-opened, she continued to take classes, often creating life-like drawings from whatever photos she'd taken.

After joining everyone on a warm spring day for a picnic, Shippo had innocently inquired;

"What's that, Kagome?" pointing at a square black box hanging around her neck.

Grinning, she tapped it with pride.

"This is my instant polaroid camera. Very vintage, very hipster- some might say," she giggled, noting everyone's puzzled looks. Raising it, she took a snap of the fox demon, who yelped and ducked behind Sango's leg.

Crouching down, Kagome held out the photo once it had slid from the camera, shaking it gently and showing him the blank space that slowly filled with his image.

"Fascinating," Miroku hummed, while Sango nodded in awe. Inuyasha merely snorted, unimpressed since he'd been exposed to so much future tech already.

Kaede gasped, staring at the picture with mild concern.

"You have imprisoned him."

"What? No-" Kagome smiled and shook her head. "It's just a photo. Kind of like a painting. I feel bad that I never took any before but I was always so busy with Naraku or studying for tests."

Taking the photo gingerly, Shippo grinned at himself. He then beamed brighter and tugged on Kagome's sleeve. "Let's go show Rin!"

---

After taking various photos that would make a historian lose their mind, Kagome sat back within Kaede's hut and sketched some snapshots. She quietly giggled at the candid pictures; Inuyasha caught mid-yawn, exposing his thick fangs. Miroku studying a scroll while holding his youngest son, who drooled all over his robes, Kirara playing with a ball of yarn, Sango teaching her daughter a style of kickboxing, or Shippo trying to cram an entire sandwich in his mouth at once.

While looking through them, however, one particular figure seemed to be missing among her collection.

Approaching the stoic demon lord with perhaps a little too much familiarity and enthusiasm, Kagome smiled at him as he peacefully reclined against a tree.

"Sesshoumaru," she raised her camera slightly from where it hung around her neck. "I don't know if you've noticed on your visits but lately I've been taking-"

"Photos. Rin showed me some."

Kagome stopped and hummed. He caught on fast. And judging by how warily he eyed her camera, the answer to her question simmering right on the edge of her tongue would be a big fat no.

"Right! Sooo I've taken photos of just about everyone now," dragging her sneaker back and forth over the dirt, a hopeful smile graced her mouth. "All except you."

"No."

Ah, no use in sugar-coating it, huh?

Kagome rose a brow and folded her arms. "May I ask why?"

Giving a sigh that bespoke of his annoyance with having to explain himself, Sesshoumaru idly studied sharp nails. "I do not believe you have earned it."

Out of all the things she'd expected him to say, that wasn't on the extensive list. "I haven't earned a picture of you?"

"Hn."

Smiling slightly, she sized him up. "And what do I need to do in order to get a snap of the illustrious Lord Sesshoumaru?"

Golden eyes slanted up at her and crinkled at the edges in slight amusement. Kagome's insides went all warm for some reason, cheeks reddening. "You needn't do anything grand. This one is merely discontent with letting you capture a picture of me so easily. I will not forbid you from trying, however."

Kagome tried to follow his line of logic, experimentally shifting- before grabbing her camera and rapidly pressing the button.

Sesshoumaru blurred away from his spot.

Jolting, the miko whipped her head around, grasping her photo and watching as it cleared to reveal a plain tree. No Daiyoukai in sight.

A piquant scent filled her next inhale. Kagome's skin pricked, hot breath dancing over the nape of her neck.

"Do you understand now, miko?" he rumbled.

"Y-yeah," glancing at him over her shoulder, she tried in vain to ignore the heat in her cheeks and pleasant twinge in her lower stomach. "Sure, I'll play your game- and win too."

Confidence clung to Sesshoumaru like a second skin as he tilted his chin up, the ghost of a smile curling his mouth. "Hn."

---

The next time Lord Sesshoumaru deigned to grace the village with his presence, Kagome was ready. Having memorised his visiting schedule with Rin long before, she lay in wait within the trees.

Grinning sharply, she let out an evil laugh reminiscent of Naraku's 'kukukuku.'

Straddling a tree branch and hearing Shippo's signal (a whistle from further away in the trees) Kagome tightened both legs around her perch and held the camera, holding still. It had only taken a few lollipops to persuade the kitsune to help.

Heart thundering and eagle-eyed, Kagome waited with bated breath for any sign of the Daiyoukai wandering below en-route to the village.

Upon glimpsing the tell-tale red and white silks and silver hair, Kagome swung herself down. Gripping the branch hard with her legs, dark hair flew up, leaves being knocked free and cascading around her as she appeared before him, hanging upside down.

With a smirk, she struck her finger onto the button- just as Sesshoumaru blurred through the air, palm closing over the lens.

Kagome squeaked, mouth falling open. Her gaze slid from camera to Daiyoukai, who gazed at her, face quite close to hers. Thin lips then curved down, but from her flipped perspective, she realised the jerk was smirking at her.

Kagome's legs then lost their grip. Yelping, the miko dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing hard at his feet in a sprawl of limbs. Letting out a long groan, Kagome patted around, hands empty. Something light was then placed onto the crown of her head. Reaching up, she felt the camera and frowned just as Sesshoumaru smoothly stepped over her body and sauntered away, continuing on without a care in the world.

Growling, Kagome sat up, rubbing her throbbing skull.

