(☉‿☉✿) I know y’all have been craving some Viktuuri fics, even more so since it’s already ended and we have to wait for season 2. So what better way to pass time than to read some good ol’ fanfics. Here’s a list for you guys. ENJOY
Victor Nikiforov, the living legend, winner of five consecutive World Championships and five straight Grand Prix Finals - was in Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri’s bumpy, squeaky bed, with the Pokémon stickers peeling off the frame and the unwashed sheets. “Smells like you,” Victor mumbled, careful and coy.
Yuuri was on the verge of passing out.
Or that one time Victor finds out why Yuuri has never let him inside his bedroom because….well, we all know why…
Yuuri has developed a habit. Before competitions, whenever he wants to concentrate and exercise at the same time, he faces the wall, braces his forearms on it and then wiggle his hips while trying to recite over and over again his routine.
With earphones in and eyes shut, he doesn’t see the way others stare at him. Viktor does, though, and try to bring their attentions away. Phichit and Chris are little shits, as usual.
“The instructor at the local ice rink was cute. Cute with his glasses on and downright sexy with them off. And Victor just really wanted to spend some alone time with him, but there seemed to be no free time in the other’s schedule. Which left Victor considering other methods.”
In which Victor pretends he isn’t a figure skating genius all so he could talk to Yuuri.
Yuuri gets experimental and tries out something new in bed – calling Viktor “daddy” – but because of Viktor’s insecurities about aging, things go unexpectedly (and absurdly) wrong. [Not a daddy!kink fic so much as a humorous subversion.]
“Viktor, it’s your turn to throw the garbage, right?”
“Nope~ Can’t remember such an agreement~” Viktor sing-sang, tiptoeing back to their bedroom.
“Yuuri, did you eat my pint of ice cream while I was out?”
“H-Huh? No way!” Yuuri spluttered with a speck of chocolate on the corner of his lips.
With each other and Makkachin by their sides on their own cozy home with framed (stolen, random and wedding) photographs occupying most of the wall, Viktor and Yuuri couldn’t ask for more.
[Basically, just a domestic Viktuuri fluff wherein Episode 11 was resolved, both of them retired but they both applied as coaches [with Yuuri as skating tutor for kids], they got married and were now living happily in their own home with Makkachin in Spain. Alternating POVs.]
Victor remembers the confusion, hurt and rejection when he finds the empty hotel room that had once been occupied by an individual bearing the name of Katsuki Yuri hours ago, and said individual was now en route to Japan. He remembers sinking to the carpeted floor in his pajamas before returning to his own room to curl up in his comforter. He remembers Yakov coming over to help him pack with pity evident in his eyes when the check out time had long past and Victor was nowhere to be found. And all Victor could do was lie immobile on the bed with tears he thought would never end. He remembered lecturing his own self mentally, that it was ridiculous to act this way for someone you had only met once, but yet, he could not deny the fact that last night was the first time Victor had felt honestly living, relieved from the burdens and expectations as a renowned and international ice skater. Being with Yuri had felt absolutely right.
or a fic of how a heartbroken Victor had fared since that banquet and how he finally won Yuri’s heart
“Finally!” somebody shouts and Yuuri jumps. Russian Yuri stomps toward him, expression dark. “He’s on his third round of that.” Yuri jerks a thumb to the rink behind his back. “Make him stop before he hurts himself.”
Aka Yuuri says “let’s end this”, Viktor turns to melodramatic skating, they get to cry and kiss (in that order) and all is well in the end.
“Viktor…” Yuuri’s voice was low and gravelly, his teeth grazing the bend of Viktor’s neck, “Is it really okay to keep going?” His cock stirred inside of Viktor, still rock hard, still eager. The feeling of Yuuri’s semen trickling slowly out of his stretched hole made Viktor shiver, and he grabbed Yuuri’s chin in his hand, yanking his face up so that their eyes could meet.
“I’ll say this once, Yuuri. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t stop even if I beg for you to.”
There are things Yuri isn’t proud of, regardless of how superior to everyone else he is. Few things, of course, but still there nonetheless, though he loathes exposing them. One of his regrets might be, for example, not reading the summary of Fifty Shades of Grey before his mom mentioned off-handedly, “We should watch it, Yura.” (He can never look at her in the same way again.)
Going out for Victor’s “ exciting stag night” (which is a terrible name for it, as it mostly consisted in him sitting down and watching skaters get progressively drunker as they tried to do jumps off ice on the corner of a busy street, while everyone stared) and allowing himself to be roped into a hopeless bet has just become his newest, most fresh regret.
Viktor’s voice breaks Yuuri out of his trance and he focuses on Viktor, waiting for the words to come out. But Viktor doesn’t say anything more, eyes flickering between Yuuri’s eyes and mouth, and then his finger stops moving and he pulls it back.
He looks like he has more he wants to say, but doesn’t.
Everything was so easy and real with Yuuri. Even with the lingering tension and the unspoken inevitability of separation, they somehow managed to fall back into something close to a routine, effortless conversation, easy jabs and quiet smiles and something he wanted to hold on to for the rest of his life. Home.
Or the one where Victor thinks he’s doing the right thing, manages to disappoint all the Yuris in his life, and still everything works out at the end.
It hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary at the time. Victor had always been free with his affection; throwing out compliments, light caresses, even the occasional peck to the cheek. After a little over a week of having him as his coach, Yuuri was sure he had gotten used to it. It was just a Westerner thing, no use getting riled up if Victor wasn’t going to be stopping it anytime soon.
Then it happened.
Victor likes kissing Yuuri and Yuuri is frustratingly dense
Viktor Nikiforov is a genius. He tops the level without having to study and he can perform most spells without his wand. He was the second-ever first-year Seeker in the school, and the first Slytherin one at that. He’s a Parselmouth and he’s tamed the other basilisk hidden in the school’s plumbing. He has washboard abs and really defined hipbones. He’s the only son in a long line of pureblood Slytherins and he’s half-Veela and he can speak Mermish and he was born as Voldemort’s secret daughter which is why he’s prettier than half of the girls in school and—
‘Where do you even get all these?’ Viktor asks, eyebrows drawn together in bemusement. ‘I’m not even a pureblood, I’m Muggleborn.’
But even with his hands restless by his sides and his stomach buzzing with butterflies and adrenaline and nerves, Yuuri finds that he oddly doesn’t mind the attention. Or rather, Yuuri can’t bring himself to care, for once. He’s exhausted to the bone from his performance, eyes slow and limbs heavy from running on little to no sleep for more than 24 hours now, not to mention kind of emotionally drained from his mental breakdown earlier.
If anything, Yuuri kind of wants Victor to kiss him again. Preferably right now.
“Viktor will do whatever is necessary in order to never see Yuuri cry again. He’d walk miles across broken glass. He’d relinquish all of his gold medals to JJ Leroy. He’d let Phichit hack his Instagram account.”
Viktor and Yuuri are jealous of Makkachin on multiple occasions, but the adorable brown poodle might be the only way to get them to realize their love for one another.
He can’t look away from Viktor, even when he turns and catches him staring. Truth be told, he can never look away from Viktor. Not even in the beginning; surely, not in any dimension or attic of spacetime, could Katsuki Yuuri have ever looked away from Viktor Nikiforov. And when Viktor looks back at him, smiling, it’s all that matters to him.
Viktor is growing old, and his competitors seem to be growing younger and younger. Thus, with every passing year, Viktor finds fewer familiar faces at his Grand Prix banquets, and he wonders whether his attendance has become pointless. What he doesn’t realize, however, is that one unfamiliar, alcohol-reddened face can make the whole night more than worthwhile.
(A canon-compliant retelling of the banquet in which Viktor falls head-over-heels for a certain drunk, Japanese figure skater, and Yuri Plisetsky is both displeased and incredulous).
“If anyone should feel lucky, shouldn’t it be me?” Yuuri murmured. “I mean, you’re the Viktor Nikiforov, after all. You could have anyone you want….”
Viktor let his breath fan evenly over Yuuri’s neck as he listened to his words. Though he couldn’t see it, he could imagine Yuuri’s knit brows and small frown. He tightened his grip around Yuuri’s waist and thought about what had happened earlier in the day. This was a different scenario, but Yuuri was feeling anxious and unsure again, and he needed comforting. Viktor didn’t want to mess up this time. He wanted to do things right.
Yuuri swallowed, letting his head turn back to the legend sprawled out on his bed. To the first person to reach out for him after he’d pushed them away. To the man that had taught him to love himself and taught him to want things because he could get them if only he tried.
Viktor Nikiforov is an accomplished, world famous dancer-turned-choreographer who has struck out to rekindle a spark he seems to be missing after so many years on and off the stage, only to soon find it wrapped around a stripper pole in Japan.
‘…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’
A single event changes the course of Yuuri’s life, throwing him into a bitter rivalry with Viktor Nikiforov that spans across his entire skating career. But as the years go on, rivalry and hatred begin to develop into something very different and Yuuri doesn’t seem to be able to stay away, no matter how hard he tries.
Hatred and love are two sides of the same coin and even though everything changes, some things are still meant to be.
For the second time, the Sochi Grand Prix Finals arrive, and with it a reborn Yuuri Katsuki. “Viktor,” Yuuri thinks over the pounding of his heart, the crowd going silent as the music begins. “I’ll show the world what you meant to me.”
Yuuri often thinks of his life as Before and After Viktor Nikiforov, the marking point being the day Viktor swept into his life and turned his world upside-down. After many years together, an accident leads to Yuuri suddenly waking up in the Before—back in Detroit, before the GPF, before he ever knew Viktor as anything other than his childhood idol.
“Is this because I let you watch American movies as a child,” says Yakov flatly. “The ones where the popular boy gives his coat to the pretty girl?”
Victor puts up both eyebrows in a delicately mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was a fey creature of sixteen and makes Yakov yearn to clip him around the ears now, when he’s twenty-eight. “'Let’ me?” he says.
Now fully awake Victor could feel his morning wood pressing against his lover’s ass. Damn. He wondered if Yuuri would be upset if he woke the student up for a short love making session before work and school.
If Otabek were a bystander, he would see Victor Nikiforov being a ruthless coach, raising his voice at Yuri’s less than stellar free leg, It’s a normal occurrence, the older retired skater pointing out areas Yuri can work on.
But Otabek is not a bystander, and he sees the glint of a golden ring from Victor’s right hand, slipped around his ring finger like a reminder.
A reminder that Victor, estranged with nowhere else to go, was picked up by Yuri and Yakov to go back to Russia so he can have a semblance of a life back.
It had been two days since the house next door had been moved into, and today, Saturday, it seemed that whoever was going to live there had finally moved in themself. It was all anyone in the neighborhood would talk about, Morooka had even stopped by for a surprise visit so that he, Phichit, and Yuuri could watch their new neighbor from Yuuri’s kitchen window.
The only cue of someone even living in the house was the chitter of a sprinkler in both the front and back lawn.
“He’s got a pretty nice looking car, from here,” Morooka commented.
“Yeah but who has a nice car and moves into a shady house?” Phichit retorted, his question seemingly rhetorical. After a beat of silence he made a tch sound and cocked a hip, “Only pimps or rich kids running from their super sad and oppressive lives, that’s who.”
Yuuri is just a 21 yr old college student who is trying to win at life. When he gets into an argument with his roommate, Phichit, he rushes out of the apartment to make amends. The only shop he can afford is a dainty flower store in the busy city of Detroit.
Recently, it’s become a trend for students to exchange rings with their significant others. Although Yuuri is very much single and uninterested, he wears a pretty ring that mostly goes unnoticed by his peers. That is until Victor Nikiforov starts wearing an exact copy of Yuuri’s ring and flaunts it around.
