#love finding an excuse to look at vintage fashion references

[tinterabyte]

Doropetra journalist x fashion designer modern AU!!! I really liked this post by @stergeon and had visions for visualizations of this fun story idea. I tried my hand at drawing out some scenes!!!

These are just quick, vignette-type ideas that I had to sketch out. These are also mixed in with me finding excuses to draw the girls in stylish outfits and an outlet for dumping my knowledge and experience in the fashion world hehe

My comic and sequencing skills are not the best, but I hope you find these fashion gals to be so sillyful!

[oftenderweapons]

Love Talk - Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 11k words

Genre: smut, fluff, (Taehyung is moody but no angst I guess) dating au, idol au

Rating: 18+

Finally! I can post this! My inner praise-thirsty brat has been missing y’all’s attention so here I am!

Actually I’ve managed to write the end this afternoon after I finished writing a whole chapter of my dissertation (God, why do I need a degree...)

Anyway, here is Taehyung’s take at love talk. This is clearly smut, so minors please, do not read or interact.

Quick recap/everything you need to know before reading. Taehyung and Lace (in this fic called many many nicknames since “Lace” hasn’t sticked yet) have been dating for a couple months and Tae has been taking it slow, they have done some coupley stuff and have made out, but they haven’t been really physical yet. Until he visits her late at night after coming back from a trip in Paris with Jimin. And he has a gift which might spark up something interesting. 

Disclaimer: Personally, I don’t see Lace as the stereotypical slim girl, but there’s a very generic reference to this. Also, Lace has taken bondage and basic domination lessons in a dungeon. Taehyung knows this. Both of them treat this fact as something serious rather than a kinky fun fact, since it comes from one of Lace’s insecurities.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: woah. so. Foreplay, mostly masturbation (male and female receiving), making out and grinding, marking, biting, Oral (male receiving), duality king Kim Taehyung, mental health and depression, body image issues, the characters discuss public sex, food play, oral sex, sensation play and impact play, wax play, tantric massage, BDSM, domination, bondage and submission, sex toys, exhibitionism, dungeons. Both the characters have had same-sex experiences and relationships. There might be a few swearwords here and there.

Wordcount: 11k. This thing is big so I’ll come back and edit it a bit at a time. 

Here is my masterlist!

And remember to vote for next prompt :) (link in bio!)

Enjoy <3

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“Hey.”

“Hey.” He replied right back. He was standing in the empty corridor at three a.m., the light coming from your doorway illuminating his chocolate curls, his eyes gleaming darkly. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, opening the door and letting him in. 

The low lights of your hallway made him move slowly in the room, since he’d never ventured upstairs before. Reaching your living room, you switched on the small lamp beside the sofa, a gentle yellow warmth diffusing. 

“Your house is very pretty.” He said, looking around. 

“It’s basic. I’m still trying to buy some pieces as I go.” You commented, your mind still slowed down by sleep. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” He said. He was being extremely scarce with his words. “We arrived in town ten minutes ago.”

“How was our trip?” You asked out of habit. You were still trying to understand what to expect from this. 

“Very tiring.” He murmured. “I think I’ll be jetlagged all the way to next week.”

He had been in Paris with Jimin after being in London for group schedule. Of course he’d been conflicted between coming back to you and spending some time with his best friend, but at the same time, he thought you'd been dating for a short time and after all, he should give Jimin the priority. 

You smiled. “Eight hours?”

“Seven.” He corrected. “May I?” He gestured to the sofa, a two-seats dark red velvet number dominating the room entirely. 

You nodded. 

“You look incredible.” His low voice made your insides shake. “Have you just woken up?” He shook his head in disappointment. “I’ve woken you up, haven’t I?” He shook his head, reprimanding himself. 

“It’s okay.” You said, sitting beside him at a respectful distance. “What brings you here at three a.m. on a workday?” You asked, mischief tinting your voice. 

“I wanted to see you.” He replies dryly. 

What’s with the atmosphere?

Something felt off. It wasn’t just your sleep-addled mind. There was tension. 

“Okay.” You argued back in his same attitude. 

He shook his head, throwing his spine against the pillows, inflating his lungs. As he turned towards you, something lustful and obscure possessed his eyes. “Say yes.”

You furrowed your brow. “To what?”

“Fuck, just say yes, ____.” He begged with a growl. 

You bit your lip and nodded.

He was on you in a millisecond, kissing you with an intensity that you didn’t think his lithe figure could muster. Yes, of course he was solid under your touch but his body was sinewy rather than bulky. It was a matter of kinetic force rather than actual strength. 

He smothered you under his torso, your lungs constricting with the impact. The kiss wasn’t even an attempt at gentleness. It was a matter of teeth and tongues and sucking straight away. Your hand gripped the hair at his nape, trying to control him, slow him down. If he kept this up, he was going to bruise your lips. Soon he grew breathless and parted from your lips. His body was thrown over the sofa, over your lap, into your arms. 

“I’ve been thinking of this single spot for days.” He murmured, diving for the crook of your neck, immediately nibbling on it. One hand already on your hair, he tried to move the other one around you, between your back and the soft burgundy velvet. “And I find you all fuzzy and warm from sleep, skin tender, freshly woken up, wearing this sorry excuse of a nightgown.” He snarled.

“Taehyung.” You murmured. 

“Lace looks incredible on you, dove.” He lowered his head and started sucking on the upper curve of your left breast, clearly intending to leave a bruise. 

You combed his hair back, looking at him while his eyes stared into yours. 

“Tae, baby. Why don’t we get more comfortable? I have a queen size bed in the other room, are you sure you want to stay on the sofa?” You offered gently. 

He shook his head, still latched onto you, no intention of letting go whatsoever. 

"Taetae, you're gonna get a cramp, darling." You caressed his face with affection, his wide-eyed look making you weak. 

He finally parted from you and inspected the bruise. Happy with the result, he kissed the mark, drying it with his cheek, slightly scratching you with his stubble. "I think we should stay on the sofa." He argued with a rumble. 

He wouldn't answer for himself if he had you in bed. And it was too early to go all the way anyway. Of course his aim was getting his hands under your clothes — and possibly your hands under his, — but he also knew he wanted to take his time. His will was still strong enough to wait, but he knew, were he to be tempted, he would not hesitate. And he knew he wanted to play it slow, go one base at a time before diving all the way in. 

"Were you listening, Tae?" You asked, noticing the absent look on his face. 

He shook his head with an innocent look, his curls tickling your bosom. 

You giggled, fondness warming your gaze. "You want to stay here?" 

He nodded, his hair grazing your skin once more, his expression sparkling with a playful smile. 

"Then we'll stay here." You declared. "Do you want something to drink? Something to eat? To you it should be dinner time, right?" You fussed. 

"No, I'm okay, I'm trying to adjust." He explained. His expression went blank for a moment before lighting up in an Eureka! moment. "I have a gift for you!" He chimed happily. 

"Really?" You replied, incredulous. 

"It's a bit artsy and sexy, but it's from Paris, so…" He shrugged. 

"Oh, now I'm curious." You combed his hair back, exposing his forehead. 

"Let me—" He sat upright, disentangling himself from you. He sat cross-legged on the sofa and dove for his canvas bag. "Here." He said, handing you a paper bag. 

"Is it…" It was heavy. Very. You opened the bag and you were met with the heavy scent of printed paper. "A book." You realised, taking the volume in your hand, gently removing it from the bag. It was still covered in a thin layer of plastic. "Oh, God! It's that book! How did you find it?" 

He grinned. "A friendly bookseller. A connoisseur." He winked. "I didn't open it. I didn't want to ruin it. And I wanted to open it with you. Do you like it?" He dove into the crook of your neck once more, shaking his shaggy locks against your tender skin. 

"Thank you, baby." You kissed his cheek. You were still getting used to his mood swings from dark, charming gentleman to his bubbly tiger cub persona. “Do you mind if I go grab a glass of water and then we leaf through it together?” You asked. 

“Yeah. Grab one for me too.” If he had to have you half naked beside him for an hour or so, he’d better have something to keep him cool.

As you did your thing in the kitchen he looked around, wide eyed. The relaxing golden light coming from the lamp illuminated a shelf of fashion books and a series of black and white pictures on the walls. He recognised one as a feather. It looked very classy, still he knew you had bought it in a cheap shop downtown, a vintage parlour the two of you had visited during your fourth date. 

“Here, Tae.” You said, entering the room, putting the glasses on the small tables at each side of the sofa, one of which hosted the lamp. 

“Thank you.” He was sitting comfortably, legs slightly parted, his back laying on the sofa, elbows propped on the pillows. You stood in front of him, admiring him a little. 

He was used to being watched, but your scrutiny was so fierce and detached that he felt crystallised, as if any movement would send him shattering on the floor like a frozen leaf.

He looked up at you, mesmerised, but also so terribly afraid of your next move. Like you could incinerate him with your eyes. Slowly, he raised his back from his slouching, hands naturally meeting your hips. It was intimate and cold at the same time. You felt afraid of the intensity he could evoke with a simple touch and a glance. 

He called your name and it felt like an awakening, like you had never had a name before. His long lashes covered the upper part of his irises, giving you the sultriest, darkest look.

“Taehyung.” You whispered back, in hope you would sound just like he did. 

His hands moved from your hips to your waist, bringing you closer, right in front of him. He scooted closer to the edge of the cushion, his nose skimming the soft silk of your nightgown from your sternum to the dip of your navel. “I missed you, darling.” He kissed your belly, propping his chin on your stomach. 

Again, you combed his hair back. “I did send you a small gift, though.” You reminded him coolly. 

Once again he remembered the picture, the voice text, your breathy moans and needy whines as you whispered how much you were missing him, how dumb you had been to tell him that you could wait one more week before seeing him again. Your relationship wasn't sexual yet, but during his short stay in Paris you realised how quickly it had escalated, feeling the need to simply tell him how he made you feel, how hot it was to listen to his deep, warm voice as he talked about his day. He could have been reading his shopping list and you would get wet anyway. 

"You did send it." He replied. "And it was wholeheartedly appreciated." He said with a growl. 

You licked your lips as you noticed his legs spreading farther, parting to accommodate your standing figure. 

"Are you gonna make me beg for it?" He murmured, a pinch of worry in his voice. 

You raised an eyebrow, playing confused. 

Shaking his head, he tutted and grabbed your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin as he turned you with his back to him, making you sit heavily between his thighs. "I won't beg for you tonight, Lace." He huffed minaciously in your ear, one arm coiling around your waist while his other palm dragged possessively from your hip bone to your knee, fingers digging into the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

“Let’s look at your kinky, niche art book.” He growled at your ear.

Nodding silently, you bent to the coffee table, lunging for the book, your hair tumbling forward and exposing the naked expanse of your shoulders. 

Of course he profited from the moment, lunging forward, drawing the line of your spine with the tip of his nose, from the upper hem of your nightgown to your nape, inhaling the flowery scent of your shampoo. 

You almost lost your grip on the heavy book, your body responding to his touch with a deep shiver and a slight loss of balance. He gripped your waist tighter, helping you up. “Did you like that?” He asked. 

You let your short breath and stumbling heartbeat speak for you. 

“Did you like that, sweetheart?” He asked again.

“Yeah.” You huffed. 

He chuckled gruffly. “Open the book.”

You used your nail to open the thin plastic foil, ripping it until you managed to open the cover. The first page was an unmade bed, the title printed in a dark, heavy font. 

“Passion portrayed”

The theme was very… French. Your ex-flatmate had recommended you the book, printed by one of her former university classmates. 

It didn’t even feign being ordinary or appropriate. From the very title of it, it was unmistakeably an erotic book, meant to expose intimate parts of the subjects’ life, exhibitionism in its most artistic vest.

“How does it work?” Asked Taehyung, his chin settling on your shoulder. 

“It’s a book.” You said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but the theme.” He said, taking the book from your hands and turning it around, searching for an abstract.

You shrugged. “From what I’ve been told, some couples asked the photographer for a series of intimate pictures. They loved the results so much that they asked if the author ever thought of publishing them as a collection. The pictures were selected and rearranged to create this book.” You explained, using your forearm to sustain the back of the book, your hand turning the first page. 

“I like this.” Taehyung said, the page printed fully offering a wide, light green clearing in the middle of a wood. The straw field was bathed in orange twilight, the light cutting perfectly into the lens, creating small, interference halos in the picture. 

You smiled, nodding, your hair brushing against his cheek. 

He exhaled, his body relaxing. You felt so soft. Like his personal teddy bear. The skin of your thigh was warm against his palm, if slightly clammy. You were holding the book so to allow his hands to wander and he felt somehow confused and grateful for it, not knowing whether he could take advantage or whether you were just testing him. 

“Tell me when you want me to turn.” You said quietly. 

“Turn.” He said. The following two pages were only partly printed, hosting a smaller photograph on the center of each page. Both offered the same setting as before with a change of perspective, one lowered to the ground, in a picnic, the traditional chequered blanket laying on the ground, a wicker basket, small glass cups for wine, grapes, cheese and picturesque, cliché sandwiches; the other filtered through the backseat of a pickup. The definition of an American Sixties teenage rendezvous. “I can kind of figure where this is headed.” He murmured. 

You snickered. “I can only imagine.”

You turned the page again. Black and flashes of neon pink. Probably a club, empty. 

“Wow.” You said. The atmosphere had changed dramatically, contrasting with the previous page. The juxtaposition was somehow interesting. 

“Turn?” He asked.

You obeyed. Same disposition of pictures: two, smaller, at the center of the page, same setting — the club —  but through a different cut. A gothic black velvet armchair, the seat surrounded by elaborate swirls of sculpted ebony. The glimmering of metal in the darkness, reflecting the neon hot pink. 

“It looks like an adult club.” He murmured, his finger exploring the vague shape of chains hanging from the wall in the picture on the right. 

“I think so, too.” You agreed. “Have you ever visited one?” You asked, turning slightly to examine his reaction. 

He denied with a tut. “I’d like to visit one, though. It would be curious.” He shrugged.  “Have you?” 

You cocked your head to the side. “Kind of.”

He waited for you to elaborate. 

“Call it an occupational hazard of sort for a lingerie retailer. You just get used to a lot of crazy stuff, meet a lot of crazy people, get into a lot of crazy hobbies.” You approximately justified yourself.

“Was it for your… extracurricular?” He asked, a lazy smirk on his face. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed, licking your lips.

He nodded delicately, trying not to punch his chin into your collarbone. “Next?” He called and you turned the page. 

A bluish bathroom. Maybe a spa room, it had a massage bed. But everything was blue. Entirely blue. Blue tiles, blue floor, blue carpet, blue supplies. Blue. everywhere. Soothing, calm. “So much blue.” He commented. 

“I think she’s going through primary colours. Yellow, reddish pink, blue. We’ll see what’s next.” You explained. 

Tae stared at the picture. “Do you like it?”

“I’m not sure.” You turned the page. Again, two smaller pictures at the center of each page. The first one was a closeup of the massage bed, with its plush blue cover and a small shelf of products and candles. The other picture contained another detail, a white, thick candle and its burning wick against the dark blue tiles. 

You nodded with a knowing huff. 

“Want me to turn?” You asked. 

Taehyung hummed in approval. 

Black. And white. And grey. This is the same setting as the title page: bedroom, silken, glimmering sheets. But now you could figure out the rest of the room. A plain bedroom, the headboard made by a sophisticated tangle of iron swirls and bars, the rest of the scene empty except for a big wardrobe and a drawer. The setting in time is completely anonymous, the black and white chromatism killing any light that could suggest day or night or twilight. 

“Turn.”

First detail: the silken sheets appearing through the iron bars at the foot of the bed. 

Second detail: some absolutely ordinary, if not cheap and old clothes abandoned on the wooden floor of the room. 

This is where it starts. 

Taehyung was growing impatient, his hand getting restless on your leg. He started drawing small circles with his short nails on your inner thigh. "So…" 

You stopped turning the page, leaving it perfectly standing, pinched between your fingers. 

He suddenly shut his mouth, as if he had decided not to speak, however his glance gave him off, his eyes stuck on the page you had just uncovered. 

He moved his hand from your belly, catching your wrist and making you turn the page fully. 

On the page on the left a dainty, lithe female body occupied most of the picture, picturing the torso and lower body, covered only slightly in a cute, gingham lingerie set with small embroidered cherries. It looked like coquettish demureness, the combination extremely girly and juvenile on the model’s barely-there curves. 

You turned to Taehyung as you felt his adam’s apple bob against your neck. He was staring at the picture on the other page, where a wooden honey dipper hovered over the girl’s lower abdomen, dripping the sticky, sweet liquid on her skin, her bent thigh hiding her crotch from the camera. “I like the angle. And the colours.” You commented.

He nodded simply. 

You observed the picture for one more second before letting your fingers reach for the corner of the page to turn. 

“Would you let me do that to you?” He growled, leaving a soft kiss on your neck. 

Let him cover you in honey? “Would you lick it away?” You asked, curious, trying as hard as possible to play it cool. Secretly you were self-combusting. 

“Duh. Of course.” He kissed you again. 

“Yes.” You replied, without even thinking about it for half a second.

The following page moved back to the club, all black and magenta. This time everything you could see was the silhouette of someone laying on their front, naked, on a flat surface. It was impossible to recognise a male or female anatomy. It made everything more interesting. On the page beside, the picture focused on the dip of their spine, showing a vague outline of the shoulder blades and the frilly tip of a feather barely grazing the skin, as if the person in the room with them was running the… tool? down his or her spine. 

“And you, would you let me do this to you?” You asked, curious, looking at him. 

His fingers clawed at your lower thigh, making you hiss at his vicious grip. “You want to torture me, sweetie?” He teased, parting your thighs. The cool air licked at your sweaty skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. “Want to make me furious? Get me mad?” His lazy, soft kisses turned into an aggressive nipping, his main intent that of making bruises bloom on your tender skin. 

“I want to see you wild.” You replied, still hoping to sound detached, even though at this point it was your own arousal rather than your sweat making your thighs clammy. “I’ve seen your stages. You roar.” You used your free hand to grab and knead his knee, but unfortunately he stopped you. 

“Hands on the book.” He reprimanded. “What about my stages?”

Flashbacks of his Singularity performances ran through your mind. “You’re sultry. Seductive. Predatory. And so aggressive.” You explained. “So sinful...”  You admitted.

