#Hockney x reader
Text
Losing our Minds Together pt 4 Dad!Joel x f!Reader / Bill x Frank / Ellie x Riley
Summary: Joel hopes to be a good neighbor, Frank has Bill fix his AC and Riley and Ellie finally meet.
Rating: 18+ (for future smut chapters)
Word Count: 4.9
Warnings: This is saccharine slice of life with smut and a Soft!Joel PLUS Frank x Bill PLUS Ellie x Riley. You have been warned. There is smut for the adults in this story, but when it gets to those chapters you will have plenty of warning.
masterlist here
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"What an artist is trying to do for people is bring them closer to something, because of course art is about sharing. You wouldn't be an artist unless you wanted to share an experience, a thought." - David Hockney
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Ellie lays back on her bed, eyes on the ceiling. She can hear Joel downstairs making pancakes for her as he does any morning he's not at work too early. He's starting with Tommy this week, an uncle that Ellie has met only once. A nice enough man with a wife who speaks bluntly in a way that both thrills and intimidates Ellie.
Ellie's room is as decorated as it's going to be. Not as girlishly done as the old room she shared with Sarah. This one is soft blue. Her bed is a slate grey with gold stars. She reaches under her pillow to pull out the small giraffe plushy. It's missing one eye, the fur is worn through years of pets.
Ellie kisses is well -loved head before placing it back under the pillow when she hears her name being called. She pulls on a long sleeve shirt over her pyjama pants and pads down the stairs.
She narrowly avoids the toolbox by the front door. It's Joel's first day at work with Tommy's renovation company and Ellie can tell he's nervous the minute she enters into the kitchen. He's been up for hours and she can see he hasn't slept much by the dark under his eyes.
He gives her a tired smile before tilting his head to the table.
"Mornin'."
"Morning."
"Sleep well?"
"Better than you," Ellie observes as she sits at the table, quietly thanking Joel when he slides her a plate of blueberry pancakes.
He leans against the counter, watching her eat with a little smile across his face. Ellie knows he likes it when she eats. Makes him feel needed.
"Gonna explore today while I'm at work, kid?"
"Maybe," Ellie lies as she pours syrup liberally over her pancake stack. She has no desire to explore this neighborhood, not in this heat. Right now the only thing she's looking forward to is art lessons with you. "Dunno though, it's pretty hot."
"Mhmm," Joel nods and glances out the window towards your house, distracted. Ellie catches his eye line and smirks.
"But maybe I'll just join a cult if they have a pool."
"Uh huh."
"And get a nose piercing."
"Yup."
Ellie rolls her eyes, taking a gulp of the orange juice at her elbow. Joel is forever reminding her of the importance of fruit and veggies yet she rarely sees him take his own fucking advice.
Joel's still staring over at your house, body tilted against the counter, mug resting against his lower lip.
"Her AC is broken," Ellie offers. Joel's head whips around to face her, brow quirked. Ellie holds in a smirk and spears a piece of pancake, eating it with gusto.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Ellie talks through a mouthful of pancake. "Hope it's not too hot for my lessons."
Joel gets a contemplative look on his face, looking back at your place out the kitchen window before he places his mug in the sink.
"Should go over and see 'bout it," he murmurs to himself. He leans over and places a gentle kiss at the top of Ellie's head. "I'll be home before five. You know my cell number, Tommy's is on the fridge. Call me if there's any problems, got it?"
"Yes siree."
Joel rolls his eyes at the honorific before hoisting his toolbox.
"Oh and make sure that cult a' yours is okay with a noise piercin' before you do it," he offers as he leaves. "Wouldn't wanna get kicked out your first day."
///
“Stop being pathetic,” Frank whispers to himself that morning, smoothing his hair down for the thousandth time that morning. It’s early, the gallery not open yet. But he’s expecting a very special visitor.
Well, not a visitor exactly. Bill who after a very brief and very awkward coffee encounter the other day has agreed to come and look at Frank’s unit free of charge. The door to the gallery squeaks open and Frank sees a familiar stout man with a poorly trimmed beard make his way into the gallery.
Frank’s pulse skyrockets at the sight of Bill carrying his toolbox, the strain of it making his biceps bulge. His hands are so large and beefy and Frank is imagining a host of filthy things that involve them.
“Hey, you want a coffee?”
Jesus, Frank. Calm the fuck down. He’s not even in the fucking room yet.
“Nah, I’m good,” Bill says as he enters into Frank’s gallery, eyes on the man in the well tailored Hawaiian shirt. “Just point me in the direction of the unit and I’ll get to work.”
“Right of course,” Frank says with a shaky laugh. “You’re probably a very busy man.”
Bill grunts in reply, following Frank to the back of the gallery where the unit sits sputtering weakly. Frank swallows when Bill comes up behind him, voice low in his ear.
“This thing still under warranty?”
“Nope,” Frank frowns.
“S’a scam anyway,” Bill mutters. “Gimme ten minutes, looks like a pretty straight forward problem.”
Frank nods and feeling awkward he makes his way back into the main part of the gallery. He busies himself going over receipts and tries not to imagine how hot Bill looks grunting as he fixes the AC unit. Frank pauses a moment before he pulls out his cell phone and composes a text to you.
[8:59am] Why the fuck did you make me meet Bill? I Had a very good thing going. Now he’s here in the gallery fixing the AC unit and he’s so handsome and I HATE YOU FOR THIS.
He’s about to send it when he hears his name being called from the back room.
“Frank?”
Frank feels his heart jump at the sound of his name being called. He quickly jumps off the stool and strides into the back room, almost stumbling over his loafers. Frank feels his entire body flaming not from the heat of the gallery, but from the sight of Bill’s budging arms as he twists the wrench to tighten the bolts.
“Just need you to hold here so I can tighten this last bolt,” Bill instructs gruffly. Frank does as he asks, holding the piece in place. At this nearness he can see each of Bill’s light eyelashes, see the streaks of grey in his beard and when Bill glances up at him as he finishes, Frank can see the tints of green in his light eyes.
“All done.”
“Great. I brought you a water bottle,” Frank manages weakly as he motions to the bottle on the floor at his side.
“Kind of you,” Bill replies gruffly. He obviously feels the heat as well because he takes the drink gratefully and gulps it down. Frank tries not to stare, but he can’t help but notice the way Bill’s throat bobs and the way the sweat glistens on his body.
“S’that all ya need?” Bill asks when he finishes the last mouthful.
No. I need your mouth on mine. I need you in my bed.
Stop it. You don’t even know if he’s gay.
“Yeah, thank- thank you,” Frank manages to sputter out. Bill casts a lingering look in his direction before Bill is striding out into the gallery on his way out. Something catches his eye, a new painting hung by Frank for this month’s upcoming exhibition.
It’s a colorful painting of two men in chairs. One is sweetly smiling out of frame; the other is a grumpier looking man sitting with an ankle on his knee, staring away from the frame.
“S’a nice piece,” Bill observes looking at the painting. “I like that one. A Hockney, right?”
“Yeah,” Frank is impressed.
“Thought so, I’ve always liked his stuff,” Bill muses. Frank finds himself struck by this. Bill seems quiet and intelligent so he’s not shocked. But rarely do people know Hockey’s work in this part of Wyoming.
He feels Bill has shared a piece of him, a private sliver of himself and he wants to return in kind.
“I like this one,” Frank says pointing to the piece next to it, “Domestic Scene”. In it a man lovingly washes another man in the shower. “I always thought it was a piece that showed such a quiet devotion.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Bill nods, gaze dreamy. “You ever meet him? Hockney, I mean?”
“Nah,” Frank shakes his head. “I wish.”
Bill glances at the piece a moment longer before casting a shy smile Frank’s way.
“Well, I’m off. Gotta open up shop.”
Frank nods in reply, wishing he wasn’t so fucking nervous around the man. He can’t remember the last time he felt this keyed up in front of another person. Frank is normally the smooth one, the calm, cool, casual one. But for some reason with Bill he feels observed, keenly watched by Bill’s light eyes and steady gaze.
Despite the nerves Frank finds himself desperate to keep the conversation going, eager to keep Bill in his orbit.
“Wait. Bill. I know you said you’d do this for free but I have to pay you.”
“And I won’t take a dime,” Bill replies cooly.
“You probably just saved me hundreds in a repairman call,” Frank smiles. “I insist.”
I insist on taking you out to dinner. Go on. Say it.
“It was ten minutes of work,” Bill insists picking up his toolbox with finality. “And I didn’t have to order a part. I am not taking your money, Frank.”
Frank nods stupidly, trying to force the invitation to come out of his mouth but all that escapes is a slow choked sounding thanks. Bill nods gently again, giving a tight lipped smile before heading to the main door of the gallery.
Frank feels ridiculous as he waves at Bill, hating the pit in his stomach as the man walks out the door and out of his life.
///
When you open the door to him Joel hides in a delighted grin. Your hair is wild, your eyes free of sunglasses and you’re wearing a deliciously short bathrobe that shows just enough to have Joel’s pulse spike. He pushes past it though, holding up his toolbox when you croak out a confused greeting.
“Morning.”
“Mornin’. Heard from Ellie your AC isn’t working,” Joel says his dark eyes playful as he scans behind you.
He’s curious to see what your place is like. You stick out to him in this neighborhood from the furniture in your backyard to the unique way you dress and he feels like your house will showcase that.
“Don’t want my kid gettin’ lessons in a sauna, so I thought I’d come see if I could help.”
You blink at him slowly, one eye shut, the other peering up as if his words are only hitting you now, like the feathers of a pillow; slow and dreamy. “Uh, it’s kinda early.”
In habit Joel glances at his left wrist to check his watch, wincing when he sees it’s bare. No matter, he saw the clock in the kitchen right before he left.
“It’s nine am.”
“Yeah,” you nod, stifling a yawn when Joel stares at you. He sees that you’re serious and he tries not to laugh. He’s been up since six and he feels like the day is well underway while you obviously feel that it’s just begun.
“I guess I could come by after work,” Joel offers, making a mental note: She likes to sleep in.
You look like you’re contemplating this, likely thinking of how today’s weather is supposed to reach scorching levels. You glance out at the bright sun and you shake your head, hiding another yawn behind the back of your hand.
“No, no now is good,” you say urging him inside with a wave. “Thanks so much for doing this. Lemme get you a coffee, how do you take it?”
“Warm.”
You give a smile that morphs into another yawn and as you walk towards the kitchen he notices the sparkly purple toe polish you’re wearing.
Joel steps inside the house, slipping off his boots and is immediately blown away as he glances around. In most homes the style is subdued and calm, a restful sanctuary for when the world gets too loud. Inside your home it’s unlike that in every way.