Shippo burst from the trees and landed beside her. "Ahh that was a colossal failure! You okay Kagom-"

A giggle slid out from the miko, shoulders shaking. Shippo's tail puffed up, observing her wide smile with slight unease.

"Heh, he's pretty good," she flashed a sharp grin, cheeks glowing. "This is fun. Who knew such a stuffy guy could be playful."

Shippo tilted his head to the side, not exactly understanding but smiling anyway. "Let's go with plan B!" he encouraged.

Kagome nodded with determination.

---

Typically during the afternoon portion of his visit, Sesshoumaru would leave Rin to her duties and go recline against a tree situated near a small lake, sometimes reading. Following this ritual, the Daiyoukai now sat at the base of a tree and drew up one knee. Drinking in the quiet serenity of the picturesque scenery, Sesshoumaru leaned his head back and looked out at the glittering water-

-only to notice a reed moving.

Raising a brow, he blinked. Relaxed muscles then stiffened, and he reacted seconds before Kagome lunged up from within the water, a waterproof camera in hand and reed clutched between her teeth as a breathing tube.

Yanking her camera up, Kagome's victorious expression changed the second she registered red youki cloaking his form, curling around it like a thick mist.

By the time his energy dissipated, a giant silver furred inuyoukai towered above her.

Blue eyes widened, which only caused the smirk to grow wider on his feral jaws. Sesshoumaru slammed a paw down into the water.

Yelping, Kagome was soon consumed in a mini tidal wave.

By the time she'd surfaced, coughing and minding slick hair away from her face, the dog demon had trotted away, tail swishing behind him with an arrogant flair. Kagome glared and trudged to shore, leaving soggy footsteps on the sand.

"Uh...Plan C?" Shippo chanced weakly, hopping out of some bushes.

Kagome nodded, sputtering some lake water from her mouth. "Plan C."

---

The way she figured, Sesshoumaru was one of the fastest beings alive. Yet with every attempt to take his photo, he'd not turned tail and ran once, instead meeting her head-on.

This led her to believe that if she could distract him with enough things, he'd stay rooted to the spot out of sheer bullheaded pride but be too overwhelmed to react as she took a photo.

With all this in mind, Kagome adjusted the bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder before gripping a saddle and unsteadily climbing onto the back of a horse.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Shippo said, tail twitching worriedly as he gazed up at the tall steed.

"Kaede said she didn't mind me borrowing her horse, I don't see the problem," Kagome wobbled and clutched at the reins.

"But you don't even know how to ride a horse!"

"I know the basics," she huffed, clicking her tongue and urging the horse into a walk. "See? Easy. Now, let's just do this as we practised and it'll run smoothly," touching the camera hanging around her neck, she grinned.

The fox demon hurried alongside the horse to keep up with her. "When we practised you weren't on a horse," he mumbled worriedly. "Can we go through it again, just to check?"

"Oh alright, worry-wort," Kagome smiled. "Sesshoumaru is going to come from that direction," she pointed further along the dirt road. "You'll burst out of the forest and turn into a smoke bomb to disorientate him. I'm going to come galloping by and release one of these," Kagome touched the fletching of an arrow. "Which has been modified to be soft pointed and filled with a strong perfume that'll release on contact. This'll temporarily daze him further while the smoke clears- and when that happens, I'll loop around him and snap my picture."

Shippo continued on all-fours, frowning to himself. "I'm still not too confident in my smoke bomb illusion though."

"I know you can do it," she smiled. "Don't sell yourself short."

"But maybe something else would work better, like this-" he hopped up and burst into his floating pink ball form with a loud 'pop!'

The horse suddenly reared, making a whinny of distress, eyes wide with fright. Kagome gasped, clinging to it's back and yelping as it bolted.

Shippo gaped and popped back into his regular form, watching her image draw further away at a breakneck speed. "Kagome!"

Squeezing her eyes shut and feeling the horse gallop with powerful strides that threatened to knock her off, all she could do was cling to its neck. The reins flailed in the air- and if she could just grab them and pull the beast to halt, maybe he would stop. Kagome whimpered, body jolting from the movement. Cracking open fearful blue eyes and trying to reach for them- she felt her thigh slip slightly. Quickly abandoning that idea, she clung like a madwoman, tears stinging her lashes from the breeze racing by.

I screwed up! This was a terrible idea!

Looking ahead of them with mild disorientation caused her breath to hitch the second she caught sight of a pale figure. She stiffened.

Sesshoumaru stood on the road. They were headed right for him!

"Sesshoumaru!" she cried, trying to get across to move aside.

The Daiyoukai observed them with a frosty expression, slowly raising his claws.

Noticing the toxins colouring them green, her eyes widened. "Don't hurt him!" she burst. The fault lay with her, not the horse.

Sesshoumaru's eyes flickered with mild frustration. He then leapt up in the air to avoid a collision, floating above their heads. The sight of him became blurry because of tear-filled eyes, and Kagome ducked her head into the horse's mane.

Speeding before them again and landing, Sesshoumaru then drew his sword. Lifting it- he then slammed the blade into the earth. Bakusaiga emitted a large burst of green youki, skittering over the ground in a wide arch that flashed like minty lightning.

The horse skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt and neighing, rearing back on hind legs. Kagome gasped, unprepared for the movement- but clinging hard.

Slamming both hooves down and whickering, the horse panted wildly, finally still. Feeling hands slide under her numb thighs and wrap around her torso, Kagome stiffly unfolded from the saddle, placing her hands on broad shoulders as she was lifted down.