“I know it drives you crazy.” He whispered, nuzzling into the underside of your ear. 

“Fucking insane.” You huffed out, leaning into him. 

He chuckled. “You’re so weak for me.” He mocked you. 

You wiggled a little in his hold, your backside brushing against his lap, a deep, vibratoed moan exiting his mouth. “You’re so weak for me.” You teased back. 

And then you squealed. He had just bitten your shoulder. “Turn the page, you menace.”

You did as you were told. This time it was a woman for sure laying on the massage bed, her body covered from chest to knee by a pale fluffy towel. Again, everything felt a bit too blue. You liked that she looked overall fuller, curvier than the previous models, the towel draping around her curved belly, her fleshy thighs. It wasn’t that strategically planned plumpness. It was genuine, showing both the traditionally attractive and the socially unaccepted parts of body fat. It wasn’t all tits and ass. It was arms, calves, belly. And it looked beautiful. Still, you couldn’t see her face.

“You like her?” Taehyung asked. 

You shrugged. “Her body's non-canonically beautiful. You can tell that she loves her body. I like that she didn’t let society kill her vibe, that she likes her body so much that she wanted to have this kind of pictures taken. I think she trusts the photographer a lot.” You shook your head. “I’m so dumb. All of them must have trusted the photographer a lot. I don’t know why a curvier person would be more insecure about her body than a slimmer person.”

“I think society kind of taught us that people who don’t adhere to a certain beauty standard should or actually do feel ashamed for it.” Taehyung mumbled. “I don’t see why a curvier girl should be ashamed. And curvy is not just the sexy curve. Curvy is fleshy, handfuls everywhere. I don’t really care. I just want flesh and fullness to grip while I’m fucking.” He continued mumbling with a slightly careless but also complaining tone. 

Suddenly the meaning of the hand coming around your middle, gripping the skin on your side and occasionally your love handles changed meaning. “So that’s what you were doing when you gripped me?” You asked. The first time he did it during one of your previous dates, you had felt wary, almost called-out by his action. 

“When?”

“The first time we kissed. And then some.” You blushed. “I thought you were pointing out that I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat. You’re beautiful and sexy and yeah, you’re soft, so what? You feel so good. And we all have body fat. You like eating. You eat regularly and healthily. You care for yourself and love yourself. You’re one of the most confident women I’ve ever seen.”

You dipped your head, trying to avoid spilling the tear almost rolling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

“And you make lingerie look like sin.” He added, turning your head and holding you tighter. “I grip you and grab you because you’re sexy and because I need to stop myself from doing dumb, ridiculous stuff. And you’re squishy. It calms down my nerves. It soothes me.” He kissed your cheek. “If you ever decided to lose weight I would support you, of course, but if it were for me, I wouldn’t want you any other way.” He kissed you again. “And look!” he pointed to the following photography. “She seems to like curvy girls too.” He pointed to the other female figure appearing in the picture, standing beside the bed, untucking the towel and revealing the top of the laying woman’s breasts. “I like that they have a same-sex couple. Do you think they’ll have two boys too?” He asked. 

“Are you interested?” You asked, no judgement or excitement in your voice, trying to silently communicate that he was safe whatever his reply would be. 

“I mean, you have two girls, why not two boys?” He said, raising one shoulder. “Plus, I’m not opposed to it.”

“Have you ever had a boy?” You asked, quite blatantly.

He tutted. “It was a quick thing. I prefer girls, I think. The female body is more attractive.” He confessed. “It has way more secrets. It’s more interesting to explore.” He pushed his hips against your backside. “I think that the moment I feel attraction and curiosity, I let myself experience it. I don’t limit myself to something as dumb as gender.”

You loved his eclectic, versatile tastes. He is experimental and seductive, a natural hedonist. 

“That sounds good for you.” You admitted. 

“Have you had girls?” He asked, curious. 

You smiled. “Yeah. I was in a relationship with a girl, in uni. A small thing.” You told him. “And yeah, they’re more interesting.”

“Right, you mentioned.” Taehyung remembered.

“I don’t wanna sound rude or pervy but… how was the sex? I mean, is it different, other than anatomically speaking?” He asked. 

You exhaled, thinking about it more accurately, trying to remember. “Every person is different. I never really had male lovers, but the few subs I had all  had something special and different — not that I had that many, that is.” You blushed. 

He nosed his way through your hair and against your nape. 

“It was more… conversational?” You tried finding the right word. “We gave each other a lot of constructive feedback.” You reminisced. “And fuck, I loved how responsive she was.” You scrunched your face. “I do miss fucking a girl every now and then. Wrecking a pretty girl gives me quite a boost of adrenaline and self esteem.” You admitted with a wild, embarrassed laugh. 

“I agree to that.” He laughed too, his diaphragm moving with a belly laugh that ricocheted from his stomach into your back. “I can’t wait to wreck you.” He spoke with a dirty, hot, gruff voice. 

You arched your neck, offering him the curve of your shoulder as you licked your lower lip. “Why aren’t you inside me already?”

The hand on your thigh, which had lost some pressure, climbed half an inch higher. “Because you couldn’t wait to see this book.” 

You shook your head in disagreement. 

“And because I’ll put my fingers inside you first.” He said aggressively. “And because I’m waiting. When I’m so desperate that I’ll wake up sweaty and horny in the middle of the night because I was dreaming of your dripping, sweet cunt on my face, then I’ll come fuck you until your entire body is nothing but a pretty toy trained for my pleasure.” His hand shifted from the harsh grip on your side to the devious, light, teasing fingertip tracing your puffy areola and erect nipple which were pushing against the satin of your nightgown. "I need to wake up so fucked out that I can conjure your taste in my mouth, that I can almost feel the wetness of you around my fingers. Your pretty, red lips around my cock.” 

You hummed at that, wanting nothing but the stretching feel of his blunt, long erection inside your mouth, warm and salty down your throat. “Fuck my mouth, Tae. Please.”

He snarled and snickered. “Not a chance, darling. Now, turn the page.” He felt dumb for turning you down, but he had plans. He needed to resist. Good boys go to heaven. 

Turn the page. The black and white felt soothing after all the coloured shots. “Oh.” 

Taehyung breathed out loudly. “Fuck.”

You were too fascinated by the picture to look at him. 

“Yes?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” You replied. 

“You’d let me?” He asked again. 

You nodded. “Would you? Let me, I mean...”

“You wanna tie me up?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You momentarily put the book on your legs joining your pointer fingers together at the fingertip. “I have taken lessons, so...” You bit your lip, blushing.

He kissed your shoulder. “I can’t wait to try that. With you.” He gave you small bites this time, playful and caring. “And I’d be very happy if you taught me too.” His hand caressed your belly gently, the other one digging in the valley between your joined tights. 

“Thank you, baby.” You pressed your shoulders into his chest enjoying the solid feeling of his body supporting yours. 

“Anything for you.” He replied politely. “Now, can we move on?” He asked, trying to ignore the picture that had sparked the conversation, where a man wearing only boxers laid in bed, his wrists tied to the bedpost with a sturdy, rough rope. 

You nodded, picking up the book and turning the page. Back to the babygirl in the field. This time her lover had his mouth on her; the shot a closeup of his stubbly cheek and chin and his open mouth sucking at her inner thigh. In the matching picture his mouth was on her small breast, sucking her nipple over the fabric of her bra. You clenched your legs slightly, wiggling a little in your seat. 

It went maybe unnoticed. Maybe. Taehyung stopped breathing for a second, until you settled and he managed to gain his cool again. 

You managed to keep it cool with the second set, the dungeon, where the only thing really happening was for the feather to caress the submissive’s ass, in the picture on the left, only to be substituted by a furred glove on the following photograph. 

The third set had Taehyung gasping and moaning. You simply breathed out a small laugh. “Will you do this to me too?” You asked. 

“I’m gonna worship you head to toe, dove.” He grinned, observing the pictures. Both involved the standing woman massaging the laying one, with strong, oiled hands kneading the round globes of her ass and thighs, the soft and pale plants of her feet. 

“I love your hands.” You murmured, placing yours atop the one on your navel. 

He smirked. “Don’t you?” He twisted his wrist to intertwine your fingers. 

Nodding, you added: “They look so strong. And big.” You took a deep breath, daydreaming about the feel of them grabbing your breasts, your ass, your neck, pinning your wrists, moving inside you. Your brain had a special gallery dedicated exclusively to his hands. 

“I bet you can’t wait to have them inside you.” He teased, the hand on your thigh climbing a little closer to your heat. You were wondering how long it would take for him to find out about your little surprise for him. 

Let him live in innocence for now. 

“That, yes.” You admitted, not even playing coy. “And also I can’t wait to see them on yourself.” You provoked him, hoping that he would understand. 

“You want to see me touch myself?” He asked, his face absolutely impassive. 

“Yes.” You replied plainly. 

He laughed with a series of quiet exhales. “We’ll see.”

You turned a few pages, observing all the small details of the four different foreplay scenes. 

“Would you do it outdoors?” He asked at a certain point, his stare fixed on the coquettish blonde angel sucking off her partner at the picnic. 

You raised an eyebrow. “If the setting was right, yes. Though here in Seoul it's quite difficult.”

“We could visit my hometown. There are a lot of empty, remote fields over there.” He said, his arm holding you tight as he made both your bodies scoot back, away from the edge of the sofa.

“I would rather avoid you risking your career for a fuck out in the open air.” You commented pragmatically. 

“We’re only risking that if we get caught. And I’m sure we’re smart enough.” He tried to convince you. 

“What about insects? Bugs? Safety?” You asked, concerned. 

“We’ll think about it in detail if we ever decide to walk down this path, yeah?” He suggested respectfully. 

You pouted, nodding in agreement. 

“Holy shit, look at this.” You commented, quite shocked. In the dungeon, the dom was sprinkling glitters on the backside of his submissive, which you had discovered being — much to Taehyung’s chagrin — also a man.

“I want that. Oh my God, they're gonna get all over the place.” He replied, frowning at the thought. “You can go through major catastrophes and those bitches would still colonize every nook and cranny of your body.” His brow creased. “But fuck it looks amazing.” Especially since in the second picture the dom was using a leather glove to spank his sub, making all the glitter disperse into the air at the impact, creating a purplish halo around the silhouette of the spankee.

“I’m gonna spank you.” He said, out of the blue. “I hope you’re okay with that.”

Yes, sir, Your slutty brain replied. “We’ll see,” you said out loud. 

Ha laughed dryly. "You'll want me to. It's only a matter of time."

You turned around, smirking at him. You tipped his chin back with a finger, kissing him with a cruel tenderness. His eyes closed, initially surprised, but then he became more than eager to deepen the kiss. Still you drew back, while his mouth tried to chase after yours. 

"No." You whispered. 

"Are you telling me no?" He asked gruffly. "Mh?" The hand between your thighs had kept rising and by now his palm laid on the junction between your hip and thigh, his index tracing your mound. "Is it a no?" 

You moaned lasciviously. Was he going to discover your surprise for him? 

He finally reached your sex, expecting to meet a wet patch on your underwear. "____. Where are your panties?" He murmured in your ear. 

You bit your lip. "Not wearing any." You murmured gently. 

"Say it again." He growled. 

"I'm not wearing panties, Tae." You mewled tauntingly. 

He moved his hand from your navel to your breast, the other one cupping your crotch. 

"Naughty girl." He snarled. "Bad, bad girl." His mouth latched at your neck while his hands pushed you further into him, his erection pressing against the small of your back. 

"I want you." You whined. "So bad, Tae. Please." 

"You're wet for me?" He said, his mouth parting from your skin long enough to interrogate you, only to continue to lick you as soon as he was done talking. 

"I'm drenched. I want you. Make me cum, Tae, please."

His chest shook with an evil laugh. "You told me no earlier." He replied. 

"I made a mistake. I only wanted to tease you." You cried out, your free hand trying to reach for his between your legs. 

"Hands on the book, bad kitty." He said, nibbling your earlobe.

You obeyed with some quiet complaining. 

"Why would you tease me?" He asked

"I wanted you to want me." You confessed. "I wanted you to stop resisting me."

"I'm not gonna fuck you." He repeated. "But nothing is stopping me from making you cum with my fingers." He kissed your temple. "Are you okay with that?" 

You nodded. "Just make me cum, Tae." 

He snickered. "Then keep your hands on the book. Keep watching your kinky pictures. Let's see what makes you even wetter."

You whimpered as his long fingers moved against your folds, and you parted your legs further to grant him better access. 

On the following page, the women had moved from a tantric massage to a steamy, slow session of waxplay. The receiving partner was now laying on her back, her breasts exposed for her lover, her skin glistening with oil as the other woman let a droplet fall on her unmarred skin, however you could tell it wasn't the first drop from a stain barely visible in the corner of the picture, out of focus. 

Taehyung interrupted your musings with a twitch of his fingers, while he spoke directly in your ear. "What about waxplay, darling? Would you like to try that?" 

You exhaled at the movement, your head falling forward as the muscles on your neck went slack. 

"Your body would be a work of art, covered in coconut oil, sweat, droplets of wax and my cum."

You felt your soul leave your body. From your seated position your inner organs were positioned so that his fingers perfectly reached your g-spot. "Fuck, Tae, you're fucking perfect."

He kissed the corner of your mouth, the hand on your chest toying with the hem of your nightie until he slipped the strap off your shoulder and uncovered your naked breast. "Oh, you like it." He bent some more trying to reach for your mouth. He thought about using one hand to turn your face but he was content with where they were at the moment. 

The black and white bondage scene turned into a submission exercise, the woman standing on her knees over the face of the laying man, using a vibrator to pleasure herself. 

And he simply laid there, mouth open, waiting. You almost turned when Taehyung stopped you. "I'd love to try that." His voice was slightly strained, probably from the strange angle he was in. Both his arms were busy and working from a difficult position. Not that you noticed. 

Ever since he had started touching you, you had been in a haze, your head feeling extremely light and floaty. 

"Anything you want." You replied before your voice broke in a mewl. "I'm close." You were, already, and incredibly so. All you needed was for him to keep talking. "I wanna hear your voice."

"What do you want to hear, Lace? How soft your cunt feels on my fingers? It feels like fucking velvet, darling. Do you want to know how much I wanna eat you?" He moved closer to your ear. “I wanna hear you scream for me, Lace. I want you to be so loud that everyone will know you’re having the best orgasm of your life.” He bit your earlobe. “I’m gonna make you cum so many times you lose count. I’m gonna make you regret teasing me. I’m gonna make you cry in every best way possible.” His fingers moved faster between your legs, his thumb meeting your clit. “I’m gonna fuck you so much you’re gonna hate yourself for complaining I haven’t fucked you yet.”

His dirty words got to your head like liquor, your hips undulating to find the final stimulus you needed to come apart. You felt your backbone roll dangerously and in a few seconds you snapped forward, his forearm on your chest keeping you upright through your climax. “That’s it, Lace. Ride my fingers.” He commanded and you complied, like the needy, desperate animal you are for him. Only for him. 

Never in your life had you experienced the need to bend over backwards for anyone, least of all a man; yet, here you were, pliant like putty in his hands, feeling submissive for the first time of your life. “Taehyung.” You whispered, too lost to realise it was barely hearable. Still, he noticed, slowing down his movements. 

“Are you okay, dove?” He checked on you, his voice warm and caring. 

You shook your head yes. “I need a second.” You said through heavy breath.

He moved away the hand on your breast, bringing it to your cheek, making you ease back against him and cradling your body gently. “It was beautiful, Lace. Beautiful. I can’t wait to see you do that again.” He murmured, comforting you and praising you. 

You giggled cutely in reply, turning toward his face and puckering your lips. 

He read your cue and pressed his lips to yours chastely. “Need some water, dove?” He asked. 

You nodded and for a second he thought how he could possibly grab the closest glass with both his hands busy. Noticing that, you caught his dirty hand and brought it to your face.

“Lace.” He groaned as you observed the slick coating his fingers. 

“Tae.” You groaned right back at him, turning to give him a nice view before you put his fingers in your mouth, sucking lewdly. 

His hips rolled below you, his eyes fighting to stay open while his forehead met your temple, jaw hanging low in a silent invitation to slide your tongue in his mouth. What you did, your devious will overpowering you, was to free his digits and part them in a V against your lips and chin, lashing your tongue out in the valley between his middle and ring finger to make out with him. 

The sound he emitted was something so dirty and lewd that you found yourself turned on again, ready to slip his hand between your thighs once more.

“I cannot fuck you tonight.” He reminded himself once he parted from your tongue — and his hand. 

“I still don’t see why.” You teased, always the temptress in a wild attempt to lure him into your bed. 

“I need to take my time.” He gave himself the whole talk. “I need to learn you, your language, your tells and cues. Let’s run the bases and then I’ll take it home. Let’s enjoy every little step that takes us there.” He explained, giving you his whole vision. 

You nodded. This is what he wanted. To make every single milestone meaningful, important, unique. “You should have said.” You caressed his face. “I wouldn’t have been so bratty, had I know of that.” You kissed his cheekbone. 

“It’s cool.” He breathed out, eyes shut, teeth gritted. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, fondling him some more.

“I’m just… dealing with something.” He replied, stressed, pressing his hips against your. 

And you felt him. He must have been pretty big. 

“Would you let me take care of you?” You questioned tentatively.

He shook his head. Then waited a few second. “Would it be okay if I grind against you?”

You raised your eyebrows, only to grin madly after it. “Yeah. Whatever works for you, love. Touch yourself, grind, I don’t care, just… let me be there for you.” You comforted him. 

“Water first.” He said, using his clean hand to reach for the glass, mourning the departure from your chest for a quick second. As soon as he brought the glass to your lips, you took it from his grasp and placed his palm back to your chest, taking a small sip and and offering him some. He stretched over your shoulder and you helped him drink, tipping the glass carefully to avoid him choking or spilling. As soon as he was done you moved the glass back to the small table, grabbing the book in the process. 

“Okay, back to where we left.” His hand covered in a dried up mixture of your and his spit laid on your navel, hiking up your nightie. The other was cementified to your naked breast, toying with your nipple. 

On the pages there was an escalation of foreplay, the American sweethearts moving on to her offering him a blowjob.

“You okay with that?” You asked Taehyung, refusing to assume that all men love blowjobs. 

