Chapter 1: Wanna take you with me
Chapter Text
Nymphia has been at this stupid industry party for an hour and she’s bored out of her skull. She’s spent the past five minutes counting the rhinestones on her dress, counting a few rows before getting lost and starting again.
Ugh, what has her life come to. She’s supposed to be singing little songs and making music videos, not sitting around as record execs and fame hungry musicians and producers mill around a banquet hall. It’s not like she even needs to schmooze.
She grabs another glass of champagne, wanders around the hall. People say hi to her, old rich dudes and managerial women and the occasional newcomer who admires her, and at least it gives her something to do, yet something in her just feels bored. Her friends are doing business things or have decided to skip it altogether, which she is sorely regretting not doing. She looks down at her dress and shoes and smiles. She got these for free at least.
Another half hour and she actually feels like she’s gonna die of boredom. She has a second slug of champagne, then decides to venture out of the banquet hall to see if there’s something, anything else going on.
She wanders down the hallway, which is as dead as the party, poking her head around corners as she makes her journey, regretting the fact that she didn’t grab another champagne glass before this.
She heads to the bathroom, because usually there’s something interesting, good or bad, happening there.
Nymphia pushes open the door, barely paying attention, then jumps when she hears a thump and a yelp.
“Motherf-“ the woman she’s just hit with the door starts, then she and Nymphia make eye contact.
Nymphia looks up at her, and when she says up she means up, because this woman towers over her, looking down at her with big brown eyes and parted lips, platinum blonde hair spilling around her face in waves. She’s wearing a cocktail dress, Versace based off the straps, black leather with a corset built into the front which combined with the low neck practically pushes her tits up to her chin.
Nymphia realizes she’s been staring for too long, but then again, so has the other woman.
She has no idea who she is, probably a musician she’s never heard of based on the look, but boy does she want to get to know her.
They’re still standing in the bathroom doorway, the woman holding the door that just slammed into her, then Nymphia says, “Sorry, I was just coming in here to freshen up.”
“What a coincidence, me too,” the woman says, a hint of an accent in her voice.
Despite the fact that the woman had been exiting the bathroom when they collided Nymphia doesn’t question it and follows her back into the room.
Nymphia stands in front of a sink, absentmindedly adjusting her hair, and the blonde stands a little bit behind her, just kinda looking. From the mirror Nymphia can tell that she’s several inches shorter than this woman, even with her platform heels on, that the blonde’s body in addition to being very tall is shaped like an hourglass, and that she’s very, very hot.
Well, she already knew that, but this is even more confirmation.
She continues playing with her hair, and the blonde continues glancing around at the room, the mirror, Nymphia.
Her eyes meet Nymphia’s in the mirror, and the brunette’s heart skips a beat.
“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” Nymphia says, turning around. “I’m Nymphia.”
“Jane,” the blonde says, shaking her hand. Her hand is freezing yet Nymphia feels heat spread through her.
“What are you here for?” Nymphia asks.
“Industry bullshit.”
Nymphia laughs and says, “I guess we all are, huh?”
“I think there’s some weirdos who actually enjoy it,” Jane says, coming up to the counter and resting her hands on it. “Freaks.”
Nymphia laughs again, and the blonde cracks a smile. This woman feels like the first normal person she’s talked to in, well, this night at least, and it makes her wanna talk to her more.
“Sorry, what exactly do you do? In the industry?” she asks.
Jane’s jaw drops, and she presses a ring-decked hand to her chest. Nymphia’s heart drops. What if this woman is like the CEO of a record label or last year’s highest selling artist or something?
But then Jane laughs and waves her hand, making Nymphia realize it was a joke, and says, “I guess you’re not up to date with Russian pop.”
Russian. That explains the accent that creeps its way into her words. And the fact that she looks like a model.
“Can’t say I am.”
“Well, I make Russian pop,” Jane explains. “I’m trying to transition to English but Russian is so much more fun.”
“Do you live here?”
“Just moved.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
Nymphia hesitates for a second, wondering if she’s being too forward. Maybe it’s the champagne, maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the fact that she’s in a bathroom alone with this Russian goddess.
Then she adds, “If I’d seen you before I would have remembered.”
Jane raises her eyebrows, a devious smirk growing on her face, and in her mind Nymphia jumps for joy at the fact that she got the reaction she was hoping for.
“Nice dress, it would look better on my floor though,” she says, leaning against the counter.
“Going in with another pickup line right after the first one, interesting,” Jane remarks, still smirking.
“I’m an interesting person,” she replies.
“Very true. Speaking of, what is it you do again?”
Nymphia is a little surprised, but she supposes she’s probably not as popular in Russia as she is in other places.
“I’m a singer too,” she says.
“Why are you smiling?”
Nymphia hadn’t realized that she was, but she quickly replies, “Well, other than the fact that I’m talking to a beautiful woman, I’m just surprised you didn’t know me already.”
“Oh, you’re that famous, huh?”
“Number eleven on Billboard singles but who’s counting?”
“Alright, I stand corrected.”
Nymphia smiles smugly. They look at each other, silent, desire brimming. Nymphia wants to kiss her.
The bathroom door opens, a group of laughing women entering, and Nymphia quickly looks away from Jane, the Russian doing the same.
“God, I’m thirsty,” Jane murmurs.
“Yeah, I guess we should go back to the party,” Nymphia says even though her mind resists it. She would rather fuck Jane in this public restroom than suffer through another second of the industry bullshit, but her label and Prada are counting on her to be there, so she has to.
At least now she has Jane.
“Yeah, I guess we should,” the blonde muses.
They stand up straight and adjust themselves one last time, Jane pulling her dress up a little from where it’s slipped. Nymphia watches. Jane meets her eyes in the mirror and grins.
They leave the bathroom, walking back to the banquet hall side by side.
“So, if you’re so famous, why are you here?” Jane questions.
“No matter how successful you are, you gotta do boring shit.”
“Well shit, maybe I should move back,” Jane quips. “In Russia you just blow your manager and they do everything you need.”
Nymphia squeaks in surprise, a hand covering her mouth, and Jane throws her head back in laughter.
“God, you’re so honest,” Nymphia says.
Jane’s bluntness is funny but it honestly makes Nymphia feel good. She has some normal people in her life, of course, but sometimes it feels like there’s a layer of dishonesty, of bullshit whenever she talks to anyone, normal or part of the industry. And here Jane is admitting to giving blowjobs to old Russian dudes in exchange for a music career.
Nymphia likes that.
They enter the banquet hall, and it’s exactly the same as it was earlier, higher ups standing politely and sipping champagne as young creatives kiss their asses.
A photographer raises his camera, and Nymphia instinctively poses, positioning herself so the camera picks up the label on her dress and purse, the makeup on her face. Jane doesn’t strike much of a pose, just raises her chin and looks down at the camera, lips delicately parted.
The photographer moves on, and Nymphia relaxes, then says, “Sorry, I have to show off this dress.”
“Oh, don’t apologize, I get it. Look at me,” Jane says, gesturing to herself decked out in Versace, her gold contrasting to Nymphia’s silver.
“I like your dress,” Nymphia says.
“And I like yours.”
“But it would look better on my floor,” Nymphia finishes.
Jane looks at her exasperatedly, making Nymphia cackle.
“Should have seen it coming,” the blonde says, rolling her eyes.
“I saw an opportunity and took it,” Nymphia says, flipping her hair snootily.
“Nymph,” a high pitched voice exclaims, and Nymphia smiles and turns to see her manager Amanda. “God, I lost track of you there for a second!”
Jane looks annoyed and Nymphia flashes her a quick glance before turning back to Amanda.
“I just went to the bathroom for a second,” Nymphia replies. “Don’t worry, I’m not bailing yet.”
“Just a few more hours, baby, then all these olds will fall asleep,” Amanda says.
She looks over to Jane, who looks her up and down, then extends her hand and says, “Hey, Plane Jane, right?”
“The one and only,” Jane replies, shaking Amanda’s hand loosely.
Nymphia is shocked that Amanda knows Jane, then realizes her manager knew about this goddess standing next to her and didn’t feel the need to share that information with Nymphia. The singer makes a mental note to confront Amanda about that.
“Have you been photographed yet?” Amanda asks Nymphia.
“Yeah, just now.”
“That’s good. Try to get a couple more if you can.”
“Of course.”
Amanda looks at her in that sympathetic but managerial way she does so well, then says, “I know you just wanna leave, but someone’s gotta pay off that Lamborghini.”
Jane’s eyebrows perk up, and Nymphia stifles a smile.
“It’s not too expensive for a star like me.”
“Was the extra 20k for a yellow paint job really worth it?”
“Of course!”
Jane is watching this exchange with a smile and Nymphia resists the urge to smile back.
“Either way, thank you for coming here and showing off the brand,” Amanda says, sensing that the conversation is going nowhere. “Let me know when you head out.”
“Okay, will do.”
She waves goodbye and Amanda walks away, then Nymphia turns back to Jane.
“A yellow Lamborghini, huh,” she questions.
“If you’d been more up to date on pop culture, you would know that yellow is my thing,” Nymphia quips. “And it’s a cool car.”
“Getting driven to a beautiful lady’s house in a Lamborghini, this is the American dream,” she jokes.
“Don’t get too excited, I didn’t drive it here tonight.”
Jane pouts, the sight of her lips jutting out forcing Nymphia to avert her eyes before she kisses them.
“How’d you get here then?”
“Amanda drove me.”
The corner of Jane’s mouth twists down, and Nymphia asks, “You don’t like her?”
“I don’t like anyone who chooses to wear that combination of colors.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t have the best fashion sense, but she’s my manager and I wouldn’t be where I am today without her, so be nice,” Nymphia instructs.
Jane rolls her eyes and reluctantly agrees. She looked hot rolling her eyes. She looks hot all the time.
God, Nymphia wishes they were at a club, bar, restaurant, grocery store, anywhere but a boring industry party where eyes are on her. If they were alone she’d already be naked with a tit in her mouth but instead she’s stuck at this thing.
She looks around for a second, then sees an empty table and asks, “Wanna sit?”
“Only if I get to drink champagne.”
Nymphia sits at the table while Jane gets the drinks, setting one in front of Nymphia and holding the other one as she sits down, rings clanking against the glass. Her fingers are very long. Short nails.
She looks up to see that Jane is looking at her, a sly smirk on her face, and Nymphia is embarrassed at being caught but smiles and rolls her eyes.
“So, what kind of music do you make,” Nymphia asks.
“Slut music,” Jane answers, deadpan.
“I’ve dabbled into slut music occasionally,” Nymphia remarks. “Usually I keep it in the PG-13 range, though.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been PG-13 in my life.”
Nymphia laughs and says, “Well, privately it’s a different story, but I gotta keep the music clean so I can actually make money.”
“Privately it’s a different story, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Nymphia says.
She wags her eyebrows, making Jane laugh.
“Too bad we’re stuck here, huh,” the blonde says.
“I’m stuck, but what’s keeping you here?”
“You.”
Jane makes eye contact with her and Nymphia almost melts.
“Well, the second it becomes acceptable to leave I’ll repay you.”
Jane grins and takes a sip of champagne.
They spend much of the next hour drinking and commenting on the other partygoers, Jane’s comments being entirely negative of course while Nymphia laughs at her accuracy.
