#nylon strings au

[glitchedfoxx]

chapter 7 of Nylon Strings in Shades of Indigo is out now folks!! prepare yourselves for this one, it's a bit of a doozy

#the legend of zelda #tloz #loz #four swords adventures #four swords manga #fsa #au #alternate universe #modern au #nylon strings in shades of indigo #nylon strings au #nssi au #blue link #art #digital art #drawing

[vivacious-viridian]

I'm back in the fucking building again

#cw suggestive #the legend of zelda #tloz #loz #four swords adventures #four swords manga #fsa #au #alternate universe #modern au #nylon strings in shades of indigo #nylon strings au #nssi au #green link #blue link #green x blue #blue x green #art #digital art #drawing #ship art #god i love them so much #you dont understand

[lovelyhan]

— every summertime  ⟢

you're not really interested in the record shop downtown. but people aren't oblivious to the way you keep trying to get into the owner's pants—not even the owner himself.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x afab!reader

★ WORD COUNT;  16.1k words

★ TAGS; 70s au, playing hard to get, bad bad bad decisions, friends questioning said decisions, reader is a slut in theory but not so much in practice (at least...in the beginning), pining?, angst but like, only a microcosm of angst, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ WARNINGS; alcohol consumption

★ NOTES; if i told you all about how much this fic has changed over the last three months i've spent writing it, you'd all be sick of me going back and forth with the direction i wanted this to go lmfao !!!! i don't think i've ever suffered writing anything as much as i did with this, so i'm proud to be sharing the fruit of every one of my trashed drafts to all of you :') i sincerely hope you all like it T T

this is part of the svthub 70s;teen collab!

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, dom jeonghan bc i just Need him to dom me, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, dacryphilia kinda?, cockwarming

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti--red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @dearjeonwonwoo - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon - @todorokiskitten - @immabecreepin - @98-0603 - @peachhiz

★ JEONGHAN TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @bias-recs - @lunaryoongie - @haoxiaoba - @ak6ko

“Ji, I got you a present!”

Your best friend of over ten years glances at you momentarily while he’s in the middle of replacing the strings of his guitar. There’s an unimpressed look on his face when he does it—no different from the way he looks at you whenever you walk in a gritty session of Dungeons and Dragons back in high school. Only this time, you’re being downright annoying for another reason entirely.

“I’m pretty sure you already have all the Led Zeppelin vinyls in existence so I just picked out whatever from the shelf instead,” you tell him nonchalantly as you bring out a spiffy-looking record of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. “This one’s nice, isn’t it?”

It is, but here’s the thing:

“I already have that.” Jihoon affixes you with a blank stare as he gets up from his seat, letting his fingers glide across the alphabetized collection on his own shelf. 

Ten seconds later, your best friend pulls a carefully preserved vinyl with the exact same album art plastered on the front, making you lower the one in your hands in abject disbelief. But Jihoon has been friends with you long enough to know that something like this isn’t enough to fluster you.

“Consider it a high quality dupe then.” You giggle maniacally before letting yourself fall on top of Jihoon’s bed and hold the sealed vinyl tightly to your chest. “Jeonghan looked soooo gorgeous today. I was really down in the dumps when I heard that he cut his hair, but there’s just a different appeal when guys have it shorter. You get me, right?”

“I really don’t,” Jihoon deadpans as he plops himself back into his chair, coiling a roll of fresh nylon around the pegs of his guitar. “Don’t you ever get tired of spending your summers chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t like you back?”

“Don’t you get tired of lecturing me when we both know I’m never gonna listen?” A simper escapes your lips before you engage the Stevie Wonder poster on Jihoon’s ceiling in a staring contest. “Besides, it’s not as if I like like him! I just want to fuck him—big difference.”

There it is—the classic why am I even best friends with you sigh that only makes Jihoon more endearing than he already is. “Let me rephrase then: why do you keep chasing after a guy who obviously doesn’t want to fuck you back?”

Stevie Wonder ends up winning when you shoot back up into a seating position, letting out an obnoxious laugh that you stifle with the same vinyl you supposedly got for Jihoon. “Au contraire! It might seem that way, but you just haven’t seen a person as deep in his own denial as Jeonghan is.”

“Second door to the left—bathroom’s there. I highly recommend that you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror.” Jihoon’s jaw ticks when he says the words but as long as he isn’t blatantly kicking you out of his room, you’re still within tolerable range. “Didn’t Mingyu set you up with one of his friends? I clearly remember you telling me about it before the semester ended.”

Ah, that’s right. 

Two weeks ago, Kim Mingyu—one of the many friends you’ve left in your hometown—called the telephone that you shared in an apartment with four other girls. When the housemate that answered told you about some guy with a lisp looking for you, you quickly ditched whatever notes you were pretending to read for a quick conversation.

Of course, once Mingyu dropped the call, you quickly turned the telephone dial to ring up your best friend with a pressing question: Mingyu wants to set me up with some guy named Jungkook. Do you know him? 

Jihoon, however, has never met anyone that goes by that name his entire life, which made you draw the conclusion that this Jungkook person must be Mingyu’s friend from another city. He tends to collect people like trading cards and you can’t fault him for it. Mingyu is pretty charming.

Charming enough that you agreed to go hang out with him and Jungkook once you’re back in your hometown.

“Well, he hasn’t contacted me about it again so my Jungkook appointment is on hold until then,” you point out with a huff. “Plus, I don’t see why I should stop trying my chances with Jeonghan just because I’ve got another boy reserved.”

“I don’t remember you being this much of a man-eater last summer.”

“Yet you still love me anyway.” 

Despite already having one in his possession, Jihoon accepts the blasted Pink Floyd vinyl and places the dupe right next to his first copy on the shelf of collectibles. The conversation drifts onto different topics ranging from your mutual struggles with work and the supposed girlfriend that Soonyoung may or may not be lying about. Then right after he finishes restringing his guitar, your best friend walks you home just like old times.

When you’re halfway to the front door of your house, however, Jihoon calls out your name—a sound barely audible in the evening breeze, but you turn around with a questioning look anyway. 

“Don’t be too pushy with Jeonghan, okay?” He instructs sternly. “I know you’re just fucking around, but really, you’re better off investing your time in better things. In better people. Not someone who only keeps you around as a source of entertainment.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand for added flair. “Fucking around? I’m very serious about getting my insides rearranged by him!”

Your best friend makes a face. “Y/N.”

“Just kidding, Ji. You, of all people, should know that I know my limits!” you reassure him with a smile. “Why do you think Jeonghan still speaks to me warmly whenever I walk inside his shop? Whenever I run into him at the disco?”

“Because you’re his customer? And he’s after your money? And maybe he’s a pretty decent person outside his reputation as a sexual fiend?”

“Well that might be true, but that’s also because he’s interested in me too!”

“Good night, Miss Delusional.”

“Good night, Mister Enabler!”

This is pretty much a good summary of your relationship with your best friend. You willingly get yourself tangled up in something incredibly stupid, he tells you off like he’s your mother every time he finds out, and once things start crashing down, you run over to Jihoon in tears while he consoles you for something that’s a hundred percent your fault. It’s quite the understated miracle how he’s tolerated you for so long, but that’s precisely why you’re best friends in the first place.

But there’s this one thing that you can’t tell even Jihoon about. 

“Were you finally out on a date with Jeonghan?”

Your sister, Luna, asks when you make your way to the living room to say hi. She’s nose-deep in one of those Stephen King novels, but her eyes stray away from the pages to spare you a momentary glance. 

You snort. “As if he’s that easy.” 

Luna hums before her eyes wander back to her book. “Mmm. You’re right. If he was, he would’ve gone out with you like, I dunno, three years ago?” 

“You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re such a coward,” she snorts. “You know, if you just told him hey I’ve been in love with you since we met at Joshua’s graduation party instead of asking if he wants to sleep with you, your odds of getting with him would skyrocket.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you chuckle before stepping inside the living room to ruffle her hair—an act of affection that Luna receives with distaste. “Quit making unnecessary comments about my sex life and help me with dinner before Mom and Dad get home.”

“Your non-existent sex life?”

“Oh, screw you.”

After having dinner with your family, you quickly retreat to your bedroom to retire for the evening before Soonyoung can call your house phone to ask if you’re down for a night out. It’s practically tradition whenever you’re back in town, but your last conversation with Jihoon has been weighing heavily on your mind since you walked inside your house. 

Despite there being a one hundred percent chance that you’ll run into Jeonghan again if you go out with your friends, you’re strangely not in the mood to mingle like you always do. 

You’re better off investing your time in better things. In better people.

That might be true, but…

How can you possibly break free of a cycle you’ve always found yourself tangled up in every summertime? 

THREE SUMMERS AGO

A few nights before graduating from college, Hong Jisoo—better known as Joshua—decided to throw an unforgettable party at a disco club his stepfather owns and monopolizes an entire chain out of. You’re not sure how he managed to pull the strings and smuggle enough booze to make the entire graduating class drunk, but old money does wonders especially in a town as small as this.

You recall it vividly because that was the first time you met Jeonghan.

He was a new face in a crowd of people you practically grew up with. But even if he wasn’t, you still would’ve been able to pick him out of the sea of graduating seniors with ease because of how breathtaking he looks.

His hair was brown when you met him, the tips barely tickling the nape of his neck with bangs framing his soulful eyes. You caught him sipping on a glass of something you can’t really name and the moment your brain managed to process the existence of such a beautiful man in such a boring old town, your immediate reaction was to turn to Mingyu. 

“Who’s that? Violet jacket, white pants? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

Mingyu hums before looking around—something made easier by his towering height. “Oh! That’s Jeonghan—Joshua’s brother.”

“Brother?” Jihoon pipes up right next to you, mirroring your surprise. “I thought Joshua was an only child.” 

Seungkwan hisses as he ushers the four of you into a miraculously vacant booth near the jukebox, looking around as if your conversation was under threat of being eavesdropped on. “Pipe it down! We don’t want to get kicked out of the party for talking smack about Joshua’s family.”

“We’re not talking smack, we’re just confused.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Is it so bad to wonder about the newcomer when the entire disco has been eyeing him up and down? Look, even Soonyoung stopped mid-dance just to talk to him.”

True to Jihoon’s observation, another one of your friends, Kwon Soonyoung deigned to step off the dancefloor to exchange a few words with this Jeonghan person. Their interaction lasts for merely a few seconds with Soonyoung obviously taking a liking to the newcomer—a hearty laugh piercing through the song playing on the jukebox as he nods before heading back to whence he came.

Jeonghan was grinning the entire time too—a lazy, laid-back yet attractive smile—and fuck… 

You might have a nasty case of love at first sight. 

“So are you going to explain why Joshua suddenly has a brother or are we going to be in suspense the entire night?” Mingyu whines in his seat. 

Seungkwan huffs. “Alright, alright! Apparently, Joshua’s stepdad has another son who used to live several cities away. No one knows why he moved into this old dump, but hey, more eye candy for everyone, I guess.”

“Is he single?” you blurt out.

Mingyu’s expression twists with smugness. “Why are you curious? You’re not trying to go after him, are you?”

“And if I am?” Brows raised, you fold your arms together as you stare the six-foot puppy down. “It’s like Seungkwan said—he’s eye candy! It won’t do anyone any harm to try and get to know him better, right?” 

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision to make when you’re going to be traveling a lot for work?” Jihoon ponders seriously. “What happened to being ready to leave everything behind and starting anew?”

“Hey, it still counts as starting anew when I’m trying to get with the new guy in town.”

That’s when it starts. 

Jeonghan is easy to talk to. That night, you learned that he moved into town because the big city was much too stifling for him to bear; that he gets along swimmingly with his stepbrother despite their parents’ sudden remarriage; that he isn’t really interested when you boldly asked if he wanted to go out sometime.

It’s no big deal. Not like you went into that conversation with high expectations. The fact that he even entertained you was already a miracle on its own. You can take your losses with your head held high—because it’s no big deal.

But then you saw him leaving the disco with some woman you don’t recognize. You’re not sure who she is and what her relation is to Jeonghan, but the smiles they exchanged as the man of the hour escorted her outside would be forever engraved in the back of your head. 

The rest of the evening was a blur. You thought you’d be able to wipe the image of Jeonghan going home with someone else off your mind with enough booze, but even when you wake up with a hangover the next morning, the ghost of his pretty smile still haunts you. 

You carry it with you even after graduation—all teary eyes and tight hugs exchanged with the friends you spent your entire life with. While Soonyoung is in the middle of telling you to memorize everyone’s house telephone numbers so you can keep in touch while you’re away, you spot Jeonghan in the crowd of visitors filling the university quad.. 

He’s with Joshua and their parents, happily congratulating the youngest for his most recent milestone. You're sure you were at least subtle enough with how you observe him from the corner of your eye, but he catches you staring anyway. 

Instead of breaking eye contact immediately, however, Jeonghan holds your gaze and cracks another one of those lazy grins before waving. You have to look around to see if he was gesturing towards anyone else, but to your surprise, it seems that you’re the intended recipient.

Naturally, you don’t let it get to your head. You’re leaving town in three days and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to keep hankering for someone who made it clear that he isn’t into you. 

But then Jihoon thought it would be a great idea to drop by this newly opened record store in Main Street. So I can give you a little souvenir when you’re thousands of miles away, he said and you were so touched with the sentiment, you actually went along with it.

The excitement you’d racked up at the idea of receiving a gift from your best friend, however, was easily eclipsed by the person that greets the two of you once you enter the front door of the shop. 

“Good morning,” greets a chipper-looking Jeonghan wearing denim overalls with the name of the shop embroidered on the front pocket. “How can I help you two?”

Jihoon quickly recovers from the initial surprise and utters, “Oh, um, I wanted to buy a few cassette tapes for my friend. Can you direct us to the right aisle?”

Jeonghan nods before leaning across the wooden counter to direct you two to a row of shelves on the far right. “Just go down that one and you should be able to find what you’re looking for. They’re all arranged by the artist’s names.”

“Cool. Got it.”

Before you can even get a word in, your best friend proceeds to drag you off to the stack of cassette tapes—ducking behind the shelves to make sure Jeonghan doesn’t see what goes on.

“What’s he doing here?” he hisses quietly.

“Do I look like I have a clue? You’re the one who planned this,” you point out with your arms folded. “Just when I thought you were against me making a move on Jeonghan, you proceed to bring me to the place where he works anyway.”

“I still am! I just didn’t know he’d be here too…”

“Well, don’t get your panties in a twist and just let me pick out my gift so we can leave. How’s that?”

Though he’s visibly disgruntled with the knowledge you’ve both been presented with, Jihoon grunts in agreement before you flutter off to the neatly organized shelf. It reminds you of the one back in your best friend’s room. He’s been big on collecting vinyls and cassette tapes for as long as you can remember, so it’s natural for Jihoon to be drawn to this newly opened record shop. 

When you end up taking far too long to make up your mind about what you want, Jihoon eventually migrates to the other spots in the store—checking out the other merchandise being put up for sale with a quiet look of amazement shining in his eyes. The sight of him in his natural habitat has you chuckling to yourself before your gaze rivets back to the collection of tapes you’re supposed to choose from. 

Of course, you’re startled by Jeonghan appearing seemingly out of nowhere right next to you.

“You’re taking your sweet time,” he chuckles, offering up another smile that makes your heart do somersaults. “Say, aren’t you the one who asked me out at Shua’s graduation party?”

You stare him down like he just personally affronted your entire family before clearing your throat—making a show of grabbing a random tape from the rack to examine its contents. Anything to get you to look at anything but Jeonghan’s stupidly beautiful face.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” you laugh uneasily. “And I’m only taking my sweet time because I don’t want to repetitively play an album I don’t even like on my Walkman.”

“Fair. How about I offer up a few suggestions then?”

That makes you arch an eyebrow. “Sure. What do you have for me?”

He hums for a moment before reaching for one of the higher levels—easily accomplished by his height. The gesture has you backing up against the wooden shelf to give him some more space, but the close proximity has your face flaring with warmth. 

“Here,” Jeonghan offers before handing you a cassette tape that looks pretty brand new. “The Beatles is cliché for a reason and I personally think Let It Be was the best way to end their time together. But you might also be interested in Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

He then proceeds to reach for another tape from the store’s vibrant collection and gives it to you—the lazy smile on his face never faltering. 

“Hmm, which one should I get though?” you wonder while comparing the two. “My best friend over there rarely gets me gifts and I’m not about to abuse the privilege by getting two.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “The other one’s on the house then.” 

The nonchalance in his tone makes your face twist with disbelief. “What?”

“I said it’s on the house. You can have your friend pay for one while you get the other for free,” he explains. “Think of it as a limited time promo of sorts.”

You grimace. “Um, I don’t think I saw any signs outside that said you’re offering a Buy 1 Take 1… Won’t the owner of this place be furious with you or something?”

“Now how can I ever be furious with myself, sweetheart?” 

You’re not sure what baffles you more—the fact that Jeonghan turns out to be his own boss or the fact that he just addressed you with some nickname that has you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

“Y/N, are you done—oh.” 

Saved by the bell—or rather, your best friend—Jihoon walks back into the scene with surprise coloring his features. He’s got a couple of vinyls and a box of guitar picks hefted in his arms as he stares at you and Jeonghan all alone in the aisle.

“Ji, I finally got to pick some out,” you beam while holding the two tapes Jeonghan recommended. “The owner said it’s a Buy 1 Take 1 so…”

He mutters the words the owner under his breath before his gaze zeroes in on Jeonghan who simply waves at him with a cheery air.

“Oh, I-I see,” Jihoon clears his throat. “Thank you for being so generous. You really didn’t have to. She doesn’t even care that much about music in the first—”

“Anyway,” you interject loudly before directing yourself to the counter. “Let’s go check these out. We’re meeting Mingyu and the rest of the guys for lunch, aren’t we?”

You pack up your business with Jeonghan fairly quickly. He places your most recent purchases in individual plastic bags, handing them to you with an ever-present smile. Even when you’re already seated at the diner you chose to hold your farewell lunch in, your mind still toys with the memory of Jeonghan calling you sweetheart.

Though if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think of Jeonghan much when you eventually move out of your hometown to pursue your work. You make new friends and colleagues, kindle a few romances here and there, and still keep in touch with a select few you’ve left behind.

Of course, Jeonghan does cross your mind whenever you deign to listen to the cassette tapes he personally picked out for you, but starting over completely in a new city every few months certainly gives you a fresher outlook in life.

Yet whenever you come home for the summer, it takes little for you to start regressing into old habits you thought you’d already outgrown. 

TWO SUMMERS AGO

“When did you arrive in town?”

You nearly spill your drink all over that same violet jacket he was wearing the night you first met him—heart rate spiking at the sight of such a gorgeous face. Jeonghan leans across the counter where you and Seungkwan deigned to catch a breather after dancing your hearts out to Earth, Wind, and Fire. Thankfully, you’re able to mask the surprise upon seeing him again with a warm smile.

“Just this afternoon actually,” you chuckle before taking another sip. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Big city boy like you should’ve gotten tired of this place in the first month.”

“I could say the same for you,” Jeonghan rebuts with an easygoing grin. “You’re a big city girl now too, aren’t you? But you’re back home anyways.”

“Well, Y/N actually has friends to come back to or else we’ll hop on the earliest flight to wherever the hell she is to come get her ourselves,” Seungkwan interjects beside you with a huff. “What’re you even doing here? Don’t you have a date waiting for you or something?”

Despite convincing yourself that you were over that fleeting crush on Jeonghan, you still feel your shoulders sag at the thought that he was here tonight with someone else. Thankfully, neither Seungkwan or Jeonghan notice the shift in your countenance.

“I do, actually. I was just going to pick up a couple drinks I ordered earlier. Can’t a man treat her to a Tequila Sunrise?” Jeonghan pouts and just in time the bartender stationed behind the counter places two glasses of a vibrant-looking drink in front of him. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Y/N. I hope the tapes I sold you kept you good company while you were gone.”

Oh. He still remembers that.

“They did,” you affirm all while trying to keep yourself from smiling too much. “I can always rely on the taste of someone who literally owns an entire record store.”