“I think so, yeah. I hope in the near future I’ll be able to feed you my cock multiples time a day, sweetie.” He indulged in your kink, still shocked by your earlier request to suck him off. 

You had to stop yourself from asking him to feed you now. He had asked for one step at a time. You owed him that. “All you need to do is ask, Tae.” You simply reminded him. 

“Can’t wait to see you on your knees for me.” He mumbled, his hips thrusting up against you.

“What about spanking tools?” He asked as you turned the page, amazed by the riding crop that the dom was sporting. 

“I’ve used them in the past, but I’ve never had them used on me.” You confessed. “I tested them on myself first before using them on someone, obviously, but I was never… I’ve never been truly dominated by someone else, so—”

He moaned and caressed your neck with the tip of his nose. “That’s okay. We don’t have to...”

You shook your head. “I want to, though. Just— easy. As you said, one step at a time.”

He ohed at that, nipping at your jutting collarbone. 

You went through some more pages, discussing details, objects, feelings. 

Of course your fascination with the dungeon scene grew when Taehyung cupped your pubis once more as a flogger appeared in the picture. “I’m close, I just wanna feel your wetness.” He explained. “I’d love to use that—” He indicated the flogger with a gesture of his chin “—to tease you. Drag its soft tips from your toes to your breasts, flick it innocently over your sensitive nipples. Draw lazy circles on your belly. Watch you lick, suck and hump the handle.”

You awed at that. Most importantly you awed at how he was pressing his hard on against your asscheeks through his trousers and your nightie. 

“I’m close.” After ten minutes of being on the very edge of it, he gave up and brought his hand to his crotch, just adding more pressure. You felt somehow disappointed that you wouldn’t feel him on you anymore. 

The next page was his undoing. In the bedroom scene, the man was still bound, propped up against the pillows, wide eyed, imploring. On the right page you discovered why: the woman was showing him her backside, on her knees, chest to the mattress, fucking herself with a huge dildo. “Fuck” he growled. “Lace, would you?” He asked, needing you to talk, to give him a scenario. 

“Yes, I would. I would do it like that but I would also do it with your cock in my mouth, the dildo making me so relaxed that I could easily deepthroat the monster you’re hiding in your pants, mister.” You teased. 

He smiled like the devil, barely holding in a snicker. “Fuck that, Lace, you just want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?” He mocked. 

“I’ve never been so hungry for a cock, Taehyung. I just want to see you fucked out.” You had never felt so dirty and sexy in your life. You were fighting with your teeth and claws for him. There were so many people out there willing to do anything to get him. Might as well set the bar up high and offer him more than anyone else would ever dare to. 

He whimpered, his forehead pressed to your nape. 

You turned, grabbing his chin, making him look at you. “Let me see that bliss, Tae. Show me your pretty face when you cum for me.” You spurred him on gently. “Give me your best look. Come on, I wanna save that for the next time I fuck myself with my toy. Please.”

And he crumbled, holding your gaze, precipitating into oblivion. His mouth hung open, releasing a deep cry while his chest fell into your shoulders, pressing into you. He couldn’t care less about cumming in his pants, or messing up his trousers, in that moment he was only looking for a way to let his soul slither under your skin and tangle with yours. He wanted closeness and warmth and to leave his body and feel light. 

When you saw his eyelids tremble, you tutted repeatedly, calling for his attention. “Keep looking at me, baby bear.”

He whined at the nickname, fighting the postorgasmic haze threatening to drag him under. 

You fumbled with your hold of the book, freeing a hand to caress his wavy hair. “That’s it, baby.” You murmured, finally allowing him to let go of the snippet of control he had left over his body. “Are you okay, Tae?”

He nodded and inhaled against your neck, his mouth opening and laving your skin with heavy, wide and wet licks. He still had his hand between your legs and it looked like he was very happy with it.

"Are you happy, baby?" You asked him, combing his hair back. 

He simply offered you an elated smile, nodding and nuzzling into you. 

"You look so pretty when you cum, Tae. And so damn sexy." You praised him, being absolutely straightforward about your thoughts. 

"I feel so good, ____." He said, his expression completely blissful. 

"Do you want to keep leafing through the book?" You asked, still completely focused on him. 

He scratched his cheek and nodded, even though he barely hid a yawn. 

After making sure that he really wanted to keep going, you took hold of the book again. The couples in the pictures moved on from foreplay to actual intercourse, simply showing the closeness of body parts, but never including genitals in the photographs. It was only possible to identify which belonged to whom because of the light and setting. You appreciated the so-to-say gender neutrality of the shots.

"It's interesting how all the couples feel the same. The positions are slightly different but still there's always the same closeness, intensity, passion and intimacy." He noticed. 

You agreed. 

"It feels like they're together not just as in doing stuff together but actually exist together. They're one." He said, running his finger along the same possessive pose of the arm — snaking around the lovers back and keeping them close — which was featured on four different pictures put together, side by side, from each of the couples. 

And finally it was the open mouths, the hard grips, the arched backs of an orgasm. 

"It's so… Natural. The way we feel pleasure." He murmured, his heavy breathing and the movement of his lips teasing the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I mean, I know that there are some people who don't like sex. Or who don't perceive it as a necessity. And that's natural too." He thought about it some more. "But this feels like a universal language. Like music. You can read it in its little signs." 

You were growing impatient again. The book was almost over, only a few pages left. What happens now? Does he want to leave? Is he going to stay? 

You hesitated before turning the page, but he spurred you on. 

This was aftercare. While the other photographs looked like they were made for the observers' aesthetic pleasure, this looked like invading the models' privacy. 

"I feel uncomfortable." You spoke gently. 

Taehyung worried. "Is it… Do you need space?" He asked, realising that you've been sitting for almost an hour in a very uncomfortable position. He started unraveling his hold on you but you stopped him, blocking his hand between your legs with the muscles of your thighs and blocking his other arm by catching his wrist. "I was talking about the pictures. It feels like I'm seeing something that I'm not supposed to see."

"Yup." He agreed. "But I like the one in the field. The one with the sweethearts." The sun had almost completely set behind the trees and the boy and girl were sitting exhausted in the backseat, her body perched on top of him, his head resting on her breast. "I would stay inside too." Taehyung said. "It's so warm. Intimate. And when you're tired and vulnerable it's so good to feel that emotionally together with someone. To stay sheathed inside." He mused. 

You felt his fingers twitch almost imperceptibly on your folds. A wave of wetness oozed out. 

"Oh, you're ready for another, doll?" He grinned, brushing against you more pressingly. 

"Tae." You cried out. 

"Yes, Lace?" 

"Let me suck you." You said with a more imposing voice than before. 

He made you turn your head and look him in the eye. 

"You want that so bad?" He asked mischievously. "I guess you won't have any problem saying it again as you look me in eyes if you're truly so desperate for my dick."

You shook your head briefly. "Please Tae, let me suck your dick. If you don't give that to me I swear I'll go down the street and suck it to the first attractive man I see." You said, growing impatient both to his denying and his teasing. 

"How can I say no to that?" He grinned sardonically. "Plus it would be dumb of me to put you at risk, wandering through the streets at this hour of the night wearing that skimpy mess of a nightgown." He parted your hair and moved it to the side, removing the locks that had stuck to your neck because of your sweat and his saliva. "And no panties.” His hand squished your breast aggressively. “You're driving me crazy with all this lace, baby.” He took a small pause, like he was thinking. “Come on, you want my cock in your mouth? Get in position and be ready to take it." He directed you harshly. 

You put away the book, only the acknowledgements page left unread, and jumped to your feet, much to his chagrin, kneeling on the floor with the speed of a lightning. 

“God, you sure are hungry for my dick, uh?” He kept getting cockier and cockier. 

You probably should have played it cool, but you were too into it to fake aloofness. “Undo your trousers, Tae, please.”

He smirked, his eyelids lowered to look at you on the floor. He looked like a sex god, the kind of god that teaches unspeakable, sinful things. 

His hands moved slowly and deliberately, so that you had the time to spot a wet patch of fabric where his tip was located. As soon as he undid his belt, you threw your hands at his button, but he stopped you. 

“You don’t want me to block your hands, do you?” He warned you. 

You raised an eyebrow as if doubting his words. 

“I know basic knots, doll. Don’t test me.” He growled. 

You pouted and looked at the floor. 

He tutted. “Have I offended you, doll?” He questioned. 

You rocked your head in a way that meant “so and so”. 

He shook his head. “I’m so strict with you. I’m sorry, Lace.” He took a moment, thinking about how to make it up to you. “Would you be happy again if I asked you to pick a toy to play with while I use your mouth, doll?”

Your mouth opened slightly in surprise as you processed his request. You looked up at him. His zipper was undone, his cock partly out, his hand slowly, heavily petting it. 

“Is this what you wanted to see, doll?” He threw his head back, licking his lips and giving you quite the show. “Go pick your toy, nymph.”

You sucked your lips in, indecisive between staying and not losing one second of this view or going to get something to relieve yourself.

“Go quick, doll.” He ordered. 

Staying with your eyes fixed on him, you stood up and walked backwards to your room, running as soon as he got out of your sight. You quickly fished your favourite dildo from your bedside table, rushing back to the sofa. 

“Here already? You chose quickly, doll. Are you sure you chose wisely?” He questioned, his voice caving when his hand reached the tip and circled it slowly but energetically.

“Yes, Taehyung.” You said, showing him your candidate, turning it so he could analyse it. 

“It’s a very nice toy.” He commented, “It looks squishy.”

“It’s a special silicone.” You explained. “It was expensive but it feels amazing. And it’s safe, most importantly. No silly, cheap rubber.”

“Excellent, sweetie. Come kneel, doll.” He invited you and you complied obediently. “Such a good girl.” He praised you. “Look at you, all pretty, diligent, cute and wide-eyed. Who would guess that you’re the filthiest nymph ever?” He sat on the edge of the pillow, spreading his legs as far as his trousers allowed.

“May I roll them down?” You asked, leaving the toy stranding on its base on the floor while he nodded, your hands tried to push his linen trousers to his calves and ankles. 

“I want you to put the toy inside, doll.” He growled. 

You looked at him with an endearing expression. “Will you make it wet for me?”

“Want me to spit on it, doll?” He asked and you nodded neutrally. 

He started collecting some saliva in his mouth before ducking to collect the accessory and rolling his tongue out, letting the liquid spread over the thick head. 

“The base is important.” You tipped him, “it’s were I need it to be more slippery, since it’s thicker.”

“Okay, dove.” He said, his lips puckering dragging a thick coat of wetness all around the base. 

It looked very erotic. Especially with his other hand stroking his shaft

What looked even more erotic was to see him stare at you before sliding his face up, all the way to the tip, his mouth opening and swallowing two thirds of the impressive length. His hand became faster on his hard-on.

“Holy shit, Tae, I— ” Words lost sound and meaning when you saw him bob his head on the toy, closing his eyes and moaning. He played with it for a minute or so before slipping it out of his lips, offering it to your chin. 

There is a saying. No sub is truly trained unless they kiss whatever their dom puts before their lips. 

And you kissed it. 

He grinned with lust-fevered eyes. “Put it in, Lace.”

You took a second, staring at him. Your hands naturally reached the hem of your nightie and dragged it up and away.

“Fuck, doll. Look at those tits, you’re delicious, babe.” He praised you, and you beamed up at him, retrieving your toy and bringing it between your thighs, the tip already at your entrance.

“In, Lace.”

Once more you obeyed.

A moan escaped your throat and echoed from his own lips. He had moaned himself. 

“Shit, all the way in nymph. All the way.” He said, replicating your pace on his cock. 

When you bottomed out, he gripped his base, slipping his hand down to his balls and squeezing them delicately. With his eyes closed, head thrown back, he rumbled: “leave it there. Don’t move. If you can make me cum before you do, I’ll stay the night. But remember I won’t be fucking you.” He regained his controlled demeanour, staring at you, voice empathetic. “It’s up to you. I’ll still go if you want me to. Just know that there’s a way, if you want to make me stay.”

Distracting yourself from the filling sensation, you dragged yourself back to reality, making the best of the moment. As his hand gripped his base, you leaned in and licked the head with the tip of your tongue. 

His rumble sounded like an earthquake. “Do what you want to, doll. Remember our game.”

Grinning, you opened your mouth and took him in as far as he would go. 

You took maybe one third of him. 

God, he was so big, his skin glistening, his veins pulsating so fascinatingly just under the surface. 

He caressed your face and hummed. "Beautiful." 

You took two more inches, eyes watering, lungs burning, but oh so determined to take all of him. 

Backing up a little, you released some of his length to focus on the tip, twirling your tongue around it as you regained your breathing. 

When you felt ready, you sinked again, adding one inch to your previous goal. 

"Fuck, so tight, doll, you're a crime." His hips jutted forward and you opened your eyes wide, a little surprised by the motion. A single teardrop spilled, not due to discomfort but only to his shaft hitting the back of your throat. 

"You okay, doll?" He checked in on you as soon as he felt the droplet hit his thumb. His hand gently tangled in your hair and pushed you back delicately, trying to free your mouth. You whined as his tip slipped out of you with a pop, even though you had tried to suck on him to keep your hold.

"Listen carefully, _____. I need to fuck your mouth, nymph." He said, panting, trying to control himself. "Can I put my hands in your hair? Is it okay if I stroke in?" He asked, worried.

You just nodded. "I want that, Tae. Just use me." You pleaded, caressing his erection, placing small kisses on the thick underside. 

"Good. I just thought it was good to warn you. And make sure that you like that, doll." He combed your hair. "Now let's get it, sweetheart."

He showed no mercy. The moment you sucked his tip past your lips, he started pushing in with short, quick jabs. However, when he saw you getting more and more of him inside, he lost all semblance of control. 

In the meanwhile you had lost any sensation apart from those coming from your mouth, almost forgetting the toy inside you, of which you were reminded the moment he started thrusting so hard that your whole body began to roll back and forth. 

He groaned before murmuring deeply, "I'm gonna cum." At that he zoned out, going completely silent, his thrusts getting sloppy before he spilled into you with a long, raspy hum.

You welcomed his taste in your mouth, as he fussed, whimpering ‘don't swallow’. His first spurt was already down your throat but you focused on the second, the third, the last one a weak series of drops. He stayed still a few second and you admired his form: lush ringlets of hair sticking to his forehead, head tipped back as he filled his lungs hungrily before huffing out, his breathing pattern quick and heavy. His lashes fluttered and his brows knitted together every few second as he tried to get a grip on himself. He licked his lips, which had grown too dry with all the panting, his eyes finally opening and focusing on you. 

You slowly pulled him out of your mouth. 

"Lemme see." He growled. 

You knew what he meant. 

"Such a little nymph." He praised you, and you felt your inner walls flutter at that, moving the toy inside you. 

"Do you want to swallow it? Drink me?" He asked with a condescending tone. 

You nodded, trying not to spill his release from your tongue. 

"Do it." 

Eagerly, you did, the gulping sound almost too loud in the quiet room. 

"Show me." He said, just as you parted your lips to do just that, assuring him that not a drop had gone to waste. 

"Come here, doll. Keep the toy inside.” He grumbled, lowering himself to put on his boxers, coming close to you and kissing the top of your hair in the process.

Biting your lip, you stood up, quickly propping one knee on the sofa and straddling him, one hand gripping the base of the dildo. 

“Tae.” You whispered. 

He kissed your lips delicately, simply pressing his lips to yours. “Want me to do it?” He asked. 

You nodded. 

He caught your hand on your crotch and substituted it with his, the other one grabbing your ass. “Can I move?”

You nodded, “I just need hard and fast, please.”

Taehyung grinned, kissing your forehead as you lowered your head, looking at his veiny forearm starting to pump the toy inside. “Is it good like this—”

“Faster!” You exclaimed, your hand tugging at the hair of his nape. 

In response he placed his lips on your cheek, nibbling at your soft skin. He hammered the toy inside you, teasing you on how nasty, kinky and absolutely divine you were, how incredible you looked, how much he wanted you to cum, how he was going to destroy you the moment he’d get to be inside you. 

You felt on the very edge of pleasure, the sensation so disturbing since you felt like something was missing. 

“Tae?” You asked with a whiny voice. 

He slowed down, trying to let you focus on talking“What is it, doll?” He huffed gently.

“I need to touch myself.” You said with a pout. 

He nodded and bent to your mouth. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

He kept his pattern slow, trying to adapt it to your fingers on your clit. He synced up so nicely that you managed to rub yourself for maybe a minute before the tip of the toy reached the perfect depth, making you come apart in Taehyung’s hold. 

“That’s lovely, doll. Lovely.” He whispered in your ear, speaking sweet nothings that you couldn’t quite register from your fucked out state. 

After a couple minutes you managed to go back to reality. “Are you okay, Tae?” You asked. 

“I should be asking that. You moaned your lungs out, doll.” He kissed your lips, bringing your wrist up from your mound to his mouth, smearing his lower lip with your wetness before licking it sinfully. 

“Kim Taehyung.” You said in warning and exasperation. 

He looked at you wide eyed, playing innocent. “I believe you earned me as your sleeping buddy tonight.” He joked. 

“Indeed.” You said, wincing a little as he extracted the dildo. 

“Are you sure it’s okay, you’re okay?” He asked. 

You simply nodded. “Let’s just head to bed. It’s four thirty. I’ve got work tomorrow morning.” You explained. 

“Can we have have breakfast or will you have to rush out?” He asked, already in tiger cub mode. 

Your body deflated in desperation over your lost sleep but you smiled gladly when you looked up at him. “I’ll be happy to wake up early and have breakfast.”

Cleaning up was a bit messy, especially finding sleeping clothes for Taehyung, still you managed to hit the bed at five am, Taehyung managing to stay in his lane for maybe five minutes before cuddling up against you and falling asleep like a toddler. 

Of course your head tried to process how you felt about the whole event, but your exhausted body and his gentle embrace cradled you to sleep. 

[arrestjellyfish]

Rainbow Blossoms

Chapter 1: Saturday

[Sanders Sides, romantic prinxiety / Virgil/Roman]

Summary:

Tattoo artist Roman Prince goes to the local florist to visit his elderly friend, Céleste Tempȇte, and pick some flowers to use as inspiration for a new design.

But instead of finding a soft old woman amongst the iridescent display of flora, he meets her anxious emo grandson. Virgil Tempȇte is everything you would not expect to find in a flower shop.