It’s a clash of color and style and a feast for the eyes. A colorful tasseled rug sit underneath an ornate amber-colored glass coffee table. A small bronze giraffe sculpture is on an antique desk by the vintage cone fireplace, sleek and beautifully maintained. Joel can’t help but wander over to it as he hears you humming in the kitchen. It’s an old tune he thinks he recognizes but can’t quite place. He peeks around the corner to see you facing away from him and reaching up into the cluttered cabinet for a mug, your robe creeping up the back of your thighs as you do. Joel feels his heart flutter before he moves back, eyes lowered to the floor deferentially.
He goes back into the living room, hands in his pockets and his eyes wide like a kid in a candy shop. Nothing in yours home goes together and yet everything feels right side by side. Joel can’t stop looking at the antique furniture, running his hand along the back of a particularly ornate dining chair.
You pad back into the room handing him a mug with bright polka dots. It’s tiny in his bulky grip but he drinks from it nonetheless.
“Sorry, no milk or sugar,” you say with a feeble grimace. “Forgot to shop yesterday.”
“No bother, I drink it black,” Joel says before tilting his chin at your wall. “This place is somethin’ else.”
“Yeah?” you smile sleepily, looking around your home. You’re very proud of it yourself. It’s eclectic and weird and just how you like it. Collected pieces from your grandfather and garage sales.
“Yeah I’ve been in a lot of places, but nothing like this,” Joel admits, his eyes going to the art pieces on the walls. A particularly “You paint these?”
“I take it you don’t know Gérôme,” you say with a wry smile. “This is a print called Pygmalion and Galatea, are you familiar?”
Joel shakes his head, eyes floating from your face back to the framed print. He feels you come to stand next to him, your head tilting to look at it from his angle.
“Okay so it’s… hmmm,” you pause, thinking for a moment before launching into it. “Okay, it’s about this sculptor Pygmalion. He’s sculpting this beautiful woman Galatea out of ivory, and he falls in love with her as he does. Pygmalion is obsessed, bringing this sculpture gifts, kissing it. He goes to the altar of Aphrodite and begs her to bring this woman to life.”
“Weird,” Joel offers, tilting his head slightly as he listens.
“It’s beautiful,” you admonish him. Up this close he can smell the vanilla and lavender in your hair. “Imagine seeing life in everything. The stars, the grass beneath your feet, a slab of ivory. Anyway, he goes home and he kisses the statue. Her lips become warm. He touches her body, every part and every time he does it becomes real flesh under his fingers.”
“He fell in love with something he created,” Joel shrugs. “Kinda egotistical.”
“Don’t parents do that with their children the minute they see them? Loving something they created so fiercely?”
Joel doesn’t reply. He can’t reply. But you don’t seem to notice because you’ve launched into something else, your voice rising excitedly.
“There’s also this carving about the same story in the MET by Rodin,” you say excitedly. “I really wanna go there and see it person. He modeled Pygmalion after himself in that one and I find that utterly fascinating. Putting oneself in the center of a myth and-”
Joel sees the way your eyes sparkle and he feels a strange pang start behind his sternum. Feeling his gaze on you, you seem to catch yourself, you cheeks heating.
“Sorry, I get carried away,” you tell him with an embarrassed laugh. “In answer to your question, no, I didn’t paint that. I sell most of my stuff.”
“You don’t keep anything you make?” Joel asks with surprise. You get a strange look on your face and he feels like he’s said something wrong.
He disguises his discomfort with a sip of his coffee, wincing at how strong it is. He likes coffee, but this is more like motor oil.
“Thanks so much for fixing the AC unit. I bet you’ll feel better knowing Ellie will be in a house not a sauna,” you say with a tight smile. “I’m just gonna get ready but here, follow me, I’ll show you where the main unit is.”
Joel follows you through a hallway full of neon signs. It reminds him of old motels from the 70’s with sleazy characters and matchboxes at the front desk. He watches the way you sail over the hardwood, humming lightly to yourself. He wonders if you know you do that a lot.
Joel’s shoulders are almost as broad as the door frame and he takes his time looking around. He walks behind you into what he now sees is your art studio. It’s cramped and colorful and he can’t stop looking around at it. Canvas, paints, charcoal, stacks of paper, old mason jars full of colorful water holding warped paintbrushes. A palette is on the floor covered with cellophane, a handful of palette knives sitting next to it.
You don’t notice Joel looking intently to the space around you. You’re moving your way over to the old AC unit in the far corner. There are two in your place, one in the bedroom and one in the studio, the two places you need it most. The one in here is currently hidden behind some unopened canvases.
A record player is sitting on the wood table to the far left, a stack of LP’s in their sleeves sitting beside it.
“You like records,” Joel observes as he trails a hand over one of the sleeves. “And you have good taste.”
“My grandfather did,” you answer as you busy yourself with moving some of the easels out of the way. “He had a huge collection. I’ve had to sell off most of it but I kept his favorites. When I play them it makes it feel like he’s still here.”
“I get that.”
Joel thumbs through your collection of LP’s, his dark eyes pausing over a few more familiar titles. He also watches you out of the corner of his eye, seeing you move hurriedly to get the space clean for him to work in.
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble,” he promises. “I could do that.”
“I should have tidied it a long time ago,” you insist, brushing the hair from your eyes. “I don’t want Ellie to hurt herself when she comes over.”
Joel smiles at that. You finally lean back announcing that you’re finished.
“And now I’m going to shower because I’m sweating like a pig,” you tell him as you slide by him. “I won’t be long. Let me know if you need anything.”
You leave quickly and Joel forces his attention from your bare calves and back to the unit he’s meant to fix. It’s a window unit shoved in the corner. You clearly put it there when it stopped working.
Joel sets down his toolbox beside it with a clatter, listening as you make your way down the creaking hallway, closing the door behind you. His ears strain and he then hears your shower running and he can't help but swallow. He's trying not to think about the fact that you're naked in there, soaping yourself all over.
Fuck.
Guilt sears him and he turns his attention back to the wrench in hand and gets to work. It's not a big job, rather simple when combined with cleaning the filter (something you clearly rarely do). It takes a few tightened screws, a patch with electrical tape and when he tests it, it roars to life.
He glances at the nearby window and opens it, placing the unit inside the frame. He sets it up, plugging it in. As he does this he glances through the window, struck at how it faces his own home, specifically his bedroom. Unlike the rest of the home, those blinds and curtains are always drawn, but the realization that your houses aren’t as far from one another as they seem occurs to him. For some reason it sends a tingle down his spine that he can’t quite explain.
He breaks from his distraction when he hears your bare feet padding towards him and swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He straightens, placing the wrench back in the toolbox and shooting you a polite smile. He notices the shrill squeak when you push the door fully open.
"Hey," you greet him with shower-damp hair smelling sweet wearing denim cut offs and a soft looking flowery t-shirt. "Find everything okay?"
"Yeah you’re good to go with the AC," Joel nods glancing over your shoulder. "Just noticed your door creaks a lot."
"Oh yeah it's annoying," you say frowning. "Been like that since last summer. Guess the wood is warped."
Joel licks his suddenly dry lips, watching your eyes lingering on the door frame. "I can fix it for you."
You glance back at him quickly, eyes widening.
"You've done enough," you insist, eyebrows saddling. "Honestly Joel the AC was already-"
He finds he wants to linger in your company. He wants to remain here in your strangely colorful home, feeling the warmth of your sudden goodwill towards him. He scrambles to find an excuse that will work.
"I don’t mind. It's the neighborly thing to do."
You falter at his quick response, looking into his warm eyes before movement outside the window catches both your eyes. Joel turns as your face breaks into a large grin.
"Sam!"
A young boy of no more than five stands waving outside your window. Joel sees the smile almost split your face in half. Joel watches the two of you mouthing words through the glass, your fingers and hands moving a mile a minute as you converse with exaggerated mouth movements.
After a minute of this the boy turns his large, dark eyes on Joel in question, pointing at Joel and raising his brows before turning back to spinning a circle around his puckered mouth.
"This is my new friend Joel," you say motioning to Joel and finger spelling his name out before you continue on. "He just moved next door with his daughter."
Joel watches in fascination as the four letters of his name become something like art in your hands. He also feels his stomach flutter pleasantly at you calling him your friend. Friend is a good start. Much better than ‘hillbilly’.
"His daughter Ellie," you continue, fingers gliding through the air. "I want you and Sam to be nice to her. Introduce her to the rest of the kids on the block. Include her."
Sam nods, raising his fist and making a knocking motion in the air. He smiles at Joel and then back at you.
"Pass it along to Riley if you see her," you add. "I think they will hit it off."
Sam nods again. You smile jutting your chin for him to take off and he does, giving you and Joel and salute before taking off across the grass. Joel notices now that the boy is wearing a homemade cape of some kind.
Joel watches you go back to moving the canvases, watching the way your body moves under your denim shorts and t-shirt in a way that he knows he shouldn't. He distracts himself from this, focusing on what just happened.
"You know sign language?"
"I know enough," you shrug. "Learned it as a kid and I guess it stuck."
"Why'd you learn it?"
"I had a classmate that was deaf,” you say moving the canvases to the far side of the room. “She didn't have a lot of friends n' I felt bad so I learned what I could and the rest she taught me."
Joel is momentarily surprised by this. From the first moment he met you he'd felt this sense that you were harder than you let on. Now he realizes that was a facade. You’re like Ellie in that way – tough exterior, warm gooey interior.
"Full 'a surprises," Joel murmurs. You must hear him because you glance over at him from the other side of the studio, brows raised.
"Huh?"
"You," Joel explains kindly. "You're full of surprises."
"You think?" You smile cheekily. "I've always thought of myself as woefully predictable."
Joel picks up his toolbox with a boyish grin and brings it over to the door frame. You join him in the hallway and Joel is taken aback at how good you smell, so fresh and clean like laundry hung in a garden.
"You've done so much this morning," you tell him and Joel can see the gratitude in your eyes. It's so strong he has to drag his eyes back to the door.
"I like helpin'."
He feels your gaze on him and tamps down the delight blooming behind his sternum. Joel has always found a propensity in himself to help others that makes him feel good. He likes seeing the smile in Ellie when he builds her something she asked for. And now feeling you softening towards him makes him flush delightedly.
"Thank you so much, Joel."
"No problem," Joel says feeling strangely breathless at the increasing warmth in your gaze. He finds his hand twitching and quickly averts his eyes to the door to his right across the hall. Without thinking he grips the knob, twisting.
"I'll just check this one too-"
"No!"
You shout so loudly that Joel starts, his hand dropping from the knob. You put your palm around it, tugging it shut before it can creak open.
"I-I'm sorry-" Joel starts, confused by the angry look that's crossed over your features.