Kagome buried her face in the demon's neck, shuddering violently. She muffled sobs into his flesh, gripping his exquisite silks so tight her knuckles bled white.

Sesshoumaru held her without a word, nose dipping into windswept dark hair.

When Shippo finally caught up, having pursed on all fours, he jumped up into her arms and wailed louder than she, crying and nuzzling the frazzled miko.

Calming and smiling tiredly, she petted his soft red hair, looking up at Sesshoumaru. He gazed back, face closer than expected. He then shifted mokomoko beneath her legs to support her weight, picking up the reins of the horse and leaving the road.

"Are you angry with me?" she muttered, feeling the tension in his frame.

"Answer me this; can you ride horses?"

"N-no..."

"Then you were foolish," Sesshoumaru bit out. "But one cannot completely predict horses. I do not care for them," he threw a glare over his shoulder at the steed dutifully following them. He then released a hard exhale through his nose, levelling a frown at her. "Never do something so ridiculous again for a game, miko. My picture is not worth injury...or worse."

Kagome rested her cheek against his furs, looking up at him and feeling a twinge in her chest. His worry felt better than any blanket and hot cocoa could right then.

Noticing what direction he headed in, Kagome touched a striped cheek. "L-let's not head to the village just yet. I'd rather...calm down in the forest somewhere."

Sesshoumaru rose a brow but nodded, feet shifting and changing direction, walking beneath the shadows of the trees.

---

She felt glad of the quiet, the calm serenity surrounding their afternoon after all the chaos earlier. The horse grazed within a clearing near the lake, seeming to comfort eat. Shippo had fallen asleep, curled into a ball at her side. Kagome quietly sketched with a notebook and pencil in hand, sitting against a tree. Opposite her, Sesshoumaru reclined against his own, gazing at the scenery with a touch of daydream hazing his eyes. The light bathed his hair in a gentle glow, eyes the colour of milky honey instead of the usual burning embers.

So lost in thought was he that Kagome smiled. She then cleared her throat to gain his languid attention, turning the sketchbook around so that the page faced him.

"I win," she said softly.

Surprise slackened his expression, attention flitting over the paper where his likeness lay with impressive attention to detail. The pencil shading captured the soft shadows of his face, the richer, darker tones coloured his chest armour. Even the long silver hair looked sublime, life-like. Somehow the minute details and the idea of her watching- staring at him for so long made his ancient blood heat.

He realised, somewhat belatedly, that this was what he'd sought. Not a quick, cheap snap of a camera, but her willing and arrested attention upon his face.

Sesshoumaru dragged his gaze from the picture to dancing blue eyes.

"Indeed."

Kagome smiled, turning the picture back to gaze at it with affection.

"Why did you desire a picture of this one so badly?" he asked.

Not looking up, she brushed a thumb over the sketches pointed ear. "I like having pictures of my friends. Besides, this is yours now. A thank you gift for saving me."

Sesshoumaru observed her carefully, noticing the quiet fondness gentling her features as she looked at the picture instead of him. Because it was safer than gazing at him.

"Let me see it up close," Sesshoumaru uttered.

Kagome raised her head and blinked but nonetheless rose and walked over. The second she crouched before him- a clawed hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist and tugging.

This resulted in her body swaying forward, nose stopping inches from his as she squeaked.

"You seem to find satisfaction in looking at this one, miko," his voice curled into a teasing tone. "Perhaps this proximity is preferable."

Kagome's mouth turned dry, heart thundering. Setting the sketchbook down and shifting her knees beneath her, she nodded with a shy smile. "Y-yeah...it is. I'm glad you noticed," she murmured, placing her hands on the cool, steady metal of his chest plate. When she did not pull away in rejection, Sesshoumaru's clawed hand slid possessively to her waist. An aristocratic nose brushed hers, mouth hovering close.

"Do you do this with your friends too?"

She huffed, blushing. "No, only with crushes."

Thin lips tugged up at the edges before spreading wider with victory, flashing a fang. Kagome found it perfectly endearing. A rare, beautiful moment she wished she could capture forever. But, as the Daiyoukai guided her mouth to his wickedly grinning one, she figured they had plenty of opportunities to repeat such a soft moment, however many times they wished.

End

#sesskag #skw2020 #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #sesskagweek 2020 #Kagome Higurashi #Sesshoumaru #Inuyasha

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dibidibifiction · 4 years ago

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Criminal In My Mind: Chapter 12

Warning: smut (male receiving hand job and oral sex); foul language

Pairing: Choi Minho x Reader Word count: 1.4k

Writer’s note: Again, if you’re not comfortable with smut, it’s okay to skip it. I put asterisk marks on where it starts and ends.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist Chapter 11

MINHO

I took both Y/n and Lee Jinki home pretty late last night. A lot of times I just listened to them laugh at their inside jokes that I couldn’t relate to. I can’t say that I’m completely okay with it for now, but also, I can’t say that I’m mad about it. The fact that Y/n has close guy friends is something I’m yet to get used to. It took me a little by surprise when I walked in on her and Taemin interacting mischievously, but I didn’t want to act on it because I didn’t want her to think I’m insecure and jealous.

It is now the next day and it’s been five hours since I opened the café. There’s not been many people since breakfast time so I’m just behind the cash register reading a textbook for my class this afternoon.