Cue intrigued simp noises.

Other chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter warnings: swearing, suggestive language, mention of mild illness, brief mention of artwork depicting mild blood

Chapter word count: 6,900

Read on AO3 or below!

[Also available as a podfic!]

oOo

It was unusually warm for a midsummer day in England. Crowds of people had flocked to the streets in excitement, hoping to soak up the best of the sunshine before the clouds were bound to return with a vengeance later that week.

Roman waltzed across the cobblestone road, inhaling rich scents of earthy vegetables and fresh, salty fish. Market vendors hailed from every direction, boasting low prices on sugar snap peas (freshly-picked that morning) and 2 kilos for the price of one on the juiciest peaches. Pedestrians of every age bustled around, energised by the atmosphere.

A burly man cut across Roman’s path, lugging a crate of dirt-caked carrots across the road. Roman had to sidestep to avoid crashing into him. He bumped into a metal pole on one of the many market stands in his haste, bruising his arm.

‘Are you quite all right, young man?’ the woman behind the stall asked in a kind voice.

A wide grin broke onto his face as he rubbed his aching arm. ‘I’m wonderful, thank you, madam!’

He adored market day.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he knew it would be Remy demanding he get his arse back to work. Really, Roman knew he should have been hurrying back to the studio, but how could he possibly be expected to forego a gentle stroll through the town centre on such a wondrous day as this? 

Besides, he had a perfectly valid excuse to be out of the stuffy tattoo parlour on this bright afternoon. The client he had had a consultation with earlier had requested quite an intricate design for their future tattoo, consisting of various flowers. Roman felt a duty to purchase a bouquet for reference, wanting even his initial sketches to live up to his reputation as an artist. He hadn’t been nominated tattooist of the month three months in a row for nothing, after all.

To aid in the completion of his quest, he knew the perfect, quaint little flower shop hidden away behind the sandstone buildings of the high street. There was an abundance of flower stalls dotted along the market, of course, though Roman was well-versed in selecting the finest of flora (having had plenty of opportunities to woo handsome young men in his 25 years) and knew a wider selection would be available at Beau Blossoms.

There was also a sense of loyalty that made him skip past the flower stalls and duck into the familiar crooked backstreet. He had become well acquainted with his favourite florist’s elderly owner, Céleste Tempȇte, who Roman had grown to see as one of his dearest friends, even if their 50-year age gap was unconventional.

He quickened his pace as he neared the modest shopfront, it’s pale blue paint chipping from years of wear. The windows were adorned with an iridescent display of the most gorgeous flower arrangements, as usual.

‘Good afternoon, mon fleur d’amour!’ Roman sang heartily as he pushed the glass door open, ducking his head with practised ease to avoid hitting it on the bell that jingled above him.

He breathed deeply at the onslaught of pungent floral scents. The intensity of the pollen had overwhelmed him at first all those months ago, though he had grown accustomed to it and now welcomed the attack on his senses as if greeting an old friend.

Crooked, aged floorboards creaked beneath him as he stepped around the corner of the entranceway. ‘How is the fairest woman in town fairing on this fair day?’

Roman looked up at the wooden desk where Céleste would always be slumped, doing a sudoku puzzle and smiling widely at Roman’s antics.

Then he froze.

Sitting in Céleste’s rickety stool was a complete stranger. They looked around Roman’s age, perhaps a tad younger, and were a decidedly different sight from what Roman had expected.

Céleste was a stout woman with silver hair who would often wear pastel floral dresses, with a mint-green shawl perpetually draped across her rounded shoulders. This new person looked similarly below-average in height, though otherwise was a polar opposite. They appeared scrawny and the pale skin on their hands and neck was practically swallowed by an oversized black and purple tartan jacket. Their ripped black skinny jeans (complete with chains and studded belt) were a far cry from Céleste’s nude pantyhose and where Céleste’s grey eyes would crinkle with delight at Roman’s entrance, this person’s dark eyes were wide with surprise and framed by the blackest eyeliner and smokey purple eyeshadow.

‘You’re not my Céleste,’ Roman said, feeling robbed.

The stranger’s eyes grew wider still and their eyebrows pulled down in anger. ‘Dude, what the fuck? You flirt with my grandma?’

Roman held his hands up in surrender, hoping to placate the sudden hostile atmosphere. ‘Relax, Count Drag-ula. I’m gay.’

‘Oh…’ the stranger breathed, seeming humbled and embarrassed by their outburst.

They slumped in their seat, having been sitting ramrod straight since Roman had entered. Then their arms folded around their torso and their shoulders hunched up as if protecting their neck. Bright purple hair fell over their eyes as they looked to the floor. The intimidating air that had been so pronounced in them seconds previously faded and was replaced by what Roman recognised as debilitating shyness.

It clicked pretty quickly after that.

‘You must be Virgil Tempȇte, right?’

Céleste had mentioned her grandson on many occasions during their friendly chats. Mostly she only mentioned him in passing, offhandedly saying that he had moved back home after a year in London, or boasting about what Virgil had gotten her for her 75th birthday (a vintage encyclopedia of 18th-century fashion trends which Roman had had the good fortune of borrowing). Though a few months previously, in an act of desperation, she had spoken much more candidly about her grandson. She had sought Roman’s advice on how she could help her beloved petite chauve-souris to become more confident in himself and overcome his severe anxiety.

Roman’s heart had warmed in hearing the old woman care so intensely about her grandson’s wellbeing. When Roman himself had been struggling with his confidence back in school, his parents had not exactly been forthcoming with support. It was refreshing to witness such unconditional love between family members.

His advice had mainly been that there was not much that Céleste could do to enforce a stronger sense of self-worth in Virgil, but that she should simply let him know that she loved and supported him and would be there for him as he grew.

Now, Roman presumed Virgil had come out of his shell, at least a little, given his rather eccentric makeup and clothing choices. Though he was still curled into himself protectively as he gave Roman a wary look through a wisp of his fringe.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Céleste talks about you a lot,’ Roman said easily, offering one of his winning smiles.

It was, unfortunately, not met with the same enamoured responses he was accustomed to receiving. In fact, rather than dazzled by Roman’s charm, Virgil looked mortified.

Hearing that someone had been talking about you behind your back to a complete stranger was likely a little distressing to someone with an anxiety disorder, Roman realised. He moved the conversation on quickly.

‘I’m Roman Prince.’ He stepped forward to hold out his hand, which Virgil took tentatively. His fingertips were smooth. ‘I imagine your grandmother has mentioned me before.’

‘Um,’ Virgil stalled, pulling his hand back to himself and shaking his jacket sleeve so that it fell back over his fingers. ‘I’m not sure.’

Indignance overwhelmed Roman’s being.

‘Oh, come now.’ He leaned sideways against the desk, sticking out his chin just enough to profess confidence, not enough to intimidate. He had refined his poses down to a tee. ‘Your grandmother must have told you tales of the handsome young prince who brightens her days with a soft serenade,’ he finished the sentence in a lilting melody.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted (they were a beautiful splash of rose against his fair skin, Roman thought). Pride swelled in Roman at the look of recognition on Virgil’s face. Céleste must have regaled her family with plenty of enthralling stories of Roman’s magnetism and penchant for chivalry.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Roman drawled with a confident smirk.

‘You’re the guy that grabbed the cactus like a microphone, aren’t you?’

Roman’s smile dropped instantly at the way Virgil’s lips tugged up in amusement.

‘Yes, well.’ He bridled a little, standing upright again. ‘T’was not my finest moment.’

‘Yeah, maybe not,’ Virgil mumbled. He bit his lip in what Roman assumed was an effort to contain laughter.

Heat flooded Roman’s cheeks and he promptly spun away from the table.

‘So she would tell you that story and nothing of my usual elegance,’ Roman grumbled, starting to delicately run his fingers over the blossoms displayed on the shelves. He had not taken Céleste for one to actively humiliate him.

‘No, she - I -’ Virgil stammered. ‘I’m sorry. Grandma - she has said plenty of nice things about you too, I just…’

Roman turned back to him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the pained look that pinched his features.

‘That’s just the one that sticks in the mind, y’know?’ Virgil’s long arm stretched upwards as he scratched at the back of his neck. Roman thought it might have been a way to dispel the awkwardness as Virgil’s elbow bent at such an odd angle that it partially hid his flushed cheek.

Not one to hold a grudge unnecessarily - especially not against such endearing young men - Roman smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgement.

Virgil fidgeted on his stool, seeming hesitant, then slid off of it to stand up. Though he didn’t seem much more at ease on his feet, shuffling nervously and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘You, um, you're the guy that brings her fruit tea in the mornings and texts her cute animal videos, right?’

‘C’est moi!’ Roman said with a bright grin, hoping his cheery disposition would comfort Virgil somewhat. He felt an inexplicable need to ensure the other man felt calm.

‘Well… thanks,’ Virgil mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets, picking at the frayed sleeves around his fingers, then burying them in his pockets again. ‘Dad and I kinda worry about her being here on her own every day, since we live a bit further out of town. It’s… nice to hear her talk about you.’

Not for the first time, and what he was sure certainly wouldn’t be the last, Roman’s chest filled with joy at hearing about the sheer love shared between the Tempȇtes.

‘But of course,’ he said, happy to see Virgil’s shoulders soften from their previous rigidity. ‘I make sure she does not go a day without seeing a friendly face, though I’m sure as wonderful as she is Céleste must have made plenty of friends in her years here.’

‘Yeah, but none like you,’ Virgil replied without pause. There was a small smile curling his lips and it was the first genuine show of happiness Roman had witnessed in him. It was quite captivating.

Then Virgil’s shoulders were suddenly raised to his neck again and he rocked backwards on his feet, putting some distance between them (at least as much as was possible in a 20-square-metre shop packed full with buckets and bundles of flowers). Roman tried to ignore the swell of disappointment in his chest.

He did not think himself skilled at much beyond his talent for tattooing and the great art of courtship, though he was confident in his ability to read the atmosphere of a room and knew to change the subject before the anxious man became any more uncomfortable.

‘So,’ Roman started, turning back to the various bunches of flowers that sat in the water troughs around the edges of the shop. He cradled the bright bloom of a sunflower in his palms and lifted it slightly from its water to better admire its beauty. ‘Where is the celestial woman? She must be on quite a grand adventure to have left behind her beloved blossoms!’

‘She’s sick.’

Roman’s stomach lurched and he felt the colour drain from his face in an instant. The sunflower dropped back into the bucket with a light splash and clang as the stem hit the metal base.

He snapped his gaze onto Virgil, who had opted to take his hands out of his pockets again and was twiddling a stem of white hyacinths between his fingers. He seemed completely undisturbed by the words that had just left his mouth.

‘My gosh, will she be all right?’ Roman asked, his voice shaking. ‘Is she in the hospital? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, shit.’ Virgil’s eyes blew wide and the white petals stopped their twirling in his hold. ‘I didn’t mean - she’s just got the flu.’

Roman was unconvinced of how reassuring that should have been, given Céleste’s ripe age.

Apparently his uncertainty was palpable as Virgil hurriedly continued, ‘My dad’s looking after her. It’s really mild, don’t worry.’

A massive sigh of relief escaped Roman and he felt the tension that he didn’t realise had seized his body begin to ebb away. Céleste had proudly proclaimed her son to be the most attentive medical nurse in the world, and given her compassionate nature Roman had not doubted for a second that that would be true of her own offspring. She was in safe hands.

‘Dear Zeus, don’t scare me like that!’ Roman cried with a steadying hand on his chest, though it was not a sincere reprimand and was followed by a breathy laugh.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil said, smiling apologetically.

Despite Roman’s brief upset, the misunderstanding seemed to have broken the last of the tension between them and Virgil did not flinch away when Roman took a step closer. He did it under the pretence of wiping his fingers dry on the tatty, damp hand towel that perpetually hung on a hook in the wall. They pulled away wetter than they had been before. ‘It’s no issue, Virgil.’

‘If it helps,’ Virgil offered, ‘I reacted just the same when Dad first told me.’

‘Oh?’ Roman prompted, feeling like he wasn’t ready for Virgil to stop talking yet.

The slighter man tended to squirm a little as he spoke, though not in an uncomfortable way; it seemed to be habitual more than anything. Habit or not, his lithe body twisted in such a subtle way that it was almost reminiscent of a pulse or a rhythmic dance. Roman found himself entranced by Virgil’s mannerisms as well as his character. And, undoubtedly, his beauty. ‘How so?’

Roman leaned his hip against the desk, locking his arms in a way that gently pushed his chest forward and stretched his t-shirt lightly. He knew it would be subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Though, he thoroughly hoped that would be the only form of arousal he was avoiding.

Right on cue, Virgil’s eyes danced down to Roman’s chest, then flitted sideways to the window, back to Roman’s chest (where they lingered for a couple of seconds), and then down to the floor where they stayed. Roman smirked.

‘Yeah, I -’ Virgil cleared his throat ‘- I freaked out a bit. I actually told her I was gay the day before she caught it and I thought I’d, like, shocked her body or something.’

A surprised delight washed over Roman and his teeth bared in a disbelieving smile. Wasn’t this just perfect?

Virgil’s dark eyes - which on closer inspection Roman could now see were mismatched, one being a rich brown and the other green - rose to meet his gaze. Roman watched as he crumbled into himself with the realisation of what he had just said.

‘Oh my God, why did I tell you that?’ Virgil lamented under his breath, squinting his eyes shut and bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth.

‘I wonder,’ Roman murmured through a wide smile. It never failed to invigorate him when his charms effectively ensnared a cute boy. His cheekiness ran high on the excitement. ‘Now as much as I would truly love to stand here with you for as long as the hours in the day would allow, I do have a request of you.’

‘Uh… sure,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumbnail. He had recovered quickly from Roman’s flirting, though the colour was still high on his cheekbones, and Roman knew better than to think it was just from the warm weather. ‘What is it?’

‘I need your assistance in gathering the gayest selection of flowers possible.’

A sharp exhale blew from Virgil’s mouth, slightly muffled around the hand which still sat flush against his chin. It sounded partway between a sigh and a nervous laugh. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anything for you, darling,’ Roman said in his smoothest baritone. His heart skipped at how Virgil’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of his sleeve. ‘I’m a tattoo artist at Rainbow Skins Parlour - have you heard of it?’

Virgil’s eyes lit up beautifully and his hand dropped back to his side giving Roman a perfect view of those rose petal lips that enamoured him so. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool. My friend got her tat done with you. She said you guys were super accommodating of her dysphoria and stuff.’

‘That’s the aim,’ Roman beamed. He was immensely proud of the atmosphere he and his coworkers had created at the studio. Their mission was to create a safe space for those in the LGBT+ community who wanted to get inked and it seemed from all of the positive feedback they received that they had achieved that vision. ‘One of my clients wants a design full of flowers that symbolise gay love, so I came seeking a florist’s expertise.’

‘I dunno if Grandma is too hung up on the symbolism of the flowers, to be honest,’ Virgil said hesitantly, picking at his fingernails then folding his hands behind his back. ‘She’s more about the biology and aesthetics of it all.’

‘Well then lucky for me that Aphrodite blessed me with your glorious presence today.’ Roman settled to sit on the edge of the desk. It being quite low rise, his figure sunk slightly so that he was now directly eye-level with Virgil. The other man’s eyes did not leave Roman’s face. ‘You look like the poetic type.’

Green and brown eyes squinted suspiciously. ‘I bet my Grandma told you I studied creative writing.’

‘Even so,’ Roman shrugged and inched his foot along the wooden floor, letting the toes of his Vans bump against the heel of Virgil’s Doc Marten boot. Virgil did not move. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’ve done your fair bit of research into queer imagery?’

There was a pause wherein Virgil pouted and remained stubbornly silent. Then, after a few seconds: ‘You can’t go wrong with a green carnation.’

The tip of Roman’s tongue stuck out with a smile and he bit it lightly in amusement. Virgil’s cheeks went an endearing shade of dusty pink and he spun around, quite inelegantly bumping into the workbench that stood in the middle of the room. He grabbed a pair of faintly rusted shears with trembling fingers.

‘Uh, so we’ve got a few of those back here,’ Virgil blurted, rushing to the opposite corner of the shop floor.

Roman sauntered after him quietly. He peered over the other man’s shoulder as he pulled a large bushel from a bucket. The plant displayed a large, beautifully frilly bloom of lime green blossom.

A sharp, metallic snap from the shears resounded around the small room and the large bunch was lowered back to the water to leave a single flower held gently between Virgil’s slender fingers.

When Virgil turned back around, a quiet gasp escaped him as he bounced back, only just preventing himself from crashing right into Roman.

‘What, you couldn’t wait over there?’ If Virgil was trying to sound anything other than flustered and breathless, he had failed miserably.

Roman held his hand out wordlessly with a gentle smile.

The flower was pressed into his palm, and Roman made sure to capture it quickly enough to delicately brush his fingertips against Virgil’s.

In the dappled beam of sunlight that penetrated the packed floral displays in the window, the carnation was much the same shade as Virgil’s left eye. Roman hummed quietly as he inspected the flower, then looked up, delighted that Virgil was watching him.

‘Beautiful,’ Roman purred, unfaltering as he looked into Virgil’s eyes.

A loud snort of laughter cut the tension between them and Roman felt his brow furrow.

‘Okay, Romeo,’ Virgil huffed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. He avoided Roman’s eyes. ‘This is a fleuriste, not a fromagerie.’

Roman felt a thrill rush through him (which was only in part accredited to Virgil’s sudden fluent French accent). Apparently such simple flirting tactics would not suffice with this suitor. The promise of a slight challenge was electrifying to him. He did love to play this game.

He lifted the carnation and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil, smiling when Virgil giggled under his breath at what must have been a silly image. ‘What else may you suggest we add to our beau, gay bouquet?’

A few minutes passed by with Virgil selecting and snipping flowers, explaining the historical queer culture behind them as he went. Roman nodded along and dutifully made noises of interest, though did not dare to butt into Virgil’simpassioned monologue.

It was enchanting to hear Virgil ramble freely on a subject that so obviously enthralled him. He spoke in such a way that made even the most mundane facts feel visceral with descriptive language and Roman couldn’t bear to interrupt such eloquent poetic prose.