"S'fine," you mumble without looking at him, and suddenly all that shiny sweetness is gone from your voice and eyes. It's replaced by that icy tone you used when you called him a hillbilly that first night.
"I'll walk you out."
Joel can feel the pit in his stomach forming. He's crossed a line somehow. He doesn't know how but he did and he immediately regrets it. He follows you like a chastised child past all your eclectic art pieces and at the door. He slips on his boots feeling wrong -footed. He tries to think of something to say to salvage what felt like a good moment but he can't think of anything.
"I'll see Ellie on Wednesday," you tell him when he backs out over the threshold of the door.
"Yeah, sou-"
You close the door in his face before he can even finish the sentence. Stunned, he stands there a moment staring at the closed door. Suddenly there's the sound of a bicycle bell, the realization that the neighborhood is alive and likely witnessing everything. Joel feels red crawling up the back of his neck, shame and embarrassment.
What the fuck happened?
And why is he so upset? He barely even knows you, so why does it matter so much?
Joel crosses back to his place, internally telling himself he's not going to bother you again. You're teaching his kid, you're his neighbor and that's all it is. All it should be.
///
It’s mid afternoon when Ellie is in the kitchen about to snag another cookie from thecupboard when she heard a soft knock at her front door. Joel has keys so she figures its you and pads eagerly over to the door, tugging it open with an expectant smile.
“Oh.”
Ellie opens the door slowly the rest of the way, her eyes fixed on the girl at her eye line. Too young to be here to hit on Joel like the rest of the neighborhood.
No, this is a girl Ellie’s own age with hair in braids tied in a bandana. She has dark skin that glows in the sunlight and wears jean shorts and a tank top. She gives off the air of confidence, even when she's here on Ellie’s porch.
"Hey you're Ellie, right?"
Who is this girl? How does she know her?
"Yeah," Ellie nods, feeling strangely insecure.
"Wanted to introduce myself," the girl replies, not even bothered by Ellie's reticence. "I'm Riley. I live across the street."
She sticks a thumb in the direction of the house you told Ellie about. "Riley she's about your age." She realizes now why she’s introducing herself and Ellie feels a sense of gratitude for you going out of your way to get her socializing.
"I'm Ellie, oh uh, you already know that," Ellie sputters awkwardly. Riley gazes at Ellie evenly, a small little smirk on her full lips. She glances at Ellie’s moving boxes littering the hallway behind her, the long sleeves Ellie wears and the pale of the girl’s skin.
"Where'd you move from?"
"Texas."
"You don't sound Texan."
"Boston originally...” Ellie feels compelled to explain. “Then Chicago, then Texas, now here."
"Lots of movin’."
"Yeah... Well," Ellie shrugs feeling strangely vulnerable. Riley seems to notice because she shoots Ellie a polite smile.
"Cool," Riley nods. "Well I wanted to introduce myself. See ya around I guess."
Ellie nods, terrified she's going to say the wrong thing. Riley seems so cool, so self assured. Ellie watches the taller girl wave and saunter off the porch, her long braids dancing behind her. She doesn’t understand why her heart is pounding so rapidly, or why her cheeks are suddenly flushing even after she's closed the door on her guest.
All Ellie knows is that she wants Riley to drop by again soon.
---------------------------------------------
Comments and reblogs make me real happy. And its free to do. So what's stoppin' ya?
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#smut#dad joel miller#joel miller#pedro pascal#fanfic#fanfiction#bill x frank#frank and bill#bill and frank#ellie x riley#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#romance#slow burn#eventual smut#eventual happy ending#eventual romance#pining
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worth all your while (ch.2) | knj x reader
chapter summary: you don't have to wait for long to hear from namjoon, which is great except your sister and your best friend won't shut up about it. (or: there is lots of texting, some phone sex, and we meet seokjin!)
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol
chapter warnings: smut, way too much texting, swearing, alcohol. here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: mutual masturbation, phone sex, namjoon calls you baby because ofc he does, discussion of cunnilingus
chapter word count: ~6.9k (total 12.4k)
a/n: i was going to be awesome and format the texting properly, but i am inherently lazy, so here you go. thanks to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over. love you both.
previous chapter | next chapter | read on ao3
It’s not even close to two weeks before you hear from Namjoon.
When you finally touch down in the United States after your stupidly long layover in London, you turn your phone back on to a slew of messages. Your mom, wondering why you haven’t called to update her (because it’s not like she could check your flight status herself or anything), your sister asking if you still want a ride or if you’ll just rent a car, your editor wanting to know if you can resend your last revisions on your most recent article because in 36 hours he’d managed to delete the email permanently somehow… and then two texts standing out from the rest — no contacts listed, just two Korean numbers. One just looks to be a link.
You click that one first while you wait by the baggage claim for your suitcase that’s going to take ages to show up. All it says is, “please sign,” with the link below. It feels like balls of yarn are being unfurled in your chest, rolling haphazardly around as your nerves kick up. You know what it is, you knew it was coming, but it still feels strange that it’s real. There’s a short-ish contract on the other side of the docusign link, and you know you should read it carefully, but it just seems… overwhelming. With a deep breath, you close the window and go back to your messages, opening the one from the other unknown number.
Unknown [17:20]: Hi… I hope your flight was okay. You should have the thing to sign. I promise there’s nothing weird in there, but take your time 🙂
You shouldn’t find the fact that he texts like your grandmother endearing, but you immediately do. The smile on your face tells you everything you need to know—you’re looking at your screen with the dopiest grin and starting to realize you’re maybe in a little trouble.
You [22:11]: so, no weird stuff?
Namjoon [22:11]: Hi! You landed. And no, no weird stuff
You [22:12]: why aren’t you asleep yet?
Namjoon [22:13]: Too excited to sleep
You [22:13]: excited about the hockney?
Namjoon [22:14]: That too 😉
You’re fucked.
It’s not until later, when you’re safe and sound at your childhood home, blankets tucked up around you in the bed you slept in for seventeen years of your life, that you reply to him.
You [01:03]: cute
When he doesn’t answer right away, you have to force yourself to not overthink it—both of you just traveled literally around the world, and he’s probably asleep, which is something you should be too if you want to have any hope of enjoying the next couple of days. You pull a sleep mask on, stick your headphones in, and fall asleep to a podcast you’ve never heard of. As you drift off, you think you probably already know what your dreams will be about.
The next few days are a whirlwind. You sign the NDA when you wake up at some god-forsaken hour of the morning on the first day. Turns out, once it’s done, you feel a lot better. You won’t have to think about it again, and for some inexplicable reason, you know you can trust Namjoon when he says ‘no weird stuff,’ although you’re dying to know what he thinks would constitute ‘weird’ that isn’t fucking a journalist in an airport bathroom on a whim.
Over breakfast, your mom and sister fill you in on the activities you’ll be expected to participate in over the week, in advance of your sister’s wedding. There are dress fittings, last minute visits to confirm details with the wedding planner, a family-only brunch, a rehearsal dinner, a bachelorette party…
The list goes on until your Cheerios are gone and you’re feeling more overwhelmed than you were before you fell asleep. But your sister looks even worse off than you, her eyes a little wide and her hands a little shaky around her coffee mug, and you wish you knew what to say to make her feel better, but you’ve got no idea how to put yourself in her shoes.
The whole marriage thing hasn’t even been on your radar as you’ve chased school, graduate school, work in the states, work in Korea… always more more more, trying to prove something to yourself. What that something is, you don’t even know. But it’s kept you busy enough that it’s been ages since you let yourself fall into anything serious—preferring friends with benefits and just plain friends to the hassles of an actual relationship. And based on the way your sister looks like she might crawl out of her own skin with apprehension, you think you’ve probably made the right choices.
Your phone buzzes on the table, drawing your attention away from your mother’s long list of tasks.
Namjoon [08:06]: You think I’m cute?
You [08:06]: have you looked in a mirror lately?
You stare at the screen as you wait for a response. He’s been quick so far, so you wonder what’s got him pausing, those three imposing dots coming off and on the screen a few times before you finally get a message.
Namjoon [08:09]: Actually, yeah. There’s a great one in the lounge at Heathrow…
Oh, fuck. The heat traveling up your neck is instant, all your thoughts immediately go to that stupid bathroom and the look on his face when he came; jaw slack, eyes dark, bottom lip pulled under his teeth… You feel like you might combust at the breakfast table.
“Honey?”
Your head snaps up from your phone and you see your sister and your mom both staring at you.
“Huh? Sorry!” You fumble with your phone and lock the screen, turning it to silent before you put it back on the table—face down of course. “Work stuff.”
Lucky for you, it seems you’ve found the key to alleviating your sister’s stress, as her worried frown turns into a knowing smirk. “You must have dedicated colleagues! Isn’t it like… midnight in Seoul?”
To cover your panic, you take a long drink of your coffee and nod. “Yep, I got so lucky with this job,” you choke out.
“Mmhmm,” she murmurs, thankfully not pushing it in front of your mom, who has already re-launched into super-party-planner mode. You exchange sympathetic glances with your sister, neither of you with the heart to tell your mother that she should just relax and let the wedding planner handle things.
There is so much to do in advance of a wedding, you really had no idea. It makes you feel guilty about most of the judgmental thoughts you’ve ever had when attending other peoples’. Everyone must just be doing their best, you think, as you watch your sister get poked and pulled and sucked in and tucked into her (absolutely stunning) dress.
The shop is a small boutique one, way fancier than you’ve ever imagined yourself in. Your sister has always been kind of like that, though. She likes to have nice things, dress nicely, live up to all the expectations your parents had of the both of you. Sometimes, you think you do as well, maybe not with designer clothes and a rich fiance, but you have a good job that you’re passionate about and you’re happy—even if sometimes a little lonely. Parents always say that’s what they want for their kids above all else, so by that standard, you’re nailing it.
Turns out, dress fittings take an exhaustingly long time. You’ve been sitting on the chaise outside the changing room for what feels like days, and it seems like she’s not even close to being finished. More champagne would be in order, but it’s still daylight and you don’t know how much day drinking you can get away with while you’re sitting next to your high-strung mother and your sister’s even-higher-strung future mother-in-law.
The temptation to look at your phone is too high to resist, so you put your champagne flute down and check your messages for the first time since breakfast.
Namjoon [11:31]: Was that too much?
Namjoon [14:27]: It was too much. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I just can’t stop thinking about you.
Namjoon [14:29]: That probably sounds creepy. Forget I said that. Can you delete text messages? It’s 2022 for the love of god.
Namjoon [14:34]: Please just ignore all of this, okay? I’m totally chill about everything, I promise.
You [15:06]: imagine what the locals would say if they knew RM was a quadruple texter
Namjoon [15:06]: I fucked this up, didn’t I?
