#this bracket has been such a fucking rollercoaster!!!

[mostbreedabletwinktournament]

THE RESULTS ARE IN!

THE MOST BREEDABLE TWINK IS *drum roll*

Wei Wuxian!!!

[insomniamamma]

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

 A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars.  “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide--  “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“    A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

  Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only.   And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you.   What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further.   And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside.   “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide,   “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.”  “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder,  gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain.  “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it.  “But the deposit—“  “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?”  “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents.  “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

 

 “That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor.  “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“  “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.”  “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though.  Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“  “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles.  “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not  broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand.  “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them.  “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.”  “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.”  “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“  “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?”  Ezra dimples at you.   “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“  “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her.   “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust.  “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone.  “Your daughter’s really something.”  “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm.  “This the orientation you want?”  “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“  “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“  “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft.  “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.  We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.” 

 Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says.  Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either.  “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.”  “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?”  “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil.  “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?”  “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”  “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“  “I’ve got a  room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.”  “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.”   “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.”  “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.”   “I’m not scared.”  “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“  “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple.   “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly.   “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.”  So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone.  “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours.   ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever.   “The fireweed—“  “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.”  “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.”  “Yeah? What do you think?”  “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.”  “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

 It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm.  “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’   “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.”  “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws.  “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?”  “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all.  “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.”  “Well you know what they say about assuming—“  “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so.  “What’s your favorite?”  “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape.  “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot.  “Ankylosaurus.” he says.  “Really?”  “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell.   “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down.  “You okay, darlin?”   “Stood up too fast.”   “Apple or orange?”  “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice.  “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same.  Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.”  “I thought I’d be okay-“  “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet,   “That’s Laika,” you say.  “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was.  “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile.  “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

 The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain.  “So what got you here?” asks Ezra.  “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“  “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful.  “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown.  “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away.  “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“  “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“  “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough.   “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.”  “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms.  “Cicadas?”  “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.”  “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say.  “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

 “The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase.  “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.”  “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“  “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples.  “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,”  “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

[missjanjie]

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 5

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~2.9k (this chapter) / ~15.1k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Kamjie (Kameron Michaels/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Lemon and Priyanka's relationship is more of a rollercoaster than ever and Rosé figures out the truth about Denali

-

“Are you still giving me the cold shoulder?” Priyanka asked, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in her voice. There was also an underlying hint of anxiety, but that was something she could address later, as much later as possible.

Lemon turned to look at her with a deadpan expression. She didn’t utter a word, instead, she blinked and looked back at her phone, scrolling in tension-filled silence.

The taller woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lem, I told you I haven’t been avoiding you. Mark’s project got delayed so he’s home all the time. He was gonna start getting suspicious if I kept spending the night with you.”

“He keeping you occupied with that mediocre dick?” The cold harshness in her voice was, at least to Priyanka, even worse than the silence.

“Lem, don’t do this,” she pleaded softly. “You know I’d much rather be giving you my fake dick than taking his real one. But it’s just gonna be a little difficult for us to have our usual rendezvous until his project starts back up,” she explained, then quietly strummed her fingers against the bar. “I’ll make up an excuse and come over tonight… if you still want me to, I mean.”

Despite her best efforts, Lemon cracked a slight smile. “Yeah, I still do. I’m not gonna punish my pussy just because I’m still pissed at you.”

Priyanka put her arms up in surrender. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get.”

Lemon swallowed a laugh as she hopped down from the barstool. “I’ll be back after my shift, there better not be any sudden plan changes,” she warned before going upstairs to spend the time before her shift in the common room.

“You seem to be in better spirits,” Jan observed as she noticed Lemon come in. She sat down on the couch with the mug of coffee she’d just poured. “I take it Pri was finally able to pencil you in for a booty call?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that, it makes me sound desperate,” she rolled her eyes. “Her stupid, ugly, smelly boyfriend is still around.

Jan quirked her brow. “Have you ever been in the same room as him?”

“No, but I don’t need to be to know I’m right.”

“You know I worry that you two are gonna end up in over your heads if you aren’t already,” she warned in a calm, gentle tone. She’d had a front-row seat to a fair amount of Lemon and Priyanka’s intimate trysts being Lemon’s roommate and from day one, she’d had the sinking feeling things would end badly. But there was only so much arguing one could do with someone like Lemon.