He only realised how little he himself had contributed to the conversation when Virgil trailed off with an apology.

A pile of evenly cut lavender, violets, gladioli, calla lilies and, of course, green carnations lay in front of Virgil on the workbench and his fingers fidgeted with some of the lilac petals gently.

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ Roman insisted. He stood opposite Virgil on the other side of the islanded workbench and leaned his elbows on the shabby surface, carefully staying clear of the gardening tools that were scattered around it. ‘You’re incredibly knowledgeable of this subject.’

‘Yeah, employing really subtle methods of representation kind of became my solace in university, you know?’ Virgil said faintly, his eyes fixed on where he weaved a long, detached flower stem between his fingers. ‘Being a paranoid, closeted creative writing student will do that to you.’

A cloud of dejection smothered the sunny atmosphere in the room.

‘Classic fairy tales were my own escape as a closeted teen,’ Roman offered, suspecting Virgil would not want such a heavy topic resting on his shoulders alone.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Virgil finally looked up with an eager intrigue dancing in his eyes.

Roman stretched his arm across the table so that Virgil could better see the tattoo that decorated his right arm upwards of his elbow. He rolled the short sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder to reveal the whole of it. (If he flexed his arm slightly to better highlight his muscles, Virgil did not say anything about it.) He was immensely proud of the artwork on his arm, displaying a busy conglomeration of various fairy tale motifs all interwoven including a bitten red apple, a shattered glass slipper, and a frog wearing a crown. Though the focus of the design was a bird carrying a golden chain and a pair of red shoes, with a millstone around its neck.

‘Fuck yeah, The Juniper Tree,’ Virgil breathed.

‘You know it?’ Roman asked, surprised that Virgil had recognised the more nuanced imagery.

‘I love the Brothers Grimm.’ With a slight creak of the wood beneath him, Virgil sat sideways on the workbench and leaned to get a closer look at Roman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of more macabre stories.’

‘Well, I must admit in terms of imagery I appreciate the darker motifs,’ Roman indicated the depiction of a bloodied dagger hidden amongst a tangle of thorns on his bicep, ‘but when it comes to the stories I do prefer a good old-fashioned happy ending.’

Virgil sucked his teeth and leant his chin on his hand with a sigh, putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. ‘Of course you do.’

‘Please, how could I not appreciate a handsome prince bursting into song and falling for a mysterious, beautiful stranger then doing everything in his power to woo them?’ Roman angled his body closer to Virgil. The edge of the workbench was pressed quite awkwardly into his thigh, but it was worth the slight numbness in his leg to watch Virgil’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall more quickly in response to how close they were. Roman purposefully allowed his eyes to linger over Virgil’s lips. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

The lips pulled into a smirk and Roman’s gaze climbed up to see mirth sparkling in Virgil’s eyes.

‘What?’ Roman asked, only mildly offended.

It was proving to be something of a quest trying to ascertain which methods of flirting were working on Virgil. One minute the man was a blushing, stuttering mess, then the next he was openly laughing at Roman’s attempts to court him. Still, as the knights in his favourite stories never gave up in the face of extreme danger, he would not be deterred by Virgil’s stubbornness. It was obvious the man was interested in him but was perhaps a bit bratty. If anything that only made Roman all the more eager to win him over.

‘Nothing at all,’ Virgil shrugged. His tone was remarkably insincere. ‘So are you just thirsty for medieval knights or do you have some delusion of grandeur that I should steer clear of?’

It was cocky, and the man’s posture proclaimed it. He held his head high, baring his neck (and what a lovely, slender, pale, begging-to-be-decorated-with-splotches-of-purple neck it was). Though Roman saw through the bravado instantly.

He leaned in further, the edge of the bench completely cutting off the blood flow to his leg now, though he hardly cared. Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman’s gaze and the edges of the room hastily, as if the urge to look away and the urge to hold his ground were battling each other in his mind. His confident stance faltered slightly as Roman drew closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

Roman murmured lowly, ‘Why, Virgil? Are you struggling to find a reason to stay away from me?’

The once-pearly cheeks in front of him were now practically glowing pink.

The adrenaline that so often accompanied a successful courtship was running rampant in Roman’s veins and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Matched with the fact that he was practically drunk off of the lidded quality to Virgil’s gorgeous eyes, Roman almost missed the melodic jingling of a bell.

It wasn’t until a loud, cheery voice called out that Roman realised they were not alone anymore.

‘Kiddo, you forgot your packed lunch!’

Virgil scrambled off of the workbench, and Roman followed his lead by standing back upright, albeit a lot more calmly.

‘Dad, I’m with a customer,’ Virgil grumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Roman indulged in watching Virgil’s face go even pinker before turning to the entrance of the shop.

A stout man stepped out from the entranceway with a wide grin and a tupperware box cradled in his hands. His freckles were unmatched by either his mother or his son, though Roman could spy the slight similarities between their features. This was Patton Tempȇte. His face lit up with joy when his gaze fell on Roman.

‘And who’s this?’ Mr Tempȇte asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling at his son as he bounced on his toes.

‘Grandma’s friend, Roman Prince,’ Virgil mumbled. ‘The one who brings her tea and stuff.’

Mr Tempȇte made a delighted noise of surprise.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Tempȇte.’ Roman smiled widely, offering his open hand. He winced slightly as he stepped forward and pins and needles exploded in his thigh. ‘I truly adore your mother, and your son is quickly beginning to grow on me too.’ He shot a quick wink to Virgil.

The look of utter betrayal on Virgil’s face made it difficult to contain a chuckle.

‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Roman!’ Mr Tempȇte beamed, shuffling the tupperware into the crook of his elbow to shake Roman’s hand energetically. ‘And don’t bother calling me “Mr” or “Sir” or any of that silliness, Patton’s my name so feel free to wear it out! I would give you a big old hug, but I don’t wanna pass on Maman’s flu.’

‘How is she?’ Roman immediately asked, truly concerned for his friend.

‘She’s just fine,’ Patton nodded, seeming to approve of Roman’s concern. ‘She’s pretty much through it all now, I’m just forcing her to stay home for a couple more days as a precaution.’

‘I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about being housebound,’ Roman sniggered knowingly.

Patton rolled his eyes dramatically with a smile. ‘Not at all. I tell you, she’s untameable, always raring to get out with her friends and go experiencing the world. Honestly, I always say she’s more of a 22-year-old than Virgil is! Isn’t that true, kiddo?’

A faint swell of dread built inside Roman’s stomach at the way Mr Tempȇte had phrased those words. He had probably meant no harm, but it didn’t sound like that kind of critical comparison would do much to heighten Virgil’s confidence.

Sure enough, when Roman’s gaze flickered over to him it was clear those words seemed to have struck the wrong chord. The younger man tugged his sleeves further over his fingers and shrugged, though the movement was so stiff and frantic that it was more resemblant of a reflexive jolt.

‘Whatever, Dad,’ Virgil muttered under his breath, scowling at his feet.

It was disheartening to witness Virgil’s fiery wit be snuffed out so swiftly. Roman felt out of place in the exchange and feigned interest in a sprig of leaves in the flower pile. He subtly massaged his thigh under the table to ease the remnants of tingling from his pins and needles.

‘Oh…’ The energy was drained from Patton’s voice, and Roman looked up to see hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he plastered on a bright smile once more. ‘Well, I’ll be out of you guys’ hair. I just wanted to bring you your food.’

‘I don’t need a packed lunch, I can pick something up on the way back.’

‘Either way, it’s here if you get peckish before closing time.’ Patton placed the tupperware beside the register and apparently couldn’t resist drumming the lid in a gentle rhythm. Virgil groaned and Patton giggled. ‘Listen, be thankful I’m your delivery man. I caught your grandma lacing up her running shoes wanting to bring this to you.’

Roman chuckled lightly to himself. That certainly sounded like Céleste.

For the first time since Patton had entered the shop, Virgil looked up from the floor and his eyes locked onto Roman. It was as if his laughter had reminded Virgil of his presence.

Virgil quickly shot his father a pointed look. ‘Okay thanks, dad. Bye.’ The words merged into each other in his haste.

To his credit, Patton didn’t seem to be upset by his son’s eagerness to get rid of him.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Roman!’ Patton waved with a wide smile, already making his way out of the shop. ‘See you later, ma petite chauve-souris!’

Virgil’s huff of annoyance was drowned out by the bell jingling again.

The awkward tension was thick.

‘So, can you make flower arrangements?’ Roman asked casually, choosing to entirely ignore the stunted exchange with Virgil’s father. It seemed like Virgil would not have wanted to acknowledge it, given his obvious embarrassment.

‘Um, not really,’ Virgil mumbled, still hugging himself tightly. He peered out from his fringe hesitantly and Roman did not miss how his body relaxed when their eyes met. ‘I mean - okay, yeah. Kind of,’ he corrected. ‘Grandma taught me a little bit when I was younger. Mainly I just do it for fun, though. I’ve never made one for a customer.’

It would have been responsible for Roman to simply take his flowers as they were, pay for them, and get back to work, leaving Virgil to do his job. He could even have left his number and hoped Virgil would have the confidence to text him later on. Though, looking at the slump of Virgil’s posture and the way his sleeves were clawed and pulled taut by his painted fingernails, Roman felt a desire, nay, a duty to ensure Virgil was smiling again before he left.

‘Fancy trying your hand at it?’ Roman suggested gently, not wanting to pressure the man who was clearly on edge.

Virgil’s gaze flitted between Roman’s face and the workbench. His fingertips danced on his sleeves as he considered the flowers and Roman realised he was itching to reach out and touch them. ‘I can try, I guess.’

Hesitant hands pulled away from purple sleeves and within seconds Virgil was rustling through the stems with intent. Roman leaned over the surface slightly, though with no sly objective in mind to fluster Virgil this time. He simply wished to watch him craft.

‘I’m not very good,’ Virgil said quite stunted, even as he started rearranging the flowers into colour-coordinated piles with a clear artistic goal in mind. ‘So, you know, don’t expect much.’

Roman knew the self-deprecating tactic well; how one hoped that by lowering everyone’s expectations, they could avoid harsh critique of their work. He had employed it plenty of times himself before he had grown more confident in his artistic abilities.

‘It doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Roman decided on saying. It would hopefully relieve the pressure Virgil had put on himself.

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he raised his eyes briefly from the flowers to send what seemed to be a look of thanks to Roman.

‘Besides, I trust that you have an artistic streak in you.’ Roman felt more comfortable in reigniting their previous flirtatiousness after having coaxed a smile out of Virgil. ‘I mean, with such a steady hand and aesthetic eye for that makeup, I’ll be lucky if the bouquet is half as beautiful.’

Virgil swiftly knelt down on the floor to reach under the bench - where Céleste kept the floral foam, Roman remembered - though Roman caught a glimpse of a wide smile and pink-dusted cheekbones before his face was hidden.

‘Basket or pot?’ Virgil called up from the floor.

Roman dropped to his knees and sent Virgil a bright smile underneath the table. ‘Whatever you want. I’m giving you full creative control.’

‘Risky move.’ Virgil raised his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. ‘Our most expensive arrangements can rake up to one-hundred-and-fifty quid.’

‘All right, full creative control as long as it’s under forty pounds.’

Time went by fluidly from then on as they chatted over Virgil’s work. His flower placements were tentative at first, and his eyes kept darting up to check Roman’s face for a reaction, but Roman only ever smiled lightly and continued the conversation. (A couple of times his text tone rang out loudly, though their talking remained unfettered by the mild interruptions.)

Eventually, Virgil became more certain of his decisions and was tapping into skills Roman was wholly unprepared for. His slender hand pulled a leaf stripper swiftly down long stems with practised ease, he shuffled the flowers around between his fingers fluidly and his features smoothed as he lowered the blooms into their rightful places in the arrangement.

Roman had no idea how long he had been in the florist by the time Virgil finally deemed the display finished, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The bunch of flowers which were already such a beautiful collection before were now a piece of art, the lilac and emerald blossoms broken up by leafy ferns and surrounded by spindly branches of waxflower. The bouquet was truly stunning.

And as for the glow of pride on Virgil’s face? Absolutely breathtaking.

‘I think I’m happy with it,’ Virgil said nonchalantly, though the excitement hidden behind his tone rang loudly in Roman’s ears.

‘This is amazing, Virgil,’ he gushed, entirely sincere. ‘You’re a natural!’

Virgil bit his lip, stifling what Roman knew would have been a bright grin. He notably did not refuse the compliment.

‘Um, do you mind if I…’ Virgil brought his phone out from his pocket and opened the camera app, showing the screen to Roman with an eyebrow raised in question. ‘Kinda wanna show Grandma later,’ he admitted with a shy smile.

‘Of course,’ Roman held his hands out to the arrangement in invitation and stepped back so that he would not interrupt the photoshoot.

He watched from the sidelines as Virgil tiptoed around the workbench to find good angles, taking a few pictures of his work. Once the phone was placed back in his pocket, he turned back to Roman with a lopsided smile. ‘Thank you.’

Roman was fully and wholeheartedly smitten.

‘Don’t thank me before I’ve paid.’ Roman took his wallet out and waved it with a mock-frown of disapproval. For all of his years of acting classes, though, he could not wipe the smile off of his face. ‘That’s not a very sound business practice.’

Virgil shook his head lightly but moved back to the front desk carrying the arrangement with him. He rang up the numbers on the mechanical till quickly and Roman paid with a soft smile.

‘So,’ Roman said after Virgil had given him his hand-written receipt. He leaned toward Virgil slightly and delighted in the way Virgil mirrored him, bringing them even closer. ‘I don’t suppose a mysterious, beautiful stranger such as yourself would want to -’

Primadonna by MARINA suddenly blared from Roman’s pocket.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Though his smile still did not falter.

‘Very fitting ringtone,’ Virgil teased, his voice strained with concealed laughter.

Roman opened his eyes and sent a weak glare to Virgil even as his cheeks ached from smiling so much. He took his phone from his pocket to silence it, seeing that it was Remy’s contact flashing up on the screen - then his expression finally dropped as he saw the time.

‘Oh, fuck!’ His next client was due in five minutes.

‘You okay?’ Virgil asked shakily, clearly anxious by the sudden shift in mood.

‘Everything’s okay,’ Roman quickly assured, ‘but I really have to go, I’m running late.’ He shoved his phone, wallet and receipt into his pockets and pulled the flower arrangement to his chest protectively.

Virgil had stiffened. Evidently his defences were rising again due to the sudden change.

‘I really do have to go, I’m sorry. Seriously,’ Roman paused with a sigh as he gazed over Virgil’s beautiful face once more, ‘you have no idea how sorry.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Virgil nodded in agreement, but his voice was as quiet as it had been when Roman first came in however long ago. His disappointment was painfully obvious.

‘I’ll be back later this week,’ Roman promised as he reluctantly made his way to the door. There was absolutely no reality where Roman would not come looking for this enigmatic emo again. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon, my chemical romance!’ The doorbell jingled overhead as he rushed out of the door and called behind him, ‘Give my best to Céleste!’

Roman darted through the streets with a sharp stab of regret piercing his chest, though he really could not have afforded to indulge his infatuation much longer. He was a professional artist, he had to be back in time for his client.

Being incredibly protective over his cherished flower arrangement, Roman made it back to the studio in record time. It was not the first instance in which his high stamina had saved him face.

Panting for breath, Roman peered into the front window of the parlour and winced at the look of rage on the receptionist’s face as he sent a choice hand gesture to Roman from the other side of the glass.

‘Get your arse in here, Prince!’ Remy’s muffled yell met his ears.

Accepting that he would have to make a Starbucks run later to make up for his tardiness, Roman shuffled over to the glass door. He cradled Virgil’s arrangement in one arm as he reached for the door handle, then paused.

In his reflection, he noticed the green carnation from earlier still sat behind his ear. It looked utterly ridiculous. He had apparently been running around town with a massive green flower protruding from the side of his head.

In any other circumstance, he would have felt embarrassed. But the memory of Virgil’s huffy giggles played in his head, and all Roman could feel was giddy.

He pushed into the parlour with a wide grin that quite probably made him look like even more of a fool.

He didn’t care.

oOo

Inspired by a prompt from @writersmonth

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Next chapter

[galaxycosplayart]

A Man on a Roof

A simply short story I wrote heavily inspired by a dream I had. I tried my best to do research on 1920's fashion and culture, as well as try to make the New Orleans theme authentic. Constructive criticism is appreciated! (There's also some lgbtqia+ representation in here since I'm basing this off my dream where I was the narrator and I am in fact LGBTQIA+) ---

The sound of jazz resonated throughout the rather extravagant hotel venue, loud and upbeat. People swung along: dancing to the sweet melodies like there was no tomorrow. The band’s performance was booming with energy, passion and life; the colourful music painting a perfect picture of the ‘20s in all of the attendee’s minds. The dance floor was packed of all different shapes, ages and sizes. This gathering was one you wouldn’t forget. The sights, the sounds, the feeling; this 1920s themed extravaganza surely did live up to that title. I would know. I was smackdab in the middle of it all.

I’m going to be honest: I don’t really like parties. Too populated, too loud, too obnoxious – but I can’t say no to some swing. This party really was worth coming to, and for once I have to say I had the time of my life. Something about the general aesthetic, the beaming faces of everyone there, the historical backstory, it just made me swell up with joy (and excitement!). I was on my own, my parents were probably off making friends with other adults. In my hand was a glass of non-alcoholic champagne. I am but 13-years-old, after all. I continued to sway, careful not to spill my drink, when I happened to notice a boy leaving the party. He caught my eye, not for attraction, but intrigue. He looked to be a young man, around 16 or 17, but he was somewhat tall and lanky. Unfortunately, I didn’t get enough time to take a proper gander. Fortunately, nothing stopped my compelled urge to follow.