You [15:07]: no, you’re good. still cute
Namjoon [15:07]: Would it be weird if I said I wanted to call you?
You [15:08]: not weird, sounds nice actually, but i’m at a wedding dress shop so maybe later?
Namjoon [15:09]: …You’re where?
You [15:09]: a wedding dress shop - my sister’s getting married this weekend
Namjoon [15:10]: Your sister! Cool!
You [15:10]: yes, very cool to be subjected to a week of my mother acting like a clinically insane person. anyway, i can call later if you’re around
Namjoon [15:11]: I might be, let me know when you’re free
You [15:11]: will do - you’re probably busy. what’re you up to, anyway?
Namjoon [15:11]: Nothing much
You [15:12]: okay, man of mystery 🙄 keep your secrets, then
Namjoon [15:12]: It’s really nothing. You’d be surprised how boring I can be
When you slide your phone back into your bag and look up, your mother is practically boring holes in the side of your head with her death glare. On the pedestal in front of you, your sister looks like an actual angel, and instead of glaring at you, she’s smirking again.
“What?” you ask both of them.
“What’s so important you need to have your nose glued to that screen?” your mom asks impatiently.
“Nothing, just more work stuff.” You’re obviously lying, and they both probably know it.
“I wish I had a job like yours,” your sister teases.
“Shut up,” you mumble under your breath. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She blushes and turns to look at her reflection. “It’s pretty wild, right? Me getting married…”
“It’s perfect,” you assure her. “We’re all so happy for you.”
You don’t find time to call Namjoon later that day, your mom keeping you busy with wedding-related chores until you need to start getting ready for your sister’s bachelorette party. It’s got you sort of on edge—you think you’ve been pretty calm in your texts with him, but inside you’re a livewire, all the curiosity and excitement of something new has you some combination of interested and skeptical.
Once you’re ready, makeup on and squeezed into your small dress, you’re still waiting for your sister. She’s on the floor cross-legged in front of your full-length mirror doing her own makeup and swearing lightly under her breath. You’re not the only one with low-grade anxiety this week, it seems. On your phone, you find a playlist you think seems fun enough to get you in the mood to make questionable choices and carefree enough to distract you both from your current worries.
“This okay?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” she says, eyeing you from the mirror. “You look good, sis.”
“Thanks. Been looking for a reason to wear this and I don’t get out much in Seoul.” The leather dress is impossibly short, in no way work-appropriate, and the only functions you go to where you could get away with it happen to be the ones you’re on the clock for. So it’s been hanging in your closet since the time you bought it on an optimistic whim, reminding you of the fun you’re not having most nights.
“Seems like you got out somewhere,” she observes, flicking a mascara wand over her lashes. “You should send him a selfie, your tits are top-tier in that.”
Your eyes roll so far back in your head you momentarily wonder if they’ll center themselves again. “I’m not going to send him a thirst trap.”
She cackles at that. “Hah! So, there is a him to send it to! I knew it!”
Fuck, she’s good. “Fuck off.”
“You have to be nice to me, it’s my night.”
“I’m your sister, I never have to be nice to you.”
“Quit arguing and send him a picture, dummy. If you don’t, I'll wait until you’re drunk later and send him something embarrassing from your phone.”
“You would never…” But you know she would. She’s done worse. She pins you with a look that says exactly that, so you sigh and pick up your phone, angling to get the picture right, fluffing up your hair a little and trying the pouting thing that other people always make look cute. You’re not sure it works for you, but she seems convinced when you show her the first couple shots.
“It’s really not like that with him,” you protest. “It was probably just a one-time thing.”
“You usually spend whole afternoons giggling into your phone like a teenager with your one-night stands?” she teases.
And that is a good point… Sort of a good one. You’re not sure what’s going on with Namjoon, but he did text you first, and often, and kind of enthusiastically, so maybe he meant it when he said he wanted to see you again. At least sending a selfie might be a good way to test the waters.
“Okay, fine. Which one?” you ask, handing her your phone.
She points at one where you think you look the most desperate, but she calls it ‘sexy,’ so you go with it.
His response is immediate.
Namjoon [21:20]: Holy shit
You flush and show her the phone, and in turn she claps and bounces around like the endearing weirdo she is. She’s always been your biggest cheerleader.
You [21:21]: bachelorette party outfit - looks okay?
Namjoon [21:21]: Incredible. How do I get an invite to this party?
You [21:21]: it’s very exclusive, sorry
Namjoon [21:22]: What a tease
And you’re sure you’re about to reply with something witty and sexy and fun, but instead, your sister snatches your phone and shuts it off. “Time to go,” she says. “You can sext later.”
“I am not… I would never—” you sputter as she laughs maniacally and pulls you up off the bed.
“We really need to leave, but you can tell me all about him on the way to the club.”
Turns out, a limo full of your sister’s friends with countless bottles of champagne means you do not tell her all about him on the way to the club. Nor do you when you’re at the club, dancing until you can’t feel your calves and drinking more pink cocktails than you’d ever known to exist. You don’t know your sister’s friends too well, but they’re fun: loud, excitable, supportive… You have a great time… maybe too great of a time, since your headache starts kicking in before you even get your coat back.
While the rest of them continue drinking (mixing new kinds of liquors in on the ride back to the hotel you’re all staying at), you grab water from the mini bar and painkillers from your purse and start the delicate work of trying to make sure you can function in the morning. It wouldn’t be so bad, except you promised you’d meet Seokjin for coffee in the morning, and you haven’t seen him in ages.
It’s much later—and you’re painfully sober—when you crawl into your hotel room bed and flick your phone back on so you can set an alarm for your coffee date. It’s a part of the morning you haven’t seen in a really long time; you’re going to feel like shit when you have to get up in a handful of hours, but your sister seemed to have a great time, so it was worth it. You check your messages, and if it’s only because you see you have one from Namjoon, that’s nobody’s business but yours.
Namjoon [00:12]: What is it about you in a dress? I can’t think straight since you sent that. You’re making me crazy, you know?
God, you really like him. You feel the same way he does, like he’s making you lose your mind a little bit. It’s all so strange and fast, but easy, too. All you want to do is get through this wedding and get back to Seoul so you can see him properly. Even just to talk again. It sounds stupid maybe, but you really liked talking to him in that airport. He’s clever and quick and kind… he’s just everything. And it seems like maybe, maybe, maybe he might think something similar about you for whatever reason.
It’s not fair, the timing of this whole thing.
The next morning, you drag yourself out of bed and through a shower and your skincare routine. The coffee shop you’re headed to is close to the hotel, so you walk, hoping some fresh air will help the foggy feeling in your head from the poor choices you made the night before.
It sort of does, but you still feel awful until you clock Seokjin sitting at a table in front of the shop, one big, sugary (if you know him at all, which you do) drink in his hand, and one bigger, but less-sugary (if he knows you at all) drink on the table opposite him.
“Jinnie!”
You practically launch yourself at him when you approach, and he squeaks out his surprise before pulling you into a tight hug.
“You look like shit,” he whispers into your ear.
That earns him a slap on the shoulder. “I’ve missed you too, brat. You, of course, don’t look like shit. Thanks for the coffee.” You sit and take a drink. It’s perfect. “It’s perfect.”
“Of course it is,” he says smugly.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“Missed you too, kiddo.”
“Thanks for coming to the wedding with me.”
“Are you kidding? Your sister has great taste—I wouldn’t miss it.”
Kim Seokjin has been your best friend since… Well, since you can remember. He grew up down the street from you, and one day, he offered you a chocolate milkshake out of the blue when you were riding by on your bike. You accepted, quickly realized that it was not, in fact, a milkshake, but dirt mixed with a careful proportion of water. You spit it out, screamed and panicked, and Seokjin just laughed… and laughed and laughed. The next thing you realized was that his laugh was like a drug, and you sort of wanted to hear it all the time. So from then on, the two of you were inseparable. You made it a life goal to drag as much laughter out of him as possible, and he offered it freely and often.
Since you were kids, you’ve been there for all of each other’s firsts. He comforted you through your first breakup, you coached him through his first kiss, you were study buddies in high school, and then in college. You worked for free at his restaurant off and on when you graduated, knowing that his parents had basically chanced their retirement on his success, and by then, they were your family too.
And now, he’s agreed to be your date to your sister’s wedding, since you almost never have any solid romantic prospects, and he never turns down a free meal. Or your company, but he’d probably not admit that out loud.
“How’ve you been, my sweet, big-shot chef?”
The tips of his ears flush pink, and it’s a tell that he’s got good stuff to share, so you settle in and listen.
“—and that’s when I knew I liked her,” he says as he wraps up the sort of life recap you do when you’ve known someone forever and they can fill in some of the gaps themselves.
“When she fell down the stairs because you scared the shit out of her?”
“No, when she laughed about it.”
You nod knowingly. Seokjin has always liked people who don’t take themselves too seriously. People who can take a joke and make themselves the joke when needed.
“She sounds lovely,” you say.
“Wanna see?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
His new girlfriend, in addition to apparently being clumsy, is fucking stunning. Of course she is, because Seokjin is fucking stunning, too. You hate that you immediately think they’d have the prettiest babies.
“We’re going to have cute kids,” he says, like he’s got a little radio tuned in permanently to your thoughts.
“That’s a big deal, Jinnie, to be thinking about kids.”
He flushes even deeper and sinks into his seat a little, running a hand through his fluffy hair. “I think she might be it, you know?”
“Shit.”
“Shit, indeed,” he agrees, nodding into his coffee. “How about you?”
You huff out a breath and shake your head. “Nothing new, really. Just a lot of work.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know?”
“What?”
“I already talked to your sister, she told me there’s a guy.”
You’ll never survive this visit home, you think. Your eyes are going to get stuck facing inwards after all the rolling and you’re going to possibly commit murder. You can see the headlines now, “local girl kills gossipy sister and best friend day before absurdly extravagant wedding.”
“There’s not a guy,” you mutter. “It’s not a thing.”
“So there’s not a guy? Or, there is a guy and it’s not a thing? Or, there is a guy and there might be a thing, but you think if you let yourself be excited about it you’ll jinx it or something equally as stupid?”
This fucking guy. Thinks he knows you.
“Option three, I think,” you mumble. He does know you.
Mercifully, Seokjin lets it go when you say you’re not ready to talk about it. Your coffee goes fast, and you spend the afternoon doing a whole lot of nothing with him; you wander up and down the streets of your city, window shopping, catching up on all the gossip he has about people you went to high school with. You end up with very little time to get ready for your sister’s rehearsal dinner, which seems to bother Seokjin more than it bothers you.
He whines to no one in particular as he fixes his hair in your bathroom, you pull on the floral-patterned dress that you don’t like but your mom told you to wear, and you dig out the color-coordinated tie you’d bought for your date.