“Well, if you need some new tunes to groove to, you know where to find me,” Jeonghan says with an attractive wink, butterflies beating their wings inside your stomach. 

It’s only when Jeonghan walks back to the booth he’s sharing with his supposed date—a pretty blonde with shiny dangling earrings that glimmer in the disco lights—that you realize that maybe you haven’t really gotten over him like you initially thought.

Unfortunately for you, Seungkwan gets the same idea.

“Jihoon’s not gonna be happy about this,” he drawls before taking another sip of his drink. 

“Well, he’s not my mother.”

“Your mother won’t be happy about you getting the hots for someone who sleeps with different women every weekend, but okay.”

You brush off his comments with a shake of your head, downing the rest of your drink as you tug him out of his stool. “Whatever. Come on, let’s go find Soonyoung and the others.”

Apart from your usual circle with Jihoon, Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Soonyoung, they’ve made a couple more friends in the local university they decided to attend together. They introduce you to Seokmin, a theater major with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen—and for some reason, they’ve all managed to befriend Joshua Hong himself as well.

The new additions to your growing group of friends fit right in. Even Joshua, who you’ve always thought of as some snotty trust fund baby, proved to be quite enjoyable company. To your delight, your first night back after almost an entire year of being away turns out much more worthwhile than you initially thought.

For the rest of the night, you try your best to keep your mind off of Jeonghan and focus on mingling with your friends again. God knows how badly you’ve missed them—the occasional phone call can’t ever hold a candle to hanging out with these lunatics in the flesh. 

But despite having loads of fun just watching Soonyoung engage someone apparently named Minghao in a dance-off, you can’t help but feel like someone’s watching you. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find Jeonghan’s eyes in the crowd. 

His date is resting her head on his shoulder—obviously buzzed from the drinks she’s consumed for the night. You’re not sure if it was pure coincidence that your gazes locked in such a packed crowd, but before you can even think about waving at him, Mingyu yanks you to the dancefloor to duke it out with the rest of your friends.

The heat of Jeonghan’s gaze sears into your being like a soldering iron kissing your skin. Every time you try to look for him wherever the boys would unwittingly drag you to have some fun, you’d find his intense stare still affixed on your form. If it was anyone else, you would’ve been unnerved by the scrutiny he’s giving you especially when his date is literally half-asleep next to him in their booth.

But maybe part of you will always want Jeonghan—even if you’ve convinced yourself otherwise.

When the night comes to an end, Mingyu and Seokmin do the honors of carrying a ditzy-drunk Soonyoung inside Joshua’s SUV. It proves to be a fool’s errand at most because of course Soonyoung would make it a point to be difficult while all his well-meaning friends just want to tuck him back to bed—breaking into a quick dance every five steps forward.

“Hey, I’ll just go use the washroom first,” you whisper in Jihoon’s ear. “I won’t be long.”

Your best friend nods. “Yeah, we need someone to look after these idiots. Seungkwan would just provoke Soonyoung into doing something even more stupid.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Seungkwan complains.

You break away from them momentarily with a giggle before hoisting the strap of your purse over your shoulder and making your way to the washroom. 

There are a couple of other disheveled disco-goers trying to make themselves look a bit more presentable. You decide to take a vacant spot by the mirror to touch up your makeup, dusting bits of glitter with unknown origin away from your face. Once you’re all set, the others have long left the washroom—prompting you to make your way out of the building before the owner closes its doors.

However, once you make it back to the main area, you spot Jeonghan on one of the barstools—speaking to a man with dyed blue hair, while his date is nowhere to be found.

“Y/N?” Jeonghan calls out despite your best effort to brisk walk to the door. “You’re still here? Your friends didn’t ditch you or anything, right?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. They’re waiting for me outside. They were struggling to get Soonyoung inside your brother’s car so I thought I’d go freshen up first.”

“Shua’s car? I didn’t know you two were friends,” he comments with brows raised. “I asked him about you back then but he said he and you haven’t spoken two words to each other.”

Wait a minute. He asked Joshua about you?

“That’s because you’re always too friendly, Han,” the other man whose name you don’t know interjects with a roll of his eyes. “You probably know all your customers and mine by name at this point.”

“You’re being funny again, Cheol,” Jeonghan snickers before turning to you once again. “Y/N, this is Seungcheol. He’s the new manager of this particular branch of our father’s discotheques. He’s also a very good friend of mine.”

You glance at Seungcheol with a nod. “Hi.”

“Hmm, your friends are a bunch of regulars here, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he observes. 

“That’s because this little bird has been away for work for the past year,” Jeonghan supplies while twirling a glass of what looks like bourbon in his hand.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him. “You sure know a lot about Y/N.” 

“Well, she was one of my first customers and her best friend is one of my most loyal regulars,” he laughs before taking a sip, grinning so handsomely, you can almost feel your knees give out at the sight of him. “Tell Jihoon I said hi once you meet up with them again, yeah?”

“O-Okay,” you stammer, clutching your purse much too tightly for someone who’s just having a casual conversation with a bunch of guys who aren't your friends. 

“I’ll leave you for a while. I’m going to go check on your sister and make sure she hasn’t thrown up all over my desk,” Seungcheol excuses himself with a pat on Jeonghan’s shoulder. 

“Your sister?” you repeat with an incredulous ring to your voice.  

“Mhmm. My biological sister,” Jeonghan hums in affirmation as Seungcheol steps out. “Not so different from you, she’s been traveling in and out of the country for work and decided to pay me a visit while she’s here. Though I didn’t expect her alcohol tolerance to be…like that, which is why I had her rest in Cheol’s office for the meantime.”

Your mind processes his words at lightning speed—quickly pulling out the memory of Jeonghan with his supposed date with her head on his shoulder.

“So your date was your sister?” you clarify. 

“Why are you making it sound like it’s a bad thing? Can’t I take my sister out on a few dates?” He shakes his head.

“I never said anything like that!” 

Jeonghan places a hand on his chest in feigned offense, shaking his head with a dramatic sigh. “It’s alright, I’m quite used to being falsely judged.”

“You are so dramatic,” you snort.

“So I’ve been told,” he laughs airily before putting down his glass, getting up from the stool he decided to occupy. “By the way, there’s a little something that’s been bothering me since you came over here.”

As your present company draws closer to you with each word, your heart swells with equal parts anticipation and dreadful curiosity. 

Something’s been bothering him? Did you perhaps do something wrong? That’s a little impossible because you could’ve sworn you’ve done your best to ignore him the entire—

“You’ve got some glitter right…” Jeonghan murmurs as he cups the side of your face with a warm hand, thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. 

“Here.”

It’s as if time came to a standstill when he does it—holding both your gaze and your breath captive in the lush brown of his eyes. You always wondered what it would feel like to have Jeonghan’s skin on yours and of all the ways it could’ve happened, this isn’t exactly part of your list of delusions.

He’s so close and so pretty and he smells so good—

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out sometime?” 

You don’t even realize that your thoughts have translated it into words until Jeonghan’s expression morphs from relaxed to mildly surprised. He pulls away only a little before his lips twitch into a smile that borders on taunting.

“Oh? You’re still on a mission, huh?” Jeonghan simpers. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” 

Maybe it’s just the alcohol you’ve consumed making you just a bit braver than you usually are, but your mouth just won’t stop running.

“Well, I wouldn’t be this persistent if you didn’t give any signs that you might’ve lied to me the first time I asked.” 

“Hm? And what makes you think I was lying?”

Your shoulders heave with a soft laugh, folding your arms together as you hold his gaze with confidence oozing out of your posture. “Yoon Jeonghan, if you really aren’t interested, then why were you watching me the entire night? I’m not blind you know. You weren’t being subtle either.”

“What if I was just extremely happy to see one of my first ever customers back in town?” he chuckles, the tone of his voice aggravatingly leveled for someone you’re supposedly cornering. “And sorry to say, sweetheart, but I don’t really go out with any of Shua’s friends.”

His reasoning makes you heave an incredulous laugh as you recall the way he stared at you earlier tonight like you have a target on your back. You want to make it a point that you’ve only considered his stepbrother as a friend on this same night, but decide on going at this with a different approach.

“Okay,” you respond coolly, challenging the nonchalant smile on his face with one of your own. “If you don’t go out with any of Joshua’s friends, would you sleep with one?”

You don’t know how, but you’ve managed to make the distance between you even smaller. Jeonghan doesn’t budge even as you stare at him with fire in your eyes—even when your skin prickles with electricity from the sparks of something inevitably flying between the two of you. 

Once upon a time, you resigned yourself to the fact that Jeonghan would be nothing more than a fleeting, unrequited crush. But who knew that all it would take is a single night after months of not seeing him to make you realize that maybe things aren’t really what they seem?

“My, I’ve never had anyone come onto me this strongly before,” he muses with a soft laugh. “But your friends must be looking for you. No one takes that long to retouch in the ladies’ room, no? You best be on your way, Y/N.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” you deadpan with an amused smirk. “If I told you I’d leave you alone and never bother you with this again if you really, truly aren’t interested, will you answer me then?”

A voice that sounds like a strange mix of Jihoon and Seungkwan wails in the back of your semi-inebriated mind. What the fuck are you doing?!

You want to respond back that you completely know what you’re doing, but you’re well aware that the half the words you’ve uttered during the entire course of the conversation would never even get past your lips had you been in a better state of mind.

But for all of Jeonghan’s inclination of playing hard-to-get, he leans closer to your ear—the hand he places on your bare shoulder nearly searing his mark onto your skin. 

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

This game you’re playing with Jeonghan eventually becomes commonplace.

You spend a chunk of it deliberately getting under his skin. While you certainly made all those bold declarations under the influence, you quickly realized that the day after Jeonghan gave you his cryptic answer, you’re completely serious about this so-called mission.

So you brought out all sorts of ammunition that would make your mother weep with how you’re practically flaying yourself open for a man. You’d purposely wear tight-fitting clothes that emphasized the dips and curves of your body, show up to every night out where you were certain Jeonghan would be present, and of course, hang out at his record store more times than an average person would willingly spend in her boring old hometown.

Jeonghan—ever the infuriatingly level-headed person he is—takes all of it in stride. Where your friends have raised eyebrows with how you’re openly pursuing the most un-pursueable man you all know, he doesn’t treat you any differently from the way he usually does. 

He still entertains you whenever you sneak up on him at the disco, still accommodates your unnecessary purchases in his store…

Still flat-out rejects your advances even if he’s borderline flirting back.

It’s a constant push and pull that Jihoon might be sick of hearing whenever you deign to come over to tell him about the progress of your pursuit—or lack thereof. But since he’s taken up the mantle of your best friend, this is the fate that he has to live with. 

“You do know that you’re dancing with a wolf over there, right?” he points out one night while he’s busy writing a song and you’re flipping through a magazine on his bed. “The other guys have told me enough stories about how he’s always got a different date every time they’re at the disco. He’s a raging Casanova, Y/N. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“How can I get hurt when I’m just after a good time?” you chuckle as your ears ring every time he strums his guitar. “If he’s such a Casanova, then why hasn’t he tried to make a move when I’m openly expressing how into him I really am? Have been for, like, two years now!”

“If I knew the thought process behind how he responds to you, I wouldn’t be stressing as much as I have for the past two years,” he grumbles.

“You worry too much about me, Ji. I’ve already fooled around with some guys here and there. What’s another one from my hometown?”

Jihoon turns to glance at you with a tired look on his face. “But Jeonghan isn’t just some guy. He’s Jeonghan.” 

You want to refute that statement by saying that you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. But for someone who mostly keeps to himself, Jihoon has an extremely good perception on things. He probably already knows things about Jeonghan even if you don’t say them outright.

The owner of the record store in Main Street is undoubtedly alluring. He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen—beautiful enough to have you hope time and time again that you can call him yours. What’s more is that the chemistry between you was established the moment he teased the possibility of you getting what you’ve wanted since you met. 

Maybe next time, sweetheart.

No matter how risky it is to toe this jagged cliff of your mutual interest, you’ve always been a glutton for danger.

ONE SUMMER AGO

Your game plan after settling your bags into your house is simple: drop by Jeonghan’s store to let you know that the biggest thorn on his side is back in town and check if he magically wants to fuck you this time around. It’s a routine that your friends have long grown tired of—seeing no point in interfering when you’re so dead-set to get with Jeonghan however you can.

It’s pretty pathetic, but you’re anything but a quitter.

Although contrary to popular belief, screwing Yoon Jeonghan isn’t always the only thing running through your head whenever you’re home. Take right now for example.

You’d just finished unpacking your things into your room when you realized that you’d forgotten to place one of the cassette tapes that Jihoon personally made for you inside its usual protective container—discovering that the outer casing was cracked through the middle while the plastic film lolled out of the rupture, dangerously close to being torn in the state you found it in.

If it were any other cassette tape—even the ones Jeonghan personally picked out for you before you left—you wouldn’t have been fazed. These things are replaceable, especially when Jeonghan would have a dozen other copies waiting for you in his store.

Except this tape in particular can’t be replaced because Jihoon spent a fortune getting it personally manufactured for you. He recorded a few of the songs he personally wrote into the film and had it mailed to you as a surprise—a thoughtful attempt at easing your homesickness for the holidays. 

There wasn’t a day when you didn’t listen to your best friend sing with the help of your Walkman. Your old cassette tapes from Jeonghan definitely took a backseat once you received Jihoon’s present in the mail with a letter he personally wrote attached to the package. 

And now it’s broken because you were an idiot who didn’t pack it somewhere more secure—

“Sweetheart, I’m closing early tonight. If you’re going to ask if I want to sleep with you, you should try…”

Jeonghan’s playful tone falters when he sees that you’re sniffling in the oversized parka you hurriedly pulled from the coatrack before heading over to the only person who can possibly salvage Jihoon’s precious gift. You don’t say anything as you place the broken cassette tape on top of the wooden counter—eyes downcast as Jeonghan peruses what you’ve presented for him to inspect.

“T-That’s really important to me,” you murmur, wiping the tears off your face as your eyes rivet themselves on the smiley that Jihoon doodled right next to the message he wrote for you on the outer cover. “Can you fix it? I’ll pay you up front.”

As the store owner you’ve been crazy about for the better part of three years examines the crime scene before him, he lets out a soft laugh that has you glancing at him inquisitively.

“So Jihoon made you your very own tape, huh? How sweet of him.” He smiles comfortingly—devoid of the usual mirth and amusement he typically showcases in your presence. “Don’t worry too much, yeah? The outer shell is damaged, but the tape reel itself is still intact. I’ll just replace the casing and you’ll still be able to listen to this just fine.”

Your eyes widen ever-so slightly. “Really?”

Jeonghan’s smile spreads even wider as he leans across the counter. He’s tall enough that he can reach you without much difficulty, his knuckles softly brushing against your cheek in a quaint attempt at drying your tears. 

The sight of him so close to you is equal parts foreign and familiar. His gesture reminds you of the time he brushed some glitter off your face last summer, but the provocative look in his eyes back then is nowhere to be found. All Jeonghan offers you right now is solace over something that you probably overreacted about. 

“I’ll go check if I have some spare cassette cases in the back before I try to fix this, okay? You can have a look around the shop in the meantime.”

Jeonghan punctuates the words with two soft pats on your cheek, his soft smile never faltering as he directs himself to the door behind the counter—Jihoon’s broken present carefully cupped in his hands.

As promised, your knight-in-denim-overalls manages to fix one of the most precious gifts you’ve received in your lifetime. You nearly jump to embrace him when Jeonghan reemerges from the back with the cassette tape more or less good as new, but he quickly side-steps your attempt out of the fear that you’ll end up breaking the damn thing all over again.

“How much do I owe you?” You’re practically humming with glee as you bring out your wallet from the pocket of your jeans. “Thank fucking god, Jeonghan. I was so close to losing my mind over it.”

“I’m the one who revived this patient and you’re thanking god? Way to discredit an artist for his craft.” The store owner pouts. “I’ll let this slide and tell you that you don’t have to pay for a thing.”

“I insist.”

“You can pay for it in other ways, you know.”

Once the words are out of his mouth, silence settles over the two of you in near-deafening fashion. The bustling of cars and other vehicles from outside is the only sound you could hear as you mull over what his words could possibly imply.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You gape, eyeing him incredulously. 

As Jeonghan hands you back your perfectly repaired cassette tape, the corners of his mouth twitch with a conniving smile. “What do you think I’m saying, sweetheart?”

That you can pay for his services with sex? Isn’t that the usual implication when it comes to things like this? But that doesn’t seem right. 

Even if you should be elated from being so much closer to your goal, it feels like you’re cheating. You’ve been subjected to this seemingly endless chase for so long that in the ideal event that Jeonghan would finally cave and let you sleep with him, this definitely isn’t the way he’d concede. You know him well enough to say that for sure.

So instead of pouncing at your prize like some slobbering mutt, you choose your words carefully—making sure to not step into that conversational bear trap he so obviously set up.

“No idea. You tell me.”

Jeonghan simpers before dusting off his overalls, carding his fingers through his dark hair. He’s wearing it a little longer this summer and you’re really digging the look more than you probably should.

“How about we stop by the roller rink later? My treat. You can pay me back with your company.” 

A large scowl immediately roots itself on your face. “Aren’t you already doing too much?” For someone who’s been pestering you like a fly every summertime, you’d like to add but obviously didn’t. “Seriously, let me just pay you for the repair and we’ll be even.”

Adamantly, he shakes his head. “I don’t have any rates for tape repairs, so consider it as a favor. I also mentioned that I was closing up early tonight, remember?”

“Uh, what does that have to do with—”

“Seungcheol begged me to come to the roller rink to teach him how to skate because apparently this lady he’s been eyeing is a figure skater. Poor guy doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her on their first date this weekend,” Jeonghan explains swiftly before chuckling to himself. “He’s kind of unteachable so I thought I’d bring some backup.”

Your face twists with even more confusion. “And what made you think I’m any good at roller skating?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Gut feeling.”

And that’s how you wound up in the town roller rink at eight in the evening when you promised Luna you’d be home to watch The Exorcist on your father’s VHS player. 

Jeonghan is awfully difficult to say no to when he’s the one doing all the pestering and even though your roller skating skills are subpar at best, at least you’re not as pitiful as a man named Choi Seungcheol.

“These aren’t even roller blades,” you point out all while stifling a laugh. “What’s the deal, Cheol? Is your center of gravity that shitty?”

“Say that to me when we’re in a taekwondo match, I dare you,” Seungcheol huffs as he grips the metal railing for dear life. “The things I do for a gorgeous girl…”

Jeonghan skates over to his friend with a smirk, tugging on his arm. “Come on, now. You won’t impress your date if you keep ambling by the sides like a spaz.”

In an attempt to become the devil’s advocate, you take Seungcheol’s other arm in your grasp as well. “Yeah. If you weren’t confident about this, why’d you ask her out here? Actually, who on Earth schedules the first date at a roller rink?” 

“I wanted her to know that we have common interests!” 

“And skating is your common interest?”

“...No, but at least she’d get the idea that I care about what she does for a living.”

With the newfound determination to not embarrass himself in front of the gorgeous figure skater, Seungcheol lets you and Jeonghan teach him the art of not falling on your ass every time he glides forward. This goes on for about thirty or-so minutes until he finally gets the hang of it and is out and about in the rink full of teenagers that are looking at him funny.

This is when you decide to wind down and hang out by the railings as well, watching your student test out if he can do a little spin now that he’s sort of mastered the basics. Unfortunately for Seungcheol, he slips and lands on his back after the attempt—immediately scrambling back to his feet before any of the younger skaters could laugh at him for the mishap.

“Hope you don’t mind that I whisked you off for an impromptu tutoring session.”

You don’t even startle when Jeonghan materializes beside you like he almost always does—his eyes also trained on his poor friend while he practices what he’s been taught. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you stare at him with a shake of your head. 

“I’m supposed to be marathoning horror movies with my sister, you know,” you chuckle. “Dunno why you asked me to come with you to teach the unteachable, but I’m glad I could help.”