After two years Viktor and Yuuri finally get married. They rent a Hotel near Detroit, in a beautiful and snowy place. Everyone’s here. The future husbands are idiots. Phichit is a best man. Christophe too. And somehow he’s even more dashing than usual. This is gonna be a merry mess.
@v-nikiforov - The handsome playboy has returned to town. Please pay special attention to my Free Skate tomorrow. ♥♥♥
There’s no way that Victor, Yuuri’s childhood idol, could be calling Yuuri a handsome playboy, just because they’d met eyes at two skating events. Besides, a total stranger had given Yuuri the tickets. It would be totally absurd.
Yuuri frowns, turning his head on the pillow. Wouldn’t it?
“Here’s the thing, see,” Victor breezes. “Yuuri mysteriously misplaced his suppressants, so now he’ll be going into heat. It’s a terrible shame, I know, but I could never leave him to deal with this on his own. I’m his alpha, remember? And his coach. And his fiancé.”
“It’s the middle of the season!” Yakov roars. “Vitya, you can’t just–”
“See you in five days!” Victor says brightly.
Then the line goes dead.
Yakov hurls his phone at the window in impotent rage, and it actually makes a bigger dent than Yurio’s did.
“I wish people would stop doing that,” Georgi sighs.
Yuuri’s neck was bright red, matching the colors of his cheeks. His eyes were half-lidded with pupils blown wide. He could try to avoid Victor all he wanted, but standing this close to the man made Yuuri lose all rational thought. Victor was like a drug, the strongest drug Yuuri knew, and he could never reject those lips.
College AU where Yuuri is a grad student addicted to fucking his ex, and Victor is secretly suffering from heartbreak.
When Yuri’s childhood crush showed up at his door, naked, full of impossible promises, the young skater didn’t even know what to think. When Yuri somehow ends up with said childhood crush in his bed, however, his body does the thinking for him.
“You look just like the poster in my room,” Yuuri slurred, barely holding himself up in Viktor’s arms, “but you have more clothes on.” He giggled. The words hit Viktor hard, and he didn’t know how much more his weak gay heart could handle. He barely even noticed Yakov leaving the room with his head cradled in his hands.
Or in other words, what really went down at the banquet last year, and what that meant for them now.
So that’s it for now! I’ll update this from time to time but here are some of the fics I found
Remember to give kudos to the authors!
UPDATED!! (January 02, 2017)
((I know that I didn’t really add a lot but I promise I still have some that I’m going to post, I just feel really lazy atm
(▰˘◡˘▰) haha whoops. I thought about making the updated fics into a separate post, sort of like a part two but eh, I decided no to. If there are some repeats from the earlier fics I rec’d let me know so that I can edit it out and also, if you want to submit a fic, please do! ◕‿◕
Ever think about being Harry’s date to an award show?
He’s so excited telling you that he’s been invited to the Oscars and that he wants you to come with him. But when you remind him that of course he’s invited, he’s nominated, he just laughs and shakes his head, mumbling, “Oh, right, forgot about tha’.”
He insists on buying you the prettiest outfit, setting up countless appointments with your favorite designers. And he’d attend every one, showering you with compliments after every change. But you know you’ve got a winner when his jaw unhinges, tongue lolling to the side as he takes in the way the fabric hugs your every curve, the color compliments your skin tone, and how the style is so quintessentially you.
In the car, he can’t keep his hands off you, though he’s careful not to muss your hair or smear your makeup. At first, you try to keep him from pawing at you, but you have to admit his blue polka dotted Gucci suit fits him exquisitely, and the way he’s left the top few buttons of the pale blue shirt gaping to give a peek of his strong chest has you swooning. Your resolve melts half way to the theater after you whimper a why and he answers, “I’ve got no control around yeh in this dress, kitten.” So Harry and you take turns placing kisses in concealable spots, delicately slipping fingers beneath clothes to feel each other without ruffling or creasing the fabric.
But that doesn’t mean the both of you aren’t flushed from exertion when it’s time to exit the car and walk the carpet.
And so a month after they built the fifth Wal-Mart in our county, a little coffee shop opened just a few yards away.
My coworker Rick said it looked like a giant amoeba just waiting to absorb any surrounding properties.
“The coffee shop?” I asked.
“No, Wal-Mart is the amoeba.”
When I got back to my desk, I typed ‘amoeba’ into Google and realized that I had incorrectly pictured a centipede.
“Fuck Rick,” I thought. “I don’t need any more friends, anyway. I’m on friend overload.”
At dinner that night, the Wal-Mart came up again when my wife Diane mentioned how ugly it was to see another gigantic shopping center taking up space in our town.
“It looks like a giant amoeba just waiting to absorb that little coffee shop,” I said. “And then the coffee shop is like a centipede.”
“I don’t think amoebas eat centipedes. And besides, that’s the point.”
Diane went on to explain that the coffee shop, though legitimate and functioning by all measures, was really an art piece constructed by a group of private donors in response to the new Wal-Mart.
“The idea is that we’re intentionally not supposed to go to the coffee shop. That way, Wal-Mart customers will be forced to observe the gradual decay of a local business every time they enter the store.”
“Well, I’ve been going there all week,” I said. “I think the coffee is top-notch stuff. Plus, it’s on my way to work.”
“The coffee is supposed to be mediocre,” said Diane. “Keeping within the budget of most struggling businesses. It’s supposed to be virtually undrinkable.”
“Hmm…well I really like it.”
“Well, you can’t keep going or else you’ll ruin the project.”
“This is America,” I said. “And if I want a cup of mediocre, overpriced coffee, by god I will have it!”
Over the next several months, I kept drinking the coffee. Some days I even went twice. The quality of the coffee, I was told, gradually worsened as a result of my unwavering interest, but I never noticed and so I had no choice but to doubt the rumors.
My doubt remained intact even after overhearing a private conversation between the coffee shop’s manager and the cashier. I was standing by a tree and watching a teenager back his car into another car and I guess they didn’t see me.
“I know,” said the cashier. “I’ve tried that, but it’s like he doesn’t have taste buds.”
“Well, he’s single-handedly fucking up this entire thing.”
“So what then, poison? Would he even drink poison?”
“Now, that’s an interesting idea.”
“Stupid teenage drivers,” I thought.
In the end, they poisoned the coffee. I made it a month after that, but my failing eyesight and ravaged kidneys eventually left me bed-ridden.
“Well, they just opened another location,” said Diane. “Business is booming. I hope you’re happy.”
And I wasn’t happy, but I was somehow content and I thought about everything: Wal-Mart, art projects, even little amoebas crawling through the forest, one-hundred legs working beautifully in tandem.
“Nobody ever wins in these kinds of things,” said Diane.
“But if you had to pick a winner, you’d probably pick me because the coffee shop was on my way to work.”
Diane sighed and left the room. I dozed off and in my dream, they did pick a winner. They picked me and I was led over to a small stage to choose my prize: A brand new recliner or two new kidneys!
“The recliner,” I inquired. “How far back are we talking?”
— heavy drinking | cursing | oral sex | jimin being sleazy | hoseok being an asshole | lots of pool references | just adult things
— jimin’s the bartender, you’re the billiard hotshot who frequents his bar and challenges him to a clean game of 9-ball after hours. “see if you can make this shot with my hand down your pants” au
A/N: I lied, the angst shall come in the upcoming part.
When you and Jimin returned to your parents, still holding hands, you found all four huddled near Jimin’s mom’s phone, staring at something.
“Look at how cute they are!” she practically squealed. You saw your parents also smiling warmly at the screen.
“Hey, what do you got there?” Jimin asks, startling everyone as they didn’t see you both return.
“Oh, just the photo I took this morning!” his mom said, not even trying to hid it.
“eomma!” Jimin protested.
“What, it’s cute. Take a look for yourself” she said as she handed you both the phone. You and Jimin looked at the photo and you felt yourself blush looking at the picture. You both looked so….comfortable. So peaceful even. You could have fooled anyone. But of course, you both were actually going to be trying now right?
“At this rate, we can be expecting grandchildren in no time!” His mom continued.
“EOMMA!” Jimin protested again, this time even louder.
“WHAT? We’re not going to lie, we figured it would take you both to get to know each other and get comfortable being a married couple but you guys seem to be getting along wonderfully. Well of course, it’s been a few months since you’ve been married, but still! And we’re not going to live forever, is it so bad to want grandchildren already?” his mom whined back.
You and Jimin just stood there, flustered.
The following weeks were….pretty great. You and Jimin followed a similar routine from before his parents had arrived at your house, but you two were far more comfortable with each other. Many nights, you both stayed up hours learning more and more about each other.
One night, you were about to start getting the groceries ready for cooking when Jimin’s father had come to the kitchen.
“Me and the Mrs. are going to have a date of our own tonight Y/N, so no need to make dinner for us as well. Why don’t you and Jimin go on a date too!” He said excitedly. Jimin’s father was dressed for his date, and you couldn’t help but smile.
“How do you the two of you do it?” You ask.
“Do what honey?” he asked.
“Be in love as if it’s the first day?” you said, smiling almost sadly. Would you ever had what Jimin’s parents had? What your own parents had?
“Me and Jimin’s mom… we were like you and Jimin. We also had an arranged marriage. And back then, I was dreading it. But the moment I saw Jimin’s mom, I knew I was whipped. I strongly believe that we are soulmates. And because our marriage is so happy, we only wanted the same for Jimin. We were so worried that the two of you wouldn’t get along, but looks like we didn’t have anything to worry about after all” He said warmly. You only smiled in response. “Good night, sweety” he said, as he retreated back to go and get his wife.
As they were heading out the door, they ran into none other than Jimin. “Are you two going somewhere?” he asked.
“We’re going on a date!” his mother chimes.
“Oh, have fun!” Jimin says.
“Yah, why don’t you take Y/N out too? You two haven’t had much alone time since we moved in. This is as much for you guys as it is for us” his father whispers as he heads out the door.
“Bye kids! Don’t wait up for us!” his mother says loudly as she closes the door behind them, leaving a flustered Jimin standing at the door, looking towards you.
“Hey you” you say, smiling at him,
“Hey” he says, smiling back.
“What are you in the mood for? Looks like it’s just us for dinner” you say, looking back at the groceries.
“I was thinking Chinese? How about instead of staying in, you can show me that Chinese place you were talking about? I still need to know if it’s better than my place after all” he said, smiling as he ran his hands through his hair.
You jumped a little in excitement. You were tired today and cooking was the last thing on your mind when you got back from work, so this was a treat. And if you were looking into it, it was your first date with Jimin.
Jimin smiled at your excitement. He realized he had just asked you out…on a date. Why was that so weird, you were his wife after all.
“I’ll be ready in a few!” you said, as you almost ran back to the room to change. You looked through your wardrobe, wondering what to wear tonight. Should you dress up? Or go casual? Or would that seem like you didn’t care? But you also didn’t want him to think that you were trying too hard? You quickly scanned through the entirety of your clothes, and finally settled on some dark skinny jeans and your favorite baby pink blouse.
Jimin had changed quickly outside in the bedroom while you were getting ready, but he too found himself skimming through his wardrobe wondering what to wear. He put on some cologne, making sure it wasn’t overwhelming and headed back to the living room to wait for you.
As you soon came out, he found himself staring at you again. He now had no problem admitting to himself that you were beautiful. The skinny jeans did your legs some justice as they showcased them beautifully. The baby pink was a lovely color that matched your skin tone and your loose curls flowed freely. You were truly stunning no matter what you wore.
“Is there something on my face…?” you asked when you noticed him staring. You started to wipe at your cheeks and looked at your hands, expecting something to be there.