I hear the entrance chime and when I look up, Y/n approaches the counter. She’s wearing a denim skirt that is shorter than the others she wore before.

“Hi, babe, can I get an iced black coffee please?” she asks with her flirty eyes, smiling so stunningly. She sounds so sexy when she calls me that.

I avoid her eyes because I may do something stupid. My throat starts to dry all of a sudden, making me swallow air.

Get it together, Choi, damn it! You’re at work for fuck’s sake.

“Psst,” Oh, well. I call out to her after I punch in her order.

She meets my eyes as she hands me her payment and raises her eyebrows with wonder. “Hmm?”

After I make her beverage and put it down on the claim counter, I first look at the very few customers scattered behind her. When I figure they’re all busy, minding their own business, I grip Y/n’s hand and pull her with me into the storage room just behind the coffee bar.

“Where are we-”

I shush her by smacking my lips onto hers once we’re out of sight. I can’t help myself that I’m a weak man falling in love with this gorgeous woman. I had to do something.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she pulls away. “What if somebody comes in?”

“Jinki doesn’t come in until after lunchtime. Why, do you not want to? I’ll stop.”

She giggles so cutely and shoves her tongue into my mouth.

I waltz us further into the room and boost her to put her down on one of the stacked up boxes. I then lift her skirt up a little to feel her warm crotch with my fingers.

She reacts by opening her mouth but I cover it with my other hand before she creates a sound, her whimpers jailed on my palm.

“Oh, God, I want you so bad,” I whisper into her ear. I bring my mouth down on her neck, sucking on it hungrily. Just as I feel her panties are getting damp, I hear the door chime outside and a sound of footsteps walking towards here.

“Shit.”

Panicking, I put her down with the best presence of mind I ever bring myself to have, and help her fix her hair by combing the ends with my fingers.

“Hey, Choi Minho, why aren’t you out here?”

“Hyung, you’re early,” I say casually, hoping Y/n and I don’t obviously look messed up. “I was just showing Y/n some videos on my phone and I didn’t want to disturb the customers.”

“Can that wait? Don’t leave the bar empty and put this on,” Manager Lee throws me the apron that I took off a minute ago. I know we’re friends, but he’s my manager first when we’re working.

“And you,” he turns to Y/n. “You’re not allowed back here during my working hours. Get out.”

“Sorry,” we both say at the same time.

Y/n is the first one to go and I follow her.

“Excuse me, your coffee,” I say when she’s almost out the main door.

As I watch her grab her cup and run further outside, I receive a hard smack at the back of my head.

“Hyung! That hurt,” I whine but trying not to laugh as I see him giving me a warning look.

“Wash your hands.”

“Yes, sir.”

. . .

It’s more than a week now. I’m just preparing myself to leave the café as I time off. To my relief, I only have one class this afternoon so I have more time to write my assigned papers before I pick up Y/n to meet up with Jonghyun and Kibum for dinner.

Jonghyun called me a few days ago to ask me to create a photography concept for their wedding and we’re going to discuss it tonight. I really appreciate that they thanked of me for doing this for them. I thought no one else would believe in my potential but my mom.

. . .

I’m now back at my apartment and just let myself crash onto my bed. I’ve been exhausted and sleepless for days because of research, projects, and presentations. I decided to close my eyes for a minute and let my eyes rest. Just as when I’m about to doze off, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and see Y/n’s name.

“Hey, baby,” I answer.

“Hi, babe, I heard from Taemin that you’ve been working your ass all week. Do you want me to come over instead of you picking me up?” I finally get to hear her voice and all of a sudden, I feel less tired.

“That would be great. You can stay with me while I get stuff done before we go,” I beg lovingly.

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten. I’m just picking up some snacks. I’ll see you soon,” she says before hanging up.

Since I got myself some boost from my lovable girlfriend’s voice, I get up from my bed and start working.

It is now three hours later and I’m just retouching layouts of my slides for one of my presentations. I’m sitting down on the carpet in front of the couch as my computer is on the coffee table in front of me. When I let out a deep sigh, I feel Y/n’s touch as she sits next to me.

She wraps her arms around me and fondles my stomach as her chin rests on my shoulder. “That looks great. I don’t think you still need to do anything in addition.”

“Thanks, babe, I want everything to be perfect.”

“I know, but I miss you,” she says before kissing my neck and a moan follows.

I know what she’s doing and I’d love to get it on but I’m so focused on my own business that I almost do not notice it.

Just as I’m switching to a different slide, Y/n’s hand slips inside my boxers, grabs my cock, and starts stroking softly. This time, her mouth is tasting the side of my face as she breathes next to my ear. Now that sends chills throughout my whole body. I can’t help but close my eyes and breathe deeply.

Y/n’s fist becomes tighter around me just as she begins to stroke faster. I have no choice but to lean back against the couch behind me and surrender. She takes my dick out of my clothing, bends down, and puts it in her mouth, motioning up and down so sloppily, her lips and tongue sucking every inch of my length. She definitely knows how to break me and send me to heaven at the same time.

She now takes my head tightly to her throat for a few seconds, making her gag.

“Oh, my God, Y/n!” I cry, grabbing her hair to lift her head back up so I can see her face. Which is all red, and her mouth is dripping. She stares me down with those fiery eyes and starts jerking me off again with her hand as I am close to finish.

“Mm, baby, you’re so hot,” she whispers into my ear after licking it.