And unsurprisingly, Lemon scoffed. “Look, I know what we’ve been doing is amoral, but when you think about it, it’s not even our fault. It’s society’s fault for making Pri feel like she has some guy when I’m literally right here.”

“So you do wanna date her?”

Her face reddened, which she tried to offset by rolling her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

------

Denali fixed herself up in the quick-change dressing room. It was her last main stage dance for the night and she had just enough momentum built up to go out with a bang. She looked up when she saw Gigi walk in via the reflection in the mirror. “What’s with the smug grin?”

“I think you have a special visitor in the audience.” When they noticed the confusion in the dancer’s expression, Gigi followed up with, “Rosé asked me if you were up next and sat herself front and center when I said that you were.”

“Oh!” her voice went up in pitch and volume. She cleared her throat and instead focused on fixing her platinum blonde wig. “I mean… oh, cool. I’m sure she’ll enjoy the show.”

Gigi tilted their head to the side. “Is that how I sounded all this time? Fuck,” they shook their head. “Oh, by the way, I’ve decided to go by they/them off the clock, I’ve been letting the rest of the girls know too. It's like, I've been feeling like I’m just dressing up like a girl on stage, you know how it is.”

Denali nodded as she got up. “Whatever makes you feel the most yourself, babe,” she told her with a smile, then took a deep breath as she sauntered onto the stage to the slow, seductive beat of the music. She focused on maintaining the confidence she always brought to her performances and not letting the fact that Rosé was right in her field of vision throw her off.

Rosé watched intently, and while her gaze tended to linger on Denali’s body, she would look up at her face often enough for something to click. She finally realized she recognized the dancer from her work as a cam girl. The realization made her blush but didn’t deter her in the slightest.

After Denali had finished her number, she beckoned Rosé over. She leaned down and whispered, “go upstairs, I’ll meet you there in five,” before backing off to collect her tips as if nothing had happened.

Naturally, Rosé made her way upstairs as quickly as her legs would take her and waited eagerly for Denali to join her. “You know,” she started when she saw her, “I figured out where I know you from.”

“You got me,” she replied and slowly pulled off her wig and wig cap in one go, so her black hair cascaded down her back. “I’m Hannah Montana.”

Rosé blinked, then snorted with laughter. “You’re so fucking stupid,” her tone was fond as she shook her head. “I guess it makes sense. Taking this on as a second job.”

“I’m a people person, being in front of a camera just doesn’t do it for me. Money’s decent, but still. I’ve been considering bringing that stage name over here.”

“Oh you’re not gonna make poor Heidi try and announce ‘Aurora Borealis,” she playfully chastised. Then there was a beat of silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Did you think I’d have a problem with it or something?”

“No,” she shrugged. “It was more fun making you work for it.”

She cocked her brow. “Oh, you’re a little brat, aren’t you?”

“I feel like there’s not much use in trying to argue that, so.” Denali leaned against the wall, looking up at Rosé and fluttering her lashes with coy flirtation. “You gonna do something about it or not?”

Rosé tilted her head and bit her lip, moving closer to Denali until she had both arms bracketing her against the wall. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Was that your endgame the whole time? Give me this whole run around until I was frustrated enough to fuck you as hard as your bratty ass wants?”

“I mean… yes, obviously.”

“Not in the common room, we eat and cry in here.” Jan’s voice pulled Rosé and Denali from their moment, but she shrugged when they glared at her. “What? Just fuck in the spa room like the rest of us,” she told them as she grabbed a cup o’ noodles from one of the drawers that Jackie kept stocked for the girls, and left a couple of dollars from her bra in its place.

Rosé rolled her eyes. “Bitch, I will fuck her in front of you, don’t test me.”

Jan scoffed as she started eating her noodles. “Do it, I dare you.”

“I am begging you not to,” another voice chimed in, the three women turned to see Lemon come up the stairs. While of course, she had no issue with hooking up in various parts of the building, Rosé is her cousin and that was simply a line she refused to cross. She did not care how badly Rosé wanted to fuck Denali – and yes, she knew.

“I cannot believe you’re cockblocking me right now,” she huffed, glancing back at Denali and mouthing ‘sorry’.

But Denali was unphased by the entire exchange. “Girl, just take me home. I’m still gonna put out.”

“Oh,” Rosé blinked, “alright then.”

------

Even though it had barely been a week since Lemon and Priyanka had last hooked up, it felt like ages for them. The second they were inside Lemon’s apartment, clothes were coming off and being tossed any which way as they stumbled into the bedroom, naked by the time their bodies hit the bed.