He lets out a quiet laugh of his own. “I just wanted to give you a warm welcome is all. Haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Even if all I do is ask if you want to have sex with me?” 

“Hey, all friendships are built on different foundations. Ours just happens to be more unorthodox than the rest,” Jeonghan points out, like it’s common knowledge. “Besides, don’t you think it gives the friendship more spice when one of us keeps asking the other if they want to sleep together?”

You punch him in the shoulder. “You’re so weird.”

“And you still want me to fuck you despite that. I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me.” He grins and your throat constricts with how pretty he looks.

Just before you can open your mouth to dish out another snarky response, the song that comes up on the speakers switches into something familiar—the crowd of skaters immediately erupting into cheers.

“Oooh, Dancing Queen,” Jeonghan marvels as he pushes himself off the railing before yanking your hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Can’t let Cheol have all the fun now, can we?”

You’re no dancer but you’ve spent so many nights with your friends at the disco that you can’t really refuse when ABBA says that you can dance and you can jive. It’s a little more challenging when you’re literally wearing roller skates and Yoon Jeonghan is spinning you around while his head is thrown back in laughter, but you can manage,

It feels so strange to be doing this with him. You’ve gotten used to just coming up to Jeonghan to hit on him and get rejected before going about the rest of your day, so you don’t really know the protocol when it comes to fooling around with him in a roller rink. 

But instead of psyching yourself out too much, you just let yourself loose in the moment.

It’s…nice. You can feel the music in your veins as you burn the memory of Jeonghan grinning as he twirls you amidst a sea of roller skaters. Something pangs in your chest—a feeling you’ve felt with your other romantic prospects from the past, but never with Jeonghan.

Just when the song is about to end, however, you lose your footing and end up slipping onto the polished wooden floor. It would’ve been less embarrassing if you hadn’t hooked your arm around Jeonghan’s waist to balance yourself, but you both end up toppling into a heap.

“Shit, sorry!” you groan, rubbing your tailbone as you try to collect yourself. Your legs are right on top of Jeonghan’s though, so it proves to be somewhat difficult to get back to your feet without bracing your hands on the ground. 

Which is exactly what you end up doing just to keep yourself from face planting.

Jeonghan isn’t able to school his expression fast enough when you straddle his hips in the middle of the roller rink—eyes lit up with surprise as you stammer apology after apology. You really want to fucking stand up but you’re so shaken up by the chain of events that you can’t find the right balance. 

“So much for your center of gravity, huh?” 

You and Jeonghan both jump at the sound of Seungcheol’s voice—the other man sporting a smirk of his own as he stands over the two of you. Thankfully, instead of simpering at the fact that you got a taste of your own medicine, he offers a hand for you to take—one that you take more gingerly than you meant to. 

The three of you eventually hobble back to the waiting lounge together, making jabs at each other’s slip-ups for the night. Hanging out with these two men is just as fun as hanging out with your old friends and you’re glad to know that you’ve found such worthwhile company despite being away for most of the year.

After returning your skates, Jeonghan tells you and Seungcheol that he’s just going on a quick bathroom break and you agreed to wait for him before heading home. Your student then takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation. 

“Hmph. And you thought this wasn’t an ideal spot for a first date.”

Puzzled, you glance at Seungcheol with a questioning look. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Han,” he continues. “This is your first date, isn’t it? Took him long enough.”

Took him long enough? Seungcheol’s words sound so silly, you actually end up laughing at the foolishness of it all. “What? Jeonghan? Taking me out on a date? You didn’t hit your head while you were practicing, did you?”

“Hey, I might be a newbie, but once I learn, I never forget it,” Seungcheol huffs before crossing his arms. “And, yeah, is it so strange for Han to ask you out? Sure, you’re never really here like half the time—”

“I wouldn’t say half the time. I only ever get short breaks in the summer”

“Hey, summer breaks aren’t short… Okay, maybe they kind of are, but that’s not the point!” 

“Whatever your point is, it’s pointless,” you snort. “He always turns me down whenever I ask if he wants to sleep together. How could he possibly want to take me out on a date?”

Seungcheol makes a face. “You’ve been asking him what?” 

“...If he wants to sleep together?”

“Well, that’s because you’ve been asking the wrong question!”

“I’m not! Look, that wasn’t always my go-to. The first time we met, I asked if he wanted to go out sometime. He said no. And it’s been a…thing between us for me to constantly ask even if I know he’ll just turn me down.”

“...Doesn’t that just make you pathetic?”

“You know, you’re a lot different when you’re outside the disco.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you should really recalibrate the way you’re trying to get with Jeonghan because even if he’s the biggest manwhore I’ve met, when he actually gets serious, he—”

“Now what could you two possibly be talking about?” 

Like he always does, Jeonghan waltzes into the conversation with the most opportune timing. He glances at you and his friend curiously as he slings his arms around both of your shoulders—a conspiratorial grin weaseling its way onto his face. “Sounds to me like it’s something interesting.”

“I was just about to tell Seungcheol that you don’t go out with Joshua’s friends, hence the complete impossibility of this being a first date,” you clarify—face heating up with embarrassment at how ridiculous you sound right now. “I mean, would a proper first date include teaching your hopeless friend how to roller skate?”

Seungcheol snorts. “You obviously don’t know what Han considers as a proper first date.”

“But she’s completely right about that specific preference of mine,” Jeonghan agrees without missing a beat. “Now that this is all cleared up, how about we drive her back to her house? It’s getting late.”

That night, you climb under the covers of your bed reeling from that conversation you had with Seungcheol. You still think it’s downright silly for him to assume that Jeonghan took you out on a date when he clearly just sees you as a friend. 

Yet when you think about it a bit more, isn’t it more ridiculous for you to still be going at this game you’ve been playing with him for the past three years? Asking a man who’s way out of your league to sleep with you like some hooker on the streets? 

The way Jeonghan receives your advances doesn’t help your predicament in the slightest either. Most men would be unnerved by the fact that some woman keeps trying to get in his pants, but Jeonghan practically considers it as a thing that friends do. He simply turns you down without treating you any differently, and you’re starting to second-guess whether he’s just that good of a person or if he’s only keeping you around to amuse himself.

Seungkwan would tell you that you’ve got little to no respect for yourself. Jihoon would just sigh and tell you that he honestly expected better from you, and you wouldn’t fault either of them, really.

Because even when the odds are stacked against you, you’ll always find your way back to Yoon Jeonghan.

THE PRESENT

Much to everyone’s surprise, you’re able to go two straight weeks without seeking out the object of your prolonged affections. 

You make plans with anyone and everyone else there is to make plans with—going on a picnic with your sister, helping Jihoon write a song, hitting the arcade with Seungkwan. Anything to keep yourself away from Jeonghan.

Hell, you even agreed to meet Jeon Jungkook in the flesh when Mingyu finally remembered that he set you up with him a month ago. 

First impressions last and Jungkook definitely blew all your expectations out of the water when he pulled up in front of your house with a shiny Harley Davidson that boasted far more horsepower than your father’s old minivan. He’s the textbook definition of a badboy if his piercings and full sleeve of tattoos are anything to go by.

But for someone who hasn’t even met you before, he was thoughtful enough to bring flowers for your mother, a bottle of wine for your father, and Stephen King’s newest release for Luna when he arrived at your door with a boyish smile.

When Jihoon caught wind of the news, he immediately came over to your house to confirm if it’s actually true—a completely drastic shift from your usual habit of coming over at his.

Apparently, your mother ran into him at the grocery store and fessed up all about this wonderful biker who took Y/N out on a candle-lit dinner at the only decent restaurant in town to your best friend. It’s painfully obvious that Jihoon mirrors her excitement when you tell him that yes, your first date with Jungkook actually went better than expected. 

You thought Jungkook was the type of guy that your best friend would avoid at all costs. Jihoon hates loud noises that don’t contribute to his musical creativity and your newest flame’s motorcycle would definitely be an issue if your best friend ever hears him rev it up. 

And yet when you finally introduce them to each other, they hit it off at lightning speed. Turns out Jungkook was also a music major when he was in college and you find yourself lost in a sea of jargon as the pair engrosses themselves in a conversation regarding their mutual interests. 

Jungkook gets along swimmingly with your other friends too.

You should’ve trusted Mingyu’s judgment when he first told you that his friend can blend into any circle he chucks himself into because now you can only watch in awe as he and Sonyoung duke it out at your usual disco—exchanging high fives when the song on the jukebox comes to an end and the rest of the crowd cheers at them from the sides.

“How’re you liking our little town so far?” you ask when he returns to the booth you’ve claimed for the two of you, giggling when he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek. 

“You seriously downplay this place too much,” Jungkook sighs, unable to suppress the grin on his face. “Sure, there aren’t a lot of things to do, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s as passionate about dance battles as Soonyoung over there. Joshua, Seokmin and Seungkwan are brilliant company, too. Oh, and how could I forget about Jihoon? I’m seriously pissed because Mingyu didn’t introduce me to them sooner.”

Your bottom lip swells into a pout. “Only them, not me?”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh that makes your skin tingle, leaning closer enough that you can feel his breath on your face. When he smiles, his lip ring glints in the colorful lights of the disco.

“Baby, if we’ve met any sooner, you’ll probably get sick of me.”

“And why is that, Mr. Jeon?” you whisper. 

He hums for a moment, tracing the outline of your lips with the heat of his gaze. “I’ve been told that I’m a very passionate lover. You might not be able to handle it.”

“And who’s to say you’re the judge of that?”

“Well, we can get out of here so you can see for yourself, no?”

Your face heats up at the notion of what he’s trying to imply. It’s a little silly because you’ve spent so much of your time practically throwing yourself at Jeonghan that when another man expresses interest in you, you suddenly clam up out of embarrassment. 

Jeonghan…

Even if you’re being pinned in place by Jungkook’s weightful stare, your gaze still goes over his shoulder—straight to the bar where you know he’s been watching you. 

The moment your gang of loud friends piled into the disco one after the other, you were quick to pick up on Jeonghan’s presence as he spoke to Seungcheol at the bar and from the way he snapped his head in the direction of your group, you like to think he’s just as privy to yours too.

Especially when his eyes zeroed in on Jungkook’s arm around your waist.

This time around, instead of hounding the guy with the same question you’ve been asking for years, you do your best to ignore his existence altogether. It was easier than you expected because Jungkook has the ability to make you forget about everything else when you’re in his company. He’s charming and sweet in ways that don’t leave you second guessing his intentions. The man wants you and he needs you to know that in whatever way he can manage.

But even if you’ve got a handsome badboy under your spell, Jungkook’s charms don’t work on you with the same intensity as a single gaze from Jeonghan.

He isn’t smiling at you like he usually is—lips nearly twisted into a frown as he watches Jungkook crowd you in your shared booth. While most of your body language would suggest that you’re receiving your beau’s affections openly, the fact that your eyes are trained on the man you’ve been trying your best to get over would tell Jeonghan another story entirely. 

Which is what ultimately makes you let out a breathy laugh before lightly pushing Jungkook off of you.

“Easy there, tiger. We’ve been dating for, what? A month?” you remind him with a somewhat forced smile. “You might be one of the two hottest guys I’ve met in my life, but I still believe in the art of taking your time.”

“The two hottest guys?” Jungkook parrots, amusement coloring his face as he leans back on the leather upholstery of your seat. “Who’s the other one then?”

You force yourself not to look at Jeonghan so you wouldn’t give yourself away. After all, you haven’t lost yet. It’s perfectly normal to still think about the man you may or may not have been in love with for years when you’re in the middle of getting over him. Whatever you and Jungkook have going isn’t a lost cause just yet.

“No one important,” you insist before tugging him back to his feet . “How about you come dance with me instead of asking silly questions, loverboy?”

A hint of skepticism crosses his face for just a moment before he concedes, letting you drag him back to the dancefloor as you try your damnedest to ignore the way Jeonghan’s gaze never strayed far from you for the rest of the night.

Summer is almost coming to an end and your boss has already mailed you some documents containing the details of your next job. You read through them while you’re bundled up in blankets in the living room with Jihoon, who seems more excited about it than you are.

“You’re going to Paris?” your best friend gawks. “That’s actually insane. I thought only the filthy rich could go there in this economy.”

“Well, if you land yourself some work in a pretty well-off company, you can gain more benefits than you’d otherwise expect,” you chuckle. “How about you come with me? You can go busking in front of The Louvre or something. Then the Parisians would discover just how talented one Lee Jihoon actually is.”

“Or I could get arrested by the Parisian police force.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I am not as ambitious as you are.”

“Hmph. Suit yourself then.”

While the two of you are busy planning an itinerary for the entirety of your trip, the telephone rings down the hall and you get up to answer it. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Jungkook’s smooth voice rings in your ears after asking the caller’s identity, making your face warm with how flustered you are. “Heard tonight was best friend’s night so I wasn’t really supposed to bother you, but Gyu wanted to throw me a surprise birthday party and he was wondering if you and Jihoon want to come with.”

“It’s not a surprise anymore if you’re the one inviting guests though?” you point out with a laugh. “And your birthday isn’t until a few days.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but one thing about Mingyu is that he can’t keep a secret for the life of him. What’s more is that we already have dinner plans for my special day, remember?” Jungkook sighs. “Anyway, are you two going to show up or am I gonna be miserable the entire night because you’re not here?”

“Where even is here, Jungkook?” 

“At the disco, where else? Mingyu rented out the entire place for the occasion.”

“Hmm, maybe you should start dating Mingyu instead.”

“God, no. So are you coming or not?”

It’s funny how you don’t even hesitate when you answer, “Sure thing. I’ll go tell Jihoon about it.”

“Aw, baby, you sure know how to make the birthday boy happy. See you soon.”

You hang up on Jungkook after bidding him a farewell of your own, heart beating just a little bit faster at the exchange. You know you’re not obligated to come to his not-so surprise birthday party since you already made plans with Jihoon to marathon a couple of movies, but even if you and Jungkook aren’t really a thing just yet, you still feel like you should at least be there to celebrate alongside your friends.

Jihoon agrees to it without a hitch—god knows how much he adores Jungkook. And as the two of you are getting ready to go out again, an idea pops into your head.

“You can go ahead of me to the disco. I’ll just go buy Jungkook a present first.”

Your best friend glances at you, confused. “I can accompany you, you know. It’s no big deal.” 

But despite his kind offer, you shake your head adamantly. “I really want this to be kept between me and him, Ji. Is that alright?”

“Ugh. Fine, whatever.”

There’s some truth to what you’ve told Jihoon, but everyone knows that only relaying some of the truth is as good as lying. 

You tug your jacket tighter around your shoulders as you stand in front of a familiar record store. You’ve been to and from this place so often in the past that you’ve practically memorized Jeonghan’s operating hours by heart. 

You’re going to prove to yourself that you’re over that phase in your life. Once you buy a vinyl by this one bossa nova artist that Jungkook really likes, you’ll kiss your once-prominent obsession with Jeonghan goodbye.

Not like it’s difficult, right? Jungkook has always been sweet and reassuring where Jeonghan gave you nothing but uncertainty and countless instances asking yourself, what am I even doing? It’s practically a no brainer to choose the former over the latter.

You suck in a deep breath. The thundering of your heart is too loud to ignore, but before you’re overcome with nerves, you step straight inside.

It’s empty like it always is when closing time is just a few minutes away. Jeonghan’s already mopping up the floor of his shop—something that surprised you the first time because you didn’t think people who came from old money actually knew how to do chores. 

You also notice that he’s already changed out of his denim overalls—already donned in an outfit that he would no doubt be wearing to the disco right after he closes up shop. A velvet maroon shirt with a few buttons undone that’s tucked inside a pair of black trousers. Before you can catch yourself salivating over how fucking good he looks in that outfit, his gaze flickers to you in an instant.

“Hm? Been a while since you’ve dropped by, sweetheart,” he comments before stuffing the mop back in a supply closet and sanitizing his hands. “You’ve been busy with that boyfriend of yours, haven’t you?”

So he has noticed. “You could say that.”

He nods before stepping over to you, that stupidly disarming grin ever-present on his pretty face. “Hm? Is that trouble in paradise I sense? Don’t tell me he hasn’t bothered to put a label on things. What a waste.”

You planned on making this gruesome exchange with Jeonghan swift, but you completely forgot that he has a knack for getting under people’s nerves when he feels like it. “Why would it be a waste when we’re just taking our time? Besides, I’m not here to talk to you about me and Jungkook. I’m here to buy something.”

“For your little badboy? Now what could he possibly know about the finer things in life? That man looks like he wouldn’t even be able to play a triangle.”

Just when you managed to spot a record that you’re certain Jungkook has mentioned to you in passing, Jeonghan’s uncalled for words have you scowling at him. “Really? I know your family’s loaded and all, but you never really struck me as the pretentious type, Jeonghan. Mind you, Jungkook is a music major, and that’s low, even for you. 

He simpers with folded arms, one foot tapping impatiently on the linoleum. “Well, forgive me, sweetheart, I don’t think I can react with my usual finesse when someone else is encroaching on what belongs to me.”

You don’t even think it’s possible, but your scowl only deepens. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve always been mine, no?” 

…How he has the guts to tell you that after every single instance he’s rejected you is unfathomable. You do not want to have this conversation right now, so you quickly pluck Jungkook’s present from the assortment of vinyls before storming off to the cashier—mentally cursing Jeonghan for being so self-sufficient that he doesn’t see the need to hire other people but himself. Now you’ll be forced to deal with him until you’re finished with your purchase.

“How can you stomach buying your little badboy a birthday gift when we both know your heart is still tethered to me, sweetheart?” Jeonghan taunts you from behind as he shuffles towards the counter. “I thought this was just some ploy to get me jealous, but you’re acting a bit too realistically for comfort. Have you forgotten who you were trying to get with for the past few years? 

“Have you forgotten who you’ve rejected time and time again?” you deadpan with a glare. “You made it clear whenever I asked that you weren’t interested. You know, Jihoon and the others kept calling you a player, so I never really understood why you never tried to get with me—someone who’s literally throwing herself at your feet every summer.”

Jeonghan lets out an incredulous laugh. “Why do you think I turned you down each time? You’re always asking if I want to have sex with you, but have you ever considered that maybe I don’t just think of you as another notch on my belt? That I actually wanted to get to know you past the sexual pretense?”

His words are quick to turn your heart into stone. “Then why didn’t you say that to me back then? Why are you only coming clean about this when I’m finally ready to move on with someone else?”

“That’s because I like you, Y/N,” he sighs, jaw clenching as if he has the right to be more frustrated than you are. “I didn’t want to just sleep with you. I wanted us to be friends first before I pursued you, but then you went on about asking if I wanted to fuck each and every time you’re home. I was just being careful because I don’t want to give anyone the power to trample on my feelings.”

“So you thought it was okay to trample on mine?”

The exasperation on Jeonghan’s face seemingly melts away with that simple response. You’re still staring at him with fire in your eyes—the kind he’s used to admiring from afar whenever you’re feeling your emotions a little more intensely than usual. But for once in his life, Jeonghan is unable to formulate some clever retort.

“Just fucking scan my vinyl so I can leave,” you grumble before sliding the record across the counter. “If you don’t have anything worthwhile to say to me, just don’t say anything at all.”

“Do you really mean it?”

Your whole body freezes up when you feel Jeonghan standing directly behind you, caging you between his tall frame and the counter. Both of his lean arms are braced against the wooden surface and you make a mistake of whirling around to face him. 

“M-Mean what?” you stammer, suddenly losing whatever conviction your voice once held because of his goddamn eyes. They look so pretty even if they’re pleading for something you can’t put your finger on.

“That you’ve already moved on with him?” he murmurs. “If it’s true then…you can forget that this conversation ever happened. Go celebrate his birthday and make him your boyfriend or whatever.” 

When Jeonghan leans closer, his lips brush the shell of your ear—making you shiver with anticipation. “But if you think you’d still choose me after all, then I promise you that I won’t waste your time anymore. I’m ready to own up to what I feel about you even if I deserve none of your reciprocation at this point.”