---- He was going to the roof. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. No, he trotted nonchalantly to the elevator, his footsteps in sync with the music. He seemed to caper with the pleasant melodies coming from the venue. As he entered the elevator car, he lingered on to the tune with each step. The door closed before I could join him, and I watched the floor-level indicator above the gate gradually flicker to the roof of the building. Now, I know tailing people isn’t very polite, but I had taken a liking to the man’s... energy. Once taking a separate car up and searching a bit, I spotted the man near the edge of the flat roof. He continued to tap, now bathed under the glow of the full moon, illuminating his dancing figure. Since I could finally see his face, I can tell you he certainly was a rather attractive man. His warm amber skin basked splendidly under the moonlight; his eyelids shut. His low-ponytail of curly black hair swayed with him as he stepped, the music taking control of his body and mind. His outfit was truly vintage: a neat white dress shirt beneath some dark brown suspenders, the shirt tucked into his black dress pants. He also wore a dark chocolate-coloured bow tie and a light-grey longshoremen cap. Strong jazz could be heard, slightly muffled from the floors below, but that didn’t stop the young tapper from Charleston-ing his way around the roof.  Listen, I’m no professional dancer, but I like to have a bit of knowledge in any given topic. My little knowledge prompted a question in my head, “Aren’t you supposed to have a dancing partner for this particular swing?” I said nothing aloud though, for my focus was on observing this man’s joyous pep. I leaned against the wall, quietly enjoying the stranger’s strut, when the moment was cut short by the sound of giggles. He opened his eyes, revealing mahogany brown irises, only adding to his beautiful appearance. He and I both turned to see a group of young women, looking to be around his age, goggling the boy. I mean, you could say I was too, but I didn’t interrupt or jest at his actions; I merely gazed politely. The nearest girl walked up to him and began to chat, which ceased his dance. This disappointed me, he seemed to be enjoying himself and they decided to throw off his rhythm. He appeared uninterested in talking too, giving the girl a bored look and responding in short answers. From what I heard, she was clearly chatting him up, probably attempting to make a move on him. However, this encounter was also interrupted; for it was his turn to spot me. We made eye contact; his line of sight aimed downwards at my short figure. I immediately panic, thinking, “Crap. How am I supposed to explain why I’m here? ‘Hello sir, I followed you upstairs, I liked the vibes?’ Hell no.”  As I ran through all the possible excuses or justifications for why I decided to basically stalk this man up the hotel, I didn’t notice him making his way towards me. Nor did I sight the annoyed look of the girl he just left behind. He comes up to me, and soon realizing I was lost in frantic thought, gently places a hand on my shoulder. I snap out of my frenzied state, jumping at the touch and looking up once more to see him a lot closer than he was a couple of seconds ago. “Hey, you alright? You seemed frozen in time, dere,” he said with a gentle smile. His accent was faintly reminiscent of downtown New Orleans, which explained how his energy matched the parties so perfectly. It was smooth and peppy; an endearing tone. “Oh, yeah, of course,” I say quickly, still trying to find the right words. “I- uh- I liked your dancing,” was all that came out of my mouth, and I mentally facepalmed with the awkwardness that came with the broken statement. Instead of cringing at this display, however, he instead laughed. “Thank you, cher. And what are you doing, all alone on this here roof?” he asked kindly. “Just... exploring. I happened to notice you dancing when I got to the roof, so I kind of... watched for a bit,” I replied sheepishly. I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did explore the roof a bit before I found him, and I did spot his Charleston when I did. I just happened to omit the details of following him up the elevator car. And through the lobby. From the party. No biggie. “That so? Well then, can you dance?” he asked, extending a friendly hand and dishing out a genial grin. I panic again, but this time for a different, more trivial reason. “Oh, no, no I’m not that good at dancing-” “Really? Ya seemed to be enjoying it down there at tha’ party.” “...You saw me there?” “I watched you follow me, sha.” “...” Well, this was incredibly embarrassing. If I wasn’t already blushing from this whole ordeal (which I incredibly doubt – my face felt very hot), I most definitely was now. I should be thankful for his carefree attitude, because when my spluttered apology attempted to vocalize itself into comprehensible words, he simply waved it off and laughed once more. “Oh, it ain’t nothin’. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he assured light-heartedly. “Still, I wouldn’t mind if you joined me. It’s fun to have a dancin’ partner, ya know?” “I- well... I guess a bit of dancing wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted. He extended his hand once more in invitation. I hesitantly accepted, and as soon as my palm fit into his, the grip strengthened as I was whirled to his side in the open area near the edge. As the next song started to play, and we couldn’t help but get lost in the music, I heard one phrase be exclaimed from the still-anonymous boy beside me, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!"  ---- I had easily resumed my cheerful demeanour by dancing with the man, enjoying our time to the fullest. Despite my lack of expertise in cutting a rug, we enjoyed ourselves quite a bit. It was more of feeling out the music and letting the rhythm take you, relishing a fun stranger’s presence. Sadly, this enjoyment was often interrupted by a third party, who continued to loiter around on the roof; each individual taking their turn in attempting to woo the boy. Louis, as I now knew him, also kept up his trend of giving the girls a cold shoulder, and we exchanged a cheeky grin each time one would storm off huffing. However, something did confuse me slightly. Well, the women were exceptionally beautiful. They also didn’t seem rude, or arrogant; they actually seemed rather kind and friendly. Some even referred to Louis by name, meaning he was probably familiar with the ladies. They simply were shooting their shot, and Louis would keep refusing one after the other. Obviously, he wasn’t obliged to humour any of their advances, but it’s like he didn’t even acknowledge the idea of dating them. I am a curious – and frankly, unfiltered – soul, so as the last dame trudge off to the group, I turn to my new friend and say,  “Hey, mind if I ask you something?” “Sure, what's on your mind, cher?” he replied smoothly, as we both watch the gaggle of women finally exit. “You know em’? The group there, I mean,” I clarify, though there wasn’t such a need for it anyway. I just have a bad habit of... shedding light on things that aren’t as dark, you feel me? “Yeah, they’re good friends of my brother’s. Why?” “Oh, well, they seem awfully interested in you.” “Yeah, they do that now and then. I’m used to it.” “Can’t take a hint, huh?” “Yeah, you right.” I decide to sit down as the current song begins to fade out, allowing myself a small break before the music resumed. Louis takes a seat beside me, sighing. I press further, while simultaneously pondering why I was so curious about his decision to dismiss these dates. Looking back on it, it was really none of my business, but something about the rejections just felt oddly... familiar. Still, I probably shouldn’t pry into other people’s matters. “May I ask why you constantly say no? I mean, they seem like lovely ladies. Are they just not your type?” He doesn’t reply at first, so I immediately jump to the conclusion that I upset him in some way. He’d be justified in feeling so, but I soon come to realize he was thinking of how to answer. After a few moments, I got the reply. “Sort of. I mean... in a way? They don’t know that though,” he says with a smile, to which I respond by giving him a quizzical look. What was that supposed to mean? I’m pretty embarrassed I didn’t realize it sooner when he sees my expression, and states, “Oh. I’m gay.” I stare at the boy for a few moments, blinking. I then burst out into laughter. What a heteronormative approach I took to my questioning. Me, of all people! He was amused with me, and we share a joyous laughing session to the realization.  “Ah... no wonder I related to your rejections,” I say with a cheerful grin. He quirks an eyebrow, and asks me with a curious twinkle in his eye,“Hm? What are you talking about sha?” “I’m bi. And non-binary. That’s partially why I found it so ironic that I didn’t get that sooner.” We chuckled once more, now aware of how hysterical the situation was when the final song of the evening began. He gets up first, helping me up, and we find ourselves dancing our way into the night.

[loki-hargreeves]

Steve Rogers x Reader - ‘It’s Always You’

Warnings: just the slightest hint of angst, fluff, alcohol, flirting Word Count: 2,2K Summary: Steve goes out with his Avenger friends after a stressful mission. You are a singer at the venue and your voice catches a certain someone’s attention. After your shift, Steve gathers up the courage to come speak with you. Author’s Note: I am a bit nervous to write for Steve because I haven’t written all that much for him before. Your feedback would mean a lot! Please enjoy this Xx

THIRD POV

Whenever the Avengers felt overworked or accomplished after long, tiring missions someone would always suggest they should celebrate. This time it was Natasha’s idea. She had mentioned that they should go out for drinks and then the suggestion morphed into a plan as everyone else seemed to agree with her.

Eventually, they ended up going to a fancy jazz house. Tony had pulled some strings so they could arrive without a reservation and surely, the place had tables for the few of them. As they arrived, the interior of the place took Steve by surprise. Sure, he had expected it to be classy, but it was surprisingly homey. The dark crimson walls, all the vintage décor and the wooden floor beneath their feet reminded him a lot of the old days. The further in they walked, the better Steve enjoyed this place. The main hall was large and the candles made sure to lighten up the mood. There was a stage by the dinner tables with familiar instruments. It wasn’t too warm nor too cold. It was just splendid!

“Damn, Tony how did you know of such a fancy place?” Natasha joked as they sat down around a round table. Steve sat between Sam and Bucky. Natasha, Tony, Pepper and Clint were on the other side.

“With a little help of my friend,” He smirked and turned to face Pepper. He couldn’t help himself when it came to pop-culture references. Even Steve recognized Tony’s remark to the famous Beatles song. 

That’s when Bucky caught Steve’s attention, “Is it just me or is this place a little familiar?” He too seemed to have noticed to old-fashioned aura of the place.

“You tell me,” Steve smiled.

Just like that, they had gotten seated and they were waiting for their first round of drinks. Everything seemed simply fine and for a moment, they could forget who they were. For that night, they felt like normal people and the vintage jazz club helped Steve and Bucky relax furthermore.

When the band got on the stage, the few people in the place all turned their heads to see who they were. A few band members walked on stage and at last, a woman in a long, sleek dress and red lipstick. There was a spark in her eyes that caught Steve’s attention right off the bat. She was stunning. He wondered if they had made her dress like a singer from the 40s or if it was her own personal touch.

The band began to play music ever so softly, filling the space with a warm melody that Steve could swear he had heard before. Something about the song was so known. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite put his tongue on it yet, so he focused on listening furthermore. Steve watched as the woman wrapped her fingers around the microphone, bringing it to her lips.

Her eyes scanned the dim-lit room and she seemed to notice Steve for just a moment and her eyes lingered on him. “Whenever it's early twilight I watch till a star breaks through. Funny it's not a star I see, it’s always you,” She sang with a voice that made Steve’s heart swell in his chest. She sounded like a siren under moonlight, luring people in with her beauty and grace. Her voice reminded Steve of home.

“…Whenever I roam through roses and lately, I often do. Funny it's not a rose I touch, it's always you,” She continued to sing, her smooth voice resting on top the music just perfectly. Now she took her eyes off Steve, turning to face her bandmates and it put a smile on her face. It was nice to see that they seemed to be friends. The easy flow between them made the music so much more enjoyable. “…If a breeze caresses me, it's really you strolling by. If I hear a melody, it's merely the way you sigh.”

Steve was definitely captured by it, perhaps also by her. He had completely forgotten about his friends for just a moment as he watched and listened the performance. The music, the place itself, everything combined allowed Steve to believe he was back in the 40s. In his mind, the raging war was over, and he was at one of his favourite venues with the people closest to him. The air in his lungs was burning and he had to take a deep breath. She was taking his breath away. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that way and he learned that he had longed for it.

“…Wherever you are, you're near me, you dare me to be untrue. Funny, each time I fall in love, it's always you.”

The trumpet player took over the singer’s voice which gave her a moment to catch her breath and look around her again. Once again, her eyes caught Steve’s and she smiled at him. Damn. That small, sweet smile nearly made Steve’s heart jump to his throat. The least he could do was smile back. He was so clearly captured by this performance. Even his friends had noticed the change in him.

“Hello? Earth to Steve?” Bucky tapped his shoulder playfully, making Steve drag his eyes off the stage. “See something you like?”

Steve didn’t want the focus to be on him, at least now like this. He brushed it off by relaxing in his seat and grabbing the drink that had arrived on the table, he had not noticed when. “I just hadn’t heard that song in a while. It’s a good one.”

“Sure, it is,” Sam grinned and took a sip of his drink too. They had definitely noticed that it wasn’t only the music that caught the attention of one of the super soldiers in the room.

The song came to an end of naturally, everyone in the room clapped them on. Just like that, they began to play another song. This one Steve hadn’t heard but it sounded like something from his time. He quickly realized it must’ve been released after he ended up frozen in ice and time.

And once again, her sweet, angel voice made him feel at peace. “Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. And let me see what spring is like on a-Jupiter and Mars…”

                Fancy dinners and a few drinks later, the band walked off stage, being led by cheers. They were replaced by another band, but Steve’s mind was still tangled with the woman. He didn’t even know her, but he didn’t want to lose her. Somehow, he just knew that he had to find her to even know her name.

Just in time, the group suggested that they should go to a bar for some stronger drinks. Usually, Steve wasn’t in a rush to leave such a nice place, but it could give him a chance to see her once again before she would surely disappear.

“I’ll just use the bathroom before we go,” Steve excused himself, already halfway off his seat.

But of course, Bucky knew him almost better than he knew himself. “Ask her out before we go, will you? I don’t want to listen to you whining about it if you don’t,” He turned to Steve as he spoke, luckily keeping a voice low enough so the entire place couldn’t hear him.

Steve rolled his eyes, “If you insist!” No one else seemed to mind as he walked away from them. Good. Steve wanted to hurry, because the longer he waited, the harder it would be to find her. Or so he thought.

He nearly lost his breath when he saw her by the bar, leaning against it a little tiredly but there was still a smile on her face. Suddenly, Steve felt nervous. This night definitely reminded him of the good old days. He gathered up his courage, took a deep breath and walked to the bar, careful not to get too close to her. After all, Steve didn’t want to startle her.

She noticed him and it looked like she recognized him, either from the crowd or as Captain America.

Before he would make a fool of himself by just standing there, baffled, Steve decided to say something, “You were really good, err- your band and you. I liked the music.” That didn’t go as smoothly as he had hoped, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you. It’s good to hear a little feedback,” She shrugged, trying to play it cool but Steve sensed that she was slightly nervous. She looked at her fingers through her dark lashes.

In hopes to ease her mind, he came up with an idea. “Can I get you anything?” He wondered politely.

Suddenly, she looked up to face him again. “That would be nice of you, but you don’t have to get me anything.” Somehow, it seemed like she wasn’t used to such an offer. That didn’t make any sense in Steve’s mind. He was sure that men, and why not women too, threw themselves on her at any given chance. The only thing Steve wanted to do was to make her happy and it astonished him, because they were mere strangers.

“It would be my pleasure,” Steve hoped she would say yes.

After considering it for a moment, she softened up a little bit. “Only if you tell me your name,” She agreed to it. Once again, Steve felt baffled by her. It was almost too good not to be recognized. It made him feel human.

“Of course,” Steve chuckled, feeling silly for not having introduced himself yet, but neither had she, “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers,” He held out his strong hand for her.

She took it ever so gently, “Nice to meet you, Steve Steve Rogers. I’m Y/N,” She teased him joyfully as they shook hands, making the both of them chuckle lightly.

“What can I get you, Y/N?” Steve wondered as they let go of each other. Saying her name felt so good, as if he had always known her. He noticed how she moved ever so slightly closer to him, still leaning against the wooden bar.

“Surprise me,” Y/N encouraged him, her voice flowing like music even as she spoke. Was Steve imagining it or was there a flirty undertone to that? He nearly dared to believe the latter.

That he definitely could do. Just in time, a bartender walked up to them. “What would you have?”

“Two Southsides, please,” Steve answered and then faced Y/N to see her reaction. He was simply curious. The bartender nodded and grabbed two glasses right away. It seemed like the retro drink was a go-to at a place like this, for the bartender grabbed what was needed fast and got to work.

She raised her eyebrows and a smirk curled up on her face. “Old-fashioned, I like that,” She admitted.

“If you only knew,” Steve replied mysteriously. He wondered what she would think of him if she knew who he truly was. Would be she repulsed or intrigued? He knew better than most how his status could startle people away from him – and gravitate others towards him.

“Knew what, Rogers?” She tilted her head curiously, now resting her jaw gently against the roof of her knuckles.

That’s when their drinks arrived, two glasses of  minty and limey deliciousness, topped off with mint leaves. Steve paid the bartender and told him to keep the change. That way, he could return his attention on the woman beside him as soon as possible. She had shown signs that she liked to play games and Steve knew that he could do that too. “Maybe I’ll tell you on another day?”

“Are you asking me out?” She grinned, struggling to hold it back. When she had seen him in the crowd, he had caught her attention. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her that mesmerised. Knowing that someone actually liked the music at the jazz club was heart-warming. And it was extra nice when it was appreciated by someone like Steve. She wouldn’t admit it yet, but he was quite charming.

Steve raised his cold glass in his hand at the same time as she did. “Yes, yes I am. What do you say?”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. Steve was clearly flattering her. He was so different from the other people who had flirted with her. Steve seemed genuinely like a nice man, a gentleman. “Sure, yes. I can’t say no to that face, now can I?” Y/N gave him her reply happily. They had just met, and she felt so intrigued by him already. Cheerfully they clinked their glasses before they tasted the drinks. Y/N was pleasantly surprised by the refreshing drink. It was nice after that performance. The cold liquid soothed her throat and allowed her to relax.

“Are you surprised?” Steve wondered. By now, he was less tense. Her positive answer gave him a little boost of confidence.

“Pleasantly so. I wonder if you’re full of surprises, Steve,” Y/N flirted a little bit. She felt rather courageous around him.

Steve leaned closer to her for a change and she didn’t seem to mind it at all. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! It was so tempting to make this a smut, but I might just have to leave that for another time. I would love to hear your feedback. 💚

[kipperclothiers]

For Shorter Men & Women Who Like Menswear: Our Guide to Small-Size Shoes

While you can wear a suit with sneakers in some instances, situations like a job interview, wedding, or client presentation call for a polished, more traditional appearance. For the average male – roughly 5 ft., 9 in. and around 170 lbs. – finding a dress shoe isn’t a challenge. You stop at the mall, browse online, or, if you’re cash strapped, hunt down an un-scuffed pair at your local consignment shop. In all cases, you expect to find something in your size.

But, what if you’re under 5 ft., 6 in.? Or, you have small feet that feel loose in a size 6? Or, you’re a smaller-sized female with a penchant for actual menswear styles – and those menswear-inspired ones feel too frilly? Unfortunately, you’re stuck: Too small for adult sizes, wanting to avoid anything traditionally feminine, and too large for the kids’ department, you’re in that grey zone where, frankly, nothing fits.