“Oh..no no, it’s nothing” Jimin said as he smiled and stood up.
You spent the car ride to the restaurant talking about both of your days and eventually started talking about your respective companies. The ride the restaurant was somewhat quick, so your conversation easily flowed even as you sat down at a table. You knew the staff here quite well, even the chef as it was somewhere you frequented.
The chef came out to greet you and as you held a small conversation with him, Jimin couldn’t stop looking at your smile as you talked to the elderly man. It was then that he realized he hadn’t met one person who didn’t like you. You were well liked by just about everyone and you treated everyone with respect, no matter how rich you were. That was not something he could say for most of the girls he knew, especially his ex.
“Do you have anything in particular you would like to try?” you asked him suddenly, bringing Jimin out of his trance.
“Uhhh” he said as he looked at the menu, realizing he never got the chance to go through it. “Why don’t you just order for us?” he said, not wanting to waste more time.
You ended up ordering Jimin’s favorite and some other dishes as well. He couldn’t help but feel warm when he realized that you had remembered so much about him.
The food arrived shortly after and Jimin found you staring at him eagerly as he went to go take his first bite, as if you made the food yourself. With the first bite he knew, this place was clearly the winner. The food was delicious, and even though it was a much smaller restaurant and a family run restaurant nonetheless, the taste was far superior. He turned to look back up at you, waiting to eat after hearing his verdict.
“Ok ok…you…you win” he said
“Yes!!” you said, a little louder than you were working. Some people turned to look in your direction and you became flustered immediately. “oops” you said, finally reaching out to eat some food of your own.
“How was the food sweety?” the old man asked when both you and Jimin were near done eating.
“You have truly outdone yourself once again Ajusshi. It’s amazing” you said, smiling at him.
“I’m glad you and your husband enjoyed my food” he said, as he took some of the empty plates away.
“Do you have any room for dessert or are you going down to the dessert stand again?” the man asked as he was about to walk away.
“Hhm…I think I’ll take him to the dessert stand if you don’t mind. I’ll get some dessert here next time!” she said, excitedly. Soon after, you and Jimin paid and left the restaurant. Jimin walked towards his car, but you dragged him away. “It’s only a little walk away from here. Can we walk?” you asked. The weather at night was so pleasant and you couldn’t let go of the opportunity to spend time outside.
“Sure” he said. You two walked side by side and while it was silent between the two of you for the first time tonight, it was comfortable. Jimin was taking in the scene as he saw all the shops and restaurants nearby. There was a small park to the corner and he could soon smell something sweet in the air. You were just smiling at the pleasant weather, smiling at just about everything.
“Here we are!” you said a few minutes later. You both had walked up to a small little dessert stand right across from the park. The vendor knew you quite well too, since you would usually get dessert here after having dinner at the chinese restaurant.
The had a relatively small menu, but they were well known for their fish waffles with soft serve ice cream on top. You knew Jimin secretly had a sweet tooth, and you could see a small smile on his face when he saw all the options.
“Do you know what you want? I’ve tried I think everything here” you say happily.
“Uhh I don’t know Y/N! Just get me one of whatever you’re having” he says, turning back to you.
You turn to face the handsome man operating the stand. “I’ll have two of the regulars oppa” you say.
“Wah, Y/N, haven’t seen you much since you got married” he says, as he starts to fill the waffle iron. Jimin figured you both were going to get the waffle ice cream dessert, but why did you call him oppa?
“Oppa?” he asked, not being able to hold back?
“Yeah, he’s a neighborhood oppa! Me and my parents used to live somewhere nearby when I was a kid and my dad would bring me here a lot as a kid. Me and Jae Hyun oppa grew up together I guess!” you said.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t come by a lot anymore. Not since you two got married anyways. It’s nice to meet you!” Jae Hyun says as he reaches a hand out to Jimin. Jimin shook his hand, and though he was slightly jealous of your relationship with him, he knew it was harmless.
“Same ice cream as usual?” he asks you.
“Uhm, I’ll have the caramel ice cream. Jimin what do you want to try?” you ask.
“Uh, I’ll have the chocolate” Jimin says, quickly skimming through the flavors they had available. Soon after, you both picked your toppings and said farewell to Jae Hyun after paying.
“Do you want to walk around the park for a bit while we eat this? I wouldn’t want to spill anything in your car” you offered.
“Sure, that sounds nice” he said. He doesn’t really remember the last time he was on a proper date. Although he didn’t know if this was considered one since you were practically leading the way. But that didn’t stop his heart from beating as if it were a first date. He hadn’t had one of those in…years. Not since high school. It was always casual hook ups. Nothing lasted long, except for the relationship with his ex that lasted about half a year. He had soon realized the relationship was toxic and she was only out for his money, so he cut it off with her.
Jimin didn’t know if he liked the dinner or dessert more, but he knew that he liked spending the time with you. Any of his “dates” would always recommend all the high end places for dinner, so this was actually a real treat. You both strolled the park, that was not too busy this time at night. A few people walking here and there. A few other couples too. Jimin was surprised by how comfortable he was in this situation. He was thoroughly enjoying the night, and any stress he had was slowly melting away, like the ice cream in the waffle. It reminded him of his childhood, when his life wasn’t so full of worries.
You two eventually sat at a little bench facing a little playground.
“Hey, I think there’s something on top of your ice cream!” Jimin says, pointing to the ice cream peeking out of the fish’s mouth.
“What?” you look down at the ice cream and find nothing out of the ordinary. But before you knew it, Jimin had placed his hand under your hand that was holding the dessert and push it up slightly, causing your nose to land on the ice cream. You felt the cold sensation on your nose.
“Yah!” you almost yelled. “Why’d you do that?!” you asked, but now laughing. You couldn’t help but laugh at the situation,
Jimin let out a hearty laughter. You looked absolutely adorable with the ice cream on your nose and around your mouth, even though it was just a little. Luckily, you had a napkin and wiped it off shortly after.
“I used to do that all the time when I was a kid. No one saw it coming!” he said, thinking he had got the best of you. But while he laughed, you took your ice cream and shoved it lightly on his face. He stopped laughing immediately and looked at you in shock.
“No…YOU didn’t see it coming!” you giggled as you handed him a clean napkin. He started laughing again, realizing that you had got him good.
You both then sat there in a comfortable silence, just looking out on the empty playground. The breeze blew threw ever so lightly and Jimin turned to look at you. Your hair blew beautifully along with the breeze and the moonlight illuminated wonderfully on your skin. He scanned the outline of your face, and when he eyes landed on the side of your lips, he started to laugh again.
“What?” you asked, turning to him. “What’s so funny?” you asked again. He just kept laughing. “Well come on, do share what’s funny! I want to know!” you said, nudging him a little at his side.
“You just have a little ice cream left” he said. pointing to the side of your lips. You tried to wipe it away with your napkin but you couldn’t find the spot. Jimin just laughed as you tried to clean yourself. You were so darn cute, he thought.
He grabbed the napkin from your hand and turned to face you better as you did the same when you felt him take the napkin from your hands. By now, the ice cream had somewhat hardened on your lips, so it was a little harder to wipe off. Jimin inched closer to you, and your heart started to beat uncontrollably fast and you were sure you were a deep red. Jimin soon realized how close he was too, and his initial reaction was to back away. But he was entrapped in your eyes. And without thinking twice, he placed his lips on yours gently. At first, he was scared to even move his lips thinking you wouldn’t kiss him back and truthfully you were a little stiff from the shock. But despite his fears, he slowly moved his lips and he loved the warmth and softness of your lips. And not to mention the sweetness from the ice-cream. He made a mental note to get the caramel ice-cream the next time you both came back.
You really didn’t see it coming. His plump lips on yours felt like heaven. And when he started to move his lips against yours, you were slowly melting. And within seconds, you slowly melted further into the kiss and started to kiss him back. This was the first really kiss you shared with your husband. Not that fake peck on the lips you two shared during the wedding ceremony.
This, this was amazing. And you knew you were never going to get enough and it would be an addiction. But you were still surprised nonetheless and you had dropped your dessert on the floor in the process. After what seemed like an eternity though, Jimin pulled away from you, allowing you both to breathe. He smiled at you, slightly breathless. He was so happy that you kissed him back and didn’t turn him down. He knew his feelings for you had grown a lot over the last couple of weeks and he had only hoped that you might feel the same.
He was too nervous now and didn’t know what to say, so you both turned away flustered. His hands at met yours though, and he intertwined his fingers with yours, like he did back on the picnic. You just continued to smile, still thinking about the sweet kiss. You were too embarrassed to look at your husband, so you chose to look everywhere instead. Your eyes then landed on your little fish waffle on the ground and giggled.
Jimin followed your eyes to the fish on the floor. Thankfully he had finished his long ago, otherwise he knew that his would have been on the floor as well.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get more when we come back next time” he said, smiling at the fish.
“Next time?” you asked.
“only if you want” he said, nervous again.
“Of course” you giggled.
That night contained the first kisses of many to follow. Like couples who first begin dating, you soon found yourselves going out on more and more dates, with more sweet kisses. You soon couldn’t take your hands off of eachother. And pretty soon, the sexual tension was beginning to eat at you too.
You both felt it, and some kisses from soft and sweet to hungry and hard. But it never went past that, despite wanting it.
Jimin felt his sexual frustration grow everyday, and he knew you were slightly frustrated too. You two had been married for about 7 months now, and not once had you two slept together. But his parents still lived with them, and the repairs seemed never ending at their home. After all, it was a big house. He wanted his first time with you to be special, and he also didn’t want the risk of his parents hearing or worse, walking in on them.
But over the last few weeks, you had slowly turned into Jimin’s friend, girlfriend, and wife. You were all those things, and you were now the most precious thing in his eyes. It was crazy how hard he fell for you and how fast, but you were quick to reassure him that you felt the same. One of the greatest things about your relationship was how honest you both were with each other, especially your feelings for one another.
One evening, Jimin’s parents had come out of their rooms, luggage in hand.
“The repairs are finally done and we’ll be moving back in tonight. Thank you so much for letting us stay with you both. We know you both would love to spend the time alone, so we’re sorry for imposing for sooo long” Jimin’s mother said.
“Woah, you’re leaving out of the blue?!” Jimin asked. You and him were cuddled up on the couch, watching a random movie on the couch.
“Yeah, we just heard that the repairs were done. And we’re homesick too!” Jimin’s father added.
“Awh, I wish I could have made a better meal last night then if I knew it was your last night here” you said.
“Oh, well we can always have dinner again another time. Please come and see the house when you have time!” his mother said.
You and Jimin paused the movie and walked with his parents as they got ready to leave.
“Really though, thank you dear. It has been wonderful staying here” Jimin’s mom said as she hugged you.
“No, I loved spending time with you too Eomma” you said honestly. Sure, you were starting to wonder when they would leave, but you were sad when the moment suddenly came out of the blue.
You and Jimin watched as his parents drove away and you both smiled as you closed the door. It was weird being in the house alone now. You both just looked at each other awkwardly before retiring back to the couch.
You pulled yourself close to Jimin again. You loved the warmth that emitted from him and combined with your favorite blanket, you were in heaven. You weren’t really paying attention to the movie as you had already seen it before, but your eyes still focused on the screen. Jimin’s eyes though, were focused on you.
He started slowly running his hands through your hair, something he had found you had liked immensely. And soon he found himself tracing the outline of the side of your face with his finger. You turned to him, confused. He just shrugged and pretended to look at the movie again. But when he felt your turn your head back to the screen, he turned back to look at you.
You were so close to him, so why did…why did he miss you? He wanted you and your everything, so he turned your head to face him and placed a warm kiss on your lips. The kiss grew hungrier each second and before you knew it, Jimin was carrying you back into your shared bedroom.