He’s right. He doesn’t deserve even an ounce of what you would’ve been willing to give before you saw reason. Jihoon was smart to come to the conclusion that Jeonghan only kept you around to entertain himself, but once losing you became a possibility, he suddenly put on this show of buttering you up.

Admitting things he should’ve told you years ago. Telling you he likes you only when you’ve already got your eyes set on someone else. 

The logical thing to do is turn him down and walk away from Yoon Jeonghan once and for all. You could do it—you could leave the convoluted history the two of you shared in the past. You’ve already been doing it with Jungkook for the past month. But no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, there’s a singular truth that you won’t be able to escape: 

You’ll always find your way back to Yoon Jeonghan.

The next few minutes are a blur of desperate touches and equally desperate kisses. You don’t remember when exactly you lunged in for the kill, but the next thing you know, Jeonghan has you propped up on the counter of his store as he pushes your jacket off your shoulders and hikes your skirt further up your thighs.

“Wanted you for so long,” Jeonghan sighs against your lips and you feel like he’s exercising active restraint so he wouldn’t rip the delicate fabric of your skirt. “But I needed you to take me seriously so you wouldn’t think you’re just another girl I slept with.”

You bark out a condescending laugh before reclaiming his lips, shoving your tongue down his throat until he’s groaning into you—fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. 

“You obviously didn’t take me seriously with how much you fucked with my head.”

“I wasn’t fucking with your head, sweetheart. I was just biding my time.”

“So the thing that finally got you to crack is seeing another guy get his hands on me,” you point out with a quiet chuckle, trying not to moan when his lips trace a scorching path down the skin of your neck. “I didn’t take you to be the jealous type. If I knew, I would’ve paraded Mingyu inside your shop ages ago.”

“Hm?” He hums—a noncommittal noise that has you shivering beneath his touch anyways. “Are you saying that you would fuck Mingyu too? When you’re already cozying up to his best friend? You’re quite greedy, huh?”

You let out a quiet whimper when you feel him press two fingers against your clothed core—wanting him, needing him. “J-Jeonghan, someone outside might see…”

“Then we better put on a show, right, sweetheart?” 

The fact that Jeonghan calling you sweetheart incites a more visceral reaction out of you compared to Jungkook calling you baby makes a clump of guilt fester in your chest. The vinyl you’re supposed to get for him as a present sits idly a few inches away, but all of it is forgotten once Jeonghan reminds you of what you really want. 

It’s fucking humiliating how your cunt gushes at his words. Jeonghan is clearly pleased with the mess he finds between your thighs after pushing your underwear to the side. You curl yourself into his chest, twitching every time his fingers graze your clit. He laughs, low and dangerous in your ear all while he lathers your slit in your own essence.

“I’d love to take my time and eat you out right here, but I don’t think I have the patience just yet,” he whispers before teasing your entrance with the occasional dip of his fingers. “I’ll make you come with my mouth some other time. For now, I think I just need to see you crying on my fingers and my cock.”

His crooked digits slide into you with perfect ease, stretching out your gummy walls so you’d be able to take something more. You cling onto Jeonghan like a lifeline as he murmurs a string of filthy musings into your ear.

“Has your little badboy finger-fucked you this good, sweet thing?” he rasps. “In fact, has he even kissed you?”

“H-He’s kissed me once,” you admit, the walls of your cunt clenching around his intrusive fingers as you try to recall how you and Jungkook shared your first real kiss in the parking lot of the movie theater. “But I wished it was you instead…”

“Really now?” Jeonghan chuckles, clearly emboldened by your honesty. “You still think of me even when you’re with someone else, hm? Well you’re in luck sweetheart.”

“I do the same thing, too.”

Your eyes flutter with pleasure when he curls his fingers inside your tight channel, his free hand toying with your clit with each pass he makes. Jeonghan praises you for spreading your legs so prettily for him, for being his good girl and no one else’s. Every word he breathes into your ears only makes you wetter by the second and you fear that each time he plunges his digits into your heat, someone outside would hear the squelching flesh.

“J-Jeonghan,” you whimper, thighs quivering with the need for release. “Let me come, please. I wanna come on your fingers. I need it.”

Of course, your newfound lover makes it a point to laugh at your desperate plea, licking his lips as he draws tight circles around your sensitive nub. “Just a few moments ago, you were afraid of being caught getting off like this. Now you want me to make you come?”

You nod vigorously—uncaring for how pathetic it would make you seem. “Yes, I want you so much… You’ll give it to me, won’t you?”

Ah, he’s always known you were a vixen. Those days when you’d purposely dress up wearing the skimpiest outfits just to get his attention were one of the hardest. In fact, the entire ordeal of keeping his hands off you when you were offering yourself up so willingly was one of the hardest things he’s done in his life. 

But Jeonghan supposes that he can still reap the benefits of his patience—even if that patience was snapped in two when you dared to think another man deserved to have you.

“Of course I’ll give it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs sweetly before planting the sloppiest kiss on your lips. “Come for me if you want my cock in you. You can do that, right?”

You screw your eyes shut at his affirmation to focus on getting yourself to the pinnacle of gratification. Jeonghan has slowed the pace of the fingers thrusting in and out of your messy cunt and decided to zero in on your clit. You’re twitching and thrashing in his grasp, moaning his name so prettily, he wishes he could snap a photo to preserve the memory for life.

You come undone on his fingers with a breathless sigh, nearly collapsing on top of the counter from how boneless you felt in the aftermath. But Jeonghan is quick to coil an arm around your waist, peppering your face with kisses as he keeps himself from grinning too wide.

“So good for me. So perfect—my perfect fucking girl.” 

The lasciviousness dripping from his words urges you to spread your thighs for him—eyes glazed over with lust as he undoes the zipper of his trousers. You have to keep yourself from gasping once he takes out his impressive length—fully engorged with how much you’ve been teasing each other over the past half hour. 

Jeonghan fists his cock before sliding the head across your oversensitive clit, but you don’t voice out any complaints—already desperate to have him again despite having just recovered from your last orgasm. 

He doesn’t wait for a verbal confirmation, doesn’t waste his time on any more preamble. Jeonghan simply hooks your thighs around his elbows and sinks his cock into your tight channel with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. You’re a lot less reserved with the noises you make—openly crying out his name once he buries himself to the hilt. 

You feel him everywhere—inside you, on your skin, on your face, in your heart. Jeonghan is heaving deeply as he lets you get used to him and when he flashes you that lazy smile that started everything, your chest seizes with something not shy of glee. 

You have him. You finally have him.

And from the way that smile you’ve always loved morphs into a smirk, you have a feeling he’ll make sure you engrave this moment into your mind.

“We could’ve done this sooner,” Jeonghan sighs with the first drag of his hips, loving the way you writhe underneath him when he plunges his cock back into your slick heat. “If only we just got together like normal people, I could’ve fucked you on every surface of this store years ago.”

“If only you didn’t reject me every single time like some self-absorbed brat.”

“You sound pretty brave for someone who’s already in tears on my cock, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan murmurs something along the lines of cheeky little thing before surrendering his grip on one of your thighs in exchange for the space to reach for your face. There, he wipes the moisture collecting in the corner of your eye with his thumb, a self-satisfied look settling on his face.

Jeonghan murmurs something along the lines of cheeky little thing before surrendering his grip on one of your thighs in exchange for the space to reach for your face. There, he wipes the moisture collecting in the corner of your eye with his thumb, a self-satisfied look settling on his face.

“Maybe you do now.”

He doesn’t waste anymore time after that—fully aware that though he’s already drawn the shutters before you came, he hasn’t had the opportunity to lock the main entrance yet. The possibility of someone walking in on you getting fucked to an inch of your life on the countertop are all too real and Jeonghan has no plans on getting arrested for public indecency when he just grew the balls to tell you how he’s felt all this time.

“You’re fucking dripping for me,” your lover rasps into your neck, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake as your poor cunt takes a beating. “All dressed up for someone else but here you are stuffed full of my cock. Tell me, who is it that you really want?”

“You.” The mewl that follows your abrupt answer is music to his ears. “I’ve only ever wanted you, Hannie. F-Fuck! Right there, please.”

He drags your hips closer to the edge, resuming a secure grip on your thighs to keep you balanced as he rams his thick cock into you. You throw your head back in bliss, uncaring for how the bruises he’s kissed into your skin sting with pain. The pleasure he’s sowing between your legs eclipses any sort of ache that can deter you from losing yourself in the moment.

You hook your legs around Jeonghan’s waist to keep him close—arms slung around his neck as you pull him down for a kiss. Your lover responds in kind, moving his mouth in perfect sync with yours as if to make up for all the years you could’ve spent in each other’s arms. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes burning with pure, unadulterated desire. “So pretty and perfect for me.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re balls deep inside me,” you try to scoff but it melts into another breathless moan when Jeonghan angles his hips just a bit differently and has your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

“You talk big for someone who can’t handle being a little roughed up,” he teases. “Now hush and take my cock like the good girl you are.”

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar pressure in the pit of your stomach—like a balloon expanding and expanding until you’re filled to the brim with the pleasure he’s giving you on a silver platter. You whimper beneath him, pressing your mouth against the cut of his jaw as you murmur about how close you are.

“Fuck, I need you to feel you come around me, sweetheart,” he moans. “Come on my cock—let me feel your cunt squeezing it out of me.”

You don’t know if you’re just that high strung, or if you’ve waited for this for so long, your body just responds to his whims. But whatever the reason, the most skin-tingling, toe-curling orgasm washes over you like a storm surge—pure lightning skidding up the length of your spine as you surrender yourself to the height of euphoria. 

“That’s it,” Jeonghan goads, fucking you through your orgasm as he chases after his own. “You feel so good around me, my perfect Y/N.”

As you drift in and out of coherence, you vaguely pick up on the fact that Jeonghan isn’t wearing any protection—the two of you overcome by your need to have each other to think things through. But as his cock plunges over and over into your soiled cunt, you find yourself uncaring for the consequences of your recklessness.

But Jeonghan continues to surprise you by using all his strength to disentangle your legs around his waist—pulling out just in time for those spurts of cum to splatter all over your rumpled skirt. He hisses between his teeth as he pumps his cock into completion, his white hot release staining your clothes in a way that you’ll probably still forgive him for with how well he fucked you tonight. 

"Can't get you pregnant when your career's ahead of you," he chuckles and you can only punch him in the chest in response.

The silence that settles moments after is more deafening than it should be, but you’re no means unsettled by it.

Not when Jeonghan still has that look in his eyes.

When he kisses you again, it feels like the stars and the planets have aligned for everything to fall into place. He smiles against your lips as if he’s just as relieved to have found you when you thought all hope was lost and it makes you recall any other time you’ve been more in love with someone else in your life.

In the end, you come up empty handed.

“I’ll clean you up and close up the store,” Jeonghan murmurs. “I need to take you home with me because I am nowhere near done with you.”

And who are you to say no to that?

“Paris, huh?”

Jeonghan muses right after he’s finished cleaning you up—diligently scrubbing at what three more rounds of sex at his apartment have done to your poor body. You answer him with a quiet hum, burrowing deeper into both the warmth of his blankets and the heat of his chest.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be stationed there for a better part of the year,” you tell him softly, tracing the small trail of freckles on his sternum. “It’s going to be way different than what I’m used to, but new experiences are always welcome.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you don’t have any reason to be afraid of Paris to begin with. The only thing that might get in the way of you having a good time is the language barrier.”

“You talk like you’ve been there before.”

“Been there before? Sweetheart, I lived in Paris before I moved here… Why are you looking at me like that?”

You mutter a string of curses under your breath before pouting at him. “I keep forgetting that you and Joshua are a couple of trust fund babies. Of course I’d be surprised if you dropped a bomb like that.”

Jeonghan chuckles before leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss—deepening it until you’re hooking your thigh across his hip and moaning into his mouth again. Your lover chuckles at your eagerness before he pulls away, a string of saliva obscenely connecting your lips. 

“I do kind of miss it there,” he admits sincerely, but you can’t pay the admission much mind when his fingers are trailing the inside of your thighs again. “Maybe I should go on a quick getaway for a while.”

“What, so you can go fuck me in Paris, too?”

You do your best to bite down your whimpers when he lathers his fingers with the wetness between your thighs, making it a point to rub your still sensitive clit in slow, lazy circles. The vibrations of Jeonghan’s laughter travel across your skin and when he presses a kiss on the corner of your lips, you’re not sure how to feel—endeared by the sweet gesture or embarrassed by how quickly he’s winding you up.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to be in full hardness again and you don’t even resist him when Jeonghan eases his length back into your tight hole. He sighs against the crook of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth as he slides inside you languidly. When your hips are flush together as he bottoms out, your chest swells with pride when you hear him breathe out a shuddering sigh.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can’t believe I waited for so long to have you like this.”

“Now if only you said yes the first time I asked you to sleep with me,” you chuckle, trying not to moan at the feeling of his cock pulsating inside you. “You could’ve railed me in the bathroom of Cheol’s disco and he never would’ve known.”

“Oh, he’d definitely know,” Jeonghan chuckles dryly as he presses a kiss along your jaw. “But thanks for the visual, I think I just got even harder. We should do that when you get back.”

“Didn’t you say something about going on a quick getaway so you can fuck me in Paris, too?”

“You’re the one making plans here, sweetheart. Not me. But if you’re so hell-bent on taking my cock in the bathroom of some random Parisian disco instead, then I suppose I can make the proper arrangements,” your lover appeases you with a lazy smile. “Maybe I’ll have Jihoon and your friends watch after the store while I’m gone.”

“He might be your regular, but when he finds out that we’re screwing around, he’ll probably torch the entire building.”

Jeonghan pauses for a second. “That reminds me, won’t they be looking for you, sweetheart? From the way you were dressed earlier, it looked like you were headed somewhere else after buying that stupid badboy his birthday present. This is quite the detour, don’t you think?”

When Jeonghan brings it up, it takes you a few seconds to process that…fuck.

“Yeah…” you groan. “I was headed to the disco for Jungkook’s surprise party.”

He hums. “And here you are warming my cock. That boyfriend of yours is going to be heartbroken, you know?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumble, mewling when Jeonghan snaps his hips into yours to take you by surprise. “But…I guess it still sucks that I lead him on like that.”

“I suggest,” Jeonghan starts before pulling himself back again only to rut into you so hard, you’re surging forward on the bed. “That you give him a call in the morning—tell him that you’re fine and nothing’s happened to you. Oh, and tell him that you actually have a boyfriend now.”

Despite your senses being overloaded by how good his cock is stretching you mid-conversation, you still manage to look up at Jeonghan with withering surprise. “I do?”

“Sweet girl’s gone dumb on my cock, huh?” Jeonghan laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead that has you melting from the contact. “From here on out, I’m your boyfriend. Some fucker from another city has no business flirting with you when you’re with me.”

In a split second of clarity, you roll your eyes at him. “I still think it’s stupid that you only went after me after I found someone else. You’re a terrible person.”

“But you still love me anyway, hm?”

You do. You think you’ve loved Jeonghan even longer than you first realized it. 

Loving him and losing him even if you had neither to love nor lose is a vicious pattern you’ve cycled through for the past four summers. You’re perfectly aware that actions have consequences and what you chose to do with Jeonghan now would definitely jeopardize everything you’ve built for yourself. 

But you can think about what Jihoon and Jungkook and Seungkwan and everyone else has to say about this some other time. 

For now, you’re just going to focus on how good your boyfriend splits you open on his cock.

“And how are you so sure about that?”

Jeonghan shrugs before crowding you against the bed, a no-good smirk plastered on his pretty face. It gives you hope that maybe—just maybe—the cycle has finally been broken.

“I dunno. Gut feeling.”

⟢ end notes: you're finally at the end of it! thank you so much for reading through this brain fart that has been decaying in my drive since july :') i'd also like to extend my thanks to jj, rj and zeta specifically because if it weren't for them i would've lost every and all direction for this fic altogether and i might've actually dropped out of the collab for real (i am literally 4 going 5 days late!!) leave a like, reblog with your thoughts, or yell at me in the replies -- idk !! it's just that this might be one of the last fics you'll read from me for a while, so i'd appreciate the feedback now more than ever T T that said, do check out everyone's works from the collab as well!! they've all created such wonderful stories with the given theme <3 you def won't regret it!

this is part of the svthub 70s;teen collab!

#svthub #svthub.collab #seventeen smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan #full length fic 📚

[satoruhour]

HE PLAYS BASS !

a/n: modern au bc i cant handle any angst rn. i ramble a lot in this to set the scene teehee. not beta read, gn btw / tagging @crysugu @slttygeto @getousex :3

wc: 3k ish

warnings: bass guitarist!geto, soft dom!geto, he is respectful of your boundaries, both geto and reader smoke weed, shotgun kiss, sexual acts under the influence, fingering, clit stimulation, implied second round, implied cunnilingus, dry humping, praise, n*sfw under the cut

bass guitarist!geto who has had an interest in music and its instruments since being a little boy, practically begging his parents to enrol him in some guitar classes. with fingers strumming the nylon strings alongside complicated chords on the frets felt so right that since then he and his guitar have been inseparable since.

bass guitarist!geto who gets to know the guitar so well that he masters guitar solo after guitar solo, playing songs by ear in his free time and thought lead guitar was all there was to music until the age of fifteen where he stumbles across a song with a bass line that sounded absolutely heavenly — through the 240p quality of the youtube video, he watched the bassist dish out the heavy beats, always in the background yet detrimental to making the band sound complete.

bass guitarist!geto who leaped at the opportunity to buy a bass guitar with whatever money he had to purchase a Squier bass — it was a little shitty in sound but it was cheap, something affordable for a middle schooler. suguru didn’t care. he perfected the use of his bass guitar, already having the basics down from playing guitar; his room is filled with posters, picks, pieces of displaced lyrics.

bass guitarist!geto only has the chance two years later to ask his new friends if they wanted to jam out together and down the line, if they wanted to form a band. it was a clueless band of boys (with shoko of course) in some room of gojo satoru’s luxury house where his parents don’t care to ask him to keep the noise down like suguru’s parents do.

bass guitarist!geto fights to get a spot to audition for one of tokyo’s biggest music festivals a few months later. if they won they would get more recognition, more support, even if they haven’t figured out the specifics of how to operate a band. with gojo as the singer, shoko on the lead and nanami on drums, they would find out what they had.

bass guitarist!geto who breaks that stereotype of the bassist being ignored throughout a performance. he thinks it could be because of his longer hair and his newly bought gauges, and he thought he didn’t look too shabby himself — although he isn’t surprised to see most of the girls fawn over gojo as he sang lyrics of an original song, courtesy of the joint effort between geto and shoko.

bass guitarist!geto who gives judges the finger after they said they couldn’t perform originals at an audition, blacklisting them for future performances — but gojo sees it as a win when he has a hoard of new fans waiting outside to get a photo with him with autographs that differed from each paper his pen made contact with. later, he bursts out laughing when gojo says he hadn’t even thought of a proper signature yet and just ‘did whatever on their paper’.

bass guitarist!geto whose band gained popularity fast because of everyone’s good looks, singing at that same place they auditioned at, but now with repertoire under their belt. it’s then that they’re already all in university, and yet everyone’s still incredibly passionate.

bass guitarist!geto who spots you in the crowd together with your friends, jamming out to their set, but while your friends’ eyes are locked on gojo who’s loving the attention, nanami who can’t give a shit and shoko who’s too focused on her solo, you manage to draw geto’s eyes to you. he spends the rest of the set locking eyes with you, amidst other things like sending you winks and licking his lips until you’re under his spell. all throughout he doesn’t lose the rhythm, but he does slip-up from time to time and there’s a panicked look that nanami sends to geto for messing up his rhythm.

bass guitarist!geto who sees you at his next show alone, smiling up at him right at the front row while he’s trying not to mess up after the last time. this time he has a chance to show you what he’s got in a bass solo, losing himself in the music until even you fades off and you’re truly seeing the bassist for who he is. he’s easing back into the main melody of the song but not before leaning over the speakers with a knee on the floor, hovering right over you before shoko takes over and he’s back to his heavy beats.

bass guitarist!geto who brushes off the teasing after the set ends, only to be bombarded with more of it when he sees you on campus — no way you’re in the same school as him, walking around with your cute outfits and laughing along to your friend’s joke with no care in the world.

bass guitarist!geto who doesn’t have much trouble charming you into hanging out with him, already recognising him from far away when he’s got his long flowy hair and gauges and tight black shirt and tall stature — you aren’t realising he’s asking you if it’ll be okay for you to head over to his dorm room. you’re getting pushed by your friends behind you to say yes with giggles and gossip, and of course you weren’t going to reject the hot guy you missed class and ditched friends for.

bass guitarist!geto who shows you his room and tells you to let him know if he’s made you uncomfortable in any way. in the background, there’s a faded, soft song that continues to play that really completes the dorm, immediately hitting it off until he starts to roll a joint a while later, offering it to you with a raise of his eyebrow.