I let out a long and loud grunt so she doesn’t stop. Before I know it, a gust of lustful pleasure spreads all over my being. Her hand is now covered with my cum.

With a small towel, she wipes my thighs before her own skin and kisses me one last time.

Out of breath, I settle my arm around her shoulder and pull her head very lightly closer to me so I can kiss her forehead for thanks and blissful relief.

She kisses my mouth. “Come on, let’s hit the road. Kibum and Jonghyun will be waiting,” she says before she gets up and starts getting ready.

Chapter 13

#what did you think about this chapter? feel free to let me know #shinee fanfic #shinee #shinee fiction #minho smut #shinee minho smut #choi minho x reader #shinee fanfiction #smut #choi minho smut #shinee smut #shinee fluff #ktm cimm #ktm cimm c12

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tinlizziedlinwa · 3 years ago

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Developing Sexuality, Discovering Kinks, a Spinal Injury, and Barely Beginning to Explore the Edges of the LGBTQ+ Community

Howdy, y’all. I’m just gonna put this out there - If it’s not for you, just keep on a’scrollin’!

Now, I’ve not really explicitly spoken about my sexuality and how it’s evolved over my almost five decades of life. So, I’m about to start, and believe me, your patience and kindness will be appreciated. If you choose to be a close-minded, conservative, cis-asshole then I strongly suggest you leave right the fuck now. Thank you :-)

If you want to get to know me a little bit more and talk of incontinence and sexuality doesn’t scare you, please continue!

Decade 01: Around four years old, I have my first memories of things related to my as yet totally undeveloped sexuality. No history of physical abuse - Don’t worry about that. It was finding my mother’s menstrual pads. I saw pictures of them in underwear, so I took one and put it into mine. It felt so right and so amazing! I don’t really know how to describe it, but it felt like I needed the whole package of them in my underwear all at once! I got in trouble for using up a package that my mom needed and I didn’t understand why she needed them yet. But I made my first “diaper” out of pads and tighty-whities when I was only four years old. Since I’m gonna be using a lot of numbers, I’m gonna cheat and sacrifice the “proper way” of spelling them out if they’re ten or less.

At 5, I knew I wasn’t built right. I had this thing I peed through that girls didn’t have. Boys had them. But I wasn’t supposed to be a boy! I didn’t like it and hated the feeling of it touching my legs (still do...). I started asking questions about things. Now, my parents are the stereotypical Boomers, “trapped” in a loveless marriage by dependent children and their own sense of “honor.” Dad was a Medical Corpsman who became a Physician’s Assistant (PA) after retiring, while Mom used to be a Wave (nurse) in the Navy, but became a stay-at-home Mom when she started having children. I’ve 2 brothers and 1 sister, the last of them born 10 years before me. So, when I questioned things, Dad’s response was usually to hand me a medical book and tell me to look it up. Mom’s response was usually, “go ask your father.” So, there I was, a 5-year old with a head full of partially-understood terminology (at best!) and a bunch of clinical photography in anatomy and physiology books. At least I learned the purely physical differences between boys and girls and why I was one and not the other. This made me mad. So. Very. Mad. I cried a lot for a while, finding out that I would never become what I feel I was supposed to be. But I kept reading....

When I was 6 years old, I wrote a letter to my parents explaining how I felt about my body and how it made me feel inside and how I wished I could change and be the girl I’m supposed to be and would they be ok with helping me do this some day?

It was not received well. Not well at all. I’ve spent the last 40 years trying to get over their reaction to it and I still hate them for their reactions with a passion. I feel like I was truly shattered, and the glue I’ve had to use over the years to put myself back together has never been the right type and pieces of me keep falling apart.

Entering Decade 02 (10 to 20 years old): Puberty, damn it! None of my “researches” had even hinted at ways to stop it, and my body started changing in ways that made me very uncomfortable, but there was also this attraction I kept feeling towards some people, and I started getting erections. Now, I knew what was happening and yes, it did feel good to play with myself, but it also felt wrong in that I should have someone entering me, not me entering them, so when I masturbated that’s what I dreamed of - being entered and feeling them expand inside me, them giving themselves up in me, losing control and exploding into me and feeling their satisfaction as my own at having been so desirable. Cockwarming them gently back to hardness and having my own way with their body as their hands stroked my breasts and hips.... Eventually I would orgasm in real life, while dreaming my dream.

I have never had a blow-job. Several girlfriends have attempted, but honestly that’s like the fastest way to shut me down. It instantly kills my dream between one heart-beat and the next, causing me to feel absolutely horrible about myself and this carcass I’m trapped in. I should be going down on you, tasting, caressing, nuzzling and lapping up your wetness as I get more and more achy and wet for you.... Sticking my dick in your mouth is absolutely the worst thing that can happen during any attempt at sexy-times for me. I’d rather have diarrhea on a crowded school-bus.

The problem was, I had been emotionally terrorized by my parents (and now I know how they controlled my access to information...) and the area I grew up in was populated by fairly conservative folks, so I had no exposure to other ways of living and had no idea I could express my sexuality in any way other than by being masculine with it. Ergo, I was very much in the closet, hiding my thoughts and feelings as best I knew how, and retreated from situations that might expose my inner workings. Hence, I’m an introvert who overshares o.0 Start unstacking the bricks from my walls and Watch Out! You might get more than you bargained for :-\

Decade 03 (20 to 30 years old): I was just positive I didn’t want kids. Also had no clue what to do with myself, so I landed in Alaska for about a decade. Isolated, small town, conservative folks (a church on every corner, attended at least twice a week). Repressive. No sex for 8 of those 10 years. Met my (now ex-) wife up there. Internet actually got off the ground and we bought a computer, modem, and had an AOL account! This was around 2002′ish or so. Yeah, I watched the twin towers fall on a tv in a bar in Alaska. But while in Fairbanks, I discovered the old Usenet Newsgroups... and that led me straight back into my diaper-fetish which I’d almost forgotten about... omg, seeing those first photos... I can’t describe the feelings that burned in me.