“You shouldn’t have,” he says, when he comes out of the bathroom and sees you holding the pastel tie up.
“You know how my mom is,” you say.
“Taste in clothing worse than her taste in men?”
“Just wear the tie, Jinnie.”
He does wear the tie, and at dinner, your mom coos over how nice you look together, which quickly turns into her complaining that you can “never just find a nice guy like Seokjin,” and “isn’t it a shame that you two never dated,” she laments to your aunt. Your aunt, properly drunk as she usually is and as one should be at these kinds of things, takes this as an opportunity to shamelessly flirt with your best friend, who flushes pink and laughs a high-pitched, uncomfortable kind of laugh. He flips you off behind his back when you excuse yourself to get a drink and leave him alone with your would-be-cougar relative.
All in all, the night goes well, and you and Seokjin both end up having fun. You dance like idiots after dinner, you say nice things in front of everyone about your sister and her fiance, and Seokjin gives you a dramatic standing ovation after your speech, which should be awkward but is hilarious instead. You stumble out of the restaurant together when it’s over, both a little tipsy, and share a cab back to your mom’s house to try and get some sleep before the wedding the next day.
Once you have him all set up in the guest room with a quiet, “Goodnight, Jinnie” (because he’s asleep almost the instant his head hits the pillow), you head to your own room.
When you’re settled in bed, you decide you should probably check your work email, and maybe reply to Namjoon.
You [22:45]: glad you liked the dress - did you have a good day?
His reply comes after you’ve switched over to shooting off quick replies to some time-sensitive email in your inbox.
Namjoon [22:52]: Pretty good, saw the Hockney 😍 You?
You [22:57]: was it everything you thought it would be? i’m good, saw my best friend
Namjoon [22:57]: It was better. Did you tell her about me?
You [22:58]: nda remember? and he. he’s a he
You send him a picture you took of you and Seokjin at the dinner, one where he’s making a stupid face and you’re rolling your eyes at him. You both look silly, but happy.
Namjoon [22:58]: Lucky guy
You [23:00]: that’s seokjin - i’ve known him my whole life
Namjoon [23:01]: Googles: how to be a seokjin. You look beautiful, btw
You [23:01]: please, i know you’re using naver - you’re ridiculous
Namjoon [23:02]: Ridiculously handsome? Ridiculously interesting? Ridiculously into this girl I met through work
You actually stifle a quiet scream into your pillow at that. Who the fuck talks like that? He’s such a strange combination of awkward and forward and you think you might be more into that than you’d expected. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to say that. Just so he knows he’s not alone…
You [23:04]: crazy, i’m pretty into this guy i met through work
Namjoon [23:04]: 😁
It’s incredible how he can be so… dorky like this, when you’ve seen him on stage and he’s… not that when he’s performing. You think you like this side even more than the other. The best of both worlds, you decide.
You [23:05]: goodnight, namjoon
Namjoon [23:05]: Goodnight ❤️
It’s just a stupid emoji, but you honestly think you might combust. You want to run down the hall and shake Seokjin awake and show him the whole chain of messages, and it takes all of your willpower (and the fact that you literally signed something saying you wouldn’t) to not do that.
That night, you dream of Seoul, maybe a sign that you’re missing your new home a little. You miss gray skies and cozy cafes and the constant thrumming of the city around you. You dream of those things with a blurry-faced Namjoon by your side—you and Namjoon knocking shoulders on the sidewalk in Sinchon, you and Namjoon sipping coffee in the shop you like in Hongdae. When you wake up, you feel nostalgic for things you haven’t yet done, that you’ve only experienced in dreams. It’s a soft feeling, warm and comforting, and you realize you’re a little excited to get back and see if you can turn those dreams into something real.
But first, you have a wedding to attend, and a best friend down the hall who will be an absolute monster if you don’t get up and help him make some breakfast soon.
Your sister’s wedding is beautiful. She’s stunning, her new husband is practically giddy, and you decide you’d like that kind of love someday, where it practically radiates out of you, where it’s unmistakable to anyone lucky enough to bear witness. Their vows are simple and sweet, your mom cries, then Seokjin cries and you snap a picture to use as blackmail later.
You dance, you facetime with Seokjin’s girlfriend, who is every bit as lovely as he’d described her, you don’t drink much because you want to make sure you’re coherent and available for your sister if she needs anything. They cut the cake just after nine in the evening, and by eleven, you’ve made sure a drunk-ish Seokjin is safely in a taxi on the way to his girlfriend. Shortly thereafter, you toss flower petals over your sister and her husband as they make their exit, and your duties for the evening are complete.
When you finally make it home, you crawl into a warm bath, hoping to give your calves some relief from three nights of too-tall heels and too much bad dancing. You’re scrolling through instagram, checking out some pictures of a gallery show you’re dying to get to back in Seoul, when your phone rings.
“Hi.” You grab your headphones to answer, and your voice is a little shaky when you speak quietly—you’re not sure why you’re so nervous.
“Hey,” Namjoon says. “Is this okay? To call you?”
“Wouldn’t have answered if it weren’t probably.”
You hear him give a breathy laugh. “How was the wedding?”
“Good. Really good, actually. I think she’s really happy,” you say.
“Sounds like you’re smiling,” he says. You are, and it sounds like he’s smiling when he says it, too.
There’s a pause where neither of you speak. You can hear he has music playing wherever he is, something soft, with a steady beat. It sounds like something you’d like, maybe some kind of Japanese lofi hip hop…
“Is that Nujabes?” you ask.
“You know him?”
“Of course I do.”
“God, I think I lo—uh… nevermind. Yeah, it’s him. I listen to Modal Soul a lot when I travel. It’s relaxing.”
You nod against the edge of the tub even though he can’t see you. “Yeah, I get that.”
“So… what’re you up to?… That was lame, sorry… I guess I don’t really know how to do this.” He laughs at himself, and you laugh with him. He’s so goddamn cute you can’t hardly stand it.
“You don’t know how to talk on the phone?”
“Funny. Don’t know how to talk on the phone to the prettiest girl I know. Can’t believe you answered.”
“It’s your lucky night, I guess,” you joke. “Anyway, I’m not doing anything. Just camped out in the bath trying to wind down.” You hear him suck in a breath, and you wonder if you said something wrong. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah… Just… Can I be honest?”
“Of course you can.”
“Think my brain stopped working when you said you were in the bath.”
Heat rises in your cheeks; you hadn’t even considered it was sort of a strange confession to make. Or a forward one, anyway. “Sorry,” you whisper.
“Don’t be. Just sort of… wish I was there instead of here. Where I am. Which is not in the bathroom with you while you take a bath. Probably naked…” He trails off with a groan and then tacks on, more to himself than to you, “What is wrong with me?”
“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s nice to be… wanted, if that makes sense.”
“You have no idea how much I want you,” he replies quickly. “I hope that’s not too much.”
It’s not. You’re starting to think that it might never, ever be too much with him. Like he could talk and give and offer and you would always want, always take. It feels dangerous, how much you like him after so, so little. It scares you to think how far this could go, how deep you could get. Makes you wonder how much worse (better?) this will be when you’re in the same city again.
“It’s not. Sort of wish you were here, too.”
“Sort of?”
“Maybe just… not in a bathroom again.”
He laughs at that, some of the tension draining out of your phone call. You love the sound of his laugh in a different way than you love Seokjin’s, but it’s also the kind that makes you want to hear it more.
“Yeah, a proper bedroom would be nice,” he agrees. “Thought about it a lot,” he says, half under his breath, like he’s not sure he wants you to hear.
Your curiosity though… it gets the best of you. “Really? Thought about me like that?”
“Every night since London,” he says.
“Oh… wow. That’s…”
“Creepy?”
You laugh. “Hot. It’s hot, Joon.” Your bravery is back, or maybe it’s stupidity, but he opened the door, so you step through, your voice lowered. “Did you touch yourself?”
“Oh, fuck… Yeah, I did.” He lets out a little nervous-sounding whine and you can almost picture him rubbing the back of his neck like you’ve seen him do in person and on tv when he’s a little unsure of himself. “Thought of you, and… And I came so hard.”
It’s instant, the way your body reacts to that. You feel heat building low, your mouth even waters a little. It should be embarrassing, it should be weird. You don’t even really know him… But you want. “Bet you looked good,” you say, because it’s true, because you’ve seen what he looks like when he comes, you can’t stop thinking about what he looks like when he comes and wondering when you’ll get to see it again.
“Baby…” he breathes out. “Are we really doing this?”
“I think so,” you reply, your fingers skimming down your abdomen, dipping below the water so you can relieve just a little bit of the pressure building in your core. “If you want to.” Then you add, voice hushed. “I want to. Like it when you call me that.”
Through your headphones, you hear his breath catch, and then get a little heavier. “I like it, too… Are you… Are you touching yourself?”
“Mmhmm,” you confirm. “Feels good.”
Namjoon lets out a whimper. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Can’t believe you’re real. Can’t believe you want me.”
“Want you so much,” you whine, fingers moving across your clit, then down lower… You slide one inside, you’re slick with want, even underwater. “Want you to touch yourself, too.”
“Fuck, I want you, too. Wish I could get my mouth on you—bet you taste so good,” he says. “Can’t stop thinking about getting you in my bed, on your back, fucking you on my tongue.” His voice is a little shaky now, too, and you close your eyes, letting yourself imagine it’s his finger in you, his hand playing with one of your nipples. “I’d make you feel so good, baby.”
“Know you would… Already have…”
It’s almost perfect, the sound of his breath in your ear, just like it was at the airport, and you can almost feel it now, the way it felt then. You rub circles over your clit, one leg coming out of the water to rest on the edge of the bathtub; you just want more.
It’s almost enough, Namjoon’s breathy, short moans as he strokes himself on the other end of the line, your fingers working methodically…
But it’s not quite right… you keep thinking about how full you felt with his cock buried in you, how you’re not sure if anything else will ever be enough again. “Love the way you sound,” he says. “Want to hear you always…”
“It’s just… not enough. Want your cock…” you whine.
“Yeah? Needy girl… You take me so well,” he says, voice thick with want. “So tight… Felt so good for me…”
Your hand moves faster, you slip another finger in and gasp shallowly when you find your g-spot. For some reason, you remember when he called you a good girl in the airport—you wonder if you could use it to your advantage.
“Wish you were fucking me… I’d be so good for you, promise.”
Namjoon makes a choked sound and his breath quickens. “Know you would, baby… Always so good for me… Fuck, I’m so hard for you, want to be inside you,” he says. “I’m close already… Wish you were here, wish I could see you.”
“I’m close, too. Gonna come soon…please… ” Your thighs are starting to tremble and you feel your orgasm coming quickly—it’s going to be over too soon. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for.