“oh— n-no it’s fine, geto-san, i don’t really smoke…” you sheepishly turn down the weed, settling instead to watch him and his beautiful side profile, letting him explain to you about bands and guitar and chords.

“thank you for having me, geto-san,” bowing, you’re nothing like the person in the bar that day, geto thinks it’s the lack of alcohol but he doesn’t mind, simply leaning on the doorframe as he nods down at you. his smile is intoxicating and so goddamn attractive you would’ve buckled to your knees if not for the deep breaths you were taking.

“next time, pretty?” geto smiles, a little high from smoking. his eyes are lidded (they usually are anyway) and smile lopsided. his hair’s almost out of the bun.

“yeah, next time,” it sounded so breathy, you bit your lip. “i guess you’d have to find me on campus, though.”

bass guitarist!geto who mutters how you’re a little tease to himself later when he closes the door. he swears to himself he’d get your number next time, but it’s not difficult to find you the next time, hanging around the same place at the same time. it’s like you wanted him to find you — he’s not opposed to it. it’s a few weeks down the road now, and the second time is watching him curiously as he smokes, too. you take a hit and embarrass yourself completely in front of him though, and while you’re fighting for your life, you’re not opposed to the buzz it gives you.

bass guitarist!geto who’s opening the door to you the next time, surprised to see your dishevelled state and a pillow between your arms, walking almost a block like this to the next building where his dorm was. he offers to make you some tea and you shake your head, feeling a pounding headache already coming on just from explaining that your roommate was an asshole.

“you can sleep here if you want to, okay?” you sigh, thanking him immensely because even after knowing him for such a short period of time, you’re comforted by his presence.

“at least satoru’s not here,” you laugh at that, nodding tiredly before you’re settling on gojo’s bed after insistence from the other. he wouldn’t care, he’s always going back home anyway, don’t know why he wanted to share a room with me. but before you can get settled in, you hear the familiar crinkling of the paper and the click of the lighter and the smell of weed fills the room again.

again, his hand is outstretched, holding an ashtray below him as the tip of joint glows a red, calling out to you yet reminding you of the way you coughed the other night.

you crawl off his roommate’s bed, snatching the cig out of his hand in a way to prove something to yourself before taking a big puff. this time you’re better, letting the drug flow through your system, but tolerance is another thing, because it only takes another hit for you to be smiling drowsily at the other while geto is a little high, too, eyes rolling to the back of his head when your hand traces over his arms and you giggle.

“you w’nna kiss?” geto asks quietly, a little soberly, having talked late into the night while you hang off his arm and slur your words. but now you know you’re feeling a little more sensible when you can feel your heart pound and your eyes widen despite their need to close.

“i meant it, doll. you’re fuckin’ stunning,” suguru mumbles, the coldness of his rings sending a chill down your body, but also a spark to your core, “you look exactly like the day i discovered bass.” and it’s like cupid fully shoots his arrow through your heart — because have you heard the man play? you’re speechless at his point, only mustering a nod before you’re leaning in.

he hums drunkenly as a way to ask you to wait a min, manoeuvring you onto his lap before he’s taking the almost vanishing joint into his hands. two more puffs are perfect for the cigarette to be discarded and so with a gentle hand, he holds onto your nape while he tries not to get hard from having you on his lap. slowly, your lips wrap around the other end of the joint, taking in another influx of the drug before he does too.

bass guitarist!geto who pulls you towards his lips a little roughly but he doesn’t give you what you want (what he has in mind is much, much better), rather leaving his lips ajar as he exhales the smoke from his mouth into yours, your own smoke already dissipating. weirdly, this burn is more prominent, probably because all you can focus on are suguru’s dazed eyes and the way they burn through your skull. you inhale the smoke before you feel his soft lips on yours.

geto hums into your lips, coming off of them periodically to allow the smoke to disperse, but the moment is so intimate and hot that you blow away the smoke and lunge forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

“no more pullin’ away, geto-san…” you’re trailing off, words messily whispered against his lips and you burn at the chuckle he sounds out, muttering back a question of consent. you’re nodding, reeling at the speed at which he places his hands on your thighs, dragging you further up his front until you rested on his pelvis.

“kissing me like you can’t breathe and you’re still calling me by my last name? i’m wounded.” geto pulls away and defies your rule — you think he’s the only one who can do that. pouting, suguru pushes away the hair enclosing your face. “c’mon, drink, sober up a little.”

“...i like it like this,” you murmur, ashamed as to how readily you leaned into his touch. his stare is piercing though, not budging until you’re gulping down half the cup.

“throats turn dry when we smoke, princess. we can do it more when you’re more used to it, alright?” geto explains, patting your thigh and ignoring the tensing of them around his own. he’s trying so hard to act nonchalant, but he can’t get the image of you parting your lips for the smoke out of his head. the way your eyes flutter close, how you wanted more of him.

“alright… suguru,” you sigh out the name and geto wishes he could hear it somewhere else, “but can we—” the high is getting to you, making your hormones go into a frenzy and you’re grinding on his lap. geto hisses at the feeling, of your cunt brushing against his bulge. your hips are inexperienced, but you’re going by feel, drawing little circles and moving back and forth; whatever that brings you pleasure.

“baby— f-fuck…” geto swears when you pair it with the lips tha kiss down his cheek and jaw and neck, hands on your hips guiding you as you try to chase your high. but a whine from you draws geto out of his daze and he almost cums hearing your needy voice, begging him for something, anything.

“’m tired, suguru,”

he knows, grinding is a tiring thing, so rather he opts for you to lie on him with your back to his chest. by now, the room’s filled with the smell of weed and arousal, asking once again if he could take off your pyjama shorts. geto smiles at the lack of underwear but he says nothing, eyes latched onto the strings of juices that connect your pussy to the shorts.

“my baby ready to be touched?” he feels you nod, loving the way your stomach contracts and expands at the hand that travels over your clothed tits. there, he squeezes them, rubbing fingers over the hardened nub but soon creeps towards your centre. his hand and fingers are so much larger than yours, covering your whole core easily when he cups it and the contact is enough to make you mewl.

“hurry,” your hips hump the air.

“patience, darling,” geto’s gravelly voice cuts through to your ear before he finally draws languid circles upon your clit, rubbing and pressing on your bundle of nerves. his whole body burns from seeing you react so cutely, all cause your eyes couldn’t leave his on that stage. now your eyes were rolling up and over, little moans leaving your lips just from his hands.

bass guitarist!geto who seems to know all your pleasure points in one night, kissing the spot under your ear, to talking you through your orgasm. you were enamoured by the guitarist that you’d let him do anything to you, obsessed with the way he never missed questions of “is this okay?” and “tell me to stop”. geto is just as besotted by you, the arch of your back, the call of his name. god, he was going to write so many songs about you.

“think you can handle a finger, baby?” suguru whispers, caressing your twitching thighs from your first orgasm. with a shaky “yes”, geto plays with your hole, smearing your juices around your sex and getting it all on your thighs. the bashful suguruuu! has him laughing, taking your lips into another kiss as an apology.

“sorry, sweetheart. love teasin’ ya,” muffled words are said, “goin’ in.”

your jaw drops even more when geto first inserts a finger, so much wider and longer that a long moan escapes you. the stretch is so good, everything you’ve ever imagined after watching his fingers travel over the bass strings, and you’re already asking for a second finger. when he does oblige, your hands fly to grab at his wrist.

“feel good?” he chuckles at your lack of an answer, rather responding by clenching around his fingers and leaning back more into his hold. geto sets a pace, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. he thinks it’s enough of staring at you and almost gets whiplash when his head turns to his hand — from the way he disappears into your dripping cunt, he thinks he’ll cum untouched, although your desperate hips also would play a part.

“feel s’good, suguru— shit…” geto groans lowly into your ear when he feels your hand replicating the circles he’s made on your clit, juices starting to collect in his palm from how wet you were.

“you keep clenchin’ around me, baby, you w’nna cum?”

your body is more vocal than your voice, twisting and thrashing from how his fingers already feel so good. the haze and the smell of geto suguru and the weed in your system is all overloading on you at the moment, but in between you’re able to nod, fingers rubbing at your clit while geto’s speed picks up a little.

your legs naturally spread, each slap of his palm against your pussy paired with the lewd noises only making the whole thing better. it’s not long before you feel that familiar feeling, using your right hand to direct him to you once more and it’s here you see the man you saw on stage before: focused, flushed, small smirk on his face. “gonna cum.”

“yeah? are you?” geto asks against your lips, still tasting the faint aroma of the joint. your eyes are so heavy and your limbs feel like lead; it’s a wonder how both your hands are moving on your soaking wet pussy.

“yeah, sugu, s’sensitive—!” geto coos softly at your whimpers before capturing your lips, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip and your orgasm comes crashing down on you. suguru effectively swallows your moans, groaning on his own end when he can feel your cum running down his hand. slowly, he lets you ride through your orgasm, pressing pecks on your skin and shoulders.

“attagirl. so much cum, hm?” your chest is heaving, whining when he removes his fingers and there’s a cute little squelch from the juices, gasping softly as geto separates his fingers and there’s strings connecting his middle to ring finger. “dirty girl.”

you scoff softly with a smile, eyes following how his fingers make his way into his mouth. the other only hums before carrying you bridal style to the shower with a sweet smile on his face. geto suguru was certain he’d worship you.

“gotta taste that cute little pussy next time.”

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[futureman]

his favorite girl, part iii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: tensions rise as your second lesson continues, but joel still refuses to admit his feelings to you—or himself. you'd concede defeat if you really believed he didn't want you. or if his actions weren't constantly contradicting his words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher au, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, smut, angst, f!masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mentions of guilt & shame

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part i | part ii

You have no idea how you're supposed to survive another afternoon with Joel, let alone an entire semester. He's basically Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, hiding under the visage of an unfairly sexy, middle-aged musician, but you never know which one you’re dealing with until he pushes you away or calls you his girl.

Today, he feels like a dangerous combination of both.

After your verbal agreement to keep things professional, yet again, he concedes and finally sits next to you on the couch. Guess that safe distance he was so desperate to maintain is null and void now that he’s made his feelings clear—sort of.

You assume his proximity is an olive branch, but it sure doesn't feel like one. Now, he's close enough to smell his cologne, an earthy, woodsy scent that's so Joel, it makes your head spin. It's also making this lesson infinitely harder to focus on.

You’d never even considered the possibility of him shutting you down this hard, but then again, a hot fling with an older guy wasn’t why you showed up on his doorstep in the first place. If he'd just admit he's interested, maybe things could be different, but he won’t, will he? So, what other option do you have?

You’re not going to throw yourself at him like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush, even if that’s exactly what you are. You want him to want to touch you, to crave you the way you're sure he does, but right now he wants to teach you chords. Starting with C, apparently.

“We’re gonna try this chord again, alright? Same as last time, nice and slow,” he starts, reaching back to pull something out of his pocket. He presents you with a small, black piece of plastic that looks like a clamp, identical to the one on his guitar. "This here's called a capo. Go ahead and fit it right over the third fret—it’ll raise the key of the guitar. M’thinkin' that'll make things a little easier for ya."

You push your feelings to the side and accept it, following his lead and squeezing it into place before glancing up for his approval. He gives you an encouraging smile and nods, and your heart rate kicks up wildly in your chest.

God, why does his praise feel so good? And why does it feel like it’s been so long since anyone was this patient with you, or genuinely wanted to see you succeed? You realize you want him to keep looking at you like that, regardless of the nature of your relationship.

"S'perfect. Now, your fingers'll go here, here, and here," he arranges his fingers one by one on the three strings that make up the chord and strums. He lets it ring out for a moment, then looks up at you expectantly. "Any of this ringin' a bell from yesterday?"

Vaguely. Mainly, you're remembering how tempting his fingers looked while he was playing, but you'll have to do better than that today. Instead, you focus on mirroring what he showed you.

"Like this?" you ask hesitantly, pressing down on the strings and mimicking his motions. Tough nylon bites into your skin just as painfully as last time, but the sound you produce is pretty. Nothing like the muted, garbled mess from your previous attempt.

You meet his eyes, and they're filled with none of the surprise yours contain. He just looks pleased, like he had total confidence in you even if you didn't.

"Exactly like that. See? You're doin' better already. Must'a done your finger exercises last night like I told ya,” he says proudly, none the wiser.

If only he knew that’s exactly what you spent your night doing. Practically the entire night, if you’re being honest, and to no avail. It might’ve unintentionally improved your dexterity, but you're still stuck on everything that did or didn't happen yesterday. The only lasting result is how unexpectedly conflicted it made you feel. You nod, biting your lip to keep from grimacing.

“Sure did,” you play it off with a laugh. "I wanted to be as prepared as possible."

Prepared for something a little more physical than playing guitar, but that's a moot point now, isn't it?

You sound as fake as you feel, but luckily he’s so eager to continue the lesson, he doesn’t notice. Again, you follow his lead and try your best to ignore your disappointment and bury the residual hurt. You have a sneaking suspicion you're going to be doing a lot of that, but inexplicably, it's getting easier.

You're starting to realize it's not in spite of Joel. It's because of him. In a brief moment of self-indulgence, you let your gaze linger on his rosy cheeks and the newfound serenity in his eyes.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his love for music radiates like a Texas heatwave, burning hotter with every chord he strums and string he picks. Even his posture is loosening, and the soft smile on his face seems like a permanent fixture.

It's that same warmth from earlier. That intimate connection you felt blooming in your chest from sharing in his joy. Cautiously, you allow yourself to hope, if not for you and Joel, then for your degree. For the goals you have yet to achieve that, regardless of the past 24 hours, still mean everything to you.

"So, what's next?" you ask eagerly.

His eyes light up, and you know you've asked the right question. He shifts across the strings to a new chord, his smile widening as you quickly move to match him.

"Next, we're learnin' F," he grins, nodding toward your finger placement. "Then, I figure we can run through some pickin' patterns if you're up for it.”

"I'm up for anything you are, teach," you reply earnestly, and the smile you give him feels genuine this time. You really do mean it in every sense. "But be gentle with me. It's been a while, if that wasn't obvious."

His smile falters, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes. After a moment, you realize what you said and how it must’ve sounded. You open your mouth to clarify, but before you get the chance, his expression clears. He chuckles, and it's a light, tinkling thing that fills your chest with a heady combination of relief and longing.

Of course, he’d take it in stride. You’re struck again by the resemblance to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, left wondering if you're still imagining things. The subtle twitch of his fingers must be a figment of your imagination, too, or at least that's what you tell yourself. It doesn't matter now, anyway.

"'Course, I will,” he drawls companionably, his words commanding your attention, compelling you to hang on to each one like a lifeline. “Like I said, we'll take it nice and slow. Ease you back into things until you're ready for somethin' harder.”

It takes everything you have not to choke on your spit. Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on the lesson and how incredible it’s going to feel when you finally finish the song and pass your damn class.

But you can’t. He’s too close, and he smells so good. You’re only human.

"I think I'll surprise you," you retort cheekily. You’re so fucked. "Plus, I like it hard. Just need a little build-up to get me there."

His hand tenses in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement, and you can't help the overwhelming feeling of pride pooling in your belly. You've never backed down from a challenge and you're not about to start now. This one is apparently still ongoing.

"Well, all right, then," he says smoothly, and this time when you shiver, he looks pleased. "Let's hear ya strum it, and then we'll work through the rest. Think you can handle that?"

You straighten up, sitting confidently with your fingers poised over the frets, ready to play. As you shift in your seat, your thigh presses firmly into his and sends a rush of heat straight to the pit of your stomach. "Yeah, I can take it.”

He shakes his head with an amused, yet undoubtedly shy smile. You bite your lip coyly, nodding at the sheet music you've just noticed on the rug at his feet.

"Are there more chords in this bar or is it just picking until the next line?"

It's a toss-up whether or not he heard any of what you just asked if his rapt attention on your lips is any indication. You're still teasing your bottom lip with your teeth, and it's not until you laugh that he finally snaps out of it. He shakes his head a little harder as if to shoo away the distraction, before reaching down to inspect the piece of paper.

He concentrates a little too hard on the page, looking but not seeing, so you reach over and point at a confusing string of notes that connect and repeat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His gaze shifts to your daintily extended index finger, and you're hit with an intense feeling of deja vu, except this time, your roles are reversed.

“Can you show me how that part goes? It looks like gibberish to me, to be totally honest,” you prod him, trying to reel him back in.

As if on autopilot, he quickly discards the sheet and shifts his hands into place, ready to teach like he wasn't just daydreaming about your fingers wrapped around his cock, covered in his release. And if he wasn't, then you sure were.

“Y-yeah, sure thing. That line's just the intro, but the flow is somethin' else. Probably one of my all-time favorites," he says, his endearing mask carefully slotted back into place.

But you're onto him now. Begrudgingly, he tears his eyes away from where you're matching him on your guitar, waiting patiently for his next instructions.

"It really ain't as bad as it looks," he continues. "The timing's purposely a little off, but it's adaptable. This one's real easy to add your own spin to if that's somethin' ya wanna try."

With all of the skill and grace of a practiced musician, he plucks through the line to give you a preview of what was previously only lines and circles on a page. The notes blend seamlessly, a mixture of picking and what you vaguely remember to be hammering, and it evokes something you never expected.

An unidentified emotion takes root and feels startlingly like yearning and hope, carried by the short melody. It's beautiful. He circles back to the beginning, hopping along the frets slowly just for you, and he's beautiful. You watch him, enamored by his fluidity and ease of motion.

For him, all of this is innate. His guitar is a natural extension of himself, something he was born to hold. You used to think you were born for it, too. The reminder is a painful one, but thankfully you're not left to dwell on it for long.

"So, how 'bout it? Ready to give it a try?" Joel's voice cuts through the fog, as honeyed and mellow as the music at his fingertips. You want to hear that voice call you beautiful again and feel him panting against the shell of your ear while he stretches you out around his thick fingers. God, you want.

Yet, your hands move of their own accord and fall into place—it's the C chord. Apparently, you really want that, too.

"Ready, teach," you nod, and you know you must look like a lovesick fool.

Right now, you really don't care because your gorgeous guitar teacher is beaming and excited, and beneath it all, there's still a tinge of something that makes you believe all of this is real. A lust for more simmering just below the surface.

"You have my full attention, promise."

——

The next hour is spent walking through various strumming and picking patterns, and acquainting yourself with the fluctuating tempo. It's tricky, but you're committed. Again and again, you repeat the same bars, following Joel's interjected advice and corrections, and your mistakes become less obvious until they're all but gone completely.

Rewarding doesn't even begin to cover how a successful run feels. Even the pain blooming beneath the reddening indents on your fingertips feels good. Calluses are beginning to roughen the soft skin, but you earned them.

They're yours and yours alone, proof that you worked your ass off and achieved something remarkable. The results speak for themselves, bouncing around the walls of Joel's living room and breathing new life into the space. Your contribution to his little corner of the world.

And Joel looks so damn proud. He stays patient through every flubbed hammer and too-hard pluck, grinning when you complete the section without his guidance. Your lesson's already gone on long past its scheduled time, but neither of you seems to notice. You likely wouldn't bother to mention it even if you did.