The Russian’s honesty makes Nymphia feel more real somehow, like she’s just at home with a friend and not at an industry event. She likes that Jane didn’t know she was famous and now that she does know she’s not treating her any differently. She likes that Jane is absolutely verbally destroying the singer she’s always been annoyed by without moving her face at all.
She wants to kiss Jane, to hold her head in her hand as their lips meld together. She wants to sit on her couch or bed as she slides a dress strap down and kisses her shoulder. She wants to touch foreheads and smile as their noises bump.
But they’re stuck at this party, sitting a professional distance away at the table so people don’t get suspicious.
“I’m fucking starving,” Jane states.
“I know something you can eat,” she jokes, wiggling her eyebrows.
“My god,” Jane replies exasperatedly, making Nymphia giggle. “Trust me baby, you don’t have to tell me twice, but right now I’m hungry for actual food.”
Nymphia’s heart flips at Jane calling her baby, and she says, “Yeah, me too.”
“Are any restaurants gonna be open after this?”
“Other than McDonald’s and Taco Bell, probably not.”
“I love McDonald’s.”
“Oh my god, me too!”
Jane looks surprised and asks, “A big pop star like you eats McDonald’s?”
“Do they even have McDonald’s in Russia?”
“They do, they do. ‘One American cheeseburger for comrade’,” Jane jokes in a heavy Russian accent, making Nymphia laugh.
“Back at home it’s more like, ‘Order more burger, you too skinny’,” Nymphia says in her most stereotypical Taiwanese accent, making Jane burst out into laughter.
“Wait, where’s home?” she asks.
“Taiwan.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I grew up there, but I moved here a while ago.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
“Well you didn’t know me until an hour ago.”
“Fair enough. Why’d you move here?”
“Opportunities. Can’t get to number eleven on Billboard singles if you only make songs in Mandarin. What about you?”
“I guess opportunities too. And the fact that I’m gay and my home country wants to kill me.”
Nymphia’s heart sinks.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she says softly, placing a hand on Jane’s.
“Thanks. It’s alright, I’m here now.”
“And I’m forever grateful for it,” Nymphia states, smiling softly.
Jane smiles back, then looks around and says, “God, talking about burgers made me even hungrier, when is this fucking party going to end?”
Nymphia groans and says, “I’m about to hunt down that photographer and make him take a million pictures of my gorgeous face so I can leave.”
She takes her phone out, then remembers she should post on social media too, at least one little Instagram story showing off the label on her dress to satisfy her ambassador requirements. She opens Instagram, holds her phone up at a selfie angle, fluffs up her hair. She starts recording and poses for the camera, panning it down so the dress is captured then pans back up to her face. Just before she stops recording Jane sticks her head into view and makes a duck face, making Nymphia squeal.
The story uploads, and Nymphia jokes, “How dare you intrude on my promotional material.”
“I’ve gotta get famous in America somehow.”
“Well how dare you look better than me on my own Instagram.”
“Not true,” Jane replies, glancing up and down. “That’s impossible.”
Nymphia smiles bashfully.
Minutes go by, they finish their drinks, the other industry people continue milling around and fake laughing. Nymphia checks her phone to see that her story has thousands of views and likes and a reply from her friend reading, “ok but whos that.”
“back off she’s mine,” Nymphia replies before putting her phone away.
“I mean, I got my picture taken and I posted on social media, what more do they want,” she questions, receiving agreement from Jane. “Hypothetically, what’s stopping me from ditching this place and going to McDonald’s?”
“Nothing,” she grins.
“You’re corrupting me.”
“Yes, the evil Russian is here to steal you away and buy you burgers.”
Nymphia bursts out laughing, and at that moment she knows.
“Alright, let’s blow this bitch,” Nymphia says, standing up and grabbing her things.
She looks around, making sure no one, especially Amanda, is looking, then walks away, Jane following next to her.
“Oh fuck, I don’t have my car,” Nymphia says when they get into the hallway. “I guess I can call a chauffeur.”
“Don’t worry, I have mine.”
Nymphia wonders what kind of car it is as she glances around to make sure they’re not attracting attention. The lizard part of her brain wants to tell everyone that she’s bagged this woman, but the logical part of her brain knows that she doesn’t want the general public to know about her love affairs. So they don’t hold hands, don’t bump shoulders, just walk side by side as Jane leads her to her car, but god does she want to.
The blonde raises her arms in gesture, and Nymphia looks up to see what she’s pointing at.
It’s less of a car and more of a tank, about ten feet tall and wider than a bus, tires that go up to Nymphia’s waist. She assumes it’s a Hummer, and she knew those were huge, but this one seems even more army tank-esque than usual.
Well, it goes with Jane for sure.
“Is this thing street legal?” She questions as the opens the passenger door.
She has to jump and pull herself in, Jane laughing, and Nymphia tells her to shut up.
The inside of the car has leather seats and a feather steering wheel cover and fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror, along with various accessories and trash strewn around.
It’s amazing.
“So, where am I going?” Jane asks. Her hand is resting on the gearshift and it’s hot.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Nymphia replies, grabbing her phone. “You sure you’re okay with McDonald’s?”
“Definitely.”
She looks up directions to her favorite one, the one where the employees know her and say hi every time she pulls up at 2:00 AM after a recording session. Jane turns on the car, and the engine roars, making Nymphia startle, eliciting a laugh from the blonde.
“Just wait until you see the Lamborghini,” she declares.
“Can’t wait,” Jane says as she turns on the music.
The car feels like it’s going to roll over any minute or literally run over a short car, but Jane drives it surprisingly normally. She has one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other casually hanging out the window, eyes steady and focused, and something about it drives Nymphia crazy. She’s close to telling Jane to just go straight to her house and fuck her brains out, but she’s pretty sure the Russian is actually hungry.
So she decides to be patient and wait her turn. Nuggets and fries don’t sound bad right now either.
They get to the restaurant, the drive through line nearly empty, thank god, and Jane asks what Nymphia wants.
“Nugget meal with orange soda and sweet and sour sauce.”
“Orange soda? Are you five years old?”
“Don’t judge me.”
Jane orders a quarter pounder and Nymphia purses her lips in an impressed gesture.
They pull up to the window, and the employee’s jaw drops and she exclaims, “Oh my god, Nymphia? I didn’t expect to see you here!”
“I’m always here,” the brunette jokes. She grabs a twenty out of her purse and hands it to Jane, gesturing to the employee.
She hands it to her, and the employee puts a hand over her heart.
They move onto the next window, and Jane asks, “Do you always tip them?”
“Of course.”
“Well shit, you’re making me look like a monster.”
“It’s not required, they just like me a lot,” Nymphia laughs. “And, you know, rich popstar.”
“No need to flex,” Jane deadpans as they arrive at the next window.
They get their food and drinks, then Jane parks in the back of the parking lot and turns off the car.
“Let’s sit in the back, these feathers are gonna end up in the food,” she says, gesturing to the steering wheel cover.
“Does that mean I have to jump into this thing again?”
“It’s not my fault you’re short.”
Nymphia makes an expression of outrage and exclaims, “I’m 5’5”! You’re just tall!”
“Two things can be true.”
Nymphia rolls her eyes as Jane laughs and gets out of the car.
They sit in the backseat, which is bigger than Nymphia’s entire car, eating and drinking. Jane digs into her burger, then groans and rolls her eyes back in her head. Nymphia’s mind goes blank.
She takes a sip of her soda, and Jane glances down at her lips. Nymphia looks back at her.
A moment passes, then two, then they both lean forward and kiss. It’s soft, gentle, the culmination of all of tonight’s flirting.
Nymphia’s soda slips out of her hand, and she pulls back and mutters, “Shit.”
Jane looks at her hand which is currently covered in ketchup from squishing the burger too much, and the two of them laugh.
“Okay, maybe we’ll finish the food first, then kiss,” Nymphia suggests.
“Good idea.”
They continue eating, Jane musing on the fact that burgers might be the best food ever, Nymphia giggling not because she agrees but because they just kissed. This is the weirdest hookup situation she’s ever been in, meeting at an industry party then grabbing fast food then kissing in the backseat of the car, but she’s not complaining, it’s been amazing. Fun. Genuine.
Jane finishes her meal and Nymphia’s eyes widen, and the blonde asks, “What? I said I was hungry.”
“Sorry, I’m just used to hanging out with people who haven’t eaten a full meal in years.”
She laughs, then says, “You don’t have to worry about that with me, baby,” looking down at her tits.
Nymphia takes it as an invitation to look too.
She kisses Jane again, lingering for a moment, then pulls back and says, “You taste like ketchup.”
“And you taste like chicken nuggets.”
Jane takes a slow sip of her Diet Coke, and Nymphia does the same. Not exactly mouthwash but frankly she doesn’t even care about the taste. She just wants Jane.
They kiss again, Jane’s hands coming up to cup her face, Nymphia’s hands winding in her hair. They make out for a little bit, then Jane moves down and kisses Nymphia’s neck, making her mewl. Jane reaches the neckline of Nymphia’s dress, then reaches down and grabs the hem in an attempt to pull it off but Nymphia stops her. Jane looks at her in confusion, and Nymphia exclaims, “We’re basically in public!”
“Who knows, that might get you more fans,” Jane says, but lets go of the dress and settles for kissing Nymphia again.
They shouldn’t even be doing this, making out in a parking lot, where even though it’s dark anyone could theoretically see, but Nymphia is too far gone to care. She should tell Jane to drive home, should stop this before it goes too far, but they’ve been holding back for hours and now she’s finally experiencing her.
“God,” Jane murmurs, leaning over to kiss Nymphia’s jaw. “You don’t know how much I want to fuck you right now.”
Wetness gushes between Nymphia’s legs.
Yeah, they’re not going home first.
Nymphia scoots over so she’s pressed against Jane, then straddles her, kissing the whole time. Jane grabs her ass, then dips her hands under her dress, touching her bare skin. Nymphia whines and moves her hips, grinding against Jane’s dress.
They stay like that for a little more, then Jane murmurs, “Hey baby, can you get up for me for a second?”
Nymphia is slightly confused, but swings her leg back over so she’s kneeling on the seat next to Jane instead of straddling her. The blonde moves so she’s crouched in front of her, then pats Nymphia’s leg and says, “You might wanna get comfy for this.”
Nymphia isn’t sure what Jane’s plan is but extends her legs anyway so she’s sitting like normal with her legs on either side of her.
Jane gets onto her knees, looking up at Nymphia with a devilish smirk, then pulls the bottom of her dress up.
Oh.
Strong hands pull down her panties, then Jane’s mouth is on her and Nymphia cries out. Jane has her hands on her thighs, tongue working at her clit, and waves of pleasure ripple through Nymphia’s body. She tangles one hand in Jane’s hair, the other gripping the headrest behind her, and the blonde eats her out even harder. She licks up her slit, then wraps her tongue around her clit, then goes back down, consuming her. Moans and gasps escape from Nymphia’s mouth as Jane eats her out, tension coiling in her body, and she grabs her blonde hair even harder in encouragement.
Soon, she feels her orgasm approaching, and she moans even more, shaking under Jane’s grasp. Jane continues to lick, continues to explore, tongue drawing patterns on Nymphia’s cunt that set her nerves on fire.