“That’s it, baby… wanna hear you come for me… come on…” You know the urgency in his voice, a little desperate, like he’s falling apart the same way you are.
That thought has you coming, orgasm spreading a warm shiver through your whole body as your leg falls back in the water and you close your thighs, hand still moving carefully over your clit. You whisper his name, your head resting on the edge of the tub as you blink your eyes open.
“Fuck, you sound so good…” he says, almost pained, voice low and raspy.
“You do too, Joon. So, so good… Love hearing you like this…”
You know the instant it happens—his breath catches when he comes and you picture what he looks like… Probably so fucking good, and you wish you were with him and you want, want, want. Never enough… he makes you so greedy.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You’re amazing… Turn me into a mess.”
You smile, starting to come back into your body a little. “You make me a mess, too… But I think I like it.”
“I like it, too,” he says.
“Good.”
Neither of you speaks for a while, and in the silence, you realize your bathwater is cool and your skin is pruning from being in there too long. You hope your mom had enough champagne to sleep through whatever splashing and whimpering you were doing. The thought of her hearing makes you laugh, and also want to crawl under a blanket and never come out.
“So…” Namjoon says, “Just another week or so until you’re in Seoul, right?”
“Mmhmm.” You pull the plug in the bath and watch the water start to swirl in a little whirlpool down the drain. A good metaphor for what Namjoon is doing to your inhibitions.
“You maybe… want to get a drink sometime?” It’s involuntary, the laugh you let out, and louder than you should. You slap a hand over your mouth and let yourself laugh silently into your palm. “What?” he asks.
“You. You are such a dork,” you say, grin obvious in your tone.
His is obvious, too. “Hey, now! I’m a famous rapper. People think I’m very tough.”
“And a dork,” you tease.
“And a dork,” he concedes. “I like you, you know.”
“I like you, too.”
“You sound tired. Going to sleep soon?”
“I think so. Long day. Good ending, though.”
Namjoon laughs. “The best. But messy. I should go clean up.”
“Okay… thanks for this.”
“Are you kidding?” he says, “I should be thanking you.”
“Guess you’re gonna have to buy me that drink.” You climb out of the tub and wrap yourself in one of your mom’s fluffy towels. You wonder how parents always have the softest towels. Even when you spend a lot of money, yours never live up to hers. Like she has some kind of towel magic.
“Can’t wait to buy you a drink, baby.” His voice is soft and kind and a little bit fucked out. It’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. He’s got some kind of magic, too, you think.
“Goodnight, Namjoon.”
“Goodnight.”
next chapter
#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts writing#namjoon smut#namjoon fic#namjoon imagine#bts imagines#bts fanfction#namjoon fanfiction#btswritersclub#kvanity
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#. REQUEST GUIDELINES. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ I a list of guidelines on how to request from me !!
REQUESTS: CLOSED
ASKS: OPEN
‧₊˚୨୧ . · 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳
mdni. it goes without saying, but if you are under 18 or are an ageless blog, please do not request/send asks to me! i will delete requests from ageless blogs.
make sure requests are open before you send any in! if they are closed and you send a request, it will be automatically deleted!
please be patient with requests. i am a post-graduate student with a part-time job, and other side projects lined up. this is just a fun little thing for me to write some nsfw when i feel inspired, so i may get to requests pretty slowly.
requests are encouraged, but not promised! while i'll try my best to get to every request, i only write requests i feel like writing. if it's not up my alley, they will probably go unanswered, but please don't take it to heart!
please be specific when you do request, so i know what you want me to write! mention tropes, characters you want, and as many details as you like. don't hold back!
do NOT poke me on request/WIP status. again, some may go entirely unanswered if i don't feel like writing them; or generally, i may get to requests slowly. please understand that i will NOT entertain these messages. this is all free content, and i write because i want to! please have a little respect ���
please refer to this post for a general content guideline, and make sure you are comfortable with it, before you request!
tl;dr - i only write smut (nsfw) x-afab!reader fics, so please request within this guideline!!
please only request fandoms and/or characters specified here. if you request for ones that are not listed, your request will be deleted!
if the trope you want is not stated anywhere in this post, do feel free to ask nonetheless! there's a chance i might still give it a try, so shoot your shot! 💕
‧₊˚୨୧ . · 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻
nsfw tropes i will definitely write:
body worship
praise kink
soft dom/sub dynamics
somnophilia
edging/orgasm denial
unprotected sex
cum play/cum eating
creampie/breeding kink
cockwarming
food kink/food play
frottage/dry humping
sensory play
size kink
corruption kink
temperature play
pseudo-cest
exhibitionism
voyeurism
nsfw tropes i will NOT write:
pedophilia
age play
ddlg/ddlb/daddy/mommy kinks
rape/non-con
piss/scat
vomit
breath play
spanking
hard dom/sub dynamics
hard bondage
dacryphilia
A/B/O dynamics
secondary tropes i will definitely write:
fluff
hurt/comfort
hurt/no comfort
angst
sickfic
pining/yearning (one-sided, mutual)
sky/star/universe themes
ocean/water themes
fire themes
unrequited love
songfics
AUs: hanahaki, royal, coffeeshop, florist, academic, modern, magic, highschool, college
Dynamics: master/servant, royal/servant, doctor/patient, teacher/student, best friends to lovers, academic rivals to lovers, black cat/golden retriever, fell first/fell harder, star-crossed lovers, sun/moon
secondary tropes i will NOT write:
horror
gore
arranged/forced marrige or relationship
fandoms and characters i will write:
love & deepspace : xavier, rafayel, zayne, caleb, jeremiah
haikyuu : hinata, kenma, sugawara, shirabu, nishinoya, yaku, alisa, kiyoko, akaashi, kuroo, oikawa, kunimi
blue lock : chigiri, nagi, isagi
stray kids : felix, seungmin, hyunjin, han, lee know
tower of god : khun a.a., khun hachuling, baam, viole, hwaryun, endorsi, hatz, lauroe, hockney, yasratcha, garnak
bungou stray dogs : chuuya, dazai, atsushi, ranpo, nikolai
final fantasy 16 : joshua rosfield, clive rosfield, gav
lookism : johan seong
© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.
#navigation#requests#request info#divider by mikeykuns#Spotify#love and deepspace smut#love & deepspace smut#haikyuu smut#tower of god smut#ff16 smut#stray kids smut#blue lock smut#bungou stray dogs smut
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Tower Of God Master List
search for the tag " tower of god brainworms" for brainrots and small reblogs
The 25th Bamm
That Time Of The Month
How He Cuddles
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Bam x Reader "Disney"
Bam x Reader "Are You Upset With Me?" tw angst with comfort
khun aguero agnes
That Time Of The Month
dad khun x mom reader "Just In Time"
dad Khun x mom reader "Can They Go To Bed Now?"
Clingy Khun x Reader *reblog
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Khun x Collector Reader
Khun x Bayonetta reader
How He Cuddles
Rak
That Time Of The Month
Evankhell
That Time Of The Month
How She Cuddles
A Day Out With Evankhell
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Fluff Headcanons
Hansung Yu
That Time Of The Month
How He Cuddles
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Hansung Yu x Reader "More Coffee?"
Lero ro
That Time Of The Month
How He Cuddles
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
You're Perfect
Quant Blitz
That Time Of The Month
How He Cuddles
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Hoe/Ho
That Time Of The Month
Anak
That Time Of The Month
How She Cuddles
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Endorsi
That Time Of The Month
How She Cuddles
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Yuri
That Time Of The Month
Hockney
That Time Of The Month
Hatz
That Time Of The Month
How He Cuddles
Hatz x Bayonetta reader
Hatz x Collector Reader
They Forget Your Date tw angst no comfort
They Realize They Forgot Your Date tw angst no comfort
Arie Hon
Arie Hon x Reader "My Light"
White
That Time Of The Month
White x Reader "Bad Day?"
Fluff Headcanons
Yasratcha
That Time Of The Month
Fluff Headcanons
Yama
That Time Of The Month
Doom
That Time Of The Month
Eduan
That Time Of The Month
Jealous Eduan x Reader
Maschenny
That Time Of The Month
Hwaryun
That Time Of The Month
Karaka
That Time Of The Month
Elaine
That Time Of The Month
Angel
That Time Of The Month
Rachel
That Time Of The Month
#tower of god x reader#tower of god scenario#tower of god#masterlist#fluff#one shot#headcanons#ArieHon#tog khun#khun aguero agnis
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Beaton Photographs
Mark Holborn, Annie Leibovitz
Abrams, New York 2015, 354 pages, Hardcover, 30,5 x 32 cm, ISBN 978-1419717833
euro 120,00
email if you want to buy [email protected]
This monumental survey is the first to do justice to Cecil Beaton’s astonishing photographic career spanning six decades, from the 1920s to the 1970s. To create it, Mark Holborn thoroughly explored Beaton’s vast studio archive, revealing an artist of extraordinary energy and ambition who made definitive portraits of the leading figures of his time, including Pablo Picasso, Gertrude Stein, Greta Garbo, Audrey Hepburn, Lucian Freud, Francis Bacon, David Hockney, and Mick Jagger. Beaton immerses the reader in memorable social and cultural scenes, including the ceremony of the British royal family, the society of the 1920s, the glamour of Hollywood, the drama of World War II, the high artistic bohemia of Paris and London, and the pop royalty of the 1960s.
Holborn contributes an introductory essay, and Annie Leibovitz offers an appreciation of Beaton as a portrait photographer.
23/07/22
orders to: [email protected]
ordini a: [email protected]
twitter: @fashionbooksmi
instagram: fashionbooksmilano, designbooksmilano tumblr: fashionbooksmilano, designbooksmilano
#Cecil Beaton#Beaton#Annie Leibovitz#Mark Holborn#Picasso#Hockney#Gertrude stein#Greta Garbo#Audrey Hepburn#Francis Bacon#Mick Jagger#Lucian Freud#British Royal family#photography books#libri di fotografia#fashionbooksmilano
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Hi, how are u? May I ask a one-shot with hockney and fem reader who are childhood friend and when hockney return to the the floor of death with baam team he want to take the reader with him to the outside of the floor of death and climb the tower together 👉👈 between ur work is amazing good job❤️❤️
I really can’t write Hockney stuff properly to save my life, sorry-
but here ya go
-
Time on the Floor of Death passed slightly differently – you didn't know when you stopped counting how many years have passed since you came here, nor when one day ended and another began. You found it simply pointless. Perhaps it made some sense when you had company, but Hockney disappeared a long time ago. Or maybe not that long? As stated before, keeping track of time wasn't one of your priorities. The memories of Hockney kept this dull reality a little less monotonous, though.