Time trickles by like the slow drip of molasses, thick with the sweetest tension, yet the longer you play, the more a familiar ache starts to creep in and make your progression a little more difficult.

Your hand is cramping, and it hurts. You pause mid-strum to shake it out and stretch your fingers, sighing at the brief respite.

"Hurtin' again, huh?"

You huff out a laugh, remembering the last time he asked you that question. The throbbing in your joints would more than welcome another massage from Joel, but you don't exactly trust yourself to come back from that. You have to stay focused until the next line of the song, at the very least.

"It's really not that bad. Guess all those finger exercises are paying off," you joke, but you don't expect him to catch the underlying punchline. "I kinda figured it wouldn't go away overnight, anyway."

You can tell he's thinking about it, too. He nods understandingly, tapping a restless, arrhythmic beat against his guitar.

"S'all part of bein' a guitar player, unfortunately," he agrees, his entire body tense like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and inspect the subtle changes to your delicate skin for himself.

Your mind starts to wander as his tapping changes to slow circles swirled into the wood grain. You can't help but wonder if your new calluses would feel good sliding up and down his cock, if he'd like the coarse hint of pain teasing the ridge or circling the tip. You wonder what his own would feel like pressing into your clit. The skin of his middle and ring fingertips is noticeably rougher than the rest and with a little pressure—fuck.

You're wet. That can't happen. You have to concentrate. But his movements are starting to speed up, and you can almost feel them sliding through your messy heat.

The intrusive thought is thankfully interrupted when he stops the lewd motion and continues his reassurances like it never happened. Why does he keep doing that? It seems so pointless to keep pretending you’re not on the same page, but you’re not about to call him out and scare him off again.

You tell yourself to focus on the pain. Focus on what he’s saying, not what he’s insinuating.

"Pain's a good thing. It means you're stickin' it out and makin' some real progress," he says fondly, and it's almost enough to reclaim your attention. "Says a lot about the kind of person you are, too, what you do with that pain and how you let it shape ya. You're a good one, I can tell. Committed, like I was."

It's so much sweeter than anything you'd expected him to say. It helps.

"Fair enough. Still kinda sucks though," you grumble, but the slight quirk of your lips betrays your tone.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened to likin' it hard?" he asks playfully, and you feel that telltale whoosh between your legs.

You shift uncomfortably, subtly trying to unstick your underwear from where it's cemented to your core, but the unexpected friction makes you flinch. He picks up on it immediately.

"Look, why don't we take a break? I'll grab us some drinks while you rest up, and we can dive back in whenever you're ready," he offers, his voice raspier than before.

"Yeah, that, um...that sounds good. I'm actually gonna run to the bathroom real quick if that's cool," you reply, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

It's hot as hell all of a sudden, even though the AC hasn't stopped kicking since you got here, and you have a feeling cold drinks won't be enough to cool you down. He hesitates before nodding, then points down the hall.

"'Course. S'the first door on your left," he says, brows furrowing in concern. You all but speed walk past him to your temporary haven.

Backing into the door the moment it closes behind you, you squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can, but it only makes it worse. The ache is almost unbearable, and you know for a fact that you'll waste the rest of the lesson if you try to go back out there like this.

The entire afternoon has been such a complicated back-and-forth of conflicting feelings and confusion, but you still have no idea what do to about it. You want him to fuck you, but you also want him to teach you. He wants to teach you, but he also wants you in ways he won't admit to you. Or himself.

Your head is cloudier than it's been all day, and your thoughts are a jumbled mess of desire and rationality, both fighting for dominance. So, now what?

There was only one way to clear the fog last night, but you really shouldn't. You're in his bathroom for christ's sake, and he can't be more than 15 feet away, pouring you a glass of lemonade in the kitchen.

You do it, anyway. With one hand shoved down your pants and the other slapped over your mouth, you decide your best course of action is to rub one out in Joel's bathroom to rid yourself of this distraction once and for all. And it feels good.

The moment your sore fingertips press into your clit, your hips buck into your touch and you lose yourself to the friction. You're even wetter than you realized, and your fingers keep slipping from where you need them most, so you change tactics, ramming two of them inside you instead.

So much for resting your hand. Your motions are frantic, bordering on desperate, and you can't bring yourself to stop now that you've started. Wet squelching mingles with your muffled moans and fills the room, noisier than you’ve been all day even after an afternoon of playing guitar.

But you're getting a little too loud. The door rattles on its hinges every time your palm slaps into your heat, and your hand isn't nearly enough to mask your increasing volume the closer you get. Maybe you'll get lucky and he won't hear a thing. Or maybe you'll get really lucky and he'll hear everything.

You're too far gone to care. Just a little more. You can feel yourself starting to squeeze your fingers, and you just need a little bit more—

Then, there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice tentatively filters through.

"Everythin' alright in there?" he asks kindly, but he sounds wrecked.

It's obvious he heard everything, and yet he's still trying to be polite, desperately clinging to his morals and good, Southern manners. Too bad that turns you on.

Not bothering to respond, you keep going, fixated on how vivid a picture your unstifled moans and reckless actions must be painting. You wouldn't be surprised if it's just your imagination again, but you swear you can hear labored breathing and a litany of muttered curses coming from the other side.

He knocks on the door again, harder this time, and you quickly realize that any patience Joel had left is gone. You've finally pushed him past his limit.

"M'givin' you sixty seconds to get back in that livin' room," he grits out roughly. "You're finishin' out here."

The door shakes as he pushes off of it and stomps away, leaving you in palpable silence.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iv!

divider by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[marinas-drafts]

REPOST: Oh, oh darling yes there will be and…it just might be my favorite of all their eras. Plenty of fic in the works, and I’m delighted that interests you. Nothing hotter than a couple fused together by time and devotion. Also, this is beyond random but I do envision Elvis getting a bit cuddlier and bulkier into the 90’s…whereas in this AU the 70’s remain about the same health and looks as around ‘74…with some gray allowed to creep in by the mid 80’s. 😏 ALL THAT TO SAY, I find the idea of warm and sturdy Elvis being enamored with his Pilates obsessed wife pretty swoonworthy

There’s a lot coming soon for the 80’s and earlier but for now, how about a little intermediate, plotless, fluffy, wintry smut fest between Grandpa Elvis and his Tink when they’re stuck in a ski lift on their aspen holiday? …it goes something like this (WARNINGS, fluffy smut involving p in v, semi public sex but not observed, tender cum feeding (somehow Elaine made that a thing) and subby older Elvis, 18+:

Sarge & lil Mama blurb, Jan 1995,

|| Snow Bunnies

“When’d I get so damn fat?” Elaine hears her man huff over the rustling sound of their snow coats rubbing together and wants to roll her eyes, amused that Elvis didn’t expect that result from almost nightly burger and shake runs with Shiloh for the past decade.

She does roll her eyes at the thought that he wiggled her snow pants down and her panties, too, before even unzipping himself.

“You’re cuddly,” she retorts with a smile directed down to the ski slope far below them, her hand pressed to the frosting glass of the lift, “as all grandpa’s should be. Nobody wants a scrawny grandpa.”

Case in point is the waft of steaming heat Elaine feels against her bare backside the minute he gets his pants undone, sweaty body heat radiating off of him despite the freezing temperatures around them. Instinctively she arches her back a little and shifts her footing, putting a leg up on the bench to make some room for little Elvis, slotting her ski carefully between the narrow walls. It barely fits.

She thanks God for the fact she’s got just enough height to her that they can do this standing up, have been doing it this way for over three decades now, because if he can’t wait for a private moment and if he must take advantage of the stalled ski lift, then she’s secretly relieved she won’t be the one exerting effort with ten pounds extra of ski equipment hampering her.

As it is, it’s funny how swelteringly hot they both feel besides their barely exposed privates. She can hear the minute Elvis frees himself from his little wounded hiss at the cold air and his pitiful need always did make her run wet.

“C’mon mopey, come to mama.” she encourages and braces her hand on the glass, checking to make certain her long coat covers any frontal view, only the back tugged down and her husband is soon behind her with enough width and padding to hide a dumpster. “Give lil Elvis some shelter.” she tries to reach between her legs to guide him but there’s too much winter bulk in the way and only her fingertips make it to his line of sight.

Elvis moans at the eager gesture anyway, touched by how ready she still remains for him, how willing even when it ain’t her idea or need.

“Keep ya hand right there, Mamas.” he tells her in a conspiratorial little whisper, “Hims gots a little gift for hers.” he says and Elaine grins wildly in delight, trying to anticipate it, beyond the delicious stretch she readies for with braced and booted feet.

She hears the shlick/shlack of him rubbing something, along with the muffled creaking of his nylon jacket and leather gloves, and after a few moments of white breathed puffing behind her she feels a warm drop hit her finger tip.

Then another, and another and then a little string of liquid and she knows it’s his precum, he’s dripping it onto her hand and Elaine closes her eyes against the bright white landscape of an Aspen morning and imagines his drippy pink cock in a sea of leather and nylon, one warm and vulnerable little knob in the harsh elements and she knocks her forehead against the glass wall in mouthwatering craving.

“Oh Elvis!” she groans, curling her fingers as the puddle grows and begins to puddle in her palm, slicking up her own curls down where her hand is wedged so tightly from her barely removed pants. “Put it in baby, mama wants it, c’mon pretty baby.”

“Ok.” The whine and shuffle she hears behind her sounds like a child clumsily but eagerly obeying and that’s rather characteristic of her man. She bites her gloved thumb at the feel of his tip pressing blindly at her folds, poking and prodding the wrong places for entry and strangely it’s terribly exciting, this inhibited Elvis, this clumsy man who wants her so bad he’d try to bonk her in a sky lift with Pillsbury Doughboy amounts of padding striving to keep them apart.

The path of true love never did run smooth.

The jabbing and novice pokes are worth it for his frustrated little grunts in her ear and the way he tries to wiggle on top of her leaning frame, like extra height is going to help matters. She bends a little further with a fond smirk, wanting to chuckle at the way his arm presses across her shoulder and the back of her neck. It’s so desperate it’s comical and Elaine always has a weakness for being overly wanted by him.

His face is hanging over her left shoulder when he manages to wedge an inch into the correct hole and his hot breath blasts her cheek in relief and she spares a gloved hand from propping herself against the glass to pat his squishy cheek. It’s not fair how packing on a few pounds has seemed to erase the age from him, filling out the wrinkles he collected last decade and turning him into something as cute as the grandsons all over again.

Elaine feels like she did when she was freshly married and he was a chubby cheeked baby man. Even now when she can’t really see his face with the positioning, she can imagine it and it makes her heart flutter. She pats at his face and the scritch of his trimmed sideburns is noisy against the leather, Elvis nuzzles her palm.

Before she knows it he’s got her gloved fingers in his mouth and his teeth clamp against the leather at the tips and he starts to pull the glove off. She helps him, yanking her wrist and he drops the glove over her shoulder like a dog depositing a gift.

“Pet me, mamas.” Elvis begs again and nestles into her body a little further, half way in if she were to guess, and after all these years, she’s a pretty good guesser about little Elvis. “M’too fat to get in all the ways.” he fusses, forlornly starting to hump inside her in aborted little fucks like a bunny with his mate.

The mental image makes Elaine chortle, as do the silly little jabs from those famous hips. He’d get more depth violating a jacuzzi jet but Elvis Presley waits for no man and she supposes if the slide is tight enough to drag his little scarf back and forth, maybe it’ll be sufficient. She clenches for him, little rhythmic kegels that remind her of postpartum rehabilitation and his answering moan encourages her. “That feel good, baby boy? Hmm? Is mama warm and cozy?” she asks, her cheek getting sweaty from where his is pressed to hers.

Into their sixties and Elvis still twitches madly under her doting, purring in her ear when he’s being spoiled.

“Ssso’cozzzeeey.” he slurs right into her ear and she shudders in delight, feeling his arm around her waist through her layers of bundling, his hand on her shoulder needy and insistent.

After a decade of peace and over three so intertwined and inseparable, it’s as if Elvis has forgotten they are separate people. Older and less fastidious over timing or moods, when her husband gets a craving for his better half, he indulges it. It’s wholesomely nasty and Elaine doesn’t expect her children or the public to understand but she gets it.

She leans her forehead against the glass, lets her sweat smudge the clear view, and thinks she sees the specks that are their friends and kids below, commenting on the stalled lift no doubt, and she grins at the notion that Elvis can’t get enough momentum to actually make it obvious as to what these two bundles in the sky are doing.

His chubby and familiar cock is rubbing inside her delightfully as do his balls, hanging lower and swollen by age, smack her backside with every lurch, and she lets out a happy sigh at the slick sounds of his sloppy movements. Elaine can hear when he starts to get close, his breathy moans of exertion quicken and he lets out throaty little noises of delighted panic as his climax nears. His hands grasp her hips over the padding and he nearly climbs on her like it’s a piggy back ride, squirming to get a little deeper before letting out a long and loud sigh of contentment as he lets go, a sigh that has begun to crack at the end in a hoarse moan the older he gets.

“You feel so good, Tink.” he groans into her ear and her pussy clenches at the praise and the feel of his wet slop inside her.

The gush between her legs is obscene due to his shallow depth and just when she thinks he’s done with his deposit, Elvis will jerk some more and out sputters another little bit to join the rest slowly leaking out of her and dripping onto the crotch of her ski pants. “Mmm, shit, I made a mess, mama.” he mumbles apologetically at the obvious and easily foreseeable consequences to his actions.

“S’ok mopey,” she reaches back and strokes his sweaty cheek as he burrows his lips into the collar of her jacket and kisses her neck ardently and grateful, “that do it for ya, baby?” she asks, tipping her head back to allow him more access.

“Yeas,” He sighs happily, “m’all better.” he declares and Elaine’s heart thuds like a teenager from his soft, adoring tone, from the way she’s still his cure-all at all times. “But damn is it soupy down there, sorry mama.”

“You’ve been holding that in for a couple days now,” she coos, “been makin’ you grumpy and it must’ve been so hard, bein’ so full and achy and not able to relieve it.”

Elvis sniffles into her neck even as he begins to pull out, the gush of his release beginning to pour out and she quickly cups her hand to her cunt to catch some of it in her palm and spare her pants just a little.

“It’s been verra rough.” he agrees with a pout that no longer reaches anywhere else on his face save his mouth, quite an improvement from the grumpy storm cloud that was Elvis traveling here yesterday in a crowded Bus with kids and grandkids, deprived of his naps and his autonomy, with his bed full of grandkids at night and unable to have his Tink at whim.

Vacations were nice in theory, and suddenly relieved of his more irritable humors -which Elaine was cupping milky white in her palm- they might end up being nice in practice too. He just needed a little dotin’ on, like a vintage car, one can’t expect it to purr constantly without some upkeep. Tink knows this and she smiles back at him sweetly, same way she smiled at him on the bus when his boyish and round face was puckered in a moody scowl that matched Jack’s a few rows behind.

“Yeah, I know,” she’s still smiling but he watches her glance down to the pearly puddle in her palm as she adds, “but we gotta count our blessings we’ve got kids who wanna bug us as much as they do, people dream about families working as well as ours. Nothin’ we did alone, God’s been good to us, I mean -look at those sweet idiots, they’re not even skiing even though the conditions are perfect, they’re too worried for us. Don’t you think most rich kids would be hoping the car falls so they get the inheritance faster?”

Elvis wheezes a laugh and does a little hop to pull his padded pants back up, struggling with the zipper a bit. Slightly thicker around the middle and he acts like he’s nine months pregnant, unable to fasten his closures or put his shoes on, the pink happiness in his cheeks when Elaine offers to help him, betrays his act each time.

“I’ll help ya, if you need,” she offers, her own pants having been pulled up by him as he’s a gentleman, even if he’s a feral one.

“Yeah baby I need a hand.” grunts and his chin has a soft double under it as he looks down to his fly.

“Well, then clean me up so I can help.” she casually presents her cum coated hand and he balks for a brief moment until her unflinching little smile tells him she’s not kidding in the slightest, and he doesn’t need her to remind him she’ll be waddling and skiing all day in the soupy mess he made in her pants. It’s the least he can do, her eyebrow remind, and with a stuttering little whimper of aversion he takes her wrist in his large, gloved hand and bends over it like he’s gonna kiss it with all his Hollywood honed suavity.

Instead he gets to work on his task with only a fleeting grimace at the tepid saltiness of his own release and his compliance makes Elaine shiver and clench. She can feel the warm little kitten licks from his tongue, so reminiscent of other activities she uses him for, and his black lashes fan against his cheeks through the orange visor of his ski glasses as he peaks up to see her approving expression.

“That’s good enough, well done, let me help you now, sweet man.” she sighs dreamily while rubbing her finger against his curling tongue.

Elaine pats her shiny hand on her leather vinyl ski pants and finds it ineffective for drying it but there’s nothing to be done about it and so she dutifully lifts up his jackets and grasps the top of his pants and brings them together, “Suck in just a lil.” she suggests as her knuckles dig into the soft, hairy flesh of his belly, rubbing against his little treasure trail. “There we go.” she clasps it and he lets out a sigh and she steps back and both smile shyly at each other over the pretense of him needing help with something so easy.

“I love you.” it bubbles out of her lips as she sees him bundled and shy in front of her with a face shiny from his exertions inside her.

Elvis’ pink lips gasp a little at the common little declaration and he brings his large hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deep kiss. She tastes his salty spend still on his tongue and moans into his scorching mouth. Her man and his body -always so warm and never more so than when he’s been freshly sated.

The ski lift jolts and Elaine falls further forward into Elvis’ embrace, losing her footing in the clumsy footwear, and he holds her up, looking above them to find the car has begun to lurch in what he hopes is an intentional motion to help the stall.

“Are we about to die?” Elaine asks with a giggle into the poofy padding of his jacket and his own laugh rumbles under her ear.

“Dunno,” he jokes, “but if we are, I won’t ya to know I don’t regret a damn thing ‘bout lovin’ you, ‘cept that I just left ya hangin’ in our last ron-day-voo like a green boy.”

Elaine smacks at his arm and feels the ski lift start to slide down the cable as it ought to have a whole half an hour before. “Gosh, I think we’re actually going to make it.” she mutters as their skiing party has remained intact for the most part, loathing to split off before the Boss and Boss Lady made it up safe.

When they get to their drop Elvis helps Elaine hop off the lift and he follows after, being swarmed by kids and grandkids and their friends asking if they’re alright. Which they are, of course they are.

A employee from the Resort, no doubt the fella who got them moving again, comes up and apologizes profusely for the inconvenience.

“Say nothin’ of it boy.” Elvis beams and claps him on the shoulder and Jack shares a look with his wife Vic at the quite obvious attitude adjustment that seems to have occurred since leaving the lodge. “Ya never know, one day I might tip ya for stallin’ an elevator or something so I can get this sweet creature alone for a minute.” and Elvis squeezes Elaine to his side like a typical, flirty old man and the poor employee stops chewing his gum in confusion.

“Uh. Well I’m glad you’re not shaken up, these things are quite safe they just stall occasionally.” the guy assures, loathe to get a bad review from the Presleys of all people.

“Yes of course.” Elaine smiles demurely at him and that should be his signal to move along but he’s one of those overachiever types, rules and regulation sorts, and so he persists.

“What can be dangerous is rocking a car in hopes to get it going.” he explains, “If this happens again, God forbid-“

“-better not.”

“-then it’s really important not to rock the thing or sway it too much, that can snap a cable, really Mr. Presley it’s important you guys don’t try that again.”

“We-we didn’t-“ Elvis is the picture of confusion even as Elaine’s face solidifies into diplomatic blankness.

“But we saw it rocking.” Bee, Shiloh’s best buddy and a tag-along to all Presley events, insists she saw what she saw, which was the lift rocking. She had commented as much to Danny despite his arguments that it was the wind before he dragged her off to watch him fail at a misty ski trick.

That’s why his forehead was busted and Elaine stares at the gash partially hidden by his shaggy brown hair with some concern.

“Must’ve been the wind.” Elvis repeats his son’s logic and Bee stares in confusion as they’re all out to ski because of the lack of wind.