So, what do you do? Suit up and wear all-black Converse high-tops, hoping no one notices? Suck it up and look for a kids’ shoe that’s not-quite-so childish? Or, do you relent, and compromise with a jaunt through the women’s section? The answer is – none of these. We’re here to tell you that, yes, you can find shoes in your size, without compromising your personal style.

Unsure about your foot’s exact measurements? Start with this measuring guide before you shop around.

Our focus here is primarily dress shoes – or whatever you can wear with a suit. On the other hand, if you’re in the grey zone, your shoe collection is – to excuse the pun – fairly small. Maybe two or three pairs, if you’re lucky.

Where do you begin for everyday wear? In this case, any unisex brand is best. Think skate shoes by Vans, low- and high-tops in neutral shades from Converse, Dr. Martens’ boots, and styles from Palladium. For “comfort” shoes, Oofos goes under a size 6, while Clarks hits right at this line.

And, if you see no shame in everyday athleisure, Nike makes men’s sneakers down to a size 4, as does New Balance.

Shopping Online

On the department store end, Nordstrom is frequently cited as a place to find smaller-size men’s dress shoes. Of the brands you’ll find below shortly, Grenson and Saint Laurent are available through their online store. Yet, in terms of variety, you can’t beat Zappos. Although their selection of men’s 4 and 4.5 sizes yields mostly casual options, you’ll find an occasional gem: For instance, a pair of Y-3s or a set of Wolverine Heritage boots.

For dress shoes, though, you’ve got to look past the predictable choices. For instance, Stravers – the Amsterdam-based retailer with a world-renowned brick-and-mortar store – prides itself on going to extremes. More specifically, a customer will find more than a smattering of both big-and-tall and small sizes. For the latter, your selection runs typical – think brogues, lace-up ankle boots, and oxfords in brown, tan, and black hues – and less so, with patent leather and blue alligator skin being some of the standouts.

For more technical styles, there’s BootBay.com. Born in east Tennessee in the early ‘80s, it’s another sought-after small-size retailer, with a product selection primarily covering work, hiking, and casual boots. While it’s not directly dress-shoe oriented, we all need a sturdy pair to get through the winter. As such, here you’ll find slip-resistant, moisture-wicking, and cushioned options.

Florsheim

Yes, they’ve garnered a reputation as your parents’ (and even grandparents’) shoe store, but this Chicago-originating brand has stuck around for a few reasons. One, you’ll have no trouble getting your basics – oxfords, brogues, chukka boots, and monk strap styles, with the occasional cap or wingtip detail – but its stores continue to stock more fashion-forward fare.

Case in point, at the start of the menswear craze, they partnered with Duckie Brown in 2010 to revamp some of their classic silhouettes, and five years later, they collaborated with George Esquivel on a California-influenced collection. Then, two years ago, they introduced a vintage collection, offering modern takes on their original line.

Recommendations

Richfield Moc Toe Strap Loafer ($100): All-around smooth, except for the slightly angular toe and braided detail, these loafers embody classic simplicity. Pair them with a full suit or chinos and a blazer, and in either instance, their versatile, lightly cushioned design takes you everywhere.

Como Moc Toe Strap Loafer ($110): With a name alluding to Italian construction, this hand-stitched, kidskin loafer is all about the details, from the top strap and burnishing to rich yet not overbearing burgundy undertones.

Grenson

Menswear has been on a heritage kick, and Grenson fits right in. Although sizing ends at a men’s size 6, their traditional handmade designs make your search worth it. Plus, they’re one brand with a decent women’s selection featuring some unisex-leaning designs. Added to this, their versatility and quality construction mean that whatever you choose – Chelsea and lace-up boots to oxfords, in suede or leather – will last – and last and last. If you’re thinking about building your wardrobe basics, start right here. As a note, U.K. sizing is used for all styles. Reference the brand’s conversion chart to select your size.

Recommendations

Ella Boots (Women’s, $345): Excluding summer’s hotter days, the dress boot delivers the prime combination of style and coverage. Grenson’s Ella cuts out those subtle feminine details, delivering a sturdy wingtip brogue made out of black calfskin leather that’s a sure match for your suit yet is still edgy enough for a pair of jeans.

Dylan Oxford Brogues (Men’s, $330): This traditional hand-painted leather oxford features a tan stain on top of its natural base color for a richer, multi-layered appearance. Best for matching with lighter-colored suits, its wing-tip design uses a slightly longer last than previous versions.

Paul Smith

You’ll recognize this British-based brand from Fashion Week presentations. And, much like the clothing we spotted recently, designs go either way – all while still feeling traditional. Whether you’re sporting navy or a multicolored oversized suit, pair it with brogues, loafers, lace-up, or Chelsea boots, in standard leather or nubuck. As a note, the brand uses European sizing for all styles.

Recommendations

Munro Brogues (Women’s, $495): The hybrid dress shoe – leather upper with a sneaker-like sole unit – frequently looks cheap and awkward, but Paul Smith’s Munro hits the sweet spot with vegetable-tanned leather, wingtip details, and a flexible sole with extra padding by the ball.

Gerald Chelsea Boots (Men’s, $340): Now, this is how a Chelsea boot should be: Smooth all around, from the material to the almond toe, with a fit that easily slides on. It’s ready for your suit and also adds that sophisticated rocker touch to denim and patterned pants.

Frye

Another American-based brand, Frye hasn’t quite reached heritage status, but their sheer variety – including women’s and men’s styles – definitely impresses us. Pretty much, if you’re looking to build a basic shoe collection from the ground up, you’ll come across oxfords and lace-up boots, as well as a decent, non-statement-making pair of sneakers.

Recommendations

Western Chelsea Boots (Women’s, $358): Not every dress shoe has to be super-traditional, and this music-inspired style – part of a brand collaboration with Cage the Elephant’s Matt Shultz – blends a Chelsea height and Italian leather with cowboy boot elements, like a pitched heel and stitching details.

Grady Jodhpur Boots (Men’s, $398): The jodhpur boot rarely gets enough love from the dress shoe world, we have to admit. Frye’s take definitely leans more toward casual, with its distressed, matte-finished suede and thinner, strap-accented silhouette. It presents a more laid-back version of the Chelsea boot that flows seamlessly from dressier fare to denim.

G.H. Bass & Co.

While you likely associate G.H. Bass & Co. with plaid button-ups and fleece, it’s an American heritage brand in its own right – the maker of the original penny loafer. Although, in a modern setting, the style’s a bit preppy, it’s one of those staples that’s a natural match for your chinos in a pinch. Slip on something smart casual in a range of colors and materials.

Recommendations

Whitney Mirror Metallic Weejuns (Women’s, $120): Traditional construction – a “penny slot,” stitched moc toe, and a slip-on silhouette – meet up with modern statement elements. The result bridges dressy-casual territory with red carpet-worthy style that works with your suit and pretty much the rest of your wardrobe.

Lincoln Lizard Weejuns (Men’s, $120): As another statement shoe, the Lincoln Lizard brings that oomph with lizard stamp burnished crust leather and a chain detail across the top. It’s one of those styles that manages to be current yet classic and formal without feeling overly traditional.

Saint Laurent

While Hedi Slimane’s since left for Celine, his mod rocker-influenced looks left an impression on this seminal French brand. As such, while critics have been mixed on Slimane’s vision for Celine, they can’t deny he ushered in a new era for Saint Laurent – one of thinner, more androgynous silhouettes that are ready for the boardroom yet have enough punch for an all-nighter in New York. And, as a bonus, you’ll find men’s casual and dress options down to a size 5.

Recommendations

Miles Boots (Men’s and Women’s, $1,195): This unisex-styled boot precisely embodies the post-Slimane Saint Laurent brand, from its thin profile and carefully chosen buckle detail to its clean lines and light hand-distressing.

Laced Army Boots in Kangaroo-Look Leather (Men’s, $1,095): A slightly matte and smooth lace-up upper and a low heel give these boots a light dash of military style. Yet, if you’re going to spend top-dollar on a pair of dress boots, they should also grant you the most mileage, and that’s precisely what this style does, matching everything from intricate printed suits to skinny jeans.

Church’s

Luxury, high-fashion brands aside, this is your apex. High-quality traditional designs – with the occasional trendy piece, like a military-influenced or two-tone boot – define the “cost per wear” concept. You’ll find all the usual suspects – brogues, oxfords, derbies, monk straps, and a range of boot silhouettes – in versatile shades of tan, brown, and black, complete with details in key places. While this English-based brand originally started as a family business, expansion resulted in brick-and-mortar stores throughout Europe, plus a partnership with Prada. In the U.S., you can find them through Saks, as well as through other luxury retailers like Mr. Porter and Farfetch. 

Recommendations

Westerham Oxford (Men’s, $560): It’s quite literally the smoothest oxford you’ll find around, from the blind eyelets to the finished calf leather. Goodyear construction ensures it’ll give you more than a few years’ use, while the cap toe adds an elegant yet neutral finish.

Bessy Buckle Chelsea Boot (Women’s, $814): Masculine and feminine elements fluidly merge in what feels like a true either-or boot. A block heel and buckle strap give it a touch of flair, while the mid-height and finished calf leather elevate it above the typical fashion boot.

Sutro Footwear

Based in San Francisco, Sutro has strived to create a reasonably priced shoe that you’ll wear frequently and that also uses a smaller carbon footprint. To do this, the company works with artisans in Mexico to craft each pair, while the leather, from free-range, U.S.-based cattle, is tanned without chemicals. Instead, natural oils and creams bring out the material’s beauty and highlight its individuality.

Within this approach, craftsmanship remains paramount. Shoes – men’s and women’s styles, with some unisex silhouettes tucked away – are constructed out of full-grain premium leathers, with minimal finishing. For this reason, styles appear simple – lace-up and Chelsea boots, oxfords, and a handful of heeled styles – yet are made to hold up to everyday wear.

Recommendations

Vermont Boots (Unisex, $218): At a glance, can you tell this is a “comfort” shoe? From the leather to the stacked outsole, it deceptively looks like any other dress boot. Yet, this unisex shoe based on Sutro’s best-selling Alder has a few tricks up its sleeve: Mainly, ultra-sturdy Goodyear Welt construction and rubber placed at key pressure points for extra support.

Mendelle Lace-Up Boots (Women’s, $188): Utilitarian details characterize many of Sutro’s styles, and here, the taller height, seven-eyelet front, and smooth, rounded toe give off subtle workwear vibes. Yet, ultra-rugged and clunky, they’re not, and that burnished, straightforward upper makes for a solid, three-season dress boot.

Shoepassion

Don’t be put off by the name. We know it seems like a cheesy, fast-footwear ecommerce site, but behind it is handcrafted, meticulous production and some of the finest materials you’ll find around. Designed in Berlin and manufactured in Spain, this brand utilizes Goodyear-welted construction – known for superior strength in work boots – and breathable, French-tanned leathers. Although far from inexpensive, the price justifies itself: For men’s and menswear-styled women’s shoes, the durability and versatile silhouettes are meant to last you years.

N° 5225 Oxfords (Men’s, $385): It’s all in the color. Warm, almost fiery brandy tones – created through a vegetable tanning process – pop without seeming overpowering. A hand finish, applied to soft calf leather, gives it a gradient effect and elegant shine.

N° 275 (Women’s, $465): While these could’ve been an ordinary dress boots, the wing tips and other details reminiscent of a British derby certainly elevate it. Yet, there’s still something rugged about it: Beyond just the Goodyear-welt construction, a taller height, slightly lugged outsole, and seven pairs of eyelets, although decorative, have an old-school work boot vibe.

**

Here at Kipper, we know a suit’s not complete without the right accessories. If, as a person with smaller-size feet, you’ve come across another high-quality shoe brand, tell us about it on our social channels!

[littlewalken]

Jan 9

The heads came in but there’s no decent natural light scheduled for pictures. Brushing Barbie hair is a great way to spend rainy days.

The whole doll is another Durham Charly, marked on her back.

Whitney just needs a brushing and Francie’s hair is pretty good, Wendy’s I am 50-50 because the part on her head is pretty crappy but the ponytail is okay for her age.

Found out I had bought a much better conditioned and pretty nice haired tan lines skin cancer skipper some time ago, so everyone here will get rerooted. Haven’t decided if Stacey will go with the Titian (tih-shen) shade of red nylon I have or something else. 

Petite’s hair needs a brushing, she has yellow lips so she might be a disco version. PJ’s hair is great. SIndy’s will be reassessed after a brushing. Miss America just needs a brushing. 

I’m not a vintage doll collector but I know enough that if her original hair is doable than she can keep it. So all in all Stacey will probably get her original color matched and I’ll do what I can to style it authentically but it’ll be obvious she didn’t come with it. If we ever part ways I don’t want anyone getting fooled.

Lance’s girlfriend Cool Tops Courtney is a same as she came with reroot. It was bad late 80s falling out from too much loving. She could have had any color she wanted but I can’t see her with anything else but that shade. A couple more of the Courtneys could use a touch up and I might do some of the Skippers in fantasy colors. The only ones who will take their bad home perms to their graves are the Pet Pals girls.

Bodies wise for the vintage girls do you know how fun it would be to have jointed Fashionistas for them? Francie would be Petite, Stacey would be Tall, and PJ would be Curvy. 

I was thinking I could see if one of the Pivotal girls (hit a sale on some damaged box collectors Barbies years ago) would fit Francie’s clothes without blowing out the bust then I remembered they came with outfits no one else will fit. From what I saw of Francie’s torso the smaller bust Tall or Petite would do better but I’d have to fight wanting joints between matching skin tones. 

There will be a trip to Toys R Mine, possibly the Mattel store but why pay full price, and perhaps the junk store but I’d rather go TPC matching skin tone Fashionistas than loose 100 poses non matching won’t fit the stuff. 

Or in other words doll shit. 

To add to things where ever those vintage Francie clothes came from, I’m assuming a junk run, there’s a Miss America dress for that blonde Barbie too. She’s the closest in age to that vintage Barbie case. Still though I think I’ll just sell off the two vintage cases, I have Memberberries with the double wide and 80s pink one. 

The Whitney is a weird one, her individually painted hairs painted eyebrows helped ID her. I have the Jewel Secrets Barbie paper dolls, they were $1 as opposed to real dolls being $10, and I think her big dress skirt was also a drawstring bag. However it was she’s big in to Sapphires and looks like she’s meant to wear a lot of silver and blue. Her native body would be a bent arm TnT but aside from a couple of for reference models all of my Barbies are upgraded to some form of joints.

Now if matching skin tone worse comes to worse Disney Princesses come in pale and I can just pop over to a Disney Store and be done with it. Still though the excuse to get a Tall and Curvy is there. Nothing says Miss America and Whitney can’t be...

I had momentary hopes the Juku could fit the Bratz clothes and I’d put the Bratz in storage storage and let the Juku have their case. Then I got reminded I did get enough Bratz stuff to already fill that case and there wouldn’t be room any way. 

I’ll figure out something for them, there’s got to be an Engrish inspired thing somewhere for them. It was a spot of luck to find all 4 of them and all 4 outfit packs on sale on Boxing Day, only took 2 Targets because someone else wanted something else that was an exclusive. They aren’t going anywhere or getting any make-overs, they’re adorable and FRUiTS magazine subscribed as they are. How the hell can they have better joints than Barbies? 

Must not call them Davina, Fletchin, Martina, and Alana... If you can’t tell the one in the pink skirt has green eyes. 

I’m thinking about other stuff too but dolls and arranging the closet better so I can arrange the room better have been at the forefront, along with a lot of Ignoritall. 

I have been wondering if there’s a follow up to The Hardly Blokes but sometimes like a wet jumper contest you must let perfection stay as it is. Not everything need a sequel. Unless it’s a tidy wrap up to a couple of the supporting characters in The Last Unicorn by the original author because he realizes how much other people care for these characters too. If you’ve watched it take the time to read it.  

All that’s keeping me from finishing what might be the Last Monster is old fashioned eyestrain. I’m old kids, I’d really like one of those magnifier ring light things to be at the store when I’m there with my money. 

[buttsonthebeach]

Greetings! A writing prompt for you! 25 - “When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!”

Thanks for the prompt!! This was one of the ones that stuck out to me when I was reading them! (I did take liberties with the exact wording of the quote, but it’s in there. I hope you like it. I have never filled a prompt before!)

Pairing: Solavellan, post-Trespasser

Rating: Teen for Ellana’s brief swearing

Note: Should stand alone, but references my headcanon that Varric writes about you and your LI in his book. In The World Turned Upside Down, he asks Ellana whether or not she wants him to leave those parts in given what they’ve just learned about Solas and how it could affect the way people look at her as she continues to lead the reformed Inquisition. She tells him to leave them in, though of course there are consequences for that decision as we’ll see here; this is my little parallel to “The Reynolds Pamphlet” for those keeping track of our Hamilton references.

*

Ellana knew, on some level or another, that letting Varric write about them was probably a mistake.

It was definitely a mistake to double-down on what he said in the book, once people started asking if it was really true.

She just didn’t realize how much of a mistake it was until she was at her first party in Orlais without Cassandra present.

It was the sort of thing she’d done often (too often) since becoming Inquisitor - put on the fancy clothes and meet the fancy people who would say fancy things and, if she said the right things in reply, offer the Inquisition their support in the form of gold or troops or other resources. It was also the sort of thing that used to make her skin crawl at the mere thought of it; she wasn’t clever enough or well-read enough or anything enough for these sort of places. It made no sense to her, at first, that she would put on perfume and tight shoes and fine silks to speak of war - or that they wouldn’t even speak of war, but instead of the newest vintage of wine coming out of Nevarra, or of a scandal that had befallen a distant cousin. She started off wanting to walk into every airy salon, take the host by the shoulders, and start describing Haven to them. The fire glinting off the red lyrium in Corypheus’s face. The stench of burning bodies. The blood in the snow. The thousands and thousands of torches on the mountainside. The screams of the dying.

It didn’t make her skin crawl any more, preparing to attend such an event. It did give her an awful headache after a while though. So much smiling when she still wanted to scream. Combined with the phantom pain in her missing left arm, her teeth were always still on edge at these sorts of affairs. Cassandra helped. People were on better behavior when the Divine was present - and they could always withdraw to a corner together and swear through their blind anger when they both became too frustrated with the politics of Orlais, or make plans to spar in the morning to vent their frustration.