Priyanka rifled through Lemon’s closet until she came back with the strap-on, fastening it around her waist. She smirked when she turned around and realized Lemon was waiting for her on all fours. “Damn, I should hold out on you more often,” she teased.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Lemon hissed as if there was the slightest chance Priyanka would pass up time with her if given the option.

She chuckled as she positioned herself behind her. “There’s my bratty little Lem,” she cooed, holding her waist with one hand while the other guided the length of the silicone toy into her. She waited for a beat after she bottomed out, making sure Lemon was comfortable before she began thrusting steadily.

Lemon started moaning out the second it started. Her hands fisted into the comforter on her bed, her head hanging forward. Whenever she wanted more or wanted it harder, she would push her hips against Priyanka to urge her on.

And Priyanka knew what each movement meant. “You’re so fucking needy, aren’t you? So desperate to get pounded out,” she grunted. Her hand moved from Lemon’s waist to grab her hair, pulling it back while her free hand moved between her legs, rubbing her clit in time with her thrusts.

“Fuck, baby, just like that, please,” it was only when Lemon was in the heat of the moment, and close to an orgasm, that she would use words like ‘baby’ or ‘please’ unless she was trying to get her way with something. But luckily for her, Priyanka obliged without comment, and she let out a sharp, pleasured cry as she came moments later.

“That’s my good girl,” Priyanka praised, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she eased out of her, cleaning up and putting the dildo and harness away, then got under the covers. “Come, you owe me cuddles.”

Lemon ducked her head away to hide how big her smile was, then cuddled up to Priyanka, resting her head on her chest. “Not to be like, corny or whatever, but I missed you,” she mumbled, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, lest she accidentally make eye contact.

Priyanka grinned, shaking her head. “I missed you too, weirdo,” she said and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She gazed down at her, feeling warmth and affection for a fleeting moment, before angst and melancholy built up from the pit of her stomach, coming out in a sad sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…” she chewed on her lip and looked away. “Yeah, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

------

Rosé hummed to herself as she got into the shower, letting the hot water wake her up from the deep sleep the night before. And perhaps she needed it more than she realized, as she was startled when she suddenly noticed she was no longer alone. “I thought you were still asleep.”

Denali shrugged. “I was. But then I woke up and you weren’t there, and I got bored.”

She chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman’s waist. “Well, good morning, then,” she pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You sleep alright?”

“More than alright. Pretty sure I passed out somewhere after the fourth orgasm,” she chuckled softly, trailing light kisses along her jaw.

Rosé smirked. “No wonder you’re so clingy, they always wanna stick around after they get fucked well,” she teased, her hands moving from Denali’s back to squeeze her ass. “That why you’re in here? Woke up craving more?”

“God, you’re so fucking cocky,” Denali huffed, though she had no honest way of denying that. “But… yeah, very much so.”

“That’s what I thought,” she chuckled before sinking to her knees and nudging Denali’s thighs apart. She gripped each of her thighs, keeping them far enough apart for her to trace her tongue along her folds, then swirled it around her clit.

Denali gasped out softly, resting her head against the wall. “Fuck…” she exhaled, her eyes fluttering shut, moaning at the sensation of Rosé’s tongue on her clit and her fingers easing their way into her.

Rosé continued to lick and suck on her clit as she steadily curled and thrust two fingers into Denali, her free hand moving to her waist, gripping it to keep her steady and hold her in place.

She whimpered and moaned, dragging her fingers through Rosé’s wet hair, her hips starting to rock despite her grip. It wasn’t long after that that she felt a familiar tightness building in her stomach. “Fuck, Rosie, I’m close,” she warned, and not a minute after that, her body arched forward as she came.

Once she was certain Denali was done, Rosé eased out of her and stood back upright, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Now, do you mind if I actually take a shower? I have to get ready for work.”

“Okay, okay,” Denali put her hands up in surrender as she stepped out of the shower. “You think your roommate heard us last night? Or just now?”

Rosé shrugged as she washed her hair. “Probably not, Mik sleeps like a rock. The bitch would sleep through a nuclear holocaust.”

“Fair enough, not that I mind an audience, after all,” she hummed. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” she laughed at her own joke then kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you around.” She dried off and redressed before leaving for her apartment. Everything had gone well so far, she thought, the sex was fantastic and they didn’t need to complicate it with anything else.