She tells her that she’s about to come, and almost as soon as the words come out she’s over the edge, muscles releasing as she comes.
She breathes heavily, and Jane sits up from between her legs, wiping her mouth with her thumb. Nymphia wants to say something, but her brain is mush. She rests her head against the car seat and exhales.
“Don’t give out on me, now,” Jane says, cupping Nymphia’s face with one hand.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
Nymphia raises her eyebrows, and Jane does the same, tilting her head in challenge.
Nymphia breaks the eye contact and grabs her orange soda off the floor, making Jane laugh.
“I need electrolytes,” Nymphia deadpans.
Jane takes a sip of her drink too, then sets it down and climbs up onto Nymphia, knees parted around her legs but unable to kneel because her dress is too tight.
“Fuck, this thing is like a straitjacket,” she grumbles, attempting to pull it up so she can move. Nymphia smiles but mostly at the fact that Jane, more specifically Jane’s tits, is inches away, towering over her in a way she can only stare in awe at. It was very nice to see Jane on her knees but Nymphia likes her like this more, tall like the goddess she is.
She presses her mouth to the skin of Jane’s breast, eliciting a sigh. Nymphia pulls the neckline of her dress down just enough to free her nipple, then wraps her lips around it. Jane moans as Nymphia sucks, wrapping a hand around the back of Nymphia’s head and pressing the other one into the seat to hold herself up.
There’s a loud car honk, then one in response, some people nearly colliding in the parking lot. They both pull back and look towards the noise, then after verifying it’s unrelated look back at each other.
“Yeah, maybe we should go somewhere more private,” Nymphia says.
Jane pouts, then smiles softly and replies, “I suppose it’s not the best idea to get in trouble for car sex.”
“Amanda would actually kill me,” Nymphia says. “Do you want to go back to my house?”
“I would love to.”
They fix their clothes, get back into the front seats, readjust themselves to look slightly less like they just had car sex.
Even though it was slightly terrifying, it was really fucking hot, and Nymphia is very glad they took Jane’s car instead of hers.
She types her address into Jane’s GPS, and they drive, silent but not awkward, just comfortable.
They get to the house, and Jane mutters, “Wow,” looking up at it through the windshield.
“You can admire it tomorrow,” Nymphia says as she gets out.
“I can,” Jane agrees.
They walk down the driveway, grinning at each other, ready to finish what they started.
Nymphia wakes up to Jane cuddling her in her sleep, arms wrapped around her shoulder, and smiles. It’s slowly coming back to her that she left the party early, that she didn’t tell Amanda, that she literally had sex in a car in a McDonald’s parking lot because she was so whipped.
But right now, drowsy from a good night’s sleep, Jane’s warm skin pressing into hers, all she cares about is closing her eyes and savoring this morning.
Chapter 2: Wrap you up
Summary:
The morning after.
Notes:
So yeah I continued :) these bitches got my heart
Chapter title from Summer Bummer by Lana which is a big inspiration for this fic
Chapter Text
Nymphia stays in bed as long as her bladder lets her, then stands in her room for a second, recollecting her thoughts. Jane is still fast asleep, snoring softly, and Nymphia smiles. Their dresses and shoes are in a pile on the floor and she winces and picks them up, brushing out any wrinkles that may have been accrued. When she glimpses herself in the mirror, makeup smeared, hair ruffled, circles under her eyes, she winces and goes back to the bathroom to fix that. Her pillow is streaked with makeup too and she tosses it into the laundry pile in the closet.
She thinks about how that makeup got there, the way her face was pressed into the pillow as Jane…
She pushes those thoughts to the back of her head. It’s too early for that.
She tidies up the room overall, hanging up their dresses, setting their shoes and purses on a chair, smoothing out the sheets.
Anything to delay checking her phone.
Eventually, though, avoiding it is worse than getting it over with, so she goes to the kitchen, grabs a snack, and turns her phone on.
There are dozens of notifications, some from friends, one from her mom, and, most worryingly, some from Amanda.
10:16: Where are you??
10:17: Nymphia??
10:17: Nymphia please don’t leave yet
10:18: Have they gotten any pics of the purse yet??
10:19: Please don’t tell me you left
10:20: Respond plz
10:21: Nymphia update me please
10:45: Someone said you left with Plane Jane
10:45: Nymphia we do not have time for this
11:23: Someone got a pic of you two at McDonald’s
11:23: Please tell me you wore a seatbelt in that car
Nymphia’s heart drops at that recent one. A picture of the two of them at which part of the McDonald’s visit, exactly?
There’s more texts, mostly Amanda realizing that Nymphia isn’t gonna respond and just telling her to be safe and let her know when she’s ready to talk.
10:36: wait they got a pic??
Her heart thuds.
10:37: Yes they got a fucking pic Nymphia!
10:37: of what
10:38: What do you mean of what?
Nymphia glances around nervously.
10:39: like is it just us in the drive thru or
10:39: It’s “just” that, yes
10:39: Did you guys do anything else?
“Boy did we,” Nymphia mutters.
10:40: Nymphia
10:40: You’re raising my blood pressure
10:41: no we just got food and went home :)
Amanda starts typing, then deletes it. Nymphia can practically see the scolding look on Amanda’s face.
It kinda makes her smile, the forbidden romance of it all, but she knows her manager is going to have some words next time they talk. Which will probably be very soon considering pictures of her and Jane are out there.
“Hey.”
Nymphia startles and turns to see Jane. She’s wearing one of Nymphia’s old Gucci shirts and some gym shorts, both of which are way too small on her, but Nymphia isn’t complaining.
“You scared me.”
“Do people usually not stay the night?”
Nymphia rolls her eyes playfully and says, “No, usually I have to kick them out, but Amanda is freaking out.”
“Of course.”
“I told you to be nice.”
“And I didn’t have a lawyer present,” she deadpans.
Nymphia laughs. Jane sits next to her, grabbing a chip out of the bag casually. Even with day old makeup and dark circles, she’s still fucking stunning.
“I’m still mad she knew of your existence and didn’t tell me,” Nymphia states.
“Would you have slid into my DMs?”
“Yeah.”
Jane smiles and says, “You know what, I would have responded.”
“I’m offended you had to think about that.”
“And I’m offended we’re eating chips for breakfast, don’t you have a personal cook or something?”
“Well someone had me a little too distracted to call her last night,” Nymphia quips, tilting her head, shifting so she’s closer to the blonde.
Jane kisses her, just a small peck, then stands up and walks to the fridge.
She emerges with a piece of pizza Nymphia doesn’t even remember having, then looks around and says, “Your house is gorgeous.”
She grins proudly and says, “Thank you. It’s not super big, but it’s cute.”
“Not super big,” she replies incredulously. “Your bathroom is bigger than my entire apartment.”
“Well, not as big as it could be.”
“Oh right, I forgot you’re famous ,” she says dramatically.
Nymphia flips her hair and says, “It’s true, I’m so rich and famous I could buy an enormous mansion but I’m humble like that.”
Jane bursts out laughing, making Nymphia smile too.
“You haven’t even seen the backyard yet,” Nymphia says.
She stands up and starts walking to the back without waiting for a response. Jane follows her, still holding the mysterious pizza slice. Their hands drift together and Jane clasps hers. Nymphia clasps it back.
They exit the back door and Jane’s jaw falls open. She looks at the porch, the pool, the grass, the trees and flowers that line the borders. Nymphia lets her soak that in for a minute, then walks to the side of the house and gestures to the view of the ocean. Jane looks at it in awe.
“The reason the house is small is because of that view,” Nymphia says.
“First of all, the house is not small, get that out of your head,” Jane says, holding up a finger. “But god, this is amazing.”
They appreciate the view for a moment, then Jane takes another bite of the pizza.
“Sorry, I’m still hungry.”
“Don’t apologize. I think the only reason I’m not hungry right now is because I had plenty to eat last night.”
She winks exaggeratedly, and Jane says, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“And you’re lucky you’re hot so you get to enjoy this view. Anyways, let’s go back inside, I didn’t put on sunscreen.”
“We’ve been out here for two seconds,” Jane says as Nymphia leads her back into the house.
“And a woman so famous as myself needs to take care of her skin.”
She can practically feel Jane’s eye roll and smile.
They get inside, then Nymphia leads them to a couch, barely waiting until Jane has sat down to kiss her. She responds eagerly, leaning over to reciprocate the kiss, cupping Nymphia’s face.
They get to make out for two seconds before Nymphia’s phone rings. The brunette groans and pulls back, rolling her eyes at the interruption.
It’s Amanda, and Nymphia very much wants to ignore it but she also wants to keep her as a manager, so she picks up. Jane looks at her with raised eyebrows and Nymphia mouths sorry.
“Nymphia-” Amanda starts.
“Sorry bestie, I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Nymphia interrupts.
Jane snorts and Nymphia smiles, like they’re conspiring.
“Well, make time,” Amanda commands. “The pictures are already all over social media and page six.”
“Am I going to be famous,” Jane says, making Nymphia laugh and shush her.
“And Nymphia, I know she’s hot and everything, but we really don’t need any dating-“
“She called you hot,” Nymphia says to Jane.
The Russian flips her hair and says, “So we know she has some working vision.”
“Nymphia, is she there with you?” Amanda asks.
“Hi,” Jane says loudly, making her and Nymphia laugh silently like they’re in school.
Amanda audibly sighs and says, “You know what, it’s a Sunday, I’ll let you have the day off, but then we’re talking about this, okay?”
“Talking about how I fucked her so good-” Jane says exaggeratedly, and Nymphia’s jaw drops as she tries to cover the phone’s speaker.
“Sorry about that bestie, yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow,” Nymphia says into the phone.
She hangs up before either of them has a chance to say anything else, then her and Jane burst into laughter.
“You’re trying to get me fired,” Nymphia jokes between peals of laughter.
“I would never do such a thing,” Jane replies in a saccharine tone. “Unless it gives us more time to sit around in this mansion and fuck.”
“Jane, you minx!”
She looks her up and down then continues, “But, you know, if you wanted to do that right now I wouldn’t really mind…”
“Oh, baby, all you had to do was ask.”
Nymphia emerges from the couch on wobbly legs to get a cup of water. Amanda has sent some screenshots of social media posts, and she looks. It’s just a picture of them waiting at the drive through, thank god. They both look hot, too.
“Nymphia Wind seen in car with unknown woman,” she reads aloud.
“Unknown?!”
“Oh, this one names you.”
“What kind of irrelevant bitches,” Jane starts, walking over to look at the phone. “Everyone in Russia knows who I am. Or they’ve at least seen my tits.”
“Well, they’re gonna know now. And what was that about your tits?”
“They’re popular. And now you get to join in on the fun.”
Nymphia laughs and says, “I’m honored.”
Her friends have been texting her about Jane too, and Nymphia grins. Somehow she pulled this woman even without her knowing who she is, and now everyone knows. Even if it just becomes a one night stand she has the bragging rights.
She really, really hopes it’s not just a one night stand, though. Jane isn’t just hot, she’s funny, witty, interesting. They haven’t talked that much but Nymphia feels like she knows her, that she’s known by her.
“I guess we should finally look each other up,” she suggests.
“See what all the fuss is about,” Jane says.