And well..you know the rest.
As the sunlight fluttered into the bedroom once again, you woke up tangled in sheets with your husband. He was still asleep, and you loved just look at his sleeping face. Last night was…amazing. He had made you feel things you didn’t realize were possible and while sex wasn’t a foreign subject to you, you felt like you were in a whole new world with Jimin. He made sure you felt loved and were well taken care of, and though the night was pretty much sleepless, you couldn’t feel any happier now no matter how tired you were. You ran your fingers along his lips, and resisted the urge to just kiss your husband awake.
“Good morning beautiful” Jimin said, smiling with his eyes still closed.
“You’re awake!” you said while giggling. “Good morning, sweets” you said. Though the nickname started off as a lie, it had stuck now.
Jimin hummed at the name with the smile still on his face. He pulled you in closer to him and you both just laid there, cuddling for a few more minutes before you decided to get up and make something to eat for the both of you. God knew you both were hungry!
7 months ago, you thought your life was cursed. But now, you couldn’t be happier with your husband. You fell in love with a wonderful man, and you had him all to yourself. And you had the rest of your life to spend with him. You already made those promises, even if you didn’t mean them at the time of the ceremony.
But if only you knew about the pain you would face soon in the future. Would any of this be worth it?
A/N: Sorry, I ended this part kind of weird. And I lied. I thought there would be angst in this part, but there isn’t yet. BUT NEXT PART FOR SURE.
F O R . S U R E .
P.s. please let me know what you think of this part. I wasn’t too happy with it, but needed a filler part for the plot I had in mind. I also don’t write smut fyi.
a/n: this is loosely inspired by that scene from the
webcomic Always Raining Here because i read the whole thing a couple of
nights ago and let me tell you, there were feelings. enjoy!
“Eat shit, Nurse,” Dex said, taking another swig of his
beer. “I told you that you didn’t stand a chance.”
“No fair, man. I totally would have won if you hadn’t
blue-shelled me there at the end,” Nursey grumbled. He set down the Wii remote
and got to his feet, trying to figure out how drunk he was. No dizziness or
major balance fuckery, it seemed, but his head definitely felt kinda fuzzy. Now
was probably a good time to start chugging some water; he still had homework to
do later. He went to fish his water bottle out of his backpack.
“I only blue-shelled you because you blue-shelled me the last lap,” Dex said. “I won that
fair and square.”
“Psh. If I were sober—”
“Dude, you only had three shots. You’re 6’2”. You’re fine.”
“Yeah, but you onlyhad, like, a beer and a half, so
between the two of us, I’m definitely
the more impaired one here.”
Dex rolled his eyes. “Just admit I won. Stop being such a
“Well maybe you’re a sore
“I know you’re an English major, but ‘sore winner’ is not a thing.”
Nursey shook his head in mock outrage. “You come into my house—”
“Your house? This is my
dorm room, Nurse,” Dex laughed. “You’re in my
dorm room, playing on my Wii,
drinking my alcohol.”
“…Touché,” Nursey admitted, returning to his spot next to
Dex on Dex’s couch. He was probably sitting a little closer to Dex than was
strictly necessary. He could try to blame the shots for that, but like Dex
said, he was a 200-pound hockey player. Three shots of Fireball spaced out over
the last hour really wasn’t much for someone his size. If he hadn’t been a city
boy with no driver’s license, he could probably still legally drive.
The real problem, Nursey thought as he glanced at Dex out of
the corner of his eye, wasn’t the alcohol—it was his stupid crush on his
attractive yet probably tragically straight teammate. But that wasn’t really
something he liked to dwell on.
AU Ideas: 4 (with Artist Steve?? that'd be amazing) or 13 or 15
15: My friend made me a grindr/tinder profile without me knowing and you liked my profile and then sent me a message which just said ‘Bees?’ and I’m a little confused but intrigued.
Steve’s phone buzzes.
“If this is another Grindr notification, I swear to God—“ Steve starts.
“That you’ll answer it and go get laid?” Sam says. Natasha snickers.
“That I’ll kick your ass,” Steve says.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Will you?” he asks.
“Yes, I will!” Steve says.
“He’s very scrappy,” Natasha says. “He once managed to scratch me.”
“Check your messages,” Sam says.
Steve sighs, rolls his eyes, and pulls out his phone. He reads the notification from wintersoldat3255. It says, Bees? and nothing else.
He holds the phone up to Sam. “See?” he says. “See the weirdos who message me because you made this profile?”
Sam takes the phone from Steve, reads the message, and snorts. “Okay, well, maybe they’re not all winners. Let’s see what he…” he trails off, eyes going wide. “Shit, those are some pectorals.”
“Oh, pass it here,” Natasha says, taking the phone. Even Natasha — who is rarely impressed — raises her eyebrows. “Maybe you should see what this guy has to say,” she says, passing the phone back to Steve after a long moment.
“I’ve seen what he has to say, and what he has to say is ‘bees’, apparently.”
“It was a question,” Sam says. “You should change your intonation.”
Steve exhales. “Bees?” he asks, exaggerating the raised end of the question. “That better?”
“Very,” Sam says. “Now let’s look at your other prospects.”
Steve gets up to get another round of drinks.
He doesn’t know why he goes back to Grindr that night, after he’s back home and has had a few drinks. It’s not that he wants to get laid — honestly, he doesn’t want to get out of bed — but he’s sort of curious about who saw his photos and thought ‘yeah, I’d hit that’.
He scrolls through a few generic messages, then sees the one from wintersoldat3255.
What the fuck.
So he types out, what the fuck? and sends it back to the guy.
He doesn’t expect an answer — the guy messaged him hours ago — but it only takes a minute or so before he gets a response:
You say save the bees in your profile, which is noble and everything, but I know for a FACT that you’re allergic to bees.
First of all, Steve is a little heartened knowing that Sam knows him well enough to include the fact that the bees need to be put on the endangered species list and should be protected on his dating profile. But then he realizes that this guy… somehow knows that Steve is allergic to bees, which is creepy as hell.
No I’m not, Steve lies, calling the guy’s bluff.
No, you are. I’m the one who shoved an Epipen in your thigh after you got stung during Gilmore Hodge’s birthday party and his mom was too freaked out to do anything about it.
Steve stares at the message, then shakes his head. It can’t be right! The person who stuck the Epipen in his thigh during Gilmore Hodge’s birthday party was Bucky Barnes, and this guy can’t be Bucky Barnes.
Steve quickly clicks over to his profile. He scrolls through the pictures, but there aren’t any of his face, just abs and pecs, which makes Steve roll his eyes a little. When he goes back to his messages he has another from wintersoldat3255:
Yeah Steve, it’s me.
Steve’s eyes go wide.
Bucky? he asks.
Long time no see.
Can’t actually see your face, so I don’t really know it’s you.
A photo appears. It’s of Bucky Barnes, mugging for the camera with a toothy grin.
You wanna catch up? Bucky writes.
Sure. Where are you? Steve asks, heart beating fast.
It’s Grindr. The whole point is that you can see.
Steve rolls his eyes, they make plans to meet-up at a local 24-hour diner in a half hour, and Steve saves the photo that Bucky sent him, just in case.
Bucky is already sitting in a booth when Steve walks in. He perks up, grins, and waves. “Steve!” he calls.
Steve straightens up a little, takes a breath. He shouldn’t be so nervous; it’s not like there’s anything riding on this. He’s just seeing his childhood best friend for the first time in over ten years. No big deal.
Doesn’t help that Bucky was Steve’s first crush, but no big deal, either.
He walks over, and Bucky’s just grinning at him, like he’s the best thing he’s seen in years. “Hey Buck,” Steve says.
“Steve,” Bucky says, kind of breathy. “Wow, you look fantastic.”
Steve shrugs. “I look like me,” he says. “Don’t have abs like you do, apparently.”
Bucky laughs, ducks his head. “I’ll be honest — my friends made that profile for me. I thought Peter was taking pictures for his art class of me at the gym.”
“Why didn’t he include his face?” Steve asks. “It’s not like your face is a bad one.”
Bucky laughs. “Thanks for that, I think.” He pauses, starts playing with the edge of the plastic menu on the table in front of him. “And it’s because I’m out but I’m not out out.”
“Okay?” Steve says, a little confused.
“Anyhow, what have you been up to? How’s life? Do you still like pancakes? Because this place has the best pancakes.”
It’s weird how easy it is, reconnecting with Bucky. Steve never spent much effort trying to find him after they lost touch. He just assumed that Bucky thought he was too cool for him when they got to high school, and it was almost a relief when he moved away during the summer before their junior year, just so Steve wouldn’t have to be reminded of the best friend he lost.
He wants to ask Bucky about it, but he doesn’t have to. Bucky just opens up during their second round of milkshakes.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what?” Steve asks.
“For when I stopped talking to you during high school. I know that it must’ve made you feel like shit.”
Steve fidgets. He doesn’t want to answer that.
“You know my parents were in a bad place.”
“They got divorced, right?” he asks.
Bucky nods. “But the last two years were… really bad.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I wasn’t hanging out with a great crowd. And I think I justified not talking to you because I didn’t want you to get involved with that crowd. But I more just think that I didn’t want you talking me out of the bad shit I was doing.”
Steve remembers the way that Bucky walked down the halls with his friends, rolling his eyes at Steve when he tried to talk to him. Of course, Steve tried to talk to him, tried having a showdown of some kind, but Bucky would just… walk away. He never bothered listening.
“And then my parents got divorced and my mom and I moved in with my Uncle Pierce, and…” He trails off.
“That’s the uncle who I met that one time, right? Who said I should be sent to a pray away the gay camp?”
“We had no money,” Bucky says.
“How was it?”
“I joined the Army as soon as I could,” Bucky says with a weak smile.
“Shit,” Steve says.
He shrugs. “I’m out now, and I’m doing pretty well for myself. Got my issues, but everyone else does.” Steve nods. “And besides, I’m free to do whatever I want now, so.”
“So you’re spending your time on Grindr?” Steve asks.
“You are, too!” Bucky says.
“My friends made me a profile!”
“No, Steve, you can’t take that excuse. I already used it.” He’s laughing, and Steve kicks him underneath the table.
“Yeah, yeah, Steve Rogers.” He stops laughing, just smiles. “Steve Rogers,” he repeats, quieter.
“That’s my name,” he says. The ‘don’t wear it out’ is implied.
He glances down at his shake, and stirs it with his straw. “I wanted to find you again for a while,” he admits, still looking down. “I debated about sending you a message for about an hour before I did.”
“I’m glad you did,” Steve says. “I’ve wondered a lot about what happened to you.”
“Do you think…” Bucky starts, looking up. He clears his throat. “Do you think that we could meet again sometime? I just… I feel like this is a second chance, and I don’t wanna mess it up.”
“I’d like to see you again,” Steve says, stomach tingling, and not from the milkshake.
“Cool,” Bucky says, and Steve feels his foot shift against his. He doesn’t move it away.
Steve doesn’t mind, just presses his own foot closer to Bucky’s, and looks forward to their future together.
And The Oscar Goes To Also on AO3 Being publicly in the closet means Stiles can’t go to the Academy Awards with who he really wants, but it’s not like he’s going to win so he doesn’t have to worry about slipping up and thanking Derek in his speech… right?
This one is for my OSA (one sentence anon) who keeps cheering me on and motivating me. I wouldn’t have finished this WIP if it wasn’t for you, so thanks dude, whoever you are!