Decade 04 (30 to 40 years old): Left Alaska and moved to western Washington State. Worked as a Medical Assistant for about 5 years, then re-invented myself as a welder when I got a Federal job. Learning a whole new trade wasn’t easy. Shittons of practice later I was good at it and loving my career, until a toolbag fell on my head in 2008. It could have killed me had I been in any other position. As it was, it hit the top of my head while my spine was almost perfectly straight up’n’down, causing a couple of discs in my neck to blow out. One completely ruptured and the other bulged so badly it could never heal and restricted my movement (couldn’t look up or pull my chin in). To this day I still have a smallish “shadow” on my cervical spinal nerve where the disc exploded and a “dent” where the next one down bulged out. The doctors think that’s why I’m incontinent and really struggle to get hard-ons anymore.

Here’s the rub: I’ve hated this body of mine forever. I’m not supposed to get hard-ons in the first place! I’m supposed to have breasts, hips, hair, a flat front and a curvy bottom, and you should be making passes at me, not vice versa!

So, rather than pursue medical (surgical) options to deal with the urinary and occasional fecal incontinence, I choose to wear diapers and give myself regular enemas. This way I can kinda (mostly) control the #2 and keep it from happening in public, while I can let my bladder just run on it’s built-in autopilot (which is really random, btw). Wearing diapers also helps me with tucking! I can pull the dick out, pop the balls up inside where they belong, tuck the dick as far back as I can and put my diaper on tight. Bingo! A flat front! And a bit of a poofy bottom! YES!!

Decade 05 (40 to 47′ish years old): I’m beginning to feel slightly more confident in my sexuality, though I’m still not comfortable actually trying to seek out anyone special... but yeah - I’m an introvert by nature. Probably need to get adopted by someone because I’m not sure I’ll ever really be brave enough to really reach out first.... But now I’m able to afford nice diapers, I’m buying women’s jeans/pants/sweaters/onesies, and I’m feeling so much better about myself when I’m able to dress up. Keeping my chest and legs shaved helps, too. When I look down and see long, course, curly body-hair... ugh. Hair in the armpits and groin is what’s normal. Chest hair? Get it off! Looking at myself in the mirror, I still hate many aspects of my physical self, but when I’m freshly shaved, diapered and wearing women’s jeans and a lovely pink sweatshirt or just lounging around in a cute diaper and huge sweater, I’m much more able to ignore the things I don’t like.

Lately, as I’ve begun exploring my sexuality a little more, I’ve discovered the joys of dildos. Lemmie tell you what, guys. A traditional male orgasm doesn’t hold a candle to what I’ve felt while playing with a good dildo. After a good, thorough clean-out in the shower (I have a shower-attachment with multiple nozzles and use the long black rubber one), I’ve used a dildo that’s got a bit of a bend near the tip - it’s shaped like a real penis, normal size (not humongous), with a bit of a crook near the glans. By holding the balls & suction cup in hand, it can be inserted and moved in-n-out at that perfect angle to stimulate *all* the right spots inside... I can honestly say I’ve peed, cum, and blew that dildo across the room as my knees hit the floor and I forgot my name during the best, most intense, can’t-walk-for-a-minute whole-body orgasms I’ve ever experienced in my life. The area between the anus and scrotum feels so very hot and heavy, like it’s going to burst, it’s not truly painful but almost close? - It’s an amazingly satisfying feeling. I’d love to hear from you girls out there... Are my orgasms anything similar to yours?

Some day, my dream is to meet someone who can understand me, who can feel where I’m coming from, who can love me even when I’m having difficulty loving myself. Someone who is kind to my broken soul, and who’s idea of a hot date may involve a stop at the adult toy store!

Edited on 01OCT2021: I’m not looking for a Mommy or a Domme. I’m an adult with adult responsibilities and concerns. I’m looking for a partner who’s also fairly self-sufficient. I own my own home, work full time, and being an introvert I need lots of alone time. Someone who’s open and accepting of the fact that I’m diapered 24/7/365 and am perfectly capable of changing myself. And she’ll understand that I don’t just wanna get her out of her jeans for sexy-times, but I also wanna try them on.

Edited again on 02OCT2021: As I’ve just begun actually exploring my sexuality, I’m starting to think I seem to fit into the “enby” grouping (even as I don’t like being stuffed into a box, I find myself doing just that, to myself! Damn categories...). I don’t know all the lingo yet and it feels like the terminology is a living thing that is always changing. Even though I’ve always found women to be super attractive, and I also really enjoy wearing women’s clothes and have dreamed of being a woman for decades, every once in a blue moon a guy really turns me on. I’ve got fantasies about going down on her while he enters me, his hands on my hips pulling me in as he gently thrusts, speeding up slowly as I’m getting wetter, he’s sliding in and out of me faster and faster and I’m lapping up her juices, buried in her scent, the orgasm in all of us building until we simultaneously explode. Then, once we all have our breath back, each of us gently diapers one another. The idea of feeling my diaper sticking to my bum as his seed dribbles out of me is really turning me on again right now! Hearing our crinkles as we move, cuddling in a contented pile, patting bottoms all around.