She walks to the bedroom to grab her phone, the shorts riding up even more. Nymphia likes those shorts but she’s more than willing to give them up to get more of this view.
She googles “Plane Jane” and is greeted with red carpet pictures of the woman who just walked off, along with her social media, Wikipedia, albums.
She thinks about it for a second, then follows her on Instagram.
“What’s your name again?” Jane asks as she comes back into the room.
“Nymphia Wind,” she says dramatically.
“How do you spell that?”
Nymphia kind of loves her for this.
She grabs the phone and types her name, then asks, “So why are you called Plane Jane?”
“Because a lot of people ride me.”
The visual image pops into Nymphia’s mind and she makes a mental note to follow up on that later.
“Why are you called Nymphia Wind, that’s not your real name,” Jane questions.
“Nymphia is.”
“Really?”
“My mom is insane.”
“One hundred million followers,” she says incredulously.
Nymphia feels bashful even though usually she’s more than okay with showing off her accomplishments.
“And when you follow me I’ll have a hundred million and one.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m going to do that,” Jane says as she hits follow.
“We have paparazzi pictures and we followed each other, the fan accounts are about to go wild,” the brunette says. “Sorry in advance if your phone blows up.”
“Don’t be sorry, I love attention.”
She loves her a little more.
Nymphia clicks on Jane’s Wikipedia page. It’s in Russian, a language and writing system she has absolutely no knowledge of, but the numbers remain the same.
“You’re twenty-six,” she questions. “Oh my god, I thought you were like forty.”
The words slip out of her mouth before she has a chance to think about them, and she now realizes that might not have been the best thing to say, but hey, it’s what she thought.
Jane’s jaw drops, and she stares at Nymphia with an expression that she can’t quite place but knows is not a positive one.
“You’re well spoken!” Nymphia continues, trying to explain her reasoning. “And you have a MILF vibe!”
“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” Jane says after a moment.
“Sorry,” Nymphia murmurs, pouting.
“All this time we’ve spent together and you thought I was a fucking babushka,” Jane remarks.
“I told you, it’s because you seem too smart to be in your twenties! People always think I’m a teenager!”
“Sorry, you’re gonna have to speak up, I can’t hear you with my elderly ears.”
Jane smiles, then leans down and kisses her.
They look at each other for a second, then Nymphia asks, “But you are actually twenty-six, right?”
Jane looks at her incredulously, then says, “I am indeed twenty-six, and if you say I look old again then I’m meeting you in a back alley.”
“Nooo,” Nymphia whines.
She loosely wraps her arms around Jane’s neck and says, “I would let you beat me up because you’re so pretty but it would be better if you didn’t.”
Jane laughs, revealing her little bunny teeth that Nymphia is obsessed with, then looks back down and says, “I would avoid your face. Just go for the kidneys.”
“So thoughtful.”
They kiss again, slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world, which for now they do. It’s a warm Sunday afternoon, why not kiss a hot girl in the kitchen? Out of the corner of her eye she sees notifications, probably about her following Jane on Instagram, and chucks her phone onto the nearest barstool. Jane laughs against her mouth and Nymphia kisses her harder.
“Oh fuck,” Jane says, breaking the kiss and grabbing her phone. “I forgot to plug the automatic feeder in, fuck.”
“Automatic feeder?”
“For my cats.”
Nymphia lights up.
“You have cats?!”
Jane smiles proudly and holds up a picture of two cats, one black and one orange. Nymphia pouts and puts a hand over her heart.
“But I haven’t fed them since last night so they’re going to be very mad at me,” Jane says.
“Oh no,” she replies. “Well shit, go feed the babies!”
“But I don’t want to leave.”
Nymphia’s heart swells.
“I don’t want you to leave either, but you need to go feed your babies.”
Jane shrugs in agreement, then gives her a goodbye peck and turns around.
Nymphia says, “Wait.”
“What?”
“Can I have your number?”
Jane smiles and says her number out loud as Nymphia jogs to the barstool to grab her phone.
She inputs the contact, saving the number with an airplane emoji, then says, “You know, you could always bring the cats over here.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Jane runs up the stairs, coming back with last night’s clothes and her purse. She’s still wearing Nymphia’s clothes but the brunette doesn’t care one bit.
Jane walks over and gives her one last kiss.
“But for now I need to feed them before they start eating my shoes.”
“Byeee!”
“Bye, zajchik. ”
Nymphia doesn’t know what that means but Jane speaking Russian is hot so she smiles.
She leaves, and immediately Nymphia wishes she was back. She walks around idly, checks her phone, stands outdoors and admires the view, but they’re only temporary distractions from the woman that just left her house.
She forces herself to wait an hour, then texts,
did u make it home safe?
A minute later, a picture of the cats looking at the camera comes in.
Boris and Chubais say hi
Nymphia sends a yellow heart, then receives a smiley face from Jane.
She’s giggling over a text exchange like she’s in high school again but can’t even be ashamed. She really likes this bitch.
Nymphia pulls up her google search of Jane again, looking at the pictures to try to find one for her contact. She looks stunning in all of them, but none of them feel right for a contact picture.
send a pic i can use for ur contact
A few minutes pass, then Jane sends a mirror selfie, bending over slightly, close mouthed smiling at the camera. She’s still wearing Nymphia’s clothes, the ones that are way too small yet look like they’re meant to be that way on her.
Nymphia responds with a selfie of her own, just her smiling and doing a peace sign.
She gets an arrow through heart emoji in response that makes her grin ear to ear.
She spends the rest of the day lounging around, telling her friends what happened last night in varying levels of detail, getting celebratory responses from all of them but especially Xunami and Plasma.
get it girl! Plasma texts.
mommy says Xunami
Nymphia tries to listen to Jane’s music but hears one second of the aggressive electronic music and decides that she’s too tired to listen to it right now. She wonders if Jane is listening to her. If she’s telling her friends about her. She opens their text conversation again.
Boris and Chubais say hi
When the air has cooled and the sun has set, crickets chirping idly from their trees, she goes back up to her room and flops onto the bed, breathing in her and Jane’s scents mixed together.
Tomorrow she’ll worry about Amanda. Tomorrow she’ll worry about the fact that the cat is definitely out of the bag with regards to their…hookup? Situationship? She doesn’t know. Tomorrow also means figuring that out.
Yet all that stuff doesn’t scare her as much as it should. If it wouldn’t potentially make things awkward she would post that mirror selfie right on her main.
She’s being stupid, she knows, they’ve only known each other for one day, yet this feels different. Jane feels different.
She sends a goodnight text, then turns her phone off and bundles up under the sheets.
Chapter 3: Baby you can have it all
Notes:
Featuring Jane’s strap on and bossy bottom Nymphia
Chapter title from Exodus by MIA
Chapter Text
At 9:00 AM on Monday morning, Amanda texts,
Are you ready to talk now?
Nymphia eats a healthy breakfast, shifts into professional mode, steels herself for her manager’s inevitable lecture, then presses the call button.
“Hey,” she says.
“You ready to stop ignoring me?”
“I wasn’t ignoring you, I was just…waiting.”
“Is her car still parked in your driveway?”
“No, but how did you know that?”
“I didn’t, but you just told me it’s true, Nymphia,” she says exasperatedly. “You gotta be careful about these things.”
“I know, I know, I just…ah,” she replies, giggling at the thought of Jane. “I can’t help it, Amanda, I like her.”
“And that’s great. But what happens if she doesn’t like you back and the fans never stop asking about her?”
Nymphia gasps and scolds, “Amanda!”
“I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s the truth, Nymph. You’ve known each other for one day and you’re already following her on social media.”
“That doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Not according to the fans, girl. They’re already speculating.”
Nymphia wonders if it can still be called speculating when they’ve already done what the fans think they’re doing but digresses.
“What’s our ship name?”
“Nymphia.”
“What? I’m just asking.”
“We don’t need a ship name, we need you guys to calm down.”
“How can we calm down, neither of us posted or anything.”
“But you want to.”
Amanda knows her so well.
“I don’t think it’s just a one night stand,” Nymphia states. “She sent me a picture of her cats!”
Amanda sighs.
“I know you like her,” she says after a moment. “And I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I’m just saying that you should…be careful. Especially with this one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing research-“
“You’re such a stalker.”
“I know,” Amanda groans, and Nymphia can feel the eye roll through the screen. “Girl’s infamous, in Russia at least. Publicity stunts left and right, political protests, arrests, sex tapes…”
Nymphia grins and glances around.
Silence, then Amanda says, “Some people are gonna get real mad if they find this stuff out.”
“I know, I just…ugh, sometimes I wanna just quit and become a recluse so I don’t have to deal with this shit.”
“Girl, you could never.”
“I know,” Nymphia laughs. “Can you imagine? But anyways, I swear I’ll take it slow or whatever. Pinky promise.”
“I just don’t want it to be like it was in the past.”
Nymphia’s mouth twists down at the memories.
“I told you, I’ll be careful,” she vows.
“Alright,” Amanda concedes, clearly not convinced but not wanting to press the issue further. Well, she sounds like that most of the time. Nymphia has always been proud of her stubbornness. And the fact that Amanda still hasn’t quit on her no matter how badly the blonde clearly wants to sometimes.
“Anything else?” Nymphia asks.
“Well, I could tell you to work on new music, but…”
“I told you, Amanda, I’m too old, too classy to make an album every year.”
“I know, I know, but it’s been a year and a half and the studio has told me you haven’t been there once in three weeks.”
“Snitches.”
“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get back in the swing of things.”
“And it wouldn’t hurt to make the fans miss me a little.”
She feels her hair and scrunches her face at the greasiness. The fact that Jane was willing to put up with this shows that she’s not just a one night stand.
“Alright, I’ll let you go,” Amanda says. “Just remember what I told you. And no posting her, she can’t post you, no public interactions please. ”
“Alright, alright,” Nymphia replies. “Bye Mandy.”
She can hear a split second of Amanda sighing before hanging up.
She knows Amanda is right. She knows that the combination of her level of fame and fanbase ensures that whenever she shows the slightest interest in someone, and god forbid engages with them or starts a relationship, no matter how short lived, it’s always remembered.Sometimes she’s okay with it. Sometimes just seeing an ex’s name will make her burst into tears. It’s been five years since she locked lips with that one R&B singer and every day she gets tagged in an edit of the two of them. She’s mostly impressed by their dedication.
And now Jane has officially crossed into that threshold. The stans are probably following her on masse right now. Nymphia hopes she didn’t have her notifications on. That she’s not mad at her for the outpouring of attention.
As if on cue, Jane texts her, and she eagerly opens it to see a picture of the black cat “wearing” her shirt, its little head poking through the neck hole and looking very confused.
He likes it
Nymphia immediately hits the heart button and replies
looks better on him than on you, a winky face emoji at the end to make sure Jane knows it’s a joke.
Jane sends back a selfie of her lying in bed, middle finger raised to the camera. It’s a very long middle finger. Nymphia thinks fondly back to when it was inside her.
She tries not to be horny at 10:00 AM, but how can she not be when this perfect woman is texting her?
Another text comes in.
Bastard woke me up
Nymphia giggles and replies,
well, amanda woke me up
How dare she
so rude
Another winky face emoji. She’s in a winky mood today. Digital flirting since she can’t do actual flirting right now.