Earlier in his career, Stiles Stilinski had thought that walking one red carpet meant he had walked them all, but this award season had proved that assumption to be totally false. Walking a red carpet when you’ve been nominated for an award at the show was an entirely new experience. Sure, he had been nominated for People’s Choice Awards and more fan-driven ones before, but this year he had finally broken out of the rom-com and buddy comedy genres and into roles that challenged him. And this year, he was walking the red carpet at the Oscar with the chance to win not just one, but two once he entered the building.
Some had called 2016 his breakout year, others had said they knew that he could do it all along, and others still had questioned his ability to take on some of the more serious roles until they saw the films he was starring in. So here he was, at his third Academy Awards, but this time he was nominated instead of just attending. It had been a nerve-wracking award season that had left Stiles with a Golden Globe, a SAG award, and two Critic’s Choice awards, but none of that would hold a candle to this.
“Stiles, you have to move,” Lydia Martin–his agent and manager–said to him, pushing him toward the final reporter along the carpet. “Smile more.”
Stiles resisted the eyeroll that he could feel building; he didn’t want to be on the cover of some trashy tabloid with his eyes rolled back in his head and a caption commenting on his mental instability or an attitude problem. “Stiles! You look great,” Erica Reyes from Access Hollywood said, her voice sweet as syrup and her lips fire-engine red.
“So do you, Ms. Reyes. Are you sure I can’t convince you to leave your husband and run away with me?” Stiles said with a charming smile. He had gone to UCLA with Erica’s husband Vernon Boyd and they had been, and still were, good friends. Boyd was currently the star wide receiver for the New Orleans Saints and would kick his ass if he were here in that moment.
“Ah ah ah, you know that I’m loyal,” Erica said with a smile. “But what about you? Who are you here with? Have a hot date that you’re hiding somewhere?”
“Of course I do,” Stiles told her. “My dad’s right over there.”
“Oh! Of course he is; he’s your permanent date during award season.” Erica said and then waved. “Hi, Sheriff.”
John Stilinski waved back with a smile, “Aren’t you going to ask me who I’m wearing?”
“I would, but that’s Laura Hale and I need to catch her before she gets inside. She and that hunky artist brother of hers skipped half the reporters already; I can’t let them skip me,” Erica said, giving Stiles a little smile. “It was lovely talking to you Stiles; good luck!”
“I dunno what’s wrong with her Scott, she’s acting like she’s
nervous.” Stiles rubbing his hands together as he thought over catching you last
night, he didn’t know what you were doing but you screamed at him for checking
in on you like he normally did before he went to bed.
“Maybe she’s just out grown you tucking her in?” Scott
offered, waving at one of their friends who had begged the entire pack to
support them at the school’s talent show, Malia had been curious to the pack
ended up agreeing.
“Scott, when there’s a thunder storm she gets in my bed and
makes me call Derek!” Stiles sighed. “Also, have I told you that he never picks
up but he seems to always tell when it’s her calling, even on my phone!”
“Well he did save her from getting eaten by me… Peter,
Isaac, Boyd and Cora so she’s going to trust him I guess.” Scott chuckled but
Stiles shook his head.
For years, the Grammy winner was best known for her experimental music. Then dating Cara Delevingne put her in the spotlight. What’s next, asks Tom Lamont?
Saturday 19 August 2017 06.00 EDT
The musician St Vincent, a 34-year-old Texan whose real name is Annie Clark, is talking about body piercings. Though her outfit today includes such exotic items as a leopardskin onesie and a pink blazer made of some sort of wetsuit fabric, Clark doesn’t have any outlandish piercings herself; she just has droll and strong opinions about them, as she has droll and strong opinions about a lot of things.
“Didn’t it always make you laugh,” Clark says, already laughing, softly, in the museum in London where we meet one summer afternoon, “how people in the 90s who had, like, tongue rings? How they’d always make some sort of comment, intimating that it made them, like, better at oral sex? That was the whole wink-wink thing, right? That a tongue ring meant they were kinda kinky? But then, I guess the challenge – because they were constantly fidgeting with this gross thing in their mouth! I guess the challenge became: no one wanted to get head from them.” She hoots with amusement, just loud enough to turn heads in the hushed museum.
Conversation with Clark is like this: a bit unexpected, a bit arch, a bit sexy. She sometimes speaks so slowly and carefully it’s as if she’s reviewing individual words before committing to them. But, as with the lyrics of the songs she writes as St Vincent – always inventive, always making disarming leaps between ideas – you can never predict where her thinking will travel next. Quickly the chat about oral sex gives way to the matter of her own death, and her expectations of a brisk cremation. Before I know quite how, she’s got me talking about an irrational fear of being buried alive. “Get cremated!” she urges.
I ask Clark – who will soon release her fifth solo album, a follow-up to 2014’s self-titled St Vincent – why she suggested we meet in London’s Wellcome Collection, to combine our interview with a tour around the museum’s collection of antique medical equipment. Clark peers with interest at a display of old enema syringes and explains that in every unfamiliar city, “you should try to see something real and strange”. It was something the Talking Heads frontman David Byrne once advised her about touring the world, and she’s stuck to it ever since.
So far I’ve enjoyed the kind of success where I might get a free appetiser sent to my table. But it’s never a main
That phrase – “real and strange” – describes Clark’s appeal as a musician. She is a generational talent on guitar, one of those poised, unperspiring types who can do the manually ludicrous while hardly appearing to try. Seen live, Clark’s fingers flit over the strings of her instrument with utmost precision – that’s the real in her. The strange comes via the writing and the composition, which on her four St Vincent albums since 2007 have tended towards the experimental and jagged-edged. Lyrically, she might choose a thing (prostitution, CCTV surveillance, prescription drugs) and then chew it over in repetitive, often anguished ways, before elevating the mood with a sudden joke. “Oh, what an ordinary day!” she sang on a track from her last album. “Take out the garbage… Masturbate.”
Genre labels won’t stick to her. Song to song, Clark might channel Björk then Iron Maiden, then belt out a disco number before pretending to be a fey, shoe-gazing whisper-singer. In the manner of FKA twigs or Héloïse “Christine and the Queens” Letissier, she is a performance artist as much as she is a performer; last year Clark played a gig dressed as a toilet, complete with cistern, protruding bowl and flush. And like twigs, who for many years has been in a relationship with the Twilight actor Robert Pattinson, Clark has managed to cultivate a shadowy, unknowable persona while at the same time dating a wildly high-profile superstar. For 18 months or so, until a break-up made public last summer, Clark was going out with Cara Delevingne, arguably the best-known model in the world.
St Vincent and Glass Animals play in London, February 2014. Photograph: London News Pictures/Rex
In the museum, while leaning over a glass display of clay death masks and shrunken human heads, we discuss Clark’s scaling achievements as St Vincent. From album to album, over a decade, her sales as well as her reviews have improved in happy tandem. The most recent album, 2014’s St Vincent, was her best to date, a wild, raucous thing, written in part during Ambien-soaked nights on tour, that eventually won her a Grammy. “It sounds like a very Pollyanna-ish thing to say,” Clark says, “but my ethos has always been to just make the music that I hear in my head. And I’ve been incredibly lucky, so far, that that’s seemed to correspond to external progress.”
Where does she place herself right now in the music industry? “So far I’ve enjoyed the kind of success where I might get, like, a free appetiser sent to my table,” Clark says. “And that’s awesome, I’m thrilled by that.” She fixes a level gaze before adding: “But it’s never a main.”
A word about her hair. Three years ago, while touring and promoting that self-titled record, Clark had a fantastic and unforgettable do – a triangular mountain of silver-bleached curls that made her look, in her own words, “like a scary cult leader”. I half-expected her to show up that way today, under the same teetering pile of silver, but Clark says the bleach killed off that haircut years back. She had to shear off her frazzled curls, “and then my look was less cult leader, more ‘Why do you have a rodent on your head?’”
She has a flair for naming her own haircuts, having cycled through such past constructions as “the Audrey Hepburn with anger issues” and “the Nick Cave minus the receding hairline”, and when I ask about the straightened black parting she has today, Clark decides: “I want to call this one… the Lara-Flynn-Boyle-in-the-90s.”
She isn’t quite such a speedy creator of names for her albums. The new LP still doesn’t have a title. I’ve heard about two-thirds of it and it’s superb – the same appealing, enigmatic, genre-spliced collision of ideas and influences that St Vincent fans cherish, only this time with a sleeker, more accessible through-line that ought to further expand her listenership. Some of the tracks, such as the scratchy, stirring Hang On Me, would work as well over the titles of a grand HBO drama as played through fizzing speakers in a dive bar. There are moments of peculiar, wonderful poetry. “Sometimes I feel like an inland ocean,” Clark sings, on a track called Smoking Section. “Too big to be a lake, too small to be an attraction.”
A number of the songs certainly sound as though they pick over the end of a serious relationship, in particular an astonishing meta-epic she has written called LA, which seems to be about a break-up (“How can anybody have you and lose you and not lose their mind, too?”), while at the same time being about a fiercely avant garde musician’s reluctance to do anything as obvious as write about a break-up. “I guess that’s just me, honey, I guess that’s how I’m built,” Clark sings, “I try to write you a love song but it comes out in a melt.”
Delevingne would be the most likely identity of “honey” here. But Clark is far too cool in person – and too determinedly non-specific as a lyricist – to admit to anything like that. “I don’t love it when musicians speak about their records being ‘diaries’ or ‘therapy’,” she says. “It removes that level of deep instinct and imagination that is necessary in order to make something that transcends.” She adds that such ways of talking too often become “erroneously gendered, in the sense that the assumption from the culture at large is that women only know how to write things autobiographically, or diaristically, which is a sexist way of implying that they lack imagination.”
This being said, Clark concedes, “my whole life is in this record. And this is one of the first interviews I’ve done about it. And I guess I haven’t 100% figured out how to talk about it. I mean…” She laughs suddenly, a brilliant, solemnity-shattering hoot. Clark is aware there will be an assumption that a lot of her new songs are about her ex. “I’ve really got to figure this out, right? If I’m going to ever be able to talk about the record?”
As is her custom whenever she’s finalising an album, Clark has currently placed herself in what she calls “deep nun mode”. Single. Work-focused. “Completely monastic. Sober, celibate – full nun.” I’m pretty sure she’s joking when she adds, in her slow, funny, unpredictable way, “I mean there are always sex plans. But none for, like, a month.”
Photograph: Arcin Sagdic for the Guardian
Clark was born in 1982, briefly an Oklahoman before her parents separated and Clark relocated with her mother and two older sisters to a suburb of Dallas, Texas. “My mom was a social worker. She dedicated her life to doing very admirable things. One of my sisters more or less followed on that path, making the world a better place. But I did not.” Though Clark would see her father during school holidays, she describes her teenage years as “matri-focal”. She was surrounded mostly by women. “And Mom’s mantra was: ‘We girls can do anything.’ She didn’t explicitly call it feminism, but it was baked into our DNA.”
Her mother had a quirky, creative streak.
Once, after she’d accidentally crashed the family car, she was so intrigued by the aesthetics of the wreck, she climbed out to take photographs of it. “There was probably a picture taken of me and my sisters every day of our childhood. Have I seen any of those pictures? No. Has she gotten them developed? Mostly not. It was just her way of feeling safe, I guess, as if things would last for ever because she had documentation of it.”
Is Clark the same in her songwriting? Documenting and so holding on to vanishing events and feelings? “I’m trying to get rid of things,” Clark laughs. “I’m trying to expel them.”
We walk to Regent’s Park, where the warm weather and an outdoor art show have drawn a milling crowd. A sculpture installed by the park entrance resembles a tall pile of replica footballs. Fitting, as Clark was quite a player when she was young, soccer one of an eclectic assembly of high-school interests. “I was probably insufferable. I was the president of the theatre club, the kid who put Bertrand Russell quotes on their wall.” When I ask who her friends were at the time, she does not hesitate: “Oh, the sluts and the weirdos.”