Am I a “bottom?” Is there such a thing as an independent “bottom”? More research is needed!

#tinlizziedl #Info about me #30Sep2021 #personal #Sexuality

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pocketsizeddemon · 5 years ago

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Yule - Bang Chan Smut

I’ve been wanting to write a second part to Beltane since... well since I wrote Beltane. So with Yule coming tomorrow, I wrote this baby! Happy Yule my darlings and Happy Holidays in general~

Bang Chan smut, 2.3k words, AO3

It was well into winter already. You could see it in the nights that were getting longer and the brightly decorated shop windows. But most importantly you could feel it was getting colder, it was finally “hoodie season” as your boyfriend would say. The boyfriend who was lately way too busy.

Chris and his group were currently promoting their new album and you’d be lucky if you got to see him a few hours a week, but really you couldn’t blame him. You knew all too well how time-consuming and exhausting his job was, and also how much he loved doing it, you just missed him terribly. But hopefully tonight, the longest night of the year, this would change. You wouldn’t really call it a date or anything but he had promised to you, since he’d have the weekend off that you could watch movies and spend time together.

He arrived late in the evening. As it seemed appropriate for the occasion and the terribly cold weather you had lit up the fireplace a few hours ago and the house was cozily warm. He found you sitting on the couch with a notebook in your hand, a warm cup of tea, wearing one of his hoodies that looked adorably oversized on you and barely covered your bare thighs. He smiled softly as he took of his coat and put his backpack away on the counter and quietly sat next to, trying to not distract you from your task.

“What’d you got there baby?” he asked and giggled as you let out a tiny scream. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, I was doing something.” you answered, laughing along as you placed your notes on the coffee table and gave him a big hug. Oh how you missed his hugs. They made you feel so warm and fuzzy… They felt like home.

“Just writing down a presents’ list. I want to make sure I didn’t forget anyone.” You answered while nuzzling closer to him, leaving a tiny kiss on his cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too” he answered as he softly held your face and kissed you. “And I must say, coming home to you wearing my hoodie…that’s the best way to welcome me. You look so cute.” You blushed ever the slightest and playfully pushed him away. “Any presents left to buy?” he questioned, checking out your mostly checked list.

“Nope everything’s all set. I just need to finish the last few cards and I can ship them all out on Monday… which is technically on time but not really.” You giggled. “Gift-giving is a Yule tradition after all, so I should be done by today.”

“Yule?” Chris scrunched his nose. “Isn’t that the winter solstice?”

You nodded. “Yes! And it’s actually were many Christmas traditions come from. The Yule Log, the tree, even the gifts are all much older than <<Christmas>>. Oh! Speaking of which!” you beamed and hopped up, giving him a peak of the lovely white lace panties that you were wearing underneath his hoodie in the progress. You ran to your bedroom carrying a bag decorated with a big bow and gave it to him. His joy could not be hidden when he carefully unwrapped camera you had bought for him, smiling fondly as he remembered that he had told you how he was really starting to get into photography lately. He hugged you tightly, thanking you and already thinking of all the pictures he could take.

“So,” he asked after a few minutes “what are the plans for today babygirl?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. You came straight from practice so we can just watch movies and cuddle if you want.” You said with a shrug. Honestly as long you got to cuddle him you were perfectly fine with anything. He bit his lip in thought.

“You know what would get this on a whole other level of coziness?” he said, looking way too serious for the casualty of the matter at hand. “Let’s build a pillow fort!” You couldn’t help but laugh at his cute expression and beaming smile though you were certain yours was just the same. His idea was indeed really nice.

Getting down to what wouldn’t really count as work, but more as a playful treasure hunt, you gathered chairs, sheets, blankets and all kinds of pillows to build the perfect fort. It took you the rest of the evening to make but it was all worth it, you thought to yourself as you added one last detail : a leftover string of fairy lights, from decorating the other day, which made it all the more cozy. As he was setting up your laptop, you quickly sneaked into the kitchen to make two hot cocoas for both of you.

You snuggled into the warm and cozy fort, sipping your warm drinks and enjoying your movie and most of all each other’s companies. It wasn’t long until you were laughing along with How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Halfway through you were only partially paying attention as Chris had gotten busy leaving sweet kisses all over your face between your guys’ giggles. By the end of the movie he was comfortably nuzzled on your shoulder, leaving small kisses on your jaw and neck while you played with his soft fluffy hair, letting out small content hums.

As soon as the credits rolled he lazily shuffled to your laptop, closed it and pushed it on the nearest chair. You laid comfortably between the pillows, making grabby hands for him to come back, with your cute sweater paws. And return he did, wriggling over you, supporting himself so that he wouldn’t fall on top of you. He stared at your warm smile under the soft lighting of the fire and fairylights, his eyes so full love.

“Help me! I’m feeling!” he comically quoted the movie, dipping down to kiss your lips. You gently pulled him down for a second… and then a third and fourth, each kiss deeper and more heated than the last. He traced your bottom lip with his tongue, wordlessly asking for permission to take this further and you complied, weaving your fingers into his hair. Warm fingers were soon pressing into your thighs, sneaking their way under your shirt to feel more of you.