I’m going back to sleep Jane texts.
sleep well
dream of me
She doesn’t get a response immediately, then comes in a simple smiley face.
She’s really giggling over a smiley face emoji.
She turns on the shower, then sends one more text as she’s waiting.
a certain manager told me you have a certain
*video* out there
When she gets out of the shower, she sees that Jane has replied,
She’s only found one?
Smh
Research harder
Nymphia somehow laughs and gets slightly turned on. What kind of magical powers does Jane have.
She sits outside and, feeling both energized from the shower and wanting to know exactly what kind of fan reception they’re getting, opens Twitter to see what’s going on.
@bananabuttha
idk who this bitch is but Werk
@nymphiaswind
she bagged herself a big titty slavic gf and i love that for her
@windbeneathmywings
NYMPHIA DATING AGAIN?!
“We’re not even dating,” Nymphia mutters to herself, then smiles at the thought.
@statenislandsissy
POP FUCKING EMERGENCY
@girlscoutpookies
Nymphia wind dating the girl who pegged a fake Putin in a music video was not on my 2024 bingo card
Her eyes fly open, and she sits in shock for a second before sending that tweet to Jane followed by a ??
@samsopinions
the power couple we need
@carriecarried
Oh I know the breakup album is gonna EAT
Nymphia’s mouth falls open at the audacity.
@nymphiasrosetoy
nymph dating plane jane to establish superstardom in russia followed by the rest of the world iktr
Jane texts her back.
Are you looking me up ;)
i’m about to tf
A moment, then Jane sends a link. Nymphia wants to keep scrolling through her indirects on Twitter but, well, how is she not gonna watch a music video where Jane is pegging a fake Putin?
The video starts with her standing in the skimpiest bikini and holding a dildo and Nymphia perks up a little.
Jane’s singing voice is deep and husky like her speaking voice, and she rotates between rolling the words off her tongue and spitting them out, her voice and the backing music creating a cacophony in the best way. She doesn’t know what she’s saying at all but it doesn’t matter, this shit is a bop.
Then, sure enough, Jane is pegging a Putin lookalike, in a humorous way of course, but that doesn’t stop Nymphia from pressing her legs together a little bit more.
She’s so down bad she’s getting aroused over Jane pretending to fuck the dictator of Russia.
The video ends, and she texts,
hot
idk russian but i’m guessing that was a political song sksns
No I just want daddy Vladimir to take my cock
Yes it’s a political song
Nymphia laughs.
so uh
is there anyone else you would like to take your cock
Just name a time and place baby
Also why are so many teenage girls following me
Nymphia grins, and just as she’s about to reply she gets a text from Amanda.
Some new songs just came in! Have a listen
Nymphia does not want to have a listen, she wants to get fucked within an inch of her life, but she also doesn’t want to piss Amanda off more, so she listens.
But first, she texts,
well i don’t have any plans for the rest of the day…
or week
teehee
Almost immediately, a response comes in.
A picture of a GPS screen showing that she’s thirty-two minutes away.
Nymphia can’t even be embarrassed at the squeal that escapes her lips.
Yeah, the songs can wait.
She jogs around the house, putting dishes in the sink, opening blinds, making the bed. She knows Jane saw all this shit already considering she was here twelve hours ago but who cares.
When Jane shows up, Nymphia wraps her arms around her neck and kisses her hard, standing on her tiptoes to be closer. Jane kisses her back for a second, then pulls back, delicately cupping Nymphia’s face. Nymphia looks at her in confusion.
“It’s 11:00 in the morning.”
Nymphia pouts and says, “11:30.”
“Still too early for fucking.”
She kisses the top of Nymphia’s head then walks into the house, looking around.
“Oh yeah, why the fuck is everyone commenting yellow hearts on all my pictures?” she asks.
Nymphia laughs and says, “They’re my thing. Well, mine and the fans’.”
“And they’re commenting on my stuff because?”
“Because they know we’re together, dumbass,” Nymphia laughs. “Or, like, fucking or whatever.”
“Together is a nice word.”
Nymphia smiles like an idiot.
“Well, they know that we’re together,” she confirms. “They’re never gonna stop commenting yellow hearts or telling you to stream OTT, just so you know.”
“Noted.”
“Also, Amanda says we can’t have any public interactions.”
“What about private interactions?” she remarks, smirking.
They kiss, then Nymphia asks, “If it’s too early for fucking, what’d you come for?”
“My god, can’t I just spend time with you? Needy bitch.”
Nymphia goes a little weak in the knees.
“Just asking.”
Jane takes off her shirt, revealing a red bikini top underneath, and says, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to go swimming.”
“Is it warm enough for that?”
“You don’t think seventy degrees is warm?”
“No, I’m a baby.”
Jane ties her hair up into a messy updo, revealing a small tattoo on the back of her neck that Nymphia can’t make out.
Before she can look at it, Jane is walking to the backyard, shedding her shorts to reveal a thong bikini bottom. Nymphia thinks a bark escapes her throat.
Jane walks into the pool, tilting her head back.
“Come on,” she encourages, gesturing for Nymphia to come to her.
“I just took a shower!”
“You’re gonna get dirty later anyway,” she says with a wicked smile.
Nymphia glances to the side in faux embarrassment, then says, “Okay, I guess you’re right.”
She turns, then Jane tells her to wait.
“What?”
“Can the neighbors see into the yard?”
“Nope.”
Jane smiles then throws off her bikini top.
Nymphia runs to her room and throws on a bathing suit as fast as she physically can before running back down and getting in the pool.
They swim a little, kiss a little, swim some more, kiss some more. Barely twenty minutes in Nymphia already has Jane pinned against a wall and is making out with her. Her tits press against her chest and Jane moans and grabs Nymphia’s ass.
“For someone who said 11:00 was too early for fucking, you sure had no problem getting naked,” Nymphia says when she pulls back to breathe.
“Being naked and fucking are two different things.”
She runs her thumb over Nymphia’s ass, then says, “And to be completely honest, I don’t think you have the stamina for me to fuck you then continue with your day.”
Nymphia gasps and replies, “Oh, you think you’re that good, huh?”
“I know I’m that good.”
She winks.
“Well I also have a lot of stamina,” Nymphia states indignantly.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
They stumble through the house, bodies melding, hands roaming, kissing like they’re starving. Nymphia trips over a stair and Jane catches her, strong arms wrapping around her waist and holding her close.
Somehow it turns Nymphia on even more, and she shows that by practically grabbing Jane’s face and kissing her.
“Wait, wait,” Jane says, panting. “My purse.”
Jane runs to the entryway where she left her purse, and for a moment Nymphia is very confused and very aroused, then she returns with the strap.
Oh.
It’s pink and translucent and so fucking big. Nymphia feels the urge to drop to her knees right there.
Except they’re still on the staircase, the very uncomfortable and brightly lit staircase, so she practically yanks Jane up the stairs and to the bedroom.
They stand at the edge of the bed, hands linked, then Jane smiles ever so sweetly and pushes Nymphia onto the bed.
The brunette giggles and squirms as Jane straddles her, kissing and licking. She wraps her lips around a spot on her neck, and Nymphia forces herself to stop her.
“We have to be low-key,” she giggles.
Jane looks up at her, then moves lower, her mouth aligning with the spot just above her breast.
“Just wear a t-shirt.”
She sucks a mark into her skin, eliciting a little moan from Nymphia, then another one as she takes her nipple into her mouth. The coolness of their skin, of Jane as she presses against her, still wet from the pool, contrasts with the heat growing within Nymphia. Tendrils of hair escape from Jane’s bun and the brunette pulls the hair tie off, freeing her hair so she can tangle it in her fingers.
Jane runs her fingers over Nymphia’s slit, making her gasp.
“So wet for me, baby,” she purrs.
She runs her fingers over her again, subtly grazing her clit, and Nymphia whines and groans, “Fuck me already.”
“So fucking impatient,” Jane murmurs.
She presses a finger in, meeting no resistance, then a second one, thumb on her clit. Nymphia is whining, moving her hips up to take more.
Jane withdraws her hand, making her frown, then she looks up to see that she’s putting on the strap.
The blonde kneels on the bed, dick so, so close to Nymphia’s cunt, then she moves forward, and Nymphia closes her eyes.
Then Jane’s fingers are back at her pussy, languidly rubbing, and Nymphia opens her eyes and pouts.
“Remember when I told you to fuck me already.”
Jane’s mouth falls open, eyebrows raising in surprise, and Nymphia raises an eyebrow back.
“Just making sure you can handle it,” she states, punctuated with a jab of her fingers that makes Nymphia jerk but doesn’t satisfy her nearly enough.
Jane slips her fingers out, then wraps her hand around her dick, stroking it.
She sticks it in and Nymphia actually sees stars.
She goes slow at first, feeding her dick inch by inch to let Nymphia get used to it, which she actually does need. It’s been a long time since she got fucked and Jane’s strap is big.
Not that she would have it any other way.
Then Jane snaps her hips, thrusting even further, and Nymphia moans embarrassingly loudly, eyes rolling back in her head.
From then Jane fucks her good, one hand on her tit, thrusting into her long and hard. All Nymphia can do is grab Jane’s hand and try to remember to breathe.
Jane starts rubbing her clit alongside her thrusting and Nymphia cries out, her nerves on fire, overstimulation in the best way. Little moans escape in time with the thrusts as the dildo hits a good spot, the combination of that and Jane’s fingers on her clit hurtling her towards her orgasm.
She tenses, clutching the hand on her chest, then comes.
Jane pulls out, making her whine from the stimulation.
“God,” Nymphia says, catching her breath. “That was so-“
“Was?” Jane questions.
She grabs Nymphia’s shoulders, urging her to sit up, then turns and pushes her so she lands face down on the mattress, pinned under Jane’s hold.
“Don’t tell me you’re done,” Jane taunts. “Where’s that stamina you were talking about?”
Nymphia whimpers, partially from the stimulation of her nipples against the bed, Jane’s hands holding her down, partially from the promise of what’s to come.
“Come on, baby, ass up for me.”
This bitch is gonna be the death of her.
And she doesn’t mind one bit.
Chapter 4: I like the way you talk your game (we might be one and the same)
Notes:
Chapter title from Chop Me Up by Justin Timberlake
If you read this fic before June 17, 2025 this chapter is new
Chapter Text
After several rounds of “experimenting” and “discovering,” they’re cuddling in bed and Jane says, “I wanna take you on a date.”
She looks nervously at Nymphia, lips pressed into an awkward close mouthed smile.
Nymphia smiles. She knew Jane liked her for real but the request combined with the nervousness endears her so much.
“I’ll think about it,” Nymphia jokes.
Jane’s face falls and Nymphia quickly clarifies, “No, I’m kidding!”
“So…date?”
“Yes. Date.”
They smile, then Jane gets out of bed and starts getting dressed.
“What kind of food do you want?”
Food is the farthest thing from Nymphia’s mind right now. She thinks for a moment, then suggests Italian because it’s stereotypically romantic.
Jane finishes dressing and says, “Let me know when you want me to pick you up.”
“Where are you going?”
“My apartment? I have to dress nicer than this,” she says, gesturing to her casual outfit.
“But I don’t want you to leave,” Nymphia whines.