Clothes from a selection, garethpughstudio.com. Styling: Priscilla Kwateng. Stylist’s assistant: Stanislava Sihelska. Hair: Stephen Beaver at Artists & Company. Makeup: Dele Olo. Photograph: Arcin Sagdic for the Guardian
Music was her main obsession. “I was a 10-year-old fan of Pearl Jam and Nirvana, and I would’ve got into a fistfight defending them. Art mattered.” Her maternal uncle, Tuck Andress, was a touring musician, half of a jazz duo called Tuck & Patti, and during the summer Clark graduated from high school he gave her a job assisting his band on tour. Clark enrolled at a music college in Boston after that and lasted a couple of years before dropping out and heading back out on the road, this time as a musician in her own right. She toured successfully as part of the expansive, experimental band the Polyphonic Spree and later as a guitarist for Sufjan Stevens.
She’s always been a political liberal – these days, one in mourning over last November’s election (“I feel like we watched America vote on their daddy issues”) as well as the reign of President Trump, a man she refers to as “a cartoon yeast infection”. As early as her teenage years, Clark had to get accustomed to the fact that a great many political and social norms, predominant in the suburbs where she grew up, were not her norms.
She believes in the essential fluidity of sexuality and of gender. (“Boys!” she sings on a new track called Sugarboy, “I am a lot like you. Girls! I am a lot like you.”) “The mutability of gender and sexuality, as you can probably imagine – that was not a prevalent subject in the suburbs of Dallas when I was growing up. Not even a little bit! And no shade on it now. I love Texas, I’m there all the time seeing family. But I was always gonna get out of there. It felt imperative that I get out of there.”
I can only write about my life, and dating Cara was a big part of my life
In her 20s she moved to New York, borrowing the name St Vincent from one of the city’s hospitals, by way of its mention in a Nick Cave song. (St Vincent’s hospital was where “Dylan Thomas died drunk”, as Cave sang in There She Goes, My Beautiful World.) She released a debut record called Marry Me in 2007 and toured it through Europe to dispiritingly inattentive audiences, carrying away from London a special memory of “playing in a pub where you definitely couldn’t hear me over the crowd”. Between her next couple of records, Actor (2009) and Strange Mercy (2011), her career really started to take off. She performed on US chatshows; wrote and wrote; founded an influential creative relationship with Byrne, after he approached her at one of her gigs. “I was kind of stunned,” Byrne later said, of seeing Clark play guitar for the first time. The pair would collaborate on a celebrated 2012 album, Love This Giant.
By the time her 2014 album won the Grammy for best alternative album, Clark was entitled to ask, as she did ask: “Alternative to what?” Prince came to one of her shows, and she was invited to guest-guitar for the surviving members of Nirvana, later for Taylor Swift. As an award nominee at the Brits in spring 2015, Clark came and went on the arm of Delevingne – and pretty much overnight her public persona became a curious, split thing. As St Vincent, she was a fiercely respected musician, patiently fattening a fanbase in the most honourable way, by writing and recording and touring hard. As the “secret girlfriend” (Metro) who was “secretly dating” (Mirror) Delevingne, she was tabloid feed. Clark saw first-hand what it was like for somebody she cared about to be “hounded, hassled, hacked – all of that stuff”.
‘Certain levels of fame are unenviable’: with Talking Heads’ David Byrne
“Having seen certain levels of fame,” Clark tells me, “having been, y’know, fame adjacent… That in and of itself seems very hectic to me. If it’s a natural byproduct of doing what it is you love? Then great. But there are certain levels of fame that I’ve seen, just by proxy, that are unenviable.”
If the upward trend of her music continues, she might find herself in a similar place, whether willed or not. Clark shrugs. “I can’t control any of that stuff. So what am I gonna do? I’m just gonna keep making music. I know this is another Pollyanna answer, but it’s about the music. Did I write better songs than on the last album? Did I sing them better? Did I play better guitar? Did I connect?”
Maybe it was that I heard a low-quality version of the track, but on a new-album song called Pills there was a minor failure to connect. I misheard the song as having a lyric about somebody being “defamed by fame”, something I took to refer to Clark’s 18-month stretch in a celebrity relationship and all the demeaning wrangling with paparazzi and gossip bloggers that must have entailed. Clark looks panicked and says, no, the lyric was about someone being “de-fanged by fame… What I was referring to was that people’s art sometimes suffers when they get into that too-big-to-fail mindset. How things get really boring when people get too risk-averse, or too comfortable, or when they have overheads that are too high.” She can’t seem to get my mishearing of the lyric out of her head, though. “Oh!” she says eventually. “Maybe ‘defamed by fame’ is better?”
For a moment she seems to be wondering how quickly she can sprint to Heathrow from here, and fly back to America to rerecord it. In the end she decides she’ll let listeners hear what they want to hear. “There is no way to control how people perceive a song. And if you try to, my God, are you in for a sisyphean task.”
In the park we walk up a promenade between neatly manicured flowerbeds. When we settle on a bench, Clark seems overawed. “This is so beautiful,” she says. “I love this. Do you know how hard we’d have to work, in the States, to keep something this beautiful this beautiful?”
With former partner Cara Delevingne in September 2015. Photograph: Dave Benett/Getty Images for Burberry
She’s now ready to address the Delevingne quandary. When the new record is out, reference to her ex will be exhaustively scoured for – it’s already started to happen, as when Clark released a single called New York in June, and Vice responded with a think-piece: “Is St Vincent’s new track a love song for Cara Delevingne?” Nobody trawled through her past writing about CCTV surveillance, or masturbation, in quite that way. “Nuh uh,” Clark says.
She takes a breath. “Right! Um. I’ve always kept my writing close to the vest. And by that I mean I’m always gonna write about my life. Sometimes, in the past, I did that way more obliquely than now. But it’s almost like an involuntary reflex. I can’t help but be living and also taking notes on what’s going on, always trying to figure out how to put that into a song. And that does not mean there’s literal truth in every lyric on the way. Of course not. But I can only write about my life, and that – dating Cara – was a big part of my life. I wouldn’t take it off-limits, just because my songs might get extra scrutiny. People would read into them what they would, and you know what? Whatever they thought they found there would be absolutely right. And at the same time it would be absolutely wrong.”
Clark looks out across the park. “A song that means something very specific to me, a song in which I might be obliquely or otherwise exploring some really dark things, is a song that another person might hear and go: ‘Wow, this one really puts a smile on my face.’ I’m thrilled by that. I’m thrilled that people might take my songs into their life and make whatever suits them out of it.”
Clark nods: done. She lets her gaze travel over the park, over the sculptures in the distance, a couple of which look like giant ice-cream cones.
Earlier, she said that she’d got to a point in her career where strangers would send over free starters. If this new album does as well it should, I start to say… “I know, right?” Clark interrupts. “If I play my cards right? With this album? I might – get dessert.” She hoots.
• St Vincent’s new single, New York, is out now through Loma Vista/Caroline International.
• Opening photograph by Arcin Sagdic for The Guardian
pairing: daveed diggs x reader, lin-manuel miranda x reader, daveed x reader x lin (i think that’s how this should be listed idk)
request: @iamafangirlforeverthing: “Can you write a reader imagine where daveed and Lin compete for her affections and just pure nsfw…” and @itsme-ashley-marie: “Can I get some super kinky role play?!” AND @derpypenguin: “Lin smut with maybe some nice daddy/sir kink with some bondage maybe??”
summary: lin and daveed are both super into reader. she goes with this for a little, before they realize there’s only one way to make them all happy.
International Soccer Player Star Lexa au is and forever will be my dream
The heat rolled off of the pavement in the afternoon. Stagnant and ornery, it listlessly bullied everyone in the streets until they were just as uncomfortable and oppressed, just as mad, just as sweaty and tired and beat up like the harsh summer day. The bustle of the street didn’t stop though, despite the heat, despite the heaviness. Instead, people milled about as best the could, fanning themselves with their hands or papers or ducking into stores, eating ice cream, and failing against nature itself.
Even hated being around drunk people when he was sober.
told, he wasn’t actually that keen on drunk people when he was drunk either.
Alcohol had never really been his thing; he had always preferred
something a bit, uh, greener.
seeing Isak absolutely wasted was proving more amusing than anything else Even
could remember in recent history. He was
currently stood up on the sofa with Eva – it was always Eva who pushed Isak
over the edge from drunk to wasted –
racing her to finish a cup of some horrifyingly strong concoction Vilde had
created. Everyone was crowded around
them chanting drink drink drink like
some ridiculous TV show scene.
wasn’t ridiculous, though, was the delighted look on Isak’s face when he
swallowed down the last of his drink and tossed the cup aside. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were
bright and he was smiling so wide that Even didn’t even care that he’d be
nursing a hungover Isak for the entirety of the next day.
anything to see Isak’s face lit up like that.
the rest of the crowd in cheering for Isak, who was up on the sofa basking in
his moment of glory that he probably wouldn’t remember the next day.
people asked later how he knew what was about to happen he tells them he knew
from the way Isak blinked. One second
his eyes were bright, but after an uncoordinated looking blink they were
completely vacant and Even was surging forwards with the bin firmly in his
the receptacle into Isak’s face mere seconds before his boyfriend lurched
forwards and vomited. The crowd that had
been cheering him and Eva on quickly dispersed, not wanting to be in the splash
zone. Even was vaguely aware of Eva squealing
that Isak throwing up meant she was the real
winner seeing as she’d held her liquor, but he was a bit too preoccupied with
keeping the bin under Isak’s chin to defend his boyfriend’s honour as the
stopped retching Even walked him slowly away from the main bustle of the
party. He ended up sitting a very drunk
Isak down on Eva’s doorstep with the bin in his lap, hoping the cool night air
would sober him up a bit.
having fun, baby?” Even couldn’t help but teasing as he knelt in front of Isak.
call me that, I have a boyfriend!” Isak slurred. He managed to sound outraged even in his
know? I am the boyfriend?” Even
frowned. Isak stared hard at him; his
lips were pursed in a very unimpressed fashion and his alcohol-glazed eyes
managed to convey a severe lack of belief at Even’s statement.
not tall enough t’be my boyfriend.”
Isak shook his head for a second before groaning and doubling back over the
bin, retching some more. And damn, that
was the first time in his life Even had been told he wasn’t tall enough for something.
crouching, Isak. You’re sat down?” Even
tried to explain as he rubbed Isak’s back, but Isak was having none of it.
“No, no! Even didn’t want t’come out tonight; he’s at home!” Isak insisted. And
yeah, okay, Even hadn’t really wanted to watch all his friends get blitzed when
he was just coming out of a depressed few weeks but he also didn’t want to be apart from Isak when he was finally feeling
like himself again.
what: I think it’s time we got you home.” Even suggested. If Isak was so drunk he couldn’t even
recognise his boyfriend of almost a year then it was probably time to call it a
Summary: Harry spoke to actress and new friend, [Y/N] [Y/L/N], recently just before the awards ceremony. Now it’s the after party! Harry’s distracted, searching for [Y/N], and his “Dunkirk” friends take notice. Little does he know [Y/N]’s looking for him, too…
It’s the Oscars after party where all the invited guests are gathered together, seated with new and old friends at round tables with food and bottles of champagne before them; and winners and honorable people give their second speeches. It’s a time for actors and actresses to enjoy a dinner party with their co-stars and colleagues, catch up with friends, and simply have a good time.