------

Lemon had just finished her set when she noticed something out of the ordinary. After grabbing her robe from the quick-change room, she made her way over to the bar. “What’re you doing back there, Jaida? Is Jackie cross-training the strippers now?”

“I bartended in college,” Jaida explained. “Pri couldn’t come in, said she had an important dinner to go to, and based on how it sounded, I think it’s with her boyfriend.”

“Gross,” Lemon muttered. “Gimme a melon ball and a lemon drop.”

Jaida arched her brow but made the shots for her nonetheless. “You a little cranky without your girlfriend here, huh?”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” she huffed, downing the shots one after the other. “And I don’t care who the fuck she has dinner with. I’m just annoyed because she was supposed to give me a ride home. Since, you know, Jan spends more time at Nicky’s than anywhere else.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” she offered with a shrug. “Something tells me you’re not gonna wanna be alone tonight.”

Lemon smiled weakly. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” She was quiet for a few beats with her downcast gaze on the bar, until she finally looked back up at Jaida and asked, “can I get another lemon drop?”

And, as it turned out, Lemon would need the adult supervision. Once her shift ended, she had gotten much more drunk and needed to be hauled into her apartment and tucked into bed, where she passed out almost instantly.

Jaida had stayed awake and watched Lemon for a little while, feeling almost a maternal instinct when it came to Lemon. But eventually, she retired to Jan’s room for the night, figuring she wouldn’t mind, given the circumstances, and slept through the night. She woke up the next morning to a knock on the door and pushed herself out of bed. “Oh, hey Pri, how was your dinner?”

Priyanka furrowed her brows. “Why are you in Lemon’s apartment?” she asked, her stomach tightening in a knot as she followed up with, “did you guys hook up?”

“Nah, she was too wasted to even try,” she shook her head as she ushered her inside, the two of them sitting down on the couch. “What’s going on? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

Priyanka exhaled deeply. “No, um… actually, I’m kinda glad I can practice on someone else, because I’m terrified of telling Lemon,” she looked down, fumbling with the hem of her shirt, shifting uncomfortably, unable to find a satisfactory way to sit and instead just slumped forward and sighed. “Mark proposed. And I panicked and said yes.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring, morosely sliding it onto her finger.

“Oh shit,” Jaida blinked in surprise, her eyes widening when she saw the ring. She pressed her lips into a fine line. “Listen, this might not be the ‘right’ advice, but I don’t think you should tell Lemon yet. You can say whatever you want about whatever your relationship is, but it don’t take a rocket scientist to know it’s more than just sex. She’s not gonna take it well, you need to really think this out.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded, taking the ring off and putting it back in her pocket, then scratched at her hands as if she were fighting the urge to wash them. “You’re right,” she nodded, eyes focused squarely on the floor. “I can’t tell her yet.”

But she didn’t need to, as Lemon had been silently listening from her room, peering through the cracked open door. She shut it quickly but quietly, deciding to go right back to bed. It was too early for her heart to break.

[sweetestlamb]

BMTL Chapter 9- Teaser

Author's note: Chapter 9 is coming after a short break! Here's a teaser, this one will be another rollercoaster and the pov I've been dreading the most🙄 plus a special guest based on a suggestion one of you made! All this and more on the next episode of Dragon Ball Z 😂😂😂 errr I mean Bring me to life.

The bus ride is far too quick, he already loathes the moment when his shoulder will no longer be brushing "accidentally" against hers and he has to suppress a groan when someone rings the bell and he realizes this is their stop. She'd been acting uncharacteristically adorable after his honest statement earlier, running away as soon as the bus arrived as if she'd never gazed upon herself in a reflective surface before. She was beautiful, it wasn't something that was subjective it was just a fact. But once they entered the bus she made her way to a single seater by the window, he'd easily tugged her away by her backpack forcing her to a double seater in the back instead.

They were sitting together, there were already straying eyes watching her every move. Some from their schools and others just strangers who didn't bother to hide their interest in her, eying her up and and piquing his desire to throw hands. They were all lucky he had an important date after school.

She'd glared at him and swung her arms latching on to a metal handle trying to stop him but he was stronger than her, with a huff he pulled her with him and made her sit in the inner seat so he could bracket her in and marginally hide her form from the predatory looks.

Her leg brushed against his before moving away, so quickly he almost thought he imagined the whole thing. But then it happened again. He glanced over discretely at the tail of his eye.

He'd never seen Sujin fidget before. Didn't know her bones were capable of such a function but he had felt her jiggling knee knock into his own and learned that even an ice princess like her got embarrassed. He swallowed the immense pride that erupted at the realization that he was the one making her act this way. Completely out of her character.