She walks over and hugs Jane from behind, gripping her like a koala on a tree, trying to stop her.
“Well what am I gonna wear?” she asks with a laugh. “I don’t think Cecconi’s is gonna fuck with this outfit.”
“No, but Spago might.”
She grabs Jane’s hand.
“I might have something you can wear.”
She leads her down the hall and to her biggest closet. It’s ever so slightly smaller than the women’s section of a department store but holds twice as many clothes and shoes and accessories. Rows and rows of clothing racks, shelving, mannequins with her most prized or fragile outfits, jewelry trees and shoeboxes.
Jane is absolutely gobsmacked.
“No fucking way,” she says after a moment.
She meanders around, touching a few random garments, then asks, “This is your closet?”
“I like fashion,” she giggles.
Jane’s expression of shock morphs into one of an almost mischievous happiness.
“Go ahead, find something,” Nymphia encourages.
“What size shoe are you?”
“Eight.”
“Oh my god, same.”
Nymphia is pretty sure that they’re soulmates.
They peruse for a minute, then Jane holds a dress up to her body and says, “I don’t think any of this is gonna cover anything.”
“And the problem is?”
Nymphia realizes that there’s a chance Jane will wear something that Nymphia has already been seen wearing and when the eventual pictures of them on the date are released people will notice that and squeal and keyboard smash and all that and she’s excited about that. Call it a stereotypical fast moving lesbian moment or whatever, but Nymphia is infatuated with Jane and Jane is infatuated with her and she would like to enjoy that and show it off.
Jane chooses a Tom Ford dress which indeed barely covers anything, and Nymphia decides to match that energy so her partner doesn’t feel left out by wearing a sexy Balmain number.
Her driver takes them to their chosen restaurant. They don’t have a reservation, but it’s early and, well, Nymphia is very famous and brings publicity wherever she goes and restaurants usually find a way to let her in.
This one, however, sternly states that there’s no availability. Nymphia very sweetly asks if they’re sure and the manager just says yes, they’re sure.
They drive to another fancy Italian restaurant and are also told no.
“I should have planned this,” Jane says sheepishly.
“No, you’re okay, they’re the wrong ones,” Nymphia assures.
En route to the third option, Nymphia just fucks it and says, “You know what, I don’t need food, I just want to get drunk and spend time with you.”
Jane laughs and says, “That’s all I want, too.”
The driver drops them off at a cute cocktail bar and they sit outside and order margaritas.
“So,” Jane says.
“So.”
Jane can’t stop smiling and that’s making Nymphia unable to stop smiling.
“Favorite color?” Jane jokes.
“Hm, such a hard question, but I think I’m gonna have to go with yellow.”
“How do you say yellow in Mandarin?”
“Huáng sè.”
“Hwang-suh,” Jane repeats, and Nymphia cheers and claps.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
“How do you say that in Russian?”
“Krasnyy.”
“Krass-nee,” Nymphia says. Her pronunciation is terrible just as Jane’s was but she looks happy anyway. Huáng sè and Krasnyy.
“What do you do for work?” Nymphia asks, continuing the first-date-bit. Dates where one or both of the parties is a celebrity always have a level of awkwardness since one might know everything but not quite everything about the other and the two just have to skirt around that fact.
Nymphia doesn’t know too much about Jane, would probably struggle with that even if she did research because of the language barrier, and it seems like Jane doesn’t know too much about her since she asked what her name was the morning after. Nymphia likes that and the fact that they’re both aware of the celebrity dating situation and are getting through the awkwardness with jokes.
“Oh, you know, this and that,” Jane replies. “I’m kind of between jobs at the moment.”
“I don’t date unemployed people.”
Jane’s face betrays worry and Nymphia winks.
“But I can make an exception for someone special.”
“What about you? What do you do for work?”
“You know, I don’t really know.”
That’s almost too close to the honest truth and she quickly acts to brighten it back up.
“Hobbies?”
“Doomscrolling. Traveling.”
Jane takes a big swig of her drink.
“Partying. Dancing.”
Nymphia sits up from excitement.
“You like to dance?”
“Oh baby, I love to dance.”
“So do I.”
She swears she single-handedly kept one club afloat when she lived in London and that she and her friends single-handedly paid the rent for three clubs when she lived in New York.
“So what do you do for fun other than party?” Jane asks.
“Make outfits.”
“Like sewing?”
“Sewing and embroidering and stoning and jewelry making.”
“That’s so cool! Do you wear your clothes on red carpets and shit?”
“Sometimes.”
She googles one of those instances and Jane fawns over the look.
“Are you working on any music?” Jane asks.
Nymphia shakes her head. Jane nods.
“I wanna make music, I just,” Jane says, then shrugs. “It’s hard.”
“Do you have a mental block?”
“I have a mental block in the fact that I don’t write or produce and I don’t know any writers or producers here,” she laughs.
Nymphia laughs and says, “I have all that and still have a mental block. Maybe the poppers are starting to melt my brain.”
“Oh, they would never do such a thing.”
They order a second round of drinks, then Jane says, “I mean, you’ve made a shit ton of music. You don’t have to force yourself to make some more just because.”
Nymphia nods in agreement. She fills Jane in on celebrity gossip while they finish their second drinks. Jane asks if she wants another but she says no because she just has this urge to move.
They leave the bar and walk. The street has several businesses and people walking and driving and Nymphia loves that energy, loves the fact that she gets to walk with Jane, loves the fact that they’re both tipsy and it’s warm out and they can do whatever the fuck they want.
They get slushies from 7-Eleven. They halfheartedly wander through clothing stores. They buy shooters of alcohol and put them in the slushies. They’re wearing their designer dresses and tall high heels that clack against the sidewalk and they’re, you know, celebrities, and they’re drawing attention but Nymphia doesn’t care about anyone that’s not Jane in this moment and when she realizes that she becomes even more elated.
It’s been a second since she’s had a moment like this. She likes it.
When it gets dark and chilly outside they head to the club. It’s slightly dead because it’s Tuesday but the music is pumping, the lights are making everything bright and trippy.
And they dance. They dance and cheer and jump and sing along to the music. Jane is enthusiastic and completely un-self-conscious, just having fun, and Nymphia loses herself in that feeling too. She doesn’t know how long they’ve been there, just registers that they’re ordering drinks and then they’re back on the dancefloor. The blue walls, the strobe lights, the music that’s so loud it overtakes everything in the universe, Jane in front of her, Nymphia feels so high and she loves it. And she hasn’t even done any actual drugs yet.
That changes when Jane asks if she wants to “go to the bathroom.” They stand in the same stall and pull out their containers of coke simultaneously and laugh themselves silly. Had Nymphia known the date would have gone like this she would have brought ecstasy or something like that, then she remembers they can do ecstasy in the future because they’ll be together in the future.
If life was hazy before the coke, it’s crystal clear afterwards but not any less intoxicating. Jane isn’t any less intoxicating. Her hair against her back, the way her dress grazes her thighs, her gray eyes with their blown out pupils and their dark lashes, the way her chest rises and falls as she breathes. Nymphia thinks she could look at Jane forever. They’re swaying to the music and staring at each other like they’re going to eat each other.
They make out on the dancefloor then take a break to dance then make out again. When the club closes and kicks everyone out they stand outside and continue to dance and laugh at how ridiculous they look. While they’re being driven home Jane is dazedly talking about her life’s goals while Nymphia sucks on her neck and hums encouragingly. She knows they’ll be unable to actually fuck due to the coke but she can’t even be mad about that, can’t even be mad at anything. She’s so blissed out.
In the backseat, in the hallways of her house, the bedroom and bathroom as they jerkily take off their false lashes and throw their shoes across the room, Jane’s looking at her like she’s the most precious thing ever. It makes Nymphia smile shyly whenever they lock eyes like she’s an anime schoolgirl but she’s too tired to try to respond. She just lets Jane admire her and she lets herself enjoy it.
There’s already pictures of them being posted to PopCrave and stan accounts, some taken by fans at the bar or on the street, a few by paparazzi she hadn’t noticed. The pictures are cute as fuck and the people in the comments are talking about how cute they are. Nymphia doesn’t need validation from random people on twitter but it feels affirming, feels like the universe is showing that this thing she’s doing is correct.
Not that she didn’t think it was correct already. That was maybe the best first date she’s ever been on because it didn’t feel like a first date, it felt like a second date or a third or fourth or four hundredth; it felt normal, just two lovers hanging out.
She’ll gush to her friends about it later. She’ll prepare some cheeky comments and replies for when she wants to tease the fans later. She’ll deal with Amanda later.
But for now she enjoys the floaty feeling of drifting to sleep, Jane’s arm wrapped around her, the promise of future nights like this.
Chapter 5: We’ve got the vision now let’s have some fun
Notes:
Chapter title from Time to Pretend by MGMT
Mentions of recreational drug use
Chapter Text
After that, Jane just kinda…stays. Over the next two days she only leaves to grab her cats and their things to bring back to Nymphia’s.
“Oh my god!” Nymphia exclaims when Jane comes in with the carrier.
“This is Boris, my weird son,” Jane says, holding up the black cat. “And this is Chubais, my bastard son.”
Nymphia delicately grabs Boris, lips pursed from how cute he is. The cat looks at her and meows.
Then Chubais runs by and bats Nymphia’s leg, making Jane scold him in Russian.
Nymphia lets the cat go, and they explore the house.
Jane stands beside Nymphia, wraps an arm around her. Nymphia rests her head on her shoulder.
Then there’s a loud thump, and Jane yells, “ Dolboyob !”
They sleep in, get ready together, go for walks on the beach, drink vodka slushies, sing off key, get drunk and talk on the balcony.
“You were married?!” Nymphia exclaims.
“Two whole years,” Jane says, taking a swig from the wine bottle. “He had a very big dick.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“Because I want to be the one with a big dick.”
Nymphia takes a sip from the bottle, then Jane says, “I had no idea you were such a star on both sides of the world.”
Nymphia smiles as one does when they’re trying to appreciate a compliment and not gloat too much.
“How many albums do you have again? Eight?”
“Nine. It’s not that impressive, though, I write one line for each song and some Swedish dudes do the rest,” she laughs.
“It is still impressive,” Jane affirms.
The brunette smiles bashfully and lifts the bottle to her lips.
Nymphia wakes up to cats crawling on her, to Jane cuddled up into her side, black and blonde hair intertwining on the pillow. They get ready side by side, hip checking each other in front of the mirror, locking eyes and smiling. It’s hot and sunny as they walk on the beach, their noses and shoulders turning pink, as they float on the pool, hands drifting together. By the time they’ve had delivery pizza and piña coladas it’s dark and cool, contrasting the warmth of the hot tub and each other as they kiss.
If day two of Jane’s stay is peaceful, day three is utter chaos thanks to two visitors from New York.
“Nymphia!” Xunami exclaims as she runs into the backyard.
“Xuxu!” Nymphia yells back.
Jane looks at her in confusion, and Nymphia explains, “Friends.”
Xunami and Plasma run over, bags in hands, and Nymphia says, “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
“Surprise,” Plasma says, grinning.
“Oh bitch, you’re stunning,” Jane says to Xunami.
“And none for me, alright,” Plasma says, walking past the two of them to Nymphia.
They squeal and hold hands, and Plasma exclaims, “Dear god, it’s been so long! You need to come to New York again, darling!”