David Hockney was quite a remarkable individual. The strokes of his brush on empty canvas, deeply engraved in the darkest parts of your mind, were the only things you liked counting. Not minutes, not hours, not days. Hockney was the greatest painter you knew (well, maybe the only one). His moves didn't limit themselves to any particular form of art. All of Hockney's paintings contained a part of him, so they looked more alive, even more divine than any other sketches, and spoke more truths than any poem could. Hockney was both an artist and a muse, and every time his hands touched one of the brushes, his body found itself completely lost in a trance-like state.
You didn't encounter many surprising events on the Floor of Death. After getting used to its bizarre nature, even the most off-putting quirks that this place had to offer became slightly tiresome. There was one thing you would never expect to actually happen, and one sentence you thought you'd never hear, though.
“I'm happy to see you again.”
The crimson signs staining Hockney's eyes contrasted with his ashy skin, making them the first thing you noticed. He seemed taller than before, but you couldn't tell for sure – memory was a tricky thing sometimes.
“Why...” you wanted to ask thousands of questions. When was the last time you saw each other, how had he been, what happened when he was gone? But one thing that intrigued you the most. “Why did you come back?”
Hockney averted his gaze, almost as if he wasn't sure himself. His face remained expressionless, even though you could see how lost he was.
“I want to climb the Tower with you,” he replied.
Climb the Tower.
“It's too dangerous!” you disagreed with the man immediately. “I've never left this floor in my entire life! How could I possibly survive outside?”
“I've met lots of powerful allies when I was gone. One of them is the Slayer Nominee from FUG.”
You gasped as the name of such an infamous organization sent shivers down your spine. Your knowledge about FUG was quite limited, but there was one thing you knew for sure – they weren't people to be messed with. Why would Hockney want to be associated with them?
“I know we had no contact for quite a while, but please,” he began speaking again. “I want to climb the Tower with you. Isn't spending your whole life here boring? Wasteful, I could even say. There's a whole another world outside the Floor of Death, and I want us to appreciate it together.”
You gulped, still full of doubt. Maybe he was right, but leaving the 52nd floor seemed unimaginable. What would happen if you died right after that? You've never heard much about the outside. The only thing people have ever said was that it's horribly dangerous.
There's a whole another world outside the Floor of Death.
But you couldn't find any reason to stay here either. The Floor of Death became your comfort zone, more than you'd like to admit it. How cowardly it would be to never leave it!
And then, before you even noticed, a short sentence fell out of your mouth. Maybe it wasn't done fully aware of everything, and maybe just the sound of it made you slightly nervous. You didn't regret it.
“I'll go with you.”
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— ◟·˚ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐌 | 팀 밤 ˎˊ˗
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚtwenty-fifth bam / jue viole graceɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨khun aguero agnis୧˚₊๑
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚrak wraithraiserɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨hatz୧˚₊๑
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚshibisuɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨laure phonsekal୧˚₊๑
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚanaak jahadɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨endorsi / androssi jahad୧˚₊๑
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚhwaryunɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨david hockney୧˚₊๑
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚsachi fakerɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨boro୧˚₊๑
ⵓ‧₊˚ ʚlo po bia elaineɞ ‧₊ ༉
꒰ ꒷꒦୨beta୧˚₊๑
#tog#tower of god#tower of god x reader#x reader#reader inserts#the twenty fifth bam#jue viole grace#khun aguero agnis#rak wraithraiser#shibisu#hatz#endorsi jahad#sachi faker#beta#david hockney#lo po boa elaine#anaak jahad#laure phonsekal#boro
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okay hi I've had a bad week and I need some indulgent Hockney content if possible... he's my comfort f/o and i see him as demiromantic and greysexual.
Could you possibly do some Hockney×Reader domestic fluff?
Ty ily 💖😭
Hello, I'm sorry if this is a little on the late side. For some strange reason I had a little trouble writing it, but I hope it turned out well.
No Warnings
Word Count: 386
Hockney liked to look at your features and wonder what it would be like to attempt to draw you. Of course, not even a pencil drawing of you would be the same as looking at the real you.
Watching you concentrate on something was one of Hockney's forms of affection. It was something you noticed, even when his eyes stayed on you. You learnt to get used to it, smiling at him once your eyes met. Warmth flooded through you at the thought of Hockney watching you this way. It was as if the things you liked meant a lot to him.
Sometimes, Hockney would often tense up a little whenever you were a little too touchy or clingy, so you settled for small, soft touches or just glances and smiles. Nothing made Hockney happier than seeing you smile. If it were in the morning, it would make his day.
Then there were times where Hockney would hug you, relishing in the feeling of having you there in front of him, having you close for a while. It was always like a spark went through him as he held you, a comfortable feeling of having you so close and safe.
Most of the time, it wasn't about intimacy. It was about the emotional connection you shared. You enjoyed watching Hockney concentrate, too, like whenever he drew or coloured his work.
"You're staring again," you softly say, placing a cup inside of the cupboard, "is something wrong or are you just admiring my concentration again?"
Hockney's peculiar eyes blinked a few times before glancing at the stuff around you. There was no reason to deny anything. You were someone who Hockney wanted to watch, not in a creepy way, in a loving and caring kind of way.
"I don't know what to say. It doesn't matter what you do. I love watching your face,"
Your eyes and smiles were nothing short of perfect. Hockney would do anything to make you smile, even if it was at small moments like this.
please don't steal what I write | no taglist (might edit when I wake up in the morning)
#tower of god hockney#tower of god#kami no tou#tog hockney x reader#tog hockney#tog david hockney#hockney
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He Tried//Dean Keaton x Reader
A/N: I fully blame my new obsession with this movie on @super-who-dat for introducing me to it. So thanks Danny ;) If anyone hasn’t seen The Usual Suspects you should do yourself a favor and go watch it. Its incredible.
Keaton was quiet, his eyes were far away, darting to the files on the table occasionally. Biting your lip between your teeth, you could see the gears turning in his head ion over time. How to play this, the best way out, how do we...he get out of this alive? You crossed your arms tightly across your chest but made your way over to him anyway. Each step was careful, like approaching an animal cornered. You stopped in front of him but he said nothing, eyes still far away, brain still raising. If it came down to it, would he kill you? You were afraid you knew the answer.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
He licked his lips but said nothing.
"I'd go as high as a nickel."
"No less than a quarter." He shot back, still not looking at you. You huffed a laugh without any humor and sat down next to him.
"He's been watching us for months. This Kobayashi guy or whoever he works with."
"I know…" He paused, finally looking up at you. "You don't actually believe in that Keyser Soze bull do you?"
He raised his brow like he was asking a child if they believed in the boogie man, which in a way was exactly what Keyser Soze was.
"I don't know." You answered back with a small shrug. "I know there's someone out there who knows how to get to us though."
Keaton scoffed as you held up the pictures from your file. A picture of you through your apartment window sat prominently on the top. Keaton glanced at it, his jaw clenching slightly but relaxing almost just as quickly when he looked away. He was quiet for a moment as his mind continued to race through scenario to scenario in search of one that would get him out of this alive.
"Hey, Keaton?" You swallowed thickly to ask. He murmured back in response.
"Did you really go straight?"
That stopped him. He turned his head to look at you. You were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth again.
He sighed, closing his eyes, running his hand through his hair. "I thought I was."
You nodded. Yeah, it seemed like things really got screwed up for him huh? Across the room McManus and Fenster were starting to argue, McManus throwing his file on the ground in a huff. You shook your head, moving to get up and go break the two apart but a tight grip on your wrist stopped you.
Keaton looked at you seriously. “I tried you know. I really tried.”
He stared you down like it was important that you knew this. You put your hand over his on your wrist. “I know you did.”
The corners of his lips drew up, he glanced down at your hand over his.“You told me once guys like me couldn’t go straight.”
“Not for a lack of trying.”
He looked back up at you. You drew in a breath through your teeth as he leaned forward subtly. You felt yourself begin to copy his movements when-
“Na, na, fuck this man!”
You both paused at the sound of Fenster’s voice shattering whatever had come over the two of you. You held your breath but Keaton straightened up.
“This is bullshit man. That Kobayashi guy can’t just come in here and tell us what jobs we pull! No way, no way man.” Fenster paced the room, running his hands over his carefully styled hair.
You sighed, shaking your head.
“Fester would you calm down?!” You argued. “This isn’t going to help anything.”
“Yeah, well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!” Fenster argued back.
“Keaton,” Verbal spoke up from the corner where he’d been standing, watching the rest of you panic. You’d almost forgotten he was there. “What do you think we should do?”
Keaton tilted his head to one side then the next, before standing decidedly. “Like Fenster said. No one tells us which jobs to pull.”
#the usual suspects#the usual suspects imagine#the usual suspects 1995#dean keaton#dean keaton x reader#dean keaton imagine#michael mcmanus#michael mcmanus imagine#fred fenster#fred fenster imagine#todd hockeny#todd hockney imagine#verbal kint#verbal kint imagine#keyser soze
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David Hockney (British b. 1937) Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures). Acrylic on canvas, 84 x 120 inches. Source.
Hockney’s paintings of Southern California demonstrate his keen interest in depicting the light and space of that region. For our purposes, Portrait of an Artist also neatly demonstrates the “two natural effects” Albers describes in Chapter XVII, “Film and volume color.” The color change that happens where a shadow falls is what Albers refers to as film color, and the reflected blue color of the swimming pool walls, touching everything within the body of water, is volume color. I agree with those in class who argued that atmospheric perspective, seen here turning the distant foothills blue, could also be considered volume color.
The distinction Albers makes in Chapter XVII can seem muddled. The best demonstration of his volume color that I can provide is the photograph of blue-tinted water, above, with a strip of white mat board immersed in it. The white mat board appears to become gradually bluer towards the bottom of the strip, because there is more blue pigment between the bottom of the strip and my eye than there is at the top where it enters the water.
I haven’t been able to locate references to the terms “film color” and “volume color” outside of Interaction of Color, but Chapter 2 of Wilhelm von Bezold’s Theory of Color in its Relation to Art and Art-Industry lists various influencing factors that may mediate the appearance of a surface color, including reflected color, colored light, varnish, and immersion in a colored liquid--factors Albers mentions as well. We needn’t feel obligated to apply Albers’ terminology to our personal observations, or use them in our art; I think he is simply looking for ways to encourage his readers to see and experience color in all of its various forms.
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Reading Proust by Kindle
Last week I bumped into myself near Oxford Circus. Well, not me exactly but a slightly older and much cooler version of my teenage self: strap-hanging in the rush hour with one finger tucked into the first few pages of Proust and with his thumb in the Appendix. By coincidence I have been re-reading Remembrance of Things Past in preparation for some talks that I am giving about landscape painting in the 1880s and 1890s. The experience has taken me back to the Summer of Love when I attempted to read it back to back with Joyce’s Ulysses and Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. Having struggled my way through them, I read Island, Aldous Huxley’s utopian novel set in Polynesia that was influenced by his earlier mescaline experiments.