Elaine beckons Danny over and makes his lanky frame crouch a little so she can ascertain the damage to his head while elbowing a still protesting Elvis in the ribs.

“We did try hopping a few times.” she admits breezily and as soon as she says it, Elvis stops his lying, quickly clamping his mouth shut, “Just thought we might get the momentum back. I’m sorry sir, we didn’t know we could die, we won’t try it again.” she assures.

Content the employee leaves them be and the various groups split off for the various courses, eager and red cheeked. Elvis and Elaine agree to shepard the youngest kids in the group down the easier slopes with the help of Rosalee and Sam.

On their way to their starting places Elvis brushes by Elaine, grandchild's hand in his on his opposite side and mutters in her ear, “Shouldn't make promises ya can’t keep.”

#REPOST: on the blog that ain’t censored #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis #elvis fans #elvis smut #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presely smut #elvis the pelvis #elvis the king #Elvis x Elaine #sarge and lil mama

[kosmonauttihai]

Skye and Tumult from my JP/W raptor AU are all grown up now, and have chicks of their own, which naturally means an update to their toy figures on my shelf! Each figure is made a little differently, but they're a family, so here they are all together.

You can find WIP photos and posts about making the figures in this tag at my other blog. More information and photos about the finished figures below.

🐤  Tempest 🌩️ The scaly chick. She is a small figure sculpted from scratch. Fully painted, other than a few parts made with clay in already the right colour.

Materials:

polymer clay + liquid polymer clay

0.3mm ∅ jewelry wire, 0.8mm ∅ steel wire, 1mm ∅ aluminum wire

aluminum foil

acrylic paint

🐤  Cloudburst 🌧️ The fluffy chick. She is a miniature art doll, with poseable neck and tail.

Materials:

polymer clay + liquid polymer clay

0.3mm ∅ jewelry wire, 0.8mm ∅ steel wire, 1mm ∅ aluminum wire

faux fur

fabric

sewing string

glue

aluminum foil

nylon tag ties I've kept from clothing purchases and such

acrylic paint

🐦  Tumult ⚡ The scaly mom. She is a modified and repainted Mattel JW Extreme Damage Velociraptor figure. Eyes, claws, and inside of the mouth have some of their original colour, otherwise fully painted.

Materials:

epoxy putty to patch up that extreme damage feature, and to fix balance issue with feet

aluminum foil as filler under the putty

acrylic paint

pearlescent puff paint

🐦  Skye ☁️🌈☁️ The fluffy mom. She is also sculpted from scratch, this time with an articulated jaw.

Materials:

polymer clay + liquid polymer clay

air-dry clay

epoxy putty

0.3mm ∅ jewelry wire, 0.8mm ∅ steel wire, 1mm ∅ and 2mm ∅ aluminum wire

aluminum foil

glue

sewing string

various pieces of plastic trash

glitter

acrylic paint

gloss varnish

Details:

And some comparisons and extended family:

Tumult and Tempest with juvenile version of Tumult, and Tumult’s mom Meripihka.

Skye and Cloudburst with baby and juvenile versions of Skye, and Skye’s mom Blue.

Thank you for reading. Please don't repost the photos without my permission.

#Jurassic series #Jurassic Park #Jurassic World #Skyeraptor #happy Pride month and JP's 30th anniversary here's lesbian velociraptors I've worked on for the past 6 months #dinosaurs are LGBT+ culture #fanart #artsy things by me that aren't fanart #which is it? who knows!

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue March 15, 1965

Model/Modèle : Marisa Berenson

everything that shines, it's true, a sliver of a necklace like a string of luminous lanterns, cabochon hair with the brightest polish, the adorable banjo eyes of a blond gibbon. Castlecliff necklace, in black metal shiny with flame-colored stones. Ban-Lon pink jersey dress in Chemstrand nylon. Necklace: Gus Mayer. Hair by Erik of Breck.

tout ce qui brille, c'est vrai, un éclat de collier comme un chapelet de lanternes lumineuses, les cheveux en cabochon au cirage le plus vif, les adorables yeux banjo d'un gibbon blond. Collier de Castlecliff, en métal noir brillant de pierres couleur flamme. Robe en jersey rose Ban-Lon en nylon Chemstrand. Collier : Gus Mayer. Coiffure par Erik of Breck.

Photo Irving Penn vogue archive

#us vogue #march 1965 #fashion 60s #beauty 60s #spring/summer #printemps/été #castlecliff #gus meyer #marisa berenson #irving penn #vintage vogue #vintage fashion #erik of breck #ban-lon #gibbon

[ootron]

i also thought i would post some process pics of going from my concept art to the actual doll with aria so i am gonna post some progress shots and some details below the cut! definitely a huge learning curve for me despite all the doll customizers i have watched but will take those lessons into the future... i am hoping to make signet next :^)

so i started with this licca-chan friend head (i don't know her name at all unfortunately, i thought it was a jenny head initially but it's definitely not) and completely rerooted her with some pink nylon hair... i chose nylon because i wanted to make it wavy but i may have picked saran in retrospect (to make the hair wavy and curl the bangs i had my gf braid the hair and wrap the bangs around a straw, then boil washed it! worked great)

then i repainted! or well, repainted some of her face after wiping off parts w acetone... i was hesitant to use mr super clear because it's quite toxic so i used brush on liquitex matte varnish which i am not going to use in the future because it truly gives no grip for pencils, and you can't use anything waterbased like gouache paint or watercolor pencils.... but i redrew her eyebrows, lips, and added some extra eye shine. i thought the face was the perfect retro anime look as is otherwise

then the accessories! i made her a little headset frankenstined out of two different doll headsets (including a very phallic looking mic part LOL) sculpted over a bit with some air dry clay and painted, and her heart shaped guitar which was entirely built from scratch using air dry clay, cardboard, and some string (you can also see the headset pre-painting). she also has some clear sci fi goggles but those were just a barbie piece i brushed some UV resin with glitter over to make it extra sparkly

(thank you kip for demonstrating size)

the arm was sculpted a bit with air dry clay as well, then painted silver... the gold ended up clashing too much w the outfit hence the color change. i also used dye to dye the joints black because paint would not stay on them

i also switched the arm sides someone despite checking SEVERAL times to make sure it was the right side. directions are not my strong point. aria left handed AU.

and finally the outfit! OH my god this was the part that made me almost quit and made it take so long. i had to figure out the jumpsuit pattern from scratch, and the fabric is stretchy which made trying to get the heart cut out to stay in place impossible. you actually can't put the jumpsuit on her without taking her head and arms off because i decided to have it close at the bottom for Some Reason. the boots were fun though! the bottoms are from a pair of jenny boots that i painted blue and then glue the fabric part on to.

and the jacket. WHY did i decide to work with such a crazy material (for aesthetics). it was essentially just slightly flexible fabric and not very good at draping at all, so there was a lot of frustration trying to attach the collar and shoulder pads (i ended up just using some extra strong clear tape haha). the jacket is literally why i stopped working on this for like 2 months. but i conquered it eventually

and thats the overall process! fun and i have learned my lesson in what kinds of materials to use. excited to work on another project soon :) !!

#friends at the table #counter/weight #aria joie #my art #shoutouts to dollightful who i have watched for years and years. so many helpful tutorials lol

[theother-will-grayson]

Hey Witcher fanfic writers ! Do you like hyper specific details and realism? Let's talk "Lute calluses"!

I often see Jaskier's calluses described as "rough", and as someone who has developed finger calluses from playing a bass ukulele with thicker nylon strings and one notable steel string, I can tell you that is NOT what they feel like.

First, a fun little detail just as a bonus: my first (pointer) finger has the strongest callus, and then each finger in descending order has a slightly less prominent callus. Also, they're only on my LEFT hand, because that is the hand that makes the chords and presses down on the strings. On my right hand, I don't currently have any calluses, though if you're picking enough you can develop them, primarily in the thumb and pointer finger. That is not the case if you primarily strum however, as that uses the pad of the thumb going down (a motion that is gentler on the thumb than picking) and the nail going up. Some banjo players are also known to grow out their fingernails to use as picks (I believe they use all 5 fingers), so if you fancy Jaskier as doing some banjo-esque tricky solos, you can add that as a detail too. It should also be noted that Jaskier would probably be using gut strings which I believe are much softer than steel, so I'm not sure how prominent his calluses would even be (but don't quote me on the softness thing). And also disregard it if doing a modern au.

Calluses on the left hand (or chord holdin' hand, you might be a lefty idk) are primarily on the TIP of the fingers, not anywhere else. They present as sort of these hard nubs on the very tip of the finger, like you've got a semi-hard plastic shell under your finger, or you've dipped just the tip in wax.

First gif is my right hand, you can see there's nothing providing resistance other than my normal finger meat. Tw for skin picking just to be overly safe. Skip both gifs

And then my left hand. You can see the flick as a result of meeting the hard resistance of the callus.

Tw over.

Now what do they FEEL like? They're actually quite smooth! You can see in this picture that it's almost like my finger print is stretched out and smoothed as a result

You can see where the callus starts literally just by the change in texture. It really does feel like a smooth little hard nub.

Real quick, tw for body horror in a way? The thing that happens isn't gross but I describe it in kind of a body horror way. Skip the next paragraph if need be.

Now it does get rough SOMETIMES. I'm not a doctor, so take this with a grain of salt, but like I said it's like there's a little nub growing under the skin, and sometimes it kind of...bursts? Splits? I see the tip of my finger start to peel, and I'm sure this isn't what ACTUALLY happens, but it's like the top layer has split open because it's been stretched too far. Idk. But that usually lasts like one day, and then its back to normal. This happens up top, closer to the fingernail, but not really anywhere else.

Tw over.

What other details can you throw in? Well they are a little sore to the touch, if you press all the way down. They indent more and for longer than my other fingers -- when I've been playing for a while you can see the indent of the strings. Lastly, I pick at them occasionally, but it's not like picking at anything else where it would come off, I just flick at the ridge like I do in the gif. Maybe Jaskier would do this too, or perhaps a lover?

Feel free to add on or ask questions!

Thanks for your attention, and go forth and be detailed!!

#toby talks #the witcher #jaskier #the witcher jaskier #tw skin picking #jaskier the witcher #writing tips

[josiebelladonna]

paraselenae | patina

pairing: chuck schuldiner x alex skolnick (like blood from a stone)

genre: royalty!au

fandoms: death and testament

*18+ only; minors dni*

Warnings: strip blackjack, more outdoorsy stuff

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: alex and his soulmate having a moment alone while having to wait for some food

Word Count: 3660

(drawn by me; don't you dare take)

There were times in which, after Chuck and I had eloped, when I felt as though there was no way in hell on Earth that I could be sexy. I would look down at my body and grimace at the utter sight of it, at my skin, at my hips and thighs, at my own genitals, all of it, and there were times in which I would look at myself in the mirror and I found it rather difficult to stop doing so. I had a tormented relationship with myself, with my body, and there were times in which I had no idea as to where to turn to make it right for myself. I knew that if I did, then I would be able to make some sort of progress in my relationship with Chuck, and maybe the other Chuck, my soulmate.

And there were times in which I wanted to spiral out with things. I wanted to really bring myself the utmost pleasure I could ever possibly imagine for myself, and I had no idea if I wanted my new groom or my soulmate to be a part of it all. I wanted to try things out, and I wanted to get my act together with anything and everything that I could land my hands on.

I lay on the bed in our bedroom, flat on my back with my hands tucked behind the back of my head, and I gazed up to the ceiling overhead. The sun shone through the window on the other side of the room: it was a cool crisp day in the valley due south of the Bay Area, but not that cool that I had to leave the window closed. I just wanted to lay there for a time and not think about anything or anyone for a time: my back was hurting me, and my fingers felt sore to the touch as well. I had played and recorded some things on the nylon-string guitar in the next room over and, even though those strings were soft to the touch, they did do a number on my fingertips after a time. But that wasn’t why I was in pain, however: I had done some soft touches onto myself, all because I wanted to help myself look at myself in a better light.

It was such an uphill battle for me, and there were times in which I wondered if I could even reach the crest of said hill: it was rocky and barren, and I felt so dry to the touch, almost too dry. If there was any other metaphor to use to describe myself between the legs, it was the foothills not too far from there following a drought, a cold dry spell over the course of a single winter. I didn’t even want to think about sex at any given time whatsoever, as it had gotten that depressing for me.

I could hardly bring myself to think of being a good boy for Chuck, either.

I didn’t even know what to look at to even get me riled up in any sort of fashion whatsoever. It felt so beyond me at that point. I had heard things about how it was all inside me, but I felt so barren right then that I didn’t even know where to uncover the patches of sand to reveal the proverbial seedlings.

I rolled over onto my side, all to let my right hip cock out over the top of the mattress. I let my arms sprawl out before me, and I let my knees relax. I tried not to think of the shape of my body, but I did, anyway. The shape of my own body. The way that I merely lay there.

It haunted me in the back of my mind, and I had no idea if I wanted to be closer to Chuck or remain alone. My own body haunted me, just by the power of mere awareness. I didn’t want to feel this way: if I could leave my own body, then I would.

There had to be something to get me moving again. I didn’t want to leave my body yet. Something to get me out of this funk and back out to the nature of things. It was a beautiful day, for god’s sake.

I let my gaze wander over to the table underneath the windowsill: it was one of those low tables that had only one drawer in it, and I had used it so sparingly that I had completely forgotten what I had put in there.

I could hear Chuck saying something downstairs, and I still had to acquaint myself with the mere sound of his voice. I finally stood up to my feet, and I trudged over to the table itself for a glimpse into that top drawer there. At the bottom of the drawer was a receipt from a sex shop up in San Jose that I had visited almost completely on a whim.

Ah, yes, I recalled that place. I went there to get those leather teddies for the two of us that one time. There was a part of me that wanted to head on back there for another round of sorts. But then again, I wanted my time alone for the time being. I couldn’t bear thinking about getting down with it with Chuck again.

It took me a second to remember the steps that I had taken when I initially went up there, and then I recalled the leather teddies in the closet on the other side of the room: after the wedding, I had tucked them into the very back, and I had all but forgotten as to why I did that, at least until the very moment in which I heard his voice downstairs once again. I glanced down at that receipt once again, to which I sighed through my nose. I folded it up and tucked it back into that tight rear corner of the drawer itself.

But then again, there was Chuck from Florida, the Chuck whom I was attracted to. I needed to be with him. I needed to be sexy with him.

I wondered if the other leather teddy fit him, especially since the Chuck whom I was married to was of a larger size in comparison. I pictured it hanging off the slender, lithe shape of his body, and though he wasn’t there with me, I still pictured him next to me.

I peered out the window to the street below as if he would show up, and yet, he never did at any given whim whatsoever.

I remembered some of the other things that I had bought from that shop, and I wondered what else I could find there, especially once I made my way over to the closet and delved through the clothes on the rung for those bits of black leather, these lingering demons that tempted me out of my shell and into what I feared the most. I took a glimpse down to the carpet underneath my feet, and I spotted a little black box right up against the wall there.

I forgot what was in there: I lifted the lid and found a set of dice and a cherry red and black deck of cards as well as a small jar of body glitter. The memory of that night in the back room of the house all came back to me right then.

I closed the lid, and I picked up the box from the floor. This had to be tucked away and protected, not tucked away and forgotten. I headed back to the table beneath the window there for some safekeeping. The Chuck downstairs burst into laughter, and I grimaced at the sound of it.

I knew that it was going to be another round between me and him that evening: I hoped that we wouldn’t, however. It was my fear that I would be forced into it without even feeling it at a natural level. I needed to scout out the other Chuck, the Chuck from Florida, and find a moment alone with him with that black box. I knew that no matter where I went throughout the Bay Area, I would have to take that thing along with me.

I needed a little something to carry along with me as I brought my guitar along with me. Though we were crown princes, there was no way that I could forfeit my one true love and that was playing and making an intimate object sing for me. We headed out to the Bay Area for our little rehearsal space, and I never told Chuck that I had the black box with me in my backpack in the back seat there: I was holding out hope that we would run into the Chuck from Florida up there, but then again, I had my focus on the music we were about to craft out in that tiny room. I needn’t think of any sort of pleasures of the flesh even if I wanted to, anyway.

I was at war with my own body, my own flesh and blood. I didn’t want to feel like this: it was an itch I couldn’t scratch if it saved me.

That rehearsal space was this little pearly white one-story building about three blocks away from my parents’ house there in the heart of Berkeley—we had another one over by the harbor, but this one was always our favorite, however. Right across the street stood a pizza place as well as an arcade and a basketball court, even though none of us played at all. Chuck was eager to get us there bright and early, and I knew it was because he wanted to ride his bike around town: he had bought that thing some time ago and there were only a few days that he was able to take upon himself to go for a ride. I asked him if I could join him on his rides and he never gave a good response to me; then again, I wasn’t properly paying much attention, so I had no idea what he had said to me if he said anything to me at all.

We parked right before the front door of the building, and something caught my eye across the street. I peered over the roof of the car, to which I recognized that helmet of mousy brown curls in the front window there. I thought it was too good to be true, and I was nothing more than hallucinating, especially when I made my way inside of the building to greet Eric, Greg, and Lou; when I doubled back out to the car for something, I looked across the way again. He was still there. I wasn’t dreaming.

I needed to be over there as I returned to the space with my guitar on my lap and the backpack down on the floor. No one needed to know that I had that black box in there, but I also needed my ticket out of there. Something to break me out of that little building just so I could be with Chuck across the street for a few minutes.

And that something was Lou.

“Hey, Alex, could you run across the street and get us some pizza for when our lunch break comes up here?” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, which I always found weird given he was a drummer and he moved around more than the four of us, and he gave me a twenty-dollar bill.

Ask and you shall receive, dare I say.

I took the dollar bill as well as my backpack, which I slung over one shoulder, much to Chuck’s surprise.

“Hold up, what’re you taking your pack for, Alex?” he asked me through the microphone head, which made his voice echo all through the front room there. “You’re just going across the street.”

“It’ll give me something to do while I wait over there,” I told him. “I don’t really want to walk back here while I'm just going to head on back there once the pizza’s done over there.”

He squinted his eyes at me; I looked over at Eric next to him, who cracked me a little smile outside of Chuck’s line of sight, as if he knew of my intent.

“Okay then,” Chuck said in a singsong voice; he ran his fingers through his hair to which he showed off the side of his neck and the rings on his pinky, ring, and middle fingers as well as the bracelet that I gave him at the wedding. Our very own friendship bracelet.

Eric stifled a giggle as I walked out of there and into the gray late morning sunlight.

I made sure the door behind me had closed all the way before I ducked across the street. Chuck turned his head and showed me a little dimpled smile from behind the pane of glass. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and showed me a little wave: I puckered my lips at him as I came closer to the door. When I stepped inside, I was greeted by that warm smell of pizza straight out of the oven as well as his willowy little body before me.

“I’ve missed you,” he said to me in a low voice.

“And I've missed you,” I returned the favor. “Sit tight—I’ve got to take care of some business.”

Chuck lingered back at his table while I made my way to the counter. Twenty bucks bought me two pizzas and some breadsticks, and they were all about to take thirty minutes. Thirty minutes was all I needed.

I returned to him right as he was finishing his own singular slice of pepperoni pizza before him. I stood right next to him, all so I could take in that combined smell of the pizza and the soft cologne in his hair.

“Have you seen a space in here where—you and I can be alone for a bit?” I asked him with a clearing of my throat.

“I haven’t, no,” he told me as he handed me the rest of his crust. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I took the crust and gently nibbled on one end. He showed me the tip of his tongue as he lowered his gaze down to the rest of my body, especially to my hips and thighs.

“We’ve got thirty minutes,” I informed him.

“Sounds perfect,” he said with a wink, and then without hesitation, he stood to his feet and loomed right before me, with his chest up against my own. I could smell the cologne on the sides of his neck as well as his chest, and I could smell the pizza on his breath. I swallowed, both the remainder of the crust as well as the sight and feel of him: I didn’t want to feel it before, but I genuinely did at that point, however.

“Let’s go outside,” I suggested to him in a broken voice.