“I know, I know,” Nymphia replies. “It’s just so damn cold.”
Plasma peers at the hickies on Nymphia’s chest. “So it’s going well,” she murmurs, leaning in conspiringly.
Nymphia waggles her eyebrows and murmurs, “It’s going very well.”
“I’m happy for you, darling, so happy,” the redhead states. “Now, where’s the liquor cabinet?”
They’re all sitting at the table outside, glasses in hand, and Jane asks, “So, how did you all meet?”
“This one used to live in New York,” Xunami states, pointing to Nymphia.
“Until she lost all her damn sense,” Plasma adds.
“Does she always talk like she’s in a forties movie?” Jane murmurs to Nymphia.
“Yep,” Nymphia mutters back.
“It’s seventy-five and sunny here in LA, what temperature is it in New York again?” Nymphia questions Plasma and Xunami.
“It’s nothing that a fur coat can’t fix,” Xunami says. “Remember when you used to wear those things to those circuit parties?”
“Ugh, I was fabulous,” Nymphia reminisces.
“I’m doing a gig over at Avalon in a couple days,” Plasma says. “You two are more than welcome to come.”
“Plasma is a DJ,” Nymphia explains to Jane.
“No darling, I’m a former Broadway star turned experimental music creator,” Plasma says. “And a DJ on the side because someone’s gotta play good music.”
“And Xuxu is Manhattan’s best upcoming model and rapper,” Nymphia continues.
“Oh stop,” Xunami replies, rolling her eyes in faux embarrassment, a sentiment betrayed by her wide smile.
“Sorry, Janey here is fresh off the boat, she doesn’t know much pop culture,” Nymphia tells the girls, placing her hand on Jane’s arm.
“Straight out of mother Russia,” Jane says in an exaggerated Russian accent, making them laugh.
“How you liking America, mama?” Xunami asks.
“It’s wonderful,” Jane states, taking Nymphia’s hand in hers. “Especially now that I have this girl by my side.”
Nymphia almost dissolves into a puddle right then and there.
Jane pours another splash of vodka into her drink, and Plasma says, “Oh, you’ve got the right idea, honey.”
“Nymphia used to drink that stuff like water,” Xunami says, cackling.
“Who says I stopped?” Nymphia asks.
“Girl, now you got concerts and red carpets and shit.”
“Not anytime soon.”
The four of them look at each other in a silent challenge.
Then their days are spent like the most chaotic rich girl summer ever.
The four of them run through the neighborhood in bikinis and bare feet, arms full of slushies and snacks, splash around in the ocean and run back to the sand to recharge just to do it again. They ride in the Lambo to the corner store to get snacks, to the club for Plasma’s gig, along the coast just for the fun of it, yelling over the wind and the music. They play tennis in designer clothes, skinny dip, pop pills and dance in the backyard until the early hours of the morning, blast club music in the bathroom, hold runway contests for the cats, crash for a couple hours at dawn just to wake up at noon still trashed and ready to go.
No matter what drunken activity they’re doing, no matter how many stars they’re seeing, how long they’ve been awake, Nymphia is glued to Jane, and Jane is glued to her. They pull each other into the ocean or the pool or the hot tub, giggling as they fall under, as they kiss for as long as they can before they have to surface for air. They fuck on pool chairs when the girls are mixing drinks, fuck in the car as the sun goes down, fuck in Nymphia’s bed when everything is blue and their bodies are shutting down for the night but they have to get this one last bit of love in.
They lie on towels on the balcony, the sun rising and casting everything in pink. The combination of drugs and alcohol and however long it’s been since she took them are making Nymphia loopy and lovey and unwilling to do anything but lie down and admire Jane, and vice versa, the Russian looking somewhere on Nymphia’s face, eyes lidded and glossy. Nymphia places a fingertip on her cheekbone.
“Am I sunburned?” Jane asks, voice light and breathy like her lungs are out of air.
Nymphia nods, slowly, mindlessly. She tugs Jane’s bikini top to the side, freeing a breast.
“Are your boobs real?” she asks, whisper-light.
“No.”
She wraps her fingers around Nymphia’s, guides her hand underneath her tit. Nymphia feels a scar and touches it.
“My boobs are so flat,” she muses. “Should I get a boob job?” she wonders aloud, mostly to herself.
“No,” Jane replies instantly.
She plants a shaky elbow on the other side of Nymphia, lifts herself so she’s hovering over her, her dom instincts coming through even though both of their brains are mush. Nymphia plays with a tendril of Jane’s hair, eyes focused on the blonde strand.
“You’re perfect just the way you are,” Jane says, somehow both gentle and domineering at the same time.
Nymphia smiles, closes her eyes, can feel the blush spreading on her cheeks. She peeks her eyes open to see that Jane’s arms are shaking. She pulls her down until she’s fully lying on top of her, enveloping her, like the world’s best weighted blanket.
“You’re perfect the way you are too,” Nymphia states, voice croaking.
Jane rests her head on her chest, holds Nymphia’s head in her hands.
They lay like that as the sky turns purple, then yellow, then white.
The next day, Nymphia is in the kitchen while the others play in the pool, splashing the water and shrieking loud enough to be heard from inside. Chubais rests on the counter, eyeing Nymphia judgmentally. Boris rubs against her leg on his way to the food dispenser.
Nymphia’s phone rings from its place on the counter, lighting up with a picture of Amanda. The fifth time she’s called over the past five days. The fifth time she’s been ignored.
Yet something possesses Nymphia to pick up the phone this time.
“How was the Avalon?” Amanda asks, voice loud in the phone, making Nymphia wince and hold the phone farther away from her ear.
“What?”
“Or was it Academy, it’s hard to tell, this update account didn’t say,” Amanda continues.
Nymphia closes her eyes, the sweet relief of her eyelids coming together after who knows how long, then says, “Ask Jane, she drove.”
“Nymphia. Remember last week when I told you not to interact with Jane in public in any fucking way? And remember before that when I told you not to interact with her at all but you ignored that too?”
“I’m twenty-eight years old,” Nymphia says, voice coming out weaker than she thought, almost a mumble.
“Most of your fans aren’t.”
“And that’s not my fucking problem.”
Boris looks up at her.
“How long have you been awake, Nymphia, how long have you and Jane and whoever the fuck else been doing this shit?”
“Amanda, why the fuck does it matter?” she asks, pleads almost.
“Would you be falling asleep during this phone call if she wasn’t there?”
“It’s not like I was some innocent child before.”
“Nymphia, I know this, but just think about it.”
Nymphia sighs. Her cheekbone is pressing into the counter but she doesn’t feel like moving.
“I have you penciled in for a songwriting session on Tuesday,” Amanda says. “The label’s getting antsy.”
“And this week has given me some wonderful inspiration.”
“Please get some sleep. And if you’re gonna go outside can you please do something to try to hide the fact that you’ve been up all week partying with your new Russian girlfriend?”
“Heard.”
Amanda hangs up, and Nymphia looks at the phone screen, listens to her friends yelling from the pool.
She trudges outside, squinting in the sun, and they see her and wave. She plops down onto a pool chair, slumping like her body is melting into it.
She feels water droplets on her arm and opens her eyes to see Jane standing over her, wet from the pool with her hair covering her tits like the world’s sluttiest mermaid.
“Hey,” Jane says.
“Hey. Sorry, I’m sleepy.”
“I understand. Those two are flying home tomorrow. If they wake up in time for the flight.”
Nymphia smiles and says, “I don’t think they will.”
Jane walks away for a second, then comes back with a water bottle.
“Janey?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Can you come lie with me?”
She closes her eyes before she sees Jane’s reaction, then feels the chair dipping, followed by arms wrapping around her. She grabs one of Jane’s arms and holds it with both hands.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
She kisses Nymphia’s temple, and Nymphia cuddles into her and falls asleep a moment later.
She wakes up when it’s pitch black and chilly outside, and she’s pretty sure her body only dragged her out of her slumber to pee and drink water and nothing else.
She does those things, trudging through her house like a zombie then flopping onto the couch. She doesn’t know where Jane is, but the blonde’s purse is still on the ottoman, her favorite pair of heels still by the front door, right in between Plasma and Xunami’s things.
When Nymphia wakes up for real, at 2:00 the next afternoon, body forcing her awake even though her mind wants to keep sleeping, she wanders around, looking at the disarray of the house, the clothes everywhere, the bags, soda cans and liquor bottles scattered across any given surface, cut off club wristbands thrown in the direction of the trash can. Her uncharged phone with hundreds of notifications.
Xunami comes downstairs, bag in hand, followed by Plasma whose eye bags are still visible even under the big sunglasses she’s wearing indoors.
“Leaving already?” Nymphia questions.
“All good things must come to an end,” Plasma replies, still theatrical even with what must be the most brutal hangover of her life. “We‘ll get out of your hair, let you get back to your honeymoon.”
“It’s not our honeymoon,” Nymphia giggles. “We’re not even dating.”
Xunami looks at her with a “really” expression and says, “I think you are.”
“She brought her damn cats to your house!”
As if on cue, the cats run by, summoned by the automatic feeder, and Nymphia smiles bashfully and says, “I guess .”
“Girl, the way she was looking at you,” Xunami says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a ring on your finger by next week.”
“Oh my god, stop,” Nymphia jokes, trying to clear that image out of her mind before she gets too attached to it.
“And if there is a wedding, I’m gonna be the maid of honor, okay,” Xunami adds.
“No no no,” Plasma interjects.
They bicker for a second before Nymphia says, “If there’s a wedding, I can have two maids of honor. Now get out of my house before you miss your flight.”
They say goodbye, punctuated by lots of hugs and kisses, then leave in their rental car.
Nymphia turns around to see Jane coming down the stairs, hair falling out of the messiest bun ever, eye makeup smudged across her face, last night’s crop top revealing the bruise on her stomach from when Nymphia accidentally hit her with a tennis racket. Jane had hit her back right on the ass which wasn’t a very effective punishment considering Nymphia liked it.
Jane’s clearly exhausted, they all are, but she smiles when she sees Nymphia, walks over to give her a kiss.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Nymphia greets.
“What fucking time is it?”
“Around 3:00, last I checked.”
Jane groans and says, “I think I need to sleep for twelve more hours.”
“Well, Plazzy and Xuxu just left, so we can sleep for as long as we need.”
They look at each other, their matching dark circles, smiling all the while.
Jane sees herself in the mirror, then turns to the side and says, “My stomach has never been this flat.”
“Because you threw up twice yesterday, silly goose,” Nymphia replies.
“Really?”
“Yeah, we definitely need to sleep,” she laughs. “And to think I thought my partying days were behind me.”
“They’re gonna be behind you when the hangover kicks in.”
“Or when Amanda fires me.”
Jane’s eyes go wide, and Nymphia clarifies, “Not really, she’s just…mad.”
“Because she could never go on a five day bender with the hottest girl in town and her new friends,” Jane says.
That may just be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to Nymphia.
“And because I’m doing everything she told me not to,” she adds. “But I’m not gonna stop.”
“Good.”
Jane grabs snacks and chugs an entire bottle of Gatorade before they go upstairs. Nymphia takes one look at herself under the bright bathroom lights and almost passes out. Thank god her call with Amanda yesterday wasn’t a video call.