"It's our stop." She whispers staring at the floor, eyes refusing to look up.

He's tempted to ignore her and see if that will make her look at him, now that he's been the center of her attention- that hug is burned into his mind- he is greedy for more, her resistance makes him even more desperate.

But he wordlessly stands up instead sliding out of the seat and opening the back door for them, she only pauses minutely before skipping down the stairs and exiting the bus. Her short pleated skirt bounces dangerously with every movement and he's temporarily distracted gazing at the smooth expanse of milky skin, why were the school skirts so short anyway? Sujin's barely reached her knee, stopping in the meat of her thigh.

His stomach clenches at the thought of others staring too, maybe he could convince her to tie the sweater around her waist instead of wearing it normally. It was worth a try at least.

"We probably shouldn't walk in together, your fangirls will go cra--"

He interrupts her, not paying at all to what she's suggesting because he has no intentions of separating from her. She's so exhausting with all this push and pull honestly. He already told her that they don't matter.

"Isn't your skirt too short?"

He stops when he realizes that she's no longer beside him, twisting left and right before turning around and seeing her a few paces behind. He almost sighs in relief much more familiar with this particular emotion etched on her face, annoyance and mild rage- the patented princess look™️ and he backs up looking at her with a lifted brow, silently questioning her inactivity.

"What did you say to me Han Seojun?" She admonishes staring at him like he's grown another head, she also steps into his space tilting her angry face to glare directly into his face. She looks prepared to murder him and hide the body.

He's not stupid enough to repeat his gutsy idiotic question, he very much likes his face the way it's currently arranged. He might be stupid but he's not that stupid.

"Me? Nothing. I would never say anything, I don't deserve to speak in your presence." He flutters his eyelashes dramatically, speaking in an exaggerated cute voice and she stares blankly at first. Both of them searching the others face before the tension is snapped like a rubber band and she pushes him in the chest, he almost whines reaching out to grab her wrist before he sees the small smile on her face, its hidden instantly behind the curtain of her hair when she moves away but he sees it and he feels his chest palpitate.

He stands staring in wonder. Lost in her spell.

He's never been a gracious loser but she gives him no chance in the matter.

He stares at her back, cheeks hurting as beams at her bounding off in his sweater. It's hers now he will never be able to wear it again without remembering her in it, it's been ruined.

Chorong struggles to carry all the cards he pushes at him, the female population seems to have decided that he was sick and his return results in high pitched screams of his name and constant food and gifts being shoved in his direction, despite his refusal. He's wandering the halls arm filled with the gifts when he runs into Sujin, her face brightens upon seeing him before she glances down at his arms. The smile is thwrated before it can even come to fruition, her eyes turning cold before she stomped past him.

He smirked at her back, chuckling as Chorong stared in confusion before asking, "What's wrong with her?" He shook his head before handing the bigger boy all the unwanted gifts, her smile was worth more than all of this anyway.

Lunch can't come soon enough and he happily swaggers into the bustling room, oblivious to the amount of hungry eyes that latch onto his form. His own eyes too busy locking on one figure and one figure alone.

The seat across from her is conveniently empty and he laughs into his sleeve when Jukyeong waves him over, smiling conspirationally at him pointing at the empty seat and giving him a thumbs up. He can't control his laughter when Sujin turns to the girl and to hide her damning thumb the clumsy girl pokes herself in the eye. He definitely owed her.

Suho nods at him as he takes his seat, he returns the gesture. Watching at the usually stoic boy reaches across to comfort his girlfriend, stroking her hair and blowing gently into her teary red eye as she whines loudly.

He opens his backpack taking out the food the girl avoiding him like the plague had given him just this morning. The dumplings are perfect this time she's clearly figured out a technique now, and when he bites into them a delicious umami flavor explodes on his tongue. He groans in pleasure before stuffing another dumpling in his mouth eagerly.

"Wow those look amazing! Did your mom make them?" Su-ah calls across the table and he freezes mid-chew instinctively looking at the real culprit and her eyes are already on him, wide and then pleading. He knows what she's begging from him but he really really wants to disobey and tell everyone that she made them for him. That same Kang Sujin, who served men roundhouse kicks and resting bitch faces for lunch had made him food and was sitting there eating a lunch he had prepared for her.

It sounds so domestic and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from doing something she'll regret.