“Sounds delicious,” he told me in a husky tone. He showed me the tip of his tongue again, that time all along his bottom lip, and then he took me by the hand, and he led me out of the pizza place to the sidewalk. There was an opaque wall off to the left there, which left us out of sight and out of mind from onlookers, be they inside the pizza place or from across the street. There was also no one there at the basketball courts: Chuck led me to the bushes there behind the wall and we lingered out of sight together. I slung my backpack around and unzipped the main pocket: I showed him the black box with one hand for a second, and then I set my backpack down on the ground on my left side.

I showed it to him as if I was handing him a gift for his birthday.

“What’s this?” he asked me in a hushed voice.

“Open it.”

He set his index and middle fingers on either side of the lid and lifted, and he revealed the inside of the box to the both of us.

“What’s all this?” he asked me.

“Check it out.”

He picked up the cherry red and black deck of cards as well as the body glitter, and then he squinted his eyes at me.

“Is this what I think it is?” he continued with the questions.

“If you’d like,” I said with a shrug.

“Well, we have thirty minutes,” he told me. “Not enough time for a game of poker, if I do say so myself.”

“We could do blackjack,” I suggested.

“Hey, yeah! let’s do a couple of rounds of blackjack. Twenty-one and over, and you’ve got to take off something.”

I set down the box as he took out the deck and shuffled it about for us. I knew that, if we got caught, that was it. But then again, if one of us stripped down to our underwear, it was over from thence forth.

Chuck set the deck right next to the box, and he picked up the card at the very top. He placed it down before me: the king of diamonds.

“Hit me,” I said.

The next card: the king of spades.

“I’ll stay,” I told him. He squinted his eyes at me as he picked up the next card and set it down in front of me: the ace of spades.

“Ooh, you would’a gotten twenty-one back there,” he pointed out with a wink.

“Hit me,” I told him in a near whisper. The next card: the eight of hearts.

“Hit me,” I said. The next card: the three of clubs.

“Hit me,” I said. The next card: the jack of spades, to which he whistled.

“Twenty-two, take off your shirt, big guy,” he coaxed me. I did, and I rolled up my shirt before I set it down on top of the box. I straightened up my back so he could have a full view of my bare chest and belly. His eyes dropped from my nipples down to my belly button and the little line of hair underneath there. He nibbled on his bottom lip at the sight of me, and then I reached for the top of the deck for his round next.

The queen of hearts.

“Hit me,” he told me.

Next card: the ace of hearts, to which we both gasped.

“Blackjack,” I said. “You’ve gotta take off your shirt and put some glitter on.”

I watched him take off his shirt, and he let his curls sprawl down around his head and shoulders, the thick lush mane that it was, all for me. He then reached for the box again, that time for the bottle of glitter.

I held still as he poured some into his hand, and then he smeared it over his chest: these little flecks of silver and copper over his bare skin, all around his nipples and the center of his chest. It was completely involuntary: I let my tongue slither out from my mouth as if I wanted to drink him up right then and there.

“Don’t you dare come,” he told me with a wag of his finger.

I pursed my lips together. My eyes locked with those big bright ones: he loomed in closer to me as if about to kiss me, but he never did. He instead tempted me with that tongue of his, from one corner of his mouth over to the next as if he wanted a taste of me more than the pizza.

He took a card from the deck and set it down between us. I looked down to see the jack of clubs, and then I raised my gaze to him.

“Hit me,” I said.

The next card: the five of hearts. I swallowed. It was a gamble, but one that I would be more than willing to take.

“Hit me,” I told him.

The next card and I closed my eyes.

“Open them,” he advised me. I opened my eyes and raised my eyebrows at the sight of the six of spades there before me.

“Blackjack,” I muttered.

“Blackjack.” He raised his free hand up and snapped his fingers. I unbuttoned my jeans, and then I stood up so they could come right off. I knelt back down before him for the glitter, but he took it upon himself to pour some in his hand and rub it all over my chest: he reached my belly and stopped. He leaned in closer to me and kissed the side of my neck. I curled my toes at the feeling, and more so as he dropped his lips down to my collar bone and the top part of my chest.

A slight breeze from the bay itself picked up behind me and rustled the bushes around us. I held still as he reached down into my underwear for a feel of my skin there. His fingers crept over me, and it wasn’t until the tips snaked over my shaft when I realized that I had a slight erection going there. He kissed me again, and then he followed it up with a fingertip in the hole of my dick. I parted my lips and shuddered from the feeling within me.

“Chuck... my soulmate,” I whimpered.

I could feel myself coming. And I did, all for him, in my underwear, and right as he pulled his fingertip out.

“Oh—” Only the one whom I was connected to by the power of my own scars and heart could take the pain away.

“Go get your pizza,” he whispered into my ear. “Bring back some napkins, too.”

#fuckuary #fuckuary '23 #fuckuary 2023 #day 4 #like blood from a stone fanfic #like blood from a stone #chuck schuldiner #alex skolnick #smut #kink tag #kink tumblr #death band #testament #testament band #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #writing #text

[glitchedfoxx]

I'm not providing any context for this, it speaks for itself

#the legend of zelda #tloz #loz #four swords adventures #four swords manga #fsa #au #alternate universe #modern au #nylon strings in shades of indigo #nylon strings au #nssi au #green link #blue link #green x blue #blue x green #art #digital art #drawing #shitpost #theyre very silly guys #a little goofy #dare i say

[vivacious-viridian]

imagine Green Dragovich

now imagine Green Dragovich fresh from a post-workout shower

#the legend of zelda #tloz #loz #four swords adventures #four swords manga #fsa #au #alternate universe #nylon strings in shades of indigo #nylon strings au #nssi au #green link #art #digital art #drawing #idk if this one's really suggestive #but it's definitely a thirst trap #also I got better at drawing abs #I think

[angry-geese]

Blood Ties - Chapter Forty-two: Fellow Survivor

Soulmate au Choso x Reader

Warnings: not osha compliant but not in the fun way; blood and injury, death, canon typical violence

A/n: apologies for the late upload! I could have sworn I posted this chapter already and it wasn't until I was nearly finished with chapter forty-three that I realized my mistake 💀💀

Word count: just under 2.3k

Prev - next

Masterlist

James’ ears ring. The drops of blood make a steady plink plink plink as they collect on the ground below him. Mallory's mouth is moving, but James can't make out what she's saying. The wound on his hand throbs with each beat of his heart. James has lost enough blood that his head is light, and he can't quite think straight. The string of fate loops around his fingers. He traces the pads of his thumb across the frayed thread.

Have you figured it out yet? My cursed technique?

“By making a pinky promise with me, a person enters a binding vow," Mallory continues, "their life for mine. If I am gravely injured, we switch places, and my life will be spared. If they break this bond, and attempt to hurt me, they are killed instead,

"Really, you did me a favor back there. There was no guarantee you were even in this barrier, but then you just showed up .”

The air fills with the acrid smell of cursed energy .James lays flat against the pavement. The tops of the building above him spin. The concrete seems to sap any bit of warmth his body once held. He shakes. His arms fold across his chest and he shakes. 

It occurs to him how easy it would be to kill him right now. He lacks the energy to put up a fight. Someone could come along and simply kill him with his own knife.

“Kenjaku has been looking for you for a while from the sounds of it. I know people aren't really betting on this game, but it sounds like he’ll pay a pretty penny for whoever takes down the soulmate sorcerer,

"Most people start crying," she says, "or screaming for mercy when they're cornered like you. Do you want to die so badly? Is this the world's longest suicide note?"

Mallory was working for Kenjaku. And James told her their entire plot to free Gojo.

If she had some way of relaying this information back to Kenjaku…

“That man back there… the janitor... you killed him…”

James isn't quite sure why he's surprised. Maybe shock is finally setting in.

In a sudden burst of energy, James swings his leg out, catching her across the knee. The force of the impact is felt even in his own leg. 

Mallory hits the ground, her hands skidding across the pavement painfully. Her sword clatters as it lands, sliding further down the hall.

Seeing an opening, James makes a break for it, rounding the corner in the hallway, before exiting out onto a subway platform. No good, he thinks, too open.  

Being ensnared by her cursed technique, landing a direct hit is impossible. He’s made a binding vow; attacking her now would be a death wish, and he has the sinking feeling that range isn't a big player here. Running is no use when she can simply activate her technique from across the barrier.

He collapses between a vending machine, and a bench. The adrenaline that courses through his veins is wearing off. Fatigue from blood loss and lack of sleep is setting in. Soon, he’ll be able to feel the full force of his injuries.

He’s not going to make it far with how badly he’s bleeding. All she has to do is wait him out. Blood loss will render him incapacitated in mere minutes. He needs to do something to staunch the bleeding.

James frees his belt from his waist, looping it around his forearm. He tightens it as far as possible, letting the corded nylon dig into the flesh of his arm. The bleeding slows slightly.

His attempt to stand up is a mistake, but James knows that staying in one place is an even deadlier choice. Nausea sets in quickly. He presses the metal arm rest of the bench against the back of his neck, in an attempt to distract himself from his churning stomach. The cold does little to help; he still wants to throw up.

His vision doubles. The pain in his hand has subsided to a dull ache.

“Found you.” Mallory coos.

The tip of her blade presses into his throat painfully. With a swift, upward motion, slitting his throat would be easy.

She can use a reversed cursed technique. If only he can get a bit of her blood…

“Why?!” James asks. “What could possibly be in it for you? Cause I gotta say it would have been easier to kill me in my sleep."

For a moment, she hesitates. Her expression softens, before it's replaced with a glare. As he swallows, the tip of her blade presses firmer into his throat.

"Your situation is complicated," she says. "I don't expect you to understand."

Part of him expects her to end her sentence with “nothing personal”.

As he sits there, a strange sense of calm overcomes him. Black spots close around the edges of his vision. It's as if a filter has been cast over the world; everything is faded, and grayscale. 

“Then why?” He asks again. “Why make a deal with Kenjaku?”

Mallory turns to him, eyes glassy with tears. "Because I wanted my brother back! And he promised me! He came to me, wearing my brother’s body, promising me I could have him back if I made a deal!

“Do you really think I wanted to kill all those people? All those kids? I became a monster for him!”

At the end of the day, James holds some pity for her. Perhaps if something had changed, even in the slightest, things would have turned out differently for them. Either one, or both of them would be far from here. He did not know her well, until unfortunate circumstances brought the two together.

“Was it worth it?” James asks flatly. “Was he worth it?”

She looks at him, and simply says "no."

His body is moving before his brain is telling him to. James rolls to the side, before using his hands to shove himself up from the ground. Sparks are sent up from where the tip of her blade hits the ground, mere centimeters from James' body.

Seeing an opportunity, James stomps on it. The awkward angle, combined with the weight of his body, bends the blade. In the time it takes Mallory to recover, James is standing.

He charges, and the two hit the ground. What he lacks in speed, he makes up for in weight. He frees his knife from his waistband. James loops the string of fate around his fingers, and slices right through it. Something so sturdy, so unbreakable, snaps right under his knife.

The blast of energy rolls over him once, before the ensuing shockwave hits him. He feels as if he’s been caught in the middle of a nuclear blast; as if his cells are being shredded, only to be put back together wrong. It’s both hot, and cold. Black blobs dance around the corner of his vision. Everything threatens to turn black and white at the same time. James is certain that if he were to stand, he'd faint. 

It takes an immense amount of effort to roll onto his back. James is uncertain how much time passes as he lays there. There's a dryness in his throat that doesn't go away even as he swallows. A gritty texture fills his mouth. When he spits it out, his saliva is laced with blood.

“Kogane!” James calls out hoarsely. “Kogane!! I want to add another rule!

"Two people joined by the string of fate shall be considered civilians and allowed to leave through the allotted exits.”

“New rule accepted!” The kogane says.

Two people joined by the string of fate shall be counted as civilians, and allowed to leave through the allotted exits, so long as they are together

Whitford, James, current points: 1

[Across Tokyo no. 2 colony, 1 hour later]

“Fushiguro!” Itadori calls out, voice echoing through the empty street. A residential district. “Fushiguro!!”

Yuji turns to the Kogane beside him. Did he hear that right? He and Fushiguro can leave. 

Yuuta and Rika. Hakari and Kirara. Fushiguro and him. Those joined by the string of fate can leave.  

One thing is certain in the student's mind: he needs to find Fushiguro. 

He has to find higher ground. His voice will carry further that way. Just like in Shibuya.

“Fushiguro!”

Itadori can smell his cursed energy. He must be close.

“Fushiguro!” 

When Itadori spies a figure approaching him, he first suspects it to be a cursed spirit. It’s bloody, and limping, and wheezing loudly.

"All that yelling is going to catch someone's attention," James says, stumbling towards the student. He makes it about two steps before collapsing.

He's a few shades paler than when Itadori last saw him. Blood plasters the front of his shirt to his body. Sweat beads across his forehead and runs down his temple. He clutches his hand close to his body. 

"Whitford! You're hurt!" Itadori says.

James laughs dryly. When he sits on the curb, he finds it difficult to stay upright. Fatigue has set into his limbs, making moving a chore.

“What happened to your hand?!” Itadori asks. 

“A fight.” He says. 

James then proceeds to pass out. Not that the action of doing such is rather graceful in the first place, but his is particularly undignified. He clutches his stomach, and keels over.

When he comes to, he's not in the same place he last was.

He doesn't wake up instantly. It takes him several minutes to do so. For what must either be minutes, or hours—as he can't tell—he lays there. A pool of sweat must collect around him. A fan spins idly overhead but does little to cool the room down.

“What you're going to do is make a tourniquet,” a man says. “Place this belt around his forearm, when the artery is, and tighten it. If you think it's too tight; it's not. Tighten it more. ”

Two figures stand shrouded by the light behind them: a doorway. One voice he recognizes, the other he does not. The unfamiliar voice fills him with a silent terror. James finds himself bracing for the inevitable impact; be that a blade, or cursed technique.

The final time he opens his eyes, he's alone.

There's just enough light in the room to make out a nightstand, and desk. The door is closed, but gray streaks of light come in through cracks in the blinds. James finds a thick layer of bandaging around his hand. The pain in his hand has subsided to a dull ache. It's tolerable until he moves.

The shadow beside him shifts, morphing into the vague outline of a person. A man. Slightly shorter, and slightly stockier than James in build.

“He's awake!” A voice says. James soon recognizes it as Itadori. “Hey, he’s awake!”

A man in a suit comes into view. His eyes are sunken, and the bags under them are prominent. His tie has come loose around his neck. Overall, he has a tired, disheveled look to him.

“Don't sit up too fast,” the man warns. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“How long?” James asks.

“It's been a few hours.” The man says. “It’s almost sunrise.”

“I'm sorry but, who the hell is this guy?” James asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“This is Higaruma,” Itadori says. “He’s a friend.”

“Hiromi,” he says. He offers his hand out for James to shake it.

“Whitford.” 

Higaruma's hands are quite cold, and rough. His knuckles, and parts of his palm are bruised, as if he's gotten into a fight recently.

"You mentioned a Louis?" Higuruma says. "Was that someone you were with?" He seems to notice the way James clams up, and drops the subject. 

"I've put into place a rule to get you and Fushiguro out of here." James says, turning to the student. “As soon as the prison realm is open, you need to leave.”

“What about Tsumiki?” Itadori asks.

The sorcerer turns a shade paler. Who? James’ expression seems to ask.

“Fushiguro’s sister…” Itadori says. “The whole reason why he entered the game in the first place…”

“ Right , I remember her,” James lies. “Is she a sorcerer too?”

"I don't know." Itadori says. "They’re half siblings—they have the same mother. He doesn't talk about her a whole lot, so I couldn't say.”

"Well, if she isn't, then all we need to do is take her to the train station," James says, "and if she is, I'll attach a string of fate between her and another player. Then, we hope for the best.”

The silence that settles over the sorcerers can hardly be considered a comfortable one. James finds himself wishing for something stronger than cigarettes.

“Are you really able to open the prison realm?” Itadori asks.

“No clue,” James says, “but if it saves us from finding this Angel guy, which we don't even know will help us, then I’ll try,

“Where is it, anyway?”

“The prison realm?” Itadori asks. “With Fushiguro.”

“And where is he?”

Itadori shrugs. 

James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Neither of you know where he is?”

The sorcerer shoves himself up, and off of the couch. Higaruma throws his arm across the man’s chest to try to stop him, but relents upon realizing how insistent he is.

“Alright,” James says, “let’s go find him.”

#jjk x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #blood ties #cw blood and injury #cw violence #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #choso #choso kamo

[apn-music]

ujam's smooth virtual guitarlist 'SILK' plugin

ujam presents 'SILK', a virtual guitarist plugin.

An Acoustic Concert Guitar Virtuoso

Virtual Guitarist SILK is the softly spoken nylon-stringed concert guitarist of your dreams. Let the smooth and delicate finger-picking virtuoso take you on a journey from clean and smooth sounding singer/songwriter arrangements to vivid fortissimo style phrases suitable for dance and pop compositions.

Faster, Better and Easier

Perfect for all levels of music production experience, SILK’s credentials include the uncomprimising sound quality demanded by professionals whilst complete beginners will appreciate UJAM Instruments frustration-free design allowing them to get their ideas down quickly with no previous guitar knowledge. https://soundcloud.com/ujam-instruments/silk-down-by-the-lake?utm_source=clipboard&utm_campaign=wtshare&utm_medium=widget&utm_content=https3A2F2Fsoundcloud.com2Fujam-instruments2Fsilk-down-by-the-lake

Smooth & Elegant Accompaniments

Perfect your tone with UJAM Instruments very own high-quality integrated amp modeling with sounds based on handpicked vintage amps and speaker cabinets. Add the final polish with classic guitar effects including great sounding delay, chorus and reverb.

Authentic Nylon-Strings

Virtual Guitarist SILK’s sonic secret is very simple! By choosing to record a mint condition 1967 German nylon-stringed concert guitar, made by a renowed luthier with an amazing session musician at the helm, UJAM Instruments have created a virtual instrument even top composers and musician will find it hard to tell apart from the real thing. Operating Systems - Windows 8 or later. - OS X 10.11 / macOS 10.12 or later. - 64 bit only. - You may run it on earlier versions but we don’t support them. Minimum Requirements - 4 GB of RAM 6 GB of Disk Space - 1280x768px Display, Internet Connection. If you want to move your .blob file to an external drive, we recommend the use of a SSD to prevent dropouts. Plugin Formats - VST, AU, and AAX - On Reason? A-List Acoustic Guitarist Fingerpicking Nylon is VG-SILK’s Sister in Rack Extension Delivery Format - Downloadable Installer File Authorization - E-mail and Password Within the Plug-in Supported Standards - MIDI, Native Instruments NKS The price of SILK is $129, but it is currently on sale for $10 ($11 including tax) at Plugin Boutique until December 20th. More information about the plugin can be found on the ujam website. Read the full article

#Guitar #ujam

[shopises]

Description: Matériaux de haute qualité: fabriqué en polyamide (nylon) et spandex résistant et élastique. Le tissu léger et doux pour la peau peut se déplacer avec vous, offrant un confort supérieur sans contrainte. On dirait que vous ne portez rien. Une couche de coton de haute qualité est ajoutée à la partie c pour assurer confort et santé. Artisanat exquis: conception monobloc. S'adapte parfaitement aux hanches. Pas de boulochage, pas de roulement ni de groupage. Il n'y a pas de ligne de culotte sur les bords découpés au laser. String de fitness idéal pour les femmes. Pas de sous-vêtements pour femmes: ce string sans couture ne montre pas de lignes de culotte, évitant l'embarras du public. Vous garde confortable et en bonne santé toute la journée, que ce soit la matière ou la forme du corps. Spécification: Nom du produit: string sans couture Tissu: Nylon + Spandex + coton Spécifications: Le tissu est très doux et confortable, ce qui est super approprié pour le sport ou le sommeil. Et c'est un string sans couture et plus d'orteil de chameau. Vous pouvez en acheter quelques autres et les porter à nouveau. Vous allez en tomber amoureux cet été. Emballage Inclus: 1 * string