He was headed lower, peppering open mouthed kisses all over your neck and shoulder, softly biting your clavicle as he was desperately trying to expose more skin. Raising the hem of the hoodie just a little higher, he moved towards your chest were he could continue his sweet teasing, leaving you breathless. You squirmed as his warm lips ghosted over your sensitive nipples and your hips bucked when he sucked one of them in his mouth. And still he continued, with small loving kisses on your tummy and a tantalizing nibble on your hipbone.

Completely ignoring the place you wanted him most, he turned to your thighs, getting comfortable between your legs and taking his sweet time kissing your inner thighs, playfully biting and sucking small hickeys on them, both a warning for what would come next and a reminder for the following days. A chill ran through your spine as he reached the edge of your panties and a whimper that you hadn’t realize you were holding escaped your lips. The light of the fire made his eyes look like honey as he gazed up to you through his eyelashes, teasingly kissing your lower lips through the lace garment and smirking a devilish smirk when he heard you moan. Like a silent plea, one of your hands was grabbing at his shoulder, pulling on his hoodie, almost begging him to take it off.

As much as wanted to keep on teasing you, tonight was the first time he had you all to himself in a while and he didn’t plan on spending all of it like this. He did quick work with taking off his own hoodie and pants, and then slowly removed your panties before he lied down between your legs. Your fingers were in his hair as his hot breath hit your bare pussy. His tongue touched you next as he took him time to warm you up, moaning as if you were the sweetest caramel he had ever tasted.

You almost had forgotten how skillful his tongue was, slow long strokes exploring your folds, softly flicking and sucking on your clit then licking again. He was truly taking his time with you, instead of rushing to make up for the weeks he hadn’t touched you, he was going slowly yet in an overwhelmingly passionate rhythm that was making you moan and whimper, matching the movements of your hips with his tongue’s. And oh did he love hearing your sounds. It was a truly rare occasion to have you so open, exposed and unapologetically vocal and all for him.

“C-Chris, please. I need more please~” You groaned out in exasperation. And he was happy to comply, stopping his ministrations with a last teasing lick and sitting up. He was almost sad to discard the last piece of clothing off of you, his hoodie, and then took of his boxers, freeing his hard cock. With small kisses he made his way up to your lips again, giving you a much rougher kiss while grinding his erection on your wet folds

You sighed, as he teased your entrance, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him to move. The drop of his jaw was barely registered when he filled you up, as your hands reached for his shoulders, moaning out at the sudden stretch. He started a slow pace and shallow thrusts, wanting to give you some time to get used to his size and mostly just enjoying being so close to you.

With breathless whispers of I-love-yous he kept going slow and steady, switching between kissing your lips and softly nibbling on your neck. You were overwhelmed by how gentle and loving yet passionate he was, truly seizing your first time alone in a long time. This wasn’t a simple quick fuck, hidden away and trying to stay quiet. He was sweetly making love to you, pouring out his feelings in every single move of his hips and each tiny kiss on your skin.

Just like his thrusts started growing faster and deeper, so did your moans grew louder. Your nails were scratching on his sculpted back, making him hiss and riling him up to go harder. He could feel you tighten around his cock in return and low groans left his throat. You were matching him beat for beat, pushing back against him as you felt your orgasm approach, pleading him to go just a little faster, you were almost there.

Knowing his own high was approaching just as fast, feeling that tightening knot in his abdomen, he picked up the pace. In an instant your noises filled the little room, your back arching off of the soft futon on the floor, squirming around his cock. Feeling your convulsing walls was more than Chris could take and with a few more thrusts he was cumming deep inside of you.

You ended up falling asleep in the fort, all warm and cozy, comfortably cuddled up together, way too lazy and fucked out to even consider moving to the bed. The morning sun woke you up as it shone through your balcony door and over one of the blankets that have fallen overnight. You turned around in Chris’ embrace, who had somehow ended up spooning you in his sleep, finding him still fast asleep. His arms instinctively hugged you a little tighter, a gesture that only made the warm feeling inside you grow.

The thought to wriggle away from your cuddly boyfriend’s hug and warm blankets into the cold room seemed insane and so you stayed there, counting Chris’ light freckles. You probably cooed a little too loud at an exceptionally cute constellation on his cheeks because he sleepily opened his eyes. As soon as he realized that he was holding you instead of his usual pillow he stirred, memories from last night flooding in making his smile mirror yours.

“Good morning babygirl.” He said, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Good morning baby.” You answered stretching as you got up. “I’m going to go wash up and get started with breakfast.” you told him with a kiss before making your way to the bathroom.

He joined you in the kitchen a little later, as you had just started making coffee. Still slow from sleep and his hair adorably fluffy, he walked behind you giving you a back hug and resting his head on your shoulder. He seemed to get a little more awake as his backpack caught his eye, left on the counter from last night. Opening it quietly as he was fumbling around with the compartments, while you grabbed a few muffins from the box you had bought the other day and set them on the table along with the coffee cup. He followed you, holding a tiny box.

“I was going to give it to you as an early Christmas present yesterday, but we got a little carried away yesterday.” He giggled as he opened the box for you, revealing a delicate silver moon necklace. “For you,” he continued “my moon in the darkest nights.” He told you as he fastened the accessory in the back of your neck. “I love you, babygirl.”

“I love you too, Chris.” You said with a soft blush blooming on your cheeks as you pulled him down for a kiss.

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