Harry stands in a circle with his Dunkirk costars, his feet close together and his arms folded across his chest. His eyes roam the room in search of [Y/N] who he had last seen on-stage accepting her award for best actress. He remembers to nod, chuckle, and mumble an “mmhm” every so often to continue seeming engaged in the conversation while his mind is fixed on finding the girl he had met a several hours prior.
And there she is.
He finds her a few feet behind Fionn, shaking hands and embracing the people who come across her and congratulate her on her award. He smiles in awe as he watches from afar as she interacts with others full of grace and humility.
Harry snaps back into the conversation, realizing all eyes are on him. He clears his throat and fixes his stance, “Erm, yeh,” he tries to sell, “Why?”
“‘Cuz you’re lookin’ at me like yeh wanna kiss me,” Fionn chuckles, the rest of the group’s laughter following.
Harry feels his cheeks burn and bows his head, his eyes now now at his feet. He shakes his head. “Yeh wish, man,” Harry laughs off.
“Who are you looking at?” Christopher Nolan, a man who has become like a mentor to Harry, asks, observing the individuals behind Fionn.
“Nobody,” Harry tries to tell him.
“Were yah lookin’ at [Y/N] [Y/L/N]?” Jack Lowden asks, looking in the direction Harry was. Harry remains quiet, fighting a bashful smile, and the younger boys cheer.
“Yeh like her!” Fionn confirms for him. They all face towards [Y/N] and watch her as she coincidentally makes her away closer to them.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says simply, waving it off.
“What are yah doin’ standin’ here and talkin’ to us? Go over there!” Jack insists, giving Harry a light shove forward on the back.
Harry feels himself hesitate. His body moves forward but his feet remain planted on the ground. He’s conflicted within himself. He doesn’t want to seem overeager but he doesn’t want to miss his chance either. There’s a part of him that’s brave enough and confident to strike up a conversation with [Y/N] while another part is surprisingly sheepish and full of nerves, already set to retreat without even having made a move.
It’s something about [Y/N]— her grace, her charm, her beauty. The way she carries herself. He sees kindness in her, sincerity— a rarity in the industry. She seems different and he wants to get to know her. Looking at her and being in her presence gives him butterflies he’s only ever felt during the big moments in his life.
“Here she comes!” Fionn whispers quickly, “Say somethin’!”
“Mr. Nolan,” [Y/N] says, approaching the group. She extends a hand, “Congratulations on your film, ‘Dunkirk’.”
Nolan returns a handshake. “Call me Chris,” he tells her, smiling, “And thank you. Congratulations, as well.”
[Y/N] then turns her attention to Harry, flashing a smile that send the butterflies inside him free. “Hi, Harry,” she says.
“Hey,” he responds, trying to sound casual, calm, and collected. He gives Fionn a look who quickly receives the message.
“We’re gonna—“ Fionn pauses to think of a solid excuse. “Go to the loo,” he comes up with, “Come on, fellas. I need yah to help me, I’m drunk.”
The young gentlemen follow Fionn to the direction of the toilets while Chris excuses himself to continue socializing, leaving Harry and [Y/N] to themselves. A waiter comes by with a tray full of champagne glasses. “Champagne?” he offers. Harry takes two glasses, thanks the waiter, and hands [Y/N] a glass. “To you,” he grins, raising the glass.
She does the same. “To you,” [Y/N] smirks, before taking a sip. “This is my fifth glass, you know. I’m starting to feel a little woozy,” she giggles as she continues to drink from her glass.
“I’ve had quite a few myself,” Harry chuckles. “Care to take a walk outside?”
“I’d love to,” [Y/N] agrees.
Harry and [Y/N] walk through the garden of the venue, breathing in fresh air and feeling the summer breeze against their skin. The conversation begins with simple questions. Starter questions. They make small talk, discussing work, and simple likes and dislikes. As the night progresses, they slowly open up by relating stories and personal experiences. They talk about where they come from, where they were born and raised, their family, how they got into the business. They come to find they relate well with one another and have many commonalities. Before they know it, the awkward tension is long gone and the night is full of laughter. They soon feel as if they’ve known each other for years rather than just a few hours. The conversation’s very natural with no awkward silence.
Harry notices how [Y/N] can carry a conversation. He likes how she opens up to him and makes him feel like he’s known her. He’s fond of her positivity and light. She can transition from laughter to solemn conversations and deep issues to lighthearted talks. She’s a refreshment to him. And he absolutely adores how she genuinely laughs at all his jokes, finding them surprisingly witty and funny.
On the other hand, [Y/N] is surprised by Harry. He isn’t like the picture she painted in her mind or the image the media created. He was better. He has truthfulness to him and passion. She admires the way he speaks about the things he loves and cares about. He can converse about something so deeply you’ll fall in love with it yourself. He has an infectious smile and is a lot funnier in person. And the best part is: he’s not at all short of being a gentleman.
Harry smiles down at [Y/N] as they sit inches away from each other on a wooden bench behind the tall bush hedges, parts of her face illuminated by the moonlight. She locks her eyes with his, peering into the green orbs in efforts to read what is on his mind in the silence. It’s no secret. He’s captivated by her. The way he looks at her says everything— his expression softens, his eyes in awe, his lips curve, his body relaxes. He takes notice of her every detail. His attraction towards her grows stronger the longer he’s around her. His desire for her builds. She fills him with a sense of wonderment and curiosity. He finds a need to know the heart behind the beauty.
Harry leans forward and presses his lips against hers, leaving all hesitation and rationality behind. There’s no more thinking.
He pulls away after a few seconds, slightly embarrassed by his impulsivity. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I—“
“Do you want to get out of here?” [Y/N] asks, perfectly interrupting his nervous ramble.
A smile slowly forms on Harry’s lips. “Yeah,” he nods. He slips his fingers through [Y/N]’s hand and feels her grip his hold. He leads the way to the parking lot filled with black suburban and calls for a driver.
Request: Emmett finds this girl on the side of the street broken and abused. He takes her to Carlisle and Carlisle fixes her up, but Emmett becomes like a protector for her because he’s drawn to her. (Maybe a parent abusing her, lots of angst) Then her and Emmett get super close and become inseparable and at first it’s friendly but one night she walks in on Emmett taking a shower or something, and I’ll let you take it from there lol (but make it smutty please)
I have received a request to post Stevie’s favorite things (”music, books, food, poets and all things beyond, far and in between”), so I gathered some things from several interviews and Q&As.
I feel that I have to add some sort of disclaimer though - This list could never be a thorough look into Stevie’s likes as she’s a very private person (as she should be!) and I’m far from being an expert. All the things listed here were mentioned publicly and I have no intention of intruding or disrespecting. I hope you enjoy it, and if you think of things I’ve left out, please drop me a line.
It’s almost impossible to gather all the artists, bands, and songs Stevie has cited as favorites in just one place… Nothing I post will do justice to her love of music.
“I have a love of music that goes far beyond what I do onstage.” (Dailytelegraph.au, 2017)
• ”Tom Petty is my favorite rock star.“ (BST Hyde Park Festival, 2017)
• "If you could do a duet with anyone in the world, with whom would it be?”
“I would say James Taylor.” (Facebook Q&A, 2014)
• “So I got got the flamboyancy and the attitude from Janis and then I got the humbleness and the grace from Jimi Hendrix. And then one other thing, I got a little bit of slinky from Grace Slick.” (South by Southwest Music Festival, 2013)
•"I have striven to live up to the songwriting of Don Henley and Glenn Frey, Jackson Browne and Joni Mitchell.“ (1981)
• “If I can sit down and be going through a crisis and I can listen to Joni Mitchell or something and I can feel from her that she understands, even though she doesn’t know me, then, for me… I love that, and that’s what I try to do.” (1976)
Here’s just a little of what she has mentioned over the decades: Her Grandad, Leon Russell, The Everly Brothers, Led Zeppelin, Eagles, Buffalo Springfield, Foo Fighters, Vanessa Carlton, Haim, and so many more. Click herefor a playlist containing 73 songs Stevie has mentioned during interviews.
“Do you have any poets you enjoy?”
“Yes, Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe.” (Q&A, rockalittle.com)
“I think that poets and songwriters have a lot in common because a songwriter really has to be a poet first. That’s how we live our lives. It’s the same kind of thinking. Unlike people who write fiction or make movies, we put our stories into these small little containers filled with mostly short lines and verses. This is how we talk about the way we feel and talk about things and explain the world and ourselves.” (The Creative Independent, 2016)
• The Mabinogion Trilogy - Evangeline Walton
“These four fantasy-fiction books by American author Evangeline Walton (The Prince of Annwn, The Children of Llyr, The Song of Rhiannon and The Island of The Mighty) are based on traditional Welsh myths. Someone sent them to me back in 1978 because I’d written a song called Rhiannon 5 years earlier. Walton started her work around 1934 and finished in 1974, which was right around the time that I wrote Rhiannon, so I felt like when her work ended, mine began.”
• Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys
“Wide Sargasso Sea is inspired by Bronte’s classic Jane Eyre. The novel explores the life of Mrs Rochester, ‘the wild woman in the attic’, in 1830s Jamaica before she was brought to England by Mr Rochester. Jean Rhys wrote this book as a precursor to Jane Eyre because of her love for the Bronte novel. I saw the film adaptation of the book in the early 1990s and it inspired me to write the song of the same name on my album.”
• Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
“I first read Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights (written by Charlotte’s sister Emily Bronte) when I was in college in California in the late 1960s. They are two of my favourite books because they’re just so brilliantly written. The beauty of both these classics is that they were fantastic when I was a teenager and they still appeal to me now as a 63-year-old woman.”
• The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe
“I’ve read all of Poe’s poetry as well as Lord Byron’s and Oscar Wilde’s. He is deep and brooding - you can make many songs from his poems. I like Byron for the same reason - his characters are dark and intense like Lindsey. Oscar Wilde’s work is more flamboyant, but he was a really good storyteller.”
• Out of Africa - Karen Blixen
“This memoir recounts the time Karen Blixen (a Danish author) spent in Kenya from 1914. When I saw the 1985 movie version with Meryl Streep and Robert Redford, it just killed me and inspired me to read the book. Both make me sob so much I can hardly breathe. Later, my assistant gave me a beautiful old copy, which makes me treasure the story more. I even stayed in the Karen Blixen suite at the Hotel D'Angleterre in her native Copenhagen. The relationship between Blixten and the Safari hunter Denys Finch Hatton broke my heart. It’s a book about finding and losing love.”
• The Little Prince - Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“I first discovered The Little Prince when I was in high school and fell in love with the book straight away. My make-up artist has a tattoo of the Little Prince on the side of her leg, so I’m often reminded of what a beautiful story it is. It’s a sweet fable about the relationship between a little boy and his love for a rose. There is such a strong philosophy of love and loneliness running throughout the book that I can’t help but return to it again and again.”
• The Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
“Moonlight (A Vampire’s Dream), a song on my new album was written about New Moon. The song is about what happens when a relationship breaks down or, more specifically, when you are abandoned in some way. I could totally relate to that. I think that Meyer’s stories are magnificent and I’m amazed at how she built her complex world. Writing a song seems much simpler that writing a novel - a song is just five verses and a chorus! I think the love story between Edward and Bella is going to live on forever, like Beauty and the Beast.”
• “Right now I am reading ‘Wheel of Fortune’ by Susan Howatch.” (Q&A, rockalittle.com, 2000s)
• “On the bookshelves are volumes about the Kabbalah, Madame Blavatsky and Arthurian legend; a copy of The Johns Hopkins Consumer Guide to Drugs sits beside Luxury Hotels of the World.” (Stevie Nicks: a survivor’s story, telegraph.uk, 2007)
• “She is gurgling scales along with a recording of her vocal coach while flipping through a new memoir by Janis Joplin’s road manager. ”Look,“ Nicks says, perking up, “I knew Janis wore sling-back heels.” (Rolling Stone, 2015)
• Mentioned: Jean Cocteau’s “La Belle et la Bête”, “Mary, Queen of Scots”, “Julia”.