Cassandra wasn’t there that night, which was probably why the comte she’d just petitioned for aid against Fen’Harel looked her over once, slowly, and then said:

“Tell me - why is it, exactly, that we are listening to the word of the Dread Wolf’s whore at all?”

For a moment, Ellana was speechless.

Then she was angry.

Then her chest ached.

Then she took a breath, and reigned in her impulse to scream.

“His whore? That implies I was supposed to get paid for it. If that’s the case, he owes me quite a lot of money.”

That won her a tittering laugh from several onlookers. The comte was not one of them.

The rest of the conversation didn’t go much better. Yes, she didn’t deny he was her lover. Yes, she had no idea who he really was at the time. Yes, she had shared everything she knew of his plans with the Exalted Council.

Yes, she believed the elves of Thedas deserved better.

No, she did not think Fen’Harel’s answer was the right one.

(Even if it made her happy now and then to hear these simpering nobles gasp in shock over the sudden audacity of their servants, over the struggle to find enough pretty elven maids to clean their chamberpots and fuck them when their wives were away.)

Yes, she believed he could see reason. That he was worth redeeming. That was why she wasn’t asking the comte to raise an army - just to see that the elves in his lands were treated more fairly, so they would be less tempted to join Fen’Harel’s forces, so that he might see that the people of Thedas could change.

That was the final straw.

“You did Thedas a great service in stopping Corypheus, Inquisitor,” the comte said. “But perhaps it is time you let cooler, less sentimental heads prevail. We should hunt him down like the dog your people say he is.”

She excused herself to the balcony. Took a deep breath of cool air, and closed her eyes. Wished he was there at her side, a hand on her back, offering wisdom. No - so she could close her remaining hand around his throat and ask why, why, why. So she could sink against his chest afterwards, and continue: why, why, why.

“I would not worry, Inquisitor.” Ellana hadn’t heard Leliana’s approach, but that was no surprise. Her presence was welcome whether it came stealthily or not. “The comte is a small and petty man. He seeks to make himself look greater by making you look smaller.” Leliana hesitated. When Ellana opened her eyes, she went on again. “Though I did warn you what would happen if you let Varric publish that book. It would be prudent, perhaps, to play down the more - romantic aspects of what he portrayed about your relationship. To take a harder stance against Solas, in public at least. These are people who do not know you as your inner circle does - people who never knew him. It is easy to see why they draw the conclusions that they do.”

Ellana sighed. “I know.”

Leliana studied her for a moment, her gaze careful, calculating. “This would all be easier if you did not still love him.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Ellana laughed, a short and bitter sound. “He told me to stop. I’ve tried to figure out how to at least pretend that I don’t still care. But, Leliana - it doesn’t matter how many people tell me I’m insane for it. I won’t turn my back on the most real thing I’ve felt in my whole life. I won’t pretend it didn’t happen. I’m not ashamed of loving him.”

And I don’t want to stop.

But that was the sort of thing she didn’t say out loud, the sort of thing she kept tucked close beneath her ribs; the idea that it was better to feel the pain of remembering him than to feel nothing at all. That even if she did want to scream, to yell, to attack every time she saw him in her dreams, it was what reminded her that it was all real. She was loved, more than she ever thought possible. And it was a feeling that did not just end, whatever the cost. A sword with two blades.

Leliana took the words in with a nod. Ellana thought she might go on, continue to press the attack. But then she smiled.

“Good. It is better to carry your head high through a scandal than to let it hang low. Speaking of which - I do believe that the comte’s old lover is in just a room over playing Diamondback. Should I tempt her to come here with the promise of those chocolate dipped strawberries I know she loves? The comte’s wife would be furious to see the way he still looks at her. Or - perhaps my good friend there could point out that his shoes are disastrously old-fashioned just within his earshot?”

Ellana returned her smile. “Leliana, you’re thinking unusually small. Why not both?”

So she went back into the party she hated, so she could keep fighting for the things she loved.

[executiveice]

So, you found a keeper – you like it and now you need to put a ring on it. With all the hype surrounding engagement and marriage in our culture, it’s a decision that can feel pretty overwhelming.

But with our help, it won’t be that bad.

(Looking for the best place to buy engagement rings?)

In this complete and total guide on how to buy an engagement ring, we’re going to help you buy the PERFECT ring specifically for your partner.

From figuring out how much to spend to choosing a style, cut and color and even tips on how to find the right ring size, we’ll help you along every step of the way.

How to Use this Guide:

Read through the entire guide once. That will help give you a birds-eye-view of the whole process. Then keep it handy (bookmark this page) and refer back to it when you’re actually shopping/buying. That will be the most effective way to get value from this guide.

So, grab some coffee and dig in… This is a looonnnggg guide.

Table of Contents:

How Much Should You Spend

Determining Your Partner’s Perfect Ring Style

Choosing the Perfect Metal for Her Engagement Ring

Choosing the Perfect Gemstone

Ready-Made vs. Custom Rings vs. Antiques

Finding Her Ring Size

Finding the Best Place to Buy an Engagement Ring

Only One Thing Left To Do

How Much Should You Spend

So many things to consider, but we’re going to start with money. Why? Because that’s often a huge deciding factor in the ring you end up purchasing.

And before you go on the hunt, you want to set a budget.

Truth be told, there’s no right answer to how much you should be spending on an engagement ring. Old adages like “3 months’ salary” are probably creations of the diamond industry, so don’t put much stock in that.

But there are several factors to consider when you’re setting your budget to buy an engagement ring, like:

How much money you make

How much savings you have (if any)

How many other expenses you have

Are you willing to take out debt for the ring? If so how much can you actually afford and for how long?

How much are you going to have to spend on the wedding + honeymoon (and other events)

The Most Important Factor in Determining Your Budget

One of the most important factors that will play into your budget is actually your soon-to-be fiancée’s fashion style.

Since you’re picking out a ring for them, it’s going to have to match their style (and expectations!). Really taking the time to think about this and examine your partner’s sense of style will help immensely in setting your budget.

Are they simple with their style or flashier? Have they always dreamed of a huge rock on their finger?

If you think they’re going to expect a something big and flashy, unfortunately you’re going to need a big budget. Big diamonds are usually pretty expensive.

Since your partner’s style will determine your budget, let’s get into that.

Determining Your Partner’s Perfect Ring Style

This can be a bit tricky at first – how do you tell the perfect ring style without reading your partner’s mind?

Well, you don’t have to read their mind. You just have to pay attention.

From now on make it a conscious decision to pay more attention to EVERYTHING about your significant other. The trick is to notice the details about their style and fashion sense.

Here are a few questions to keep in mind as you spend time together:

What kind of clothes do they wear/buy typically? Flashy stuff that draws attention or more toned down?

What kind of colors do they love to sport? Mostly shades or lots of different colors?

What kind of shoes do they love? Stuff that’s unique with lots of metal or, again, toned down and simple?

Is she more into vintage gear or modern looks?

Take them out window shopping one day and just pay attention to the kinds of things that draw her eye. Whether it’s a clothing store or a furniture and homewares store, pay attention to the things she takes a closer look at or buys. Even better, go to a jewelry store and pay attention to what she looks at and says.

If you need an excuse, you can always say you’re thinking of getting your mom/aunt a present or even just looking for some new accessories for yourself.

Art is another great way to judge a person’s tastes/styles/preferences, so take her on a date to an art gallery sometime.

Whatever you end up doing, be as subtle as possible as you don’t want to give the surprise away.

Another thing you can do is raid her existing jewelry collection to see the kinds of jewelry she wears regularly. Pay attention to the type of metal, color and how big the stones are (if any).

Finally, reach out to one of her friends and ask their opinion. Girlfriends can always help guide you in the right direction – just make sure it’s a friend that is relatively close to your partner.

Finally, if all else fails, ask her some questions directly. Of course, you don’t want to just blurt out “What kind of engagement ring do you want?” But you can always say something a little more subtle like “What kind of jewelry do you like?”

Aside from overall style (vintage vs. modern vs. flashy vs. sleek, etc.) there are 3 main things you need to find out as well:

What kind of metal she likes

What color of metal she prefers (i.e. yellow/white/rose gold, etc.)

What kind of stones she prefers (diamonds, sapphires, etc.)

Let’s get into each of these separately.

Choosing the Perfect Metal for Her Engagement Ring

When picking the type of precious metal for her engagement ring you’ve got a few types to work with.

Hopefully you used the tips in the last section to come to a reasonable conclusion about what your partner would prefer.

In this section, you’ll be making the choice.

You’ve got a few different choices in terms of ring metal, depending on the jeweler you choose to go with:

Silver

Gold

Platinum

Palladium

Silver

Right off the bat, we can tell you unless budget is REALLY an issue, don’t go for silver. When it comes to an engagement ring, it screams cheap. And that’s not the impression you want to leave on someone you’re asking to marry you.

Gold

Next up is the traditional gold metal. Within gold itself there are several options available to you – you can get either 14, 18 or 24 carat gold depending on your jeweler.

You can also choose between white gold, rose gold and the traditional yellow. This all depends on the style of your bride-to-be, so make sure you pay attention to what she already wears if you think gold is the right choice.

Here are some basic characteristics of gold engagement rings:

18k gold is a solid metal for an engagement ring. It’s got a high gold purity (not as high as 24k, but also not as expensive) and is the classic choice for an engagement ring. If you’re looking for great value at a better price, though, 14k gold offers a good alternative.

18k is made up of 75% pure gold, while 14k is around 60%. Both metals will be resistant to tarnish and rust and are very easy to repair and polish.

The main differences between the two are that 18-carat gold is softer and more malleable than the stronger, more durable 14-carat. That’s because of the higher pure gold amount in 18-carat gold. Also, 18k gold will have a deeper color than 14k.

Platinum

Platinum is a great choice for an engagement ring. It looks like white gold, but is much stronger and valued higher in terms of dollars. It’s about 50% more expensive than its gold counterparts.

Usually platinum rings are about 95% pure platinum, and the metal will last a lifetime. But you’re going to pay a premium for the strongest metal in the world – platinum is very rare and precious.

If your budget is a bit on the tighter side, we’d recommend going for 18 or 24 carat gold. If your partner just loves platinum, then don’t skimp – spend a few extra months saving up the extra cash and spring for this shiny metal.

Platinum rings look beautiful, fosters awe and doesn’t wear away or damage. Once the ring has been made it takes on a satin finish and the ring is hypoallergenic, making it the ideal choice for some.

Palladium

If you (or your lady) are really into the strength and purity of platinum, but hate the price tag it carries along with it, palladium may be the right metal for you. Similar to platinum, it has a 95% purity rating, is a rare metal but is cheaper than platinum.

It is also lighter than platinum so if weight is an issue it may be the better choice. Palladium is easy to polish and repair and is very resistant to scratching, corrosion, oxidation and tarnishing. The hypoallergenic metal also features a natural and permanent color.

Although it’s far from a traditional choice for an engagement ring, palladium is being used more and more for the ring metal.

Keep in mind, though, because it’s not the traditional choice it may not be the best choice for you. Don’t pick palladium as a metal for a ring unless you know for sure your partner will like it.

Picking the Metal

Really the only way to pick the metal is to base your decision on what your partner already wears when it comes to jewelry.

If they don’t wear any jewelry then it’s fine to pick whatever metal you think is best or would look best on her finger.

But unless that’s the case, don’t just choose a metal based on YOUR preferences. Sure a palladium ring sounds cool, but maybe she loves platinum. A platinum ring sounds baller, but maybe she really likes the color of 18k rose gold.

Don’t make a wild guess here. And don’t base it on your assumptions of what’s best. Find out what her choice would be and go with it.

Choosing the Perfect Gemstone

Now the obvious choice here is a diamond. I mean isn’t that the only choice?

Nope.

Times have changed, and although the industry wants you to think the only stone fit for an engagement ring is a diamond, it’s not.

Let’s be real for a second, though. 90% of engagement rings out there still feature diamonds as the center stone. But the runner-up in terms of popularity is a sapphire.

If your soon-to-be fiancée has a unique and distinct style of her own, a diamond may be “too classic” for her. Consider a sapphire – which can come in blue, yellow, pink and a variety of other colors, as well.

Both sapphires and diamonds are very strong. Diamonds are a 10 and sapphires a 9 on the gemstone hardness scale (yes that’s a thing). That means either-or will be suitable for the everyday wear an engagement ring will go through.

One other thing we should mention is that sapphires are cheaper than diamonds, meaning you’ll get a bigger stone for the same amount of money.

Of course, as with everything, don’t just base the decision on the money. Also, don’t just guess or assume anything. Find out what your partner likes and prefers and then deliver it.

Gemstone Cut, Color, Clarity and Carat (the 4 C’s)

If you’re choosing a diamond for the engagement ring there is a lot you want to be aware of when making the choice.

You’ve got a few different choices to make, in fact – the diamond’s cut, color, clarity and carat weight.

Diamonds can be cut into 10 different shapes, round being the most common cut for engagement rings. In fact, 75% of diamonds cut overall are round. What’s interesting is that the popularity of the round cut also makes it more expensive than other diamond cuts.

If you choose a non-round diamond cut you can save quite a bit of money. The two most popular cuts for engagement rings outside of a purely round diamond are the square princess cut and the cushion cut (somewhere between square and round)

The next thing you need to decide on is the color and clarity of the diamond. These two characteristics will determine how bright and shimmery that rock on her finger is going to be.

In terms of color, diamonds come in colorless, near colorless, and 3 shades of yellow. Each of these is given a letter which represents what color grading it gets.

Clarity is similar to color ratings. Clarity relates to the amount of blemish that can be noticed in a diamond. It ranges from flawless, meaning impeccable clarity, to eye-visible inclusions, meaning you can see some blemishes within the stone with the naked eye.

Of course, the more clear and colorless you want the diamond to be, the more you’ll end up paying.

To learn more about all of these and see which is best for you, read our full guide on how to buy a diamond.

Ready-Made vs. Custom Rings vs. Antiques

Now that you know what kind of metal and gemstone you’ll be getting, it’s time to decide on what type of ring you want.

Wait, what?

When it comes to engagement rings, options can be endless even when it doesn’t seem so to the casual observer.

Many people visit a jeweler or jeweler website and buy a ring from the existing collections the store carries. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this and it is what a majority of people likely do.

But others prefer to design a completely custom ring for their partner. There are many pros and cons to doing this, including price and time, but consider it an option. Not many stores will offer this as an option, but shop around if this is really something you set your mind to. It can be a very romantic gesture.

Then there is also the option of an antique engagement ring. These types of rings often have a different look and character than modern rings, and may be the right choice for certain people. These types of rings are often one-of-a-kind and have some type of romantic history behind them.

But again, this would come down to personal preference, so make sure you know your partner’s taste and style. Does she like to wear vintage gear, etc.? If so, an antique may be the choice for you.

Finding Her Ring Size

So, you’ve made all the choices – budget, metal, gemstone and style. Now it’s time to buy the ring.

Before you can do that, though, you need to find out your fiancée’s ring size. And unfortunately, there’s no really easy way to do this.

But in this section, we’ll give you a few tips on how to sneakily find her ring size, without giving away the surprise.

You can also download our free ring sizing guide which will help a lot.

Let’s start here – the most common women’s ring size in the world is 6 or 6.5. It’s always a safe bet to lean to the larger size, just in case.

But don’t assume your lady will have the same finger size as the most common – you’re going to have to find HERS. Unfortunately, you can’t just ask without pretty much ruining the surprise, and luckily you don’t have to.

While you’re taking her window-shopping to find out her style and preferences, stop into a jewelry store and look at some necklaces, bracelets and rings (but not engagement rings). See what fancies her eye and tell her to try it on. If you’re lucky, the sales rep will ask what her size is and she’ll be obliged to say it. Make sure you pay attention and remember what she says.

Or you could ask one of her friends to “borrow” a ring for a day, while you take it to get sized. If your partner’s friend is very close to your to-be fiancée, she may even know what her exact ring size is. If you don’t know any of her friends, then you can “steal” a ring from her jewelry box while she’s not looking. Make sure you return it promptly when you’re done so you don’t arouse suspicion.

Of course, those are not the most efficient ways to find the info you need. And there’s a healthy chance you won’t get her to volunteer her ring-size if the circumstances aren’t right.

The Easiest Way to Find Her Ring Size

So instead, consider stealing a piece of her jewelry while she’s at work/school and take it to a jeweler to have it sized.

Better yet, don’t even leave home. Grab a piece of paper and a pen. While she’s out (or even in the shower, cooking, etc.), take a ring of hers and put it flat on the paper. Use the pen to trace around the inside of the ring. Make sure your trace/outline is as accurate as possible. The tip of the pen should be touching the side of the ring metal.

Once you’ve got that traced to a piece of paper, return the ring so she’s none-the-wiser, and compare what you traced to our free ring sizing guide (download here).

Voila, you’ve got yourself her exact ring size, and you didn’t even have to put on pants to do it.

Finding the Best Place to Buy an Engagement Ring

You’ve made it this far, so you must really love this girl. Time to make the actual purchase and get the ring of her dreams.

There are a couple of options available to you – physical retail stores and online diamond retailers.

Personally, we prefer buying things online because of the convenience and value the internet brings to all things retail.

There’s no denying that traditionally, the great thing about physical retail jewelers was you got to see and feel the ring you were buying. But nowadays, that’s only half-true.

Online retailers like James Allen have REAL 360-degree interactive images of all their diamonds and rings, giving you an exact idea of what you’ll be getting. Couple that with standard 30-day return policies and you don’t have to worry about making a choice you’ll regret later.

The other reason you should consider buying online vs. in person is the amount of money you’ll save. It’s no secret physical retail stores have huge overhead costs, and they have to pass those on to the consumer. Online retailers have much less because of their limited (if any) physical locations. Those savings, likewise, often get passed to the customer.

They also have wider selections online than you will see in most stores. You can browse their various collections and take as much time as you need to make the final decision. Some retailers will even allow you to design a custom ring, instead of purchasing a ready-made one.

Technology… Am I Right?

We highly recommend checking out our complete guide on the best places to buy engagement rings online before making your decision.

Only One Thing Left To Do

Once you have made your decision it’s time to pull out that credit card and make it official. Order the ring and make her the happiest person on the planet.

When you purchase your ring, make sure there’s no trace for her to find. Once you get the ring, hide it until you’re ready to pop that question.

Congratulations and Good luck! We hope you found this guide helpful.

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