But she's not ready it's too evident and he's not inconsiderate nor selfish. Whatever this is, it's far too new and fragile for him to throw it to the wolves before it's on stable grounding.

"No my mom didn't make it." He answers honestly and he can feel the cold air wafting off Sujin in frigid waves and then he feels a sharp kick to his ankle, he has to grab her feet with his legs to stop her from delivering another blow. He probably shouldn't find her violent tendencies so attractive. He clearly isn't right in the head.

"Someone else made it. Someone special." He continues trying not to wince as she tries to attack him again. Immediately the table erupts into ohs and everyone starts talking at once except her best friends who look on with smirks, Su-ah playfully winking at him.

"Someone special? Who? Who made it? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Sujin spontaneously starts choking on her blueberry milk, the very one he'd packed in her lunch bag this morning the pale blue liquid spilling out the corners of her lips. He passes her a napkin immediately, their fingers brushing as she takes the paper from his grip wiping her face and looking sheepish once she realizes that all eyes are on her now.

"Are you okay?" He asks amused, looking at her with a smile barely hidden. So fucking cute.

"Yeah don't worry about me." She breezily replies struggling to escape from his tight grip under the table, unbeknownst to everyone there. But her cold statement only reminds me of their meeting in the hospital. Her words echoing in his heart, I'm going to worry about you. Who are you to tell me not to? Let me do what I want. Hearing those words made him want to stupidly put himself in more scenarios that would result in her concern, maybe he'd get another hug. Or a even a ki--

"Don't think we forgot! Who made you this food Seojun-ah?" Chorong breaks his concentration and he stares incredulously at the other boy, his words were meant to trick everyone else but his best friend should know who he was referring to; he'd been the one to deliver the food for him after all. Wasn't it clear who he liked? Who might be making him food in return?

He sighs shaking his head, glancing up at Sujin from under his fringe feeling warm all over.

It's hard to tail him without making it too obvious but she tells Jukyeong and Su-ah that she has something to do before running after Seojun at a distance. She misses the knowing look on both of their faces as they watch her conspicuously hide behind a very thin tree. He had offered to wait for her but she didn't need his fanclub seeing them leaving together, they were so possessive of the boy. It didn't matter that he never showed any interest in them they were all still convinced that he belonged to them.

She didn't see him making food for any of them so she didn't know how they reached this asinine conclusion but she'd rather stay off their radar.

"Are you practicing to be a national spy? Why didn't you come when I offered to wait for you?" They are far from the school now, miles but she still looks around nervously before speeding up finally allowing them to walk side by side. He looks over at her fondly, she looks away unable to maintain eye contact when he's acting like this. It doesn't help that she can feel her walls weakening, she was tempted to accept his offer earlier. To walk with him side by side and let everyone see, she was losing her mind.

"I didn't want to be murdered by your girls." She teases, the words fall flat because as soon as she utters them she feels sick to her stomach.

A huge hand suddenly wraps around her wrist halting her, warm even through the stick material of the gifted sweater.

She turns to look at him bewildered, even more so at the hard look on his face. Those exotically sloping eyes even thinner than usual as he pulls her closer. She gulps, hard. Looking at him as his eyes peruse her face slowly, full of dark intention her blood simmers hot under the matching gaze.

"They aren't my girls. You know that." The emphasis and bite on the word makes her uneasy, refusing to think about the implications of his words. A sheen of sweat raises on her back, and she gently tugs her arm away scoffing to tear through the thick cloud of tension that is loitering between them.

"I was just joking. You don't have to be so serious. Let's go." She awkwardly rubs at her wrist before bolting away, scared to continue this line of conversation. Something has changed between them and she has no idea how and if they can go back to the way things were.

A little voice in her head whispers, Is that really what want you?

How is she supposed to know what she wants? Up until this point that has never mattered to anyone, she was just expected to do as she was told. Speak when spoken to. Everything about this is foreign and terrifying. Knowing that he'll be there to catch her if she falls is more nerve wrecking than anything she's faced thus far.

It's better not to think about it especially with where they're going, but thinking about that makes her even more nervous. She fidgets with the sleeve of the huge sweater, tugging at the extra material that folds over her hands. She suddenly realizes that she's completely covered in Seojun, this wasn't her best idea but she can't bring herself to remove the sweater.

She's never felt so warm.

"You can wait inside, I need to get something." He suddenly pats her head ruffling her hair and she reaches up to push his hand away only to be entranced by the grin on his face, has his smile always been that luminant or is this reserved just for her?