As a big fan of Kindle, I wanted to tell my doppelganger that he was getting it all wrong. To point out to him that Proust was all about the drift towards intangibility and the portrayal of inner worlds. That the author was the literary equivalent of Munch’s Nordic landscapes, the flower-strewn meadows of Gustav Klimt or the dematerialised veils of Monet’s lily-ponds. That to read him in book form and to use the notes was to expect the hand-holds and framing devices that you find in Cezanne’s portrayal of Mont St Victoire. That the novel was not a mountain but a swimming pool and that reading it on Kindle mimics the sense of disorientation that a swimmer experiences when he or she forgets how many laps they have done. Like the author’s madeleine cake, a misplaced finger can transport the reader from location 2017 to 1967 to 1913 or fast forward him into the alternative facts of Wikipedia. One can even review a list of the other items that customers had bought with it. But, rather depressingly, I found these turned out to be Adam Bede and The Vicar of Wakefield.
I suppose the word I’m looking for is ‘immersive’ and I was interested to see it repeated several times in the text of the V&A’s exhibition So You Say You Want a Revolution. Its celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Summer of Love highlights the battles for feminism, Black power and LGBT rights. It focuses on the increasing affluence of young people and compares the rival importance of LSD, the contraceptive pill and the credit card. As for ‘immersion’ - the escape from what the Symbolists of the 1890s would have called ‘the near at hand and the everyday’ - it is exemplified by the transition from the record single to the LP and the invention of the headphones. Having spotted one comparison, other analogies seemed to pop up everywhere. Not only did designers reprise the work of Mucha, Beardsley and Felicien Rops but artists such as Peter Blake, Andy Warhol and Richard Hamilton mirrored their commercial approaches by designing record sleeves. There was a widespread interest in synaesthesia and in the cross-overs between music, poetry and painting. One can compare sixties’ radicalism to the anarchism of Signac and Pissarro; the Beatles’ preoccupation with the Maharishi to theosophy; the fascination with India to the Japanese and Islamic influences of Art Nouveau; cross-gender fashions to fin-de-siècle gay identities.
In both cases innovations in technology stimulated a new sense of identity and changed attitudes to consciousness. This can be found in Marshall McLuhan’s observation of the effect of ‘electrified media’ on ‘private thoughts and feelings’ or the impact of the photograph, the wireless and the telephone on artists such as Munch. When Francoise tells Proust’s mother that she has ‘X-ray eyes’ she evokes the widening of horizons in the 1890s from the perspective of a servant that has never left her village. Again one of Proust’s themes is the ability of his country neighbour, Swann, to create a metropolitan identity as a commuter on the same suburban rail network that took Monet to Paris. As the V&A exhibition points out, the 1960s saw a similar increase in social mobility and in the adoption of different personae that was reified by car ownership and foreign travel.
Scott Moncrieff, who translated the Kindle version in 2003, calls the novel In Search of Lost Time. Ironically, perhaps, it is more often seen as a late nineteenth century retreat into aestheticism: the equivalent of Huysmans’ Au Rebours or of Odilon Redon’s androgynous painting, Figure with Closed Eyes. The fact that Proust retired to bed for three years in order to finish it and devoted so many of its pages to describe his childhood anticipation of his mother’s goodnight kiss are in marked contrast to James Joyce and Virginia Woolf who interrupt their characters’ thoughts with the urgent demands of the cities around them. The Futurists’ preoccupation with such juxtapositions has led many designers to use their images as book covers. Hence it is tempting to compare the opiate solipsism of Redon’s Figure with the amphetamine buzz of Stanley Cursiter’s Tram. A similar contrast can be drawn between the Beatles’ A Day in the Life of 1967 and the Stones’ Street Fighting Man of 1968.
In a few weeks I am going with a Royal Academy tour to look at Matisse’s work in Provence. One of our themes will be the way in which Matisse revived the achievements of the decorative art of the 1880s. For in masterpieces such as Luxe, Calme et Volupté he seems to take Gauguin’s subject matter, Van Gogh’s colours and Seurat’s brushwork and to lift them whole and entire from the soft belly of Post-Impressionism with all the skill of a waiter removing the bones from a fish. The title is taken from Baudelaire but the work reveals a debt to Déjeuner sur L’Herbe, Cézanne’s Bathers and to Gauguin’s lost paradise of the South Seas in which he seems to have identified himself and other Europeans as the serpent. Yet it also looks forward to the spoilt Eden of the sixties: the self-conscious pool scenes that Hockney painted in California rather than the utopian nonchalance of the swimming holes at Woodstock.
It now seems hard to explain why I wasted the Summer of Love avoiding my A level texts by reading four fictional accounts of human consciousness. Perhaps it was because 1967 coincided with the end of my acned adolescence. My parents had died three years before and I was about to enter my second year in Coventry at boarding school. Bad things were happening in Detroit, Biafra and along the Mekong Delta and my brother and I had taken refuge on the picnic rug in the back garden. Wasps and other small fears crawled towards us through the grass, only to be captured and interrogated beneath my microscope. Sergeant Pepper wiggled its way along the extension lead. From time to time I would get up and leave the Cézanne-like geometry of the lawn, cross the fauve ruin of my father’s vegetable garden and help myself to one of its surprisingly bitter fruits. At the time, of course, I thought they came from the Tree of Knowledge but my brother later told me they were cooking apples. Proust, no doubt, might well have been amused.
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Hello! I hope you're doing well. Thank you for your writings for this fandom and thank you for always doing my request 😩❤️ Could I request for a college AU scenario where Hockney asked his crush to model for his painting assignment (And the s/o just doesn't know why, out of all people, Hockney chooses her since she doesn't think she's beautiful enough for it)........but turns out the whole assignment thing is a lie, he just wants to paint his crush? ❤️ Thank you so much!
Hello again, I always love completing your requests ❤️
I've been tired a lot, so I'm sorry if this isn't my best.
SFW - No Warnings
Word Count: 406
Inspiration for drawing often came at weird times or places, whether a person, place or something completely random. You weren't like that to Hockey though, looking at your features bought him inspiration. It didn't matter if it was just a thought of you smiling or walking somewhere. Hockney wanted to capture your beauty and have it there when he wanted to see you. It might sound creepy to someone else, but Hockney more than liked you.
It wasn't that you hadn't spoken to each other the two of you had had plenty of conversations. But you were in different classes.
What if Hockney were to say that it was just an assignment and that he needed someone to be a face model? Tasks like this would happen often, so maybe it would work. God forbid you to say no.
"So, what do you think?" Hockney asks, referring to the question he had just asked. "I don't want to, I'll understand, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable about it,"
"You're nicer than most people," you say, smiling softly at Hockney, "I don't mind. When's a good time for you. There are prettier girls, but I don't mind,"
"Beautiful girls are the ones that don't think or believe they are, and you're one of them," a tint of pink slightly touches Hockney's face as his eyes remain on your face.
---
It wasn't that staying still was difficult for him. It was that everything you did, Hockney's heart began to react in a way he didn't expect. The soft sound of your breath, how your eyes stared down at the floor like you were thinking, Hockney was easily distracted by you.
"Is something wrong?" You ask, realizing he had been staring for longer than usual.
"No, don't worry about it," Hockney responds, bringing his canvas up to hide his pink face.
If only you knew how desperate he was right there and then to tell you how much he adored you. Was it worth it to blurt out that all this was because of the love he had for you?
Right now? No, it would all seem weird.
Every brush stroke he made on the canvas illuminated the drawing of your face, giving light and colour to your angelic face.
It wasn't easy at first, but once Hockney got started, time passed quicker. Hopefully, the finished piece of art would make you look as beautiful as always.
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White x attendant reader pt 13: The first time they saw you, Shibisu and Hockney probably thought that you look as if you came straight out of a mythology, with that flowing hanbok and those jewelry you're wearing (you're wearing your master's money from head to toe so ya). Rak called you jewelled turtle.
Jewelled turtle sounds so nice tho 😭
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masterlist
if something doesn’t have a link connected to it, then it’s probably in progress, and not published yet 👉👈
SCENARIOS:
Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Tsuna x reader
when he cheats on you
Tower of God
Bam x reader
when you get jealous over Rachel
when you comfort him
when you risk your life for him
David Hockney
when you’re his childhood friend and he wants to climb the Tower with you
Khun Aguero Agnis x reader
when you get injured
when you get sick
when he confesses to you
when he wakes up from a coma
when you discover he’s still alive
when he makes you beg
when he acts cocky
when you say his name in your sleep
when he’s clingy
when he confronts you about being a spy
when you neglect him
Khun Eduan x reader
when he shares you with Jahad
when he realizes he’s in love with you
when you train with him and get injured
when he gets jealous
when he’s clingy
when he’s forced to choose among women, wine, and grapes
when you see his cruel side
when he’s not a player
Jahad x reader
when he shares you with Eduan
when you’re his companion and you save his life [part 1] [part 2]
when he kidnaps you
Shibisu x reader
the little mermaid au
White x reader
when he falls in love with you
when he gets injured
when he gets jealous
when he tries to turn you on with other people in the same room
HEADCANONS:
Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Hibari Kyoya:
being raised by a single mother
Superbi Squalo:
NSFW HCs
Mystic Messenger
Saeran & 707
MC acting similar to Luciel
Tower of God
Arie Hon:
relationship HCs (SFW and NSFW)
Bam:
reader walking on Endorsi trying to seduce him
Khun Aguero Agnis:
getting his wisdom teeth removed
with a reader who loves terrible food
NSFW HCs
with a reader who usually acts like a joker, but is actually smart
with a secretive reader
having a busty girlfriend
with a very kind reader with low self-esteem
Khun Eduan:
relationship HCs (SFW and NSFW)
with a poor reader
White:
getting jealous over 2D characters
relationship HCs (SFW and NSFW)
TOG SHIP WEEK 2020:
Day 1 - Affection [Shibisu x Hatz]
Day 2 - Promise [Rachel x Yura]
Day 3 - Modern AU [Eduan x Jahad]
Day 4 - Cooking [Evankhell x Hansung]
Day 5 - Desire [White x Bam]
Day 6 - Date [Wangnan x Yihwa]
Day 7 - Dreams [Khun x Bam]
MY AO3 ACCOUNT [click]
#masterlist#tower of god#tog#kami no tou#mystic messenger#katekyo hitman reborn#sawada tsunayoshi#sawada tsunayoshi x reader#tsuna#khun aguero agnis#khun#khun eduan#khun edahn#jahad#zahard#tower of god white#slayer white
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