• Stevie’s favorite horror movie is “The Haunting of Hill House”, however… “Nicks has very little experience with horror: she’s seen only a handful of old horror movies, like “Bride of Dracula”. “They don’t scare me,” she says. “I just love the costumes.” - (AHS:Coven interview, 2014)
• “I can see a movie—say, it’s a movie with Michael Fassbender called “The Light Between Oceans”—and I can’t get this movie out of my head. The tragedy of this movie is so intense and so beautiful you can hardly stand it and you go home and think about it for days afterwards.” (The Creative Independent, 2016)
▬ TV Shows
• “I worked on the edit of my documentary about the making of In Your Dreams. And then I got pneumonia. With my pneumonia and my mother’s death I watched the entire first season of Game Of Thrones—so that was great! That certainly took my mind off everything.” Not only did the series distract the Grammy winner, but it re-ignited her creativity, inspiring her to write some G.O.T.-centric fan poems. Explains Nicks, “I’ve written a bunch of poetry about it—one for each of the characters. On Jon Snow… On Arya…. On Cersei and Jaime.” She also says that she has a talent crush on the author of the Game of Thrones book series, George R. R. Martin, who is her age, and “would love to write some music” for the show. (VanityFair, 2013)
• Among the TV shows she loves, besides American Horror Story and Million Dollar Listing, are The Good Wife, Ugly Betty, Glee, Elementary (“That guy [Jonny Lee Miller] who used to be married to Angelia Jolie, oh my God, he’s amazing. I’d marry him. In a second”), and “all of the creepy shows,” like the Law and Order franchises, Criminal Minds, NCIS, and NCIS: L.A. (Vulture, 2014)
• “Judging Amy is my favorite!” (Q&A, rockalittle.com)
“I ate with Stevie… You have two girls with a sweet tooth, it’s like carnage.” (Chrissie Hynde, talking about Thanksgiving with Stevie, November, 2016)
“I am always on the Weight Watchers diet. I kind of eat food that is fixed for me all over the US. I don’t really get to eat my favorite foods, like vanilla bean ice cream, gelato, cherry pie, and lemon cake, and chocolate chip cookies. I’d love to have them every day, but I don’t. I have to zip back into that long, black, seriously tight dress! (Facebook Q&A, 2014)
“I eat one yogurt every single night right before I go to bed. It’s my, like, special time.”
”Mexican is my favorite, but I don’t eat it very often. I can make a GREAT omelet!“ (Q&A, rockalittle.com)
“It’s so interesting – when my mother was pregnant with me, the only thing she could keep down was enchiladas and refried beans. As for me, whenever I’m sick, the only thing I can tolerate is Mexican food! So the fact that they actually pulled that out of the air was so great. Because if I was ever going to have a restaurant that’s what it would be."
"Stevie really doesn’t have alot of time to cook… but if we can get her to, she makes one heck of a sandwich!! (It’s all about the sauces she makes…) (Ask Lori [Nicks], rockalittle.com)
"I just eat the airline food, but I always get a Starbucks soy latte before boarding.”
"Stevie is an iced tea kind of gal.” (Q&A, Cory Buckingham, 2003)
“I like antiques, I love old things. I must be very old underneath because I love beautiful old things. I love dancing. I love most of all writing songs. I love animals!“ (1977)
”I absolutely still draw. I have 4 drawings out here with me right now. Drawing for me is like a tranquilizer. It puts me into another state of mind and takes me out of the Rock N’ Roll mind and puts me into that drawing I’m working on. I can just sit and draw for hours and hours. It is food for my soul. Someday I will put our my art, just as I have begun putting out my polaroids.“ (Facebook Q&A, 2014)
”Painting in my room that looks over the ocean. That is my favorite thing.“ (Q&A, rockalittle.com)
"I like to decorate! I like to go decorating shopping at furniture stores. I’m constantly changing around the rooms in my house, so that’s something I really love to do. You’ll be at my house one day, and 2 weeks later, you’ll come in and it’ll be different.” (Facebook Q&A, 2014)
“Nicks moves among the collection of colourful Art Deco lamps that stand on every surface, carefully orchestrating the ambient light. ’That’s the famous blue lamp that’s been in lots of photos; that’s a Tiffany,’ she says. ’And so is that one. I don’t know about the others.’ (Stevie Nicks: a survivor’s story, telegraph.uk, 2007)
“Hawaii, Paris, New Zeland.” “I would have to say it is New York City. There is so much energy in the city, and so much to do there. It is a very exciting city for me.” (Favorite destinations, Q&A, rockalittle.com)
“Stevie actually goes out a lot. In every city she goes shopping and out for dinner, at the least.” (Q&A, Cory Buckingham, 2003)
“Stevie also shops a lot, and in perfect female form, jewelry shopping tops her list. She loves it when a group of people, maybe 8 or more, get together for dinner. She can sit and chat and laugh for hours on end. Literally. Although I didn’t travel with the band, and we were very rarely in the same cities, I do know that Stevie goes out a lot on days off. She loves shopping, whether it be for something she actually needs or wants, or just strolling around window shopping. She and her posse go out to dinner a lot, and also spends time writing and taking pictures. She really a lot of fun.”
(Q&A, Cory Buckingham, 2003)
“You want your journals written by hand in a book, because someday, if you have daughters — I don’t have daughters, but I have fairy goddaughters, thousands of them — all of these books are gonna go to them, and they’re gonna sit around just like we are now, and they’re gonna read them out loud, and they’re going to be able to know what my life was.” (New York Times, 2014)
And finally one of the passions I believe many of us fans share with her:
“Yorkies are my favorites because they have such amazing personalities.” (Q&A, rockalittle.com)
A/N: I am SO SORRY that it took me so long to get this out but I’ve been away and I wanted to make this reALLY GOOD to make up for it being so late. (You probably don’t even remember making this request but… I have it on my Tumblr beside me rn on my laptop;)
“The winners of the Florida Annual Mathematics Convention are..”
“The Midtown High Mathletes!”
Applause thundered through the auditorium as MJ stepped up to take the trophy before we all joined her for pictures.
“Kids please listen!” Our teacher rounded us up before continuing.
“We are going to go back to the hotel for the night and in the morning, we are going to spend the whole day at the Disney World Theme Park!”
8:01pm - Tuesday
“Peter? It’s me open the door!”
The door to his room opened and he let me in.
“Hey baby! What are you doing here?” He smiled at me and we went to sit on the bed.
“Michelle went up to the roof to read. I wanted to come see you!” I grinned at my secret boyfriend”
“I love you Y/N,” he smiled.
“You guys are gross.”
We turned around and there stood Ned at the door with three bags of chips and a liter of Pepsi.
“You guys know this is my room too right?” He just shut the door and walked to the other bed.
“Is some of that for us?” Peter asked.
9:34am - Wednesday
“Ok, here are everyone’s passes, we’re going to meet for lunch at 1:30 back here. Make sure that everyone stays in pairs!”
“Hey y/n!” I turn around and see Flash walking towards me.
“Wanna be the other pea in my pod?”
I cringed at his joke before saying, “Actually Flash I was going to-”
“Ok great! Lets go,” He grabbed my arm and pulled me in the direction of the nearest park.
“What do you want to go on first?”
“Um, the Tower of Terror I guess?”
He grinned and pulled me in a different direction.
“As you wish hottie.”
“Don’t call me that,” I narrowed my eyes and ripped my hand from his grip.
“I can walk myself.”
11:53am - Wednesday
“Ned!” I smiled and rushed up to him, where he was standing near the Ferris wheel.
“Where’s Peter?” I asked him quietly before Flash caught up to me.
“He said something about going to the bathroom? I think, yeah.”
I frowned, “Ok,”
“What the hell y/n? Why’d you run away from me?” Flash came up behind us, out of breath.
“Oh sorry I just wanted to say hi to Ned!” I smiled.
He frowned “Ok, well we should go on this!”
I looked up “The Ferris wheel?” I looked at Flash and he nodded. “Ok, I guess. See ya Ned! Tell Pete I say hi!”
“Bye,” He waved and looked back at the ride.
12:20pm - Wednesday
Flash and I had just gotten on the Ferris wheel and were currently heading to the top. We stopped when we got up and I looked down and saw them starting to switch people out. I was looking out at the park admiring the view, when an explosion shook the ground. People started screaming and I felt the entire wheel shift to the side, as the explosion had knocked it’s supports loose. I looked down and saw Ned backing away and looking around, I can only imagine him to be trying to find Peter.
“Oh my god we’re going to die!”
I turned to Flash.
He kept complaining but I just ignored him.
I looked down again and saw that the people on the bottom cars had been evacuated. They were about to move the Ferris Wheel lower to let more people out when another explosion went off shifting it even more.
Then I saw the blue and red vigilante swinging across beams, helping people down.
He got to us after a bit and looked to me.
“Are you ok with waiting miss?” I nodded my head and he took Flash down.
Just as he was about to come up a third explosion came from closer nearby and my cart fell from the ride. I was able to grab onto a bar before I fell, but I could only hold it with one hand.
Spider-Man stares to climb the Wheel, obviously not wanting to risk having his webs dislodge it. He got to above me and grabbed my other hand.
Letting go of the bar I grabbed him and he attached a web to a building nearby and swung us away, right before the wheel fell over.
“Thank you,” I said breathlessly.
“No problem,” he stated as he set me down on the ground.
“Bye!” And he flew away with his webs, as Ned rushed over to me.
“Y/N! Are you ok?” I nodded and hugged him, my hands shaking from the experience.
“Lets head to the meeting spot, maybe everyone will meet there.”
1:07pm - Wednesday
“Well that took long enough to get out,”. I turned to Peter and released another sigh of relief. I kept forgetting that he had found us on our way out and I had immediately ran into his arms, crying about how I was scared.
“Yeah, but that’s what happens when everyone in the park tries to leave through the front gate!” Ned laughed beside us. I smiled and looked forward.
7:55pm - Wednesday
“Ok guys, the park is releasing fireworks in about thirty minutes as an apology. We’re going to leave in 10 minutes and make our way over there to watch.”
Flash raised his hand.
“Why are we going back to where we almost died?” He looked scared.
“Spider-Man caught the people who released the bombs.”
Everyone turned towards Michelle who was at the back of the room.
“Really?” I asked nervously.
“Yes. Now I actually like the fireworks so lets go before we miss it.” She turned and walked out the door leaving the rest of us to follow.
8:37pm - Wednesday
We stood near the castle in the middle of the park waiting for the fireworks to start.
I was standing over to the side where I had a clear view of the sky where the fireworks would go off.
“Hey hot stuff,” I turned to the left and saw Flash standing next to me.
“What do you-”
“You wanna sneak away after this and go somewhere a little quieter so we can have a little fun?” He grinned and put his arm around my waist.
“F-flash I really don’t-”
Suddenly I was pulled away before being spun around. And lips were on mine.
I instantly recognized them as the lips of my secret boyfriend, Peter Parker. I kissed him back before pulling away abruptly and grabbing his forearms.
“W-wait Peter, what-”
“You see this?” He turned to Flash. “This is mine. Stay away from what’s mine Thompson, or you’ll regret it. I don’t like sharing.” He glared at Flash before pulling me away, and over to Ned.
“So I’m yours now?” I grinned at him before he turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“You always were mine.” He leaned forwards and put his forehead on mine.
“It’s just that everyone knows now.”
And with that the first firework of the evening shot into the sky.