“Wow, I look like shit,” Jane says as she walks into the bathroom.
“I haven’t washed my face in five days,” Nymphia says. “I’m so fucked.”
“And I haven’t washed this fucking mascara off since Tuesday.”
They take showers, scrub old makeup off their faces, wash their hair, slather on soaps and lotions and moisturizers and anything else to try to make up for lost time.
And then they curl up under the covers, shoulders touching, hands intertwining, before finally going to sleep.
Chapter 6: We make the rules
Notes:
This chapter was so difficult for me to write for no reason but that’s okay we’re here now
Chapter title from Honeymoon by Lana
Chapter Text
Nymphia wakes up to Jane talking on the phone in Russian, audible enough that she can hear but not enough to make out the words. Well, not like she can make out the words even if she can hear them fully. Russian is the most unfamiliar language to her. Maybe she should start Duolingo.
She walks into the bathroom and says hi, eliciting a wave from Jane followed by more talking into the phone. She sounds kinda mad but also everyone sounds mad in Russian. The one thing it has in common with Mandarin.
By the time she finishes getting ready, Jane is off the phone and apparently still in an affectionate mood, pulling Nymphia back into bed and hugging her, eliciting a smile.
“Who were you on the phone with?”
“My mom.”
“Did you tell her all about my wonderful self?”
“A little bit,” she smiles. “Can’t tell her too much, she’s always like, ‘Zhanna, slow down, Zhanna, you fall in love too fast,’ blah blah blah.”
“What? What does she call you?”
Jane’s smile falls, and she looks almost embarrassed, then says, “Zhanna. My real name.”
“Your real name isn’t Jane?!”
“It’s the Russian form of Jane,” she exclaims. “Same thing.”
“Zhanna,” Nymphia repeats. “That’s so pretty.”
“God, I can’t believe my mom is exposing me and she’s not even here.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
“I’m not embarrassed, it’s just, not the name I prefer I guess.”
They’re silent for a second, then Jane asks, “So, Nymphia is your real name, but what about your last name?”
“My real last name is not Wind,” she laments. “It’s Tsao. What about yours?”
“Dunayevskaya.”
Nymphia Dunayevskaya Nymphia thinks before asking, “That’s pretty too, how did I not know this?”
“Well, we’ve only been together for a week.”
“A week and a half.”
“Such a difference.”
“Well, us rich and famous folk are on a different time frame than everyone else,” Nymphia declares. “A week and a half for us is a month and a half for normal people.”
“If you say so.”
She smiles and kisses her, then Nymphia looks at her phone and groans.
“I have a songwriting session in a few hours,” she says. “I wanna stay here.”
“Then don’t go.”
“Are you trying to get me fired?”
“It’s all part of the plan,” she jokes.
“Both Amanda and the label are pissed. It’s been a year and a half since my last album came out and they want me to do something.”
“Do you want to do something?”
“I mean,” Nymphia starts, then trails off. “Yeah, but I also wanna stay in bed with you for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t we all?”
Nymphia smiles before flopping onto her back dramatically, wanting to either relax or get railed or both.
“I’m gonna go to my place,” Jane says. “Get some clothes that actually fit.”
“My clothes fit you.”
“My tits are always an inch from falling out.”
“And the issue is?”
She laughs, then says, “Very true, but you’ve seen me in your clothes and I haven’t seen you in mine, which is very criminal.”
Nymphia nods in agreement and says, “I wanna see your place.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I’m from Taiwan, Janey, shitty apartments don’t phase me.”
“It’s not shitty, it’s just…well, you’ll see.”
They get ready, Nymphia taking a long time to make sure her makeup is perfect since she’s seeing her label today and does not want them to know she just went on an insane bender, then leave, taking Jane’s car first to her apartment then the office. They go to the outskirts of West Hollywood, arriving at a typical LA apartment building, two stories and white with cute little palm trees and balconies. Nymphia doesn’t see anything wrong with it so far.
Then they go into Jane’s apartment and she sees why her girlfriend wanted to temper her expectations.
It’s a studio, small and square except for the adjoined bathroom, one window, beige carpeted floors, clothes and cans in clumps on the floor. The couch is flannel and sunken in the middle, facing a TV with bunny ears. The bed is tiny and the sheets are moreso on the floor than it. The contrast of the frat house furnishings against Jane’s clubbing clothes and designer purses makes Nymphia laugh.
“It’s different than I thought,” she says.
“Are you regretting your decision now?”
“No,” Nymphia says, poking at a 7-11 cup. “You and my mom would definitely get along.”
Jane laughs and starts moving around the apartment, grabbing clothes and throwing them into a Saint Laurent tote bag. Nymphia walks around, observing the Oreo boxes on the ground, the porn posters on the walls. The bathroom is tiny, the shower barely big enough to extend one’s arms, purple shampoo and a dildo on its one shelf. Nymphia didn’t expect this, any of this, thought that Jane would have bought herself a mansion in Beverly Hills or a condo in Echo Park, not the typical struggling artist WeHo studio.
She likes it, though. It’s cozy. Normal. Her apartment in New York didn’t look too different.
She laughs and says, “Amanda would lose her shit if she saw this place.”
“I think she loses her shit at everything.”
“True,” Nymphia admits.
“I don’t what her vendetta against me is,” Jane says. “But I would beat her ass in a fight, just so you know.”
“I don’t doubt it, but please don’t fight my manager.”
“Why does she hate me so much again?”
“She doesn’t hate you, she just…”
She sits on a chair and gets poked by a spring.
“As you have probably figured out, most of my fans are young innocent flowers.”
“And I’m not.”
“And you’re not,” Nymphia agrees. “She thinks parents are gonna get mad at me if their kids discover…you.”
“Their minds are gonna be blown.”
“That’s what she’s scared of,” she laughs. “‘Nymphia Wind corrupts the youth,’ that kinda shit.”
“If only they knew what you do in your free time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jane mimics sucking a dick and moans, making Nymphia squeal and jump up to smack her.
“Shut up,” she whines.
“I think you’re the biggest bottom I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jane states. “And I like it.”
Nymphia glances at the vibrator sitting on the nightstand, then back at Jane. A smile grows on the blonde’s lips.
Nymphia emerges from the apartment, freshly fucked and feeling on top of the world, followed by Jane and her bag full of clothes, and they leave and get into the car. Nymphia listens to the potential songs Amanda sent her, open minded, but something about them isn’t inspiring her.
She looks over at Jane, though, driving and bopping her head to what is nowhere near the actual beat of the song, and knows that she’ll find inspiration somewhere.
They get fast food, then arrive at the office, Nymphia hopping out with her lunch bag in hand as Jane leans over and gives her a smooch.
She walks into her preferred songwriting room, a lounge with bougie office furniture that she can lie dramatically across as she regales tales of life and love to people who can actually write to form them into songs. The usual people are there, producers, Swedish guys who make great music, and this time a new person is there, a woman covered in tattoos.
“Hey,” Nymphia says.
“Hey,” the producer replies. “This is Megami, one of our new songwriters.”
The tattooed woman waves, and Nymphia smiles and waves back.
Nymphia sits, then the producer asks, “So, what did you think of the songs Amanda sent?”
She pauses, then says, “I didn’t hate them, I just…don’t love them?”
“Do you have any other ideas?”
She pauses, then a smile grows on her face, eyes glancing to the side.
Amanda said not to do it, but Amanda says a lot of things that Nymphia ignores. Plus, the publicity stunts that they can pull later? Every manager wants that opportunity.
“So I’m kinda seeing this girl,” she says coyly. “You might have seen some pictures of us out there.”
“No, I haven’t,” Megami says, raising her pen to a notebook. “Tell me about it.”
Nymphia grins and replies, “Okay, so, her name is Plane Jane, and she’s a singer, apparently she’s famous in Europe.”
She thinks about Jane’s potential reaction to the “apparently” and amends, “Well, yeah, she is famous in Europe.”
“Didn’t she get arrested for leaking a politician’s nudes or something?” one of the songwriters asks.
“Probably,” Nymphia replies, unfazed. “I haven’t googled her because I have the real thing right in front of me.”
“How’d you meet?”
“That dumb party. I went into the bathroom and almost slammed the door in her face and then we looked at each other and just…ah.”
She flops back onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling as she visualizes it, visualizes just Jane in general. It’s probably embarrassing to be this giddy in front of these industry people but she can’t be bothered to care, these feelings are just too strong. And maybe the leftover hormones from getting fucked just a few minutes before.
“So, we’re making a love album,” Megami half asks, half states.
“Well,” Nymphia says. “We’re not not making a love album.”
“Sounds good to me. Now, describe her for me.”
They emerge from the songwriting room two hours later with concepts and sounds and lyrics. Nymphia texts Jane to pick her up, then sits on a bench outside, enjoying the sun, and even more so the songwriting. She’d been hesitant going into it simply because she was scared she wouldn’t have any ideas, that they wouldn’t like the love angle, that there wouldn’t be much to talk about considering technically they’ve only known each other for a week and a half. Yet when she sat down and talked ideas poured out, her contributors more than happy to fuel them.
An engine revs, and she looks up to see her car pulling into the parking lot, Jane behind the wheel smiling broadly. Nymphia’s heart soars a little. Even if she’s slightly scared of the way Jane is driving the car.
“Were you feeling the rich fantasy today?” she asks as she gets in.
“Fantasy?” she questions, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not a fantasy if it’s the truth. But yeah. This thing is cool.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to drive it.”
“I did last week, remember?”
“Really?”
Jane side eyes her and says, “Maybe we should take a tolerance break.”
“Hey, you were the one that couldn’t remember her own name for a day.”
“And you don’t remember me driving your expensive ass car and we’re not even drunk anymore.”
“I have a very high tolerance,” Nymphia states, resting her head on Jane’s shoulder. “Xunami just makes everyone keep up with her.”
“Whatever you say.”
Her hand goes to the gearshift, and Nymphia says, “Be gentle, I’m a delicate flower.”
Jane looks down at her and says, “You weren’t saying that back at the apartment when I-“
“You’re such a menace.”
“Not as much as you.”
She gives her a small kiss before driving.
A couple days pass, Nymphia humming melodies and writing lyrics to her potential new song in between their usual activities of walking around the neighborhood or fucking when they’re supposed to be sleeping.
“I thought you didn’t write your own lyrics,” Jane says, coming up behind her. Nymphia holds a hand over the paper.
“I’m multifaceted.”
“Where did you learn all these words?”
“Those bougie professors in London.”
“London?”
“Did you not read my Wikipedia page?” Nymphia asks, pressing a hand to her chest in offense.
“There were so many words, my English isn’t good enough for that,” Jane says as she flops onto the couch.
“Hey, that‘s my excuse.”
“I’m stealing it. But wait, tell me about London.”
She rests her head on the notebook, on the paper covered in words about her, and Nymphia falls a little more in love.
“I went to university there.”
“You went to university?”
“Why are you so surprised?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t expect you to be the scholarly type.”
“I am going to ignore that,” Nymphia announces. “I got my degree and decided I was not gonna be stuck at a boring office job.”
“Same.”
“Same?! You went to university too?!”
“Why are you so surprised,” Jane mocks. “I went to Moscow State University.”
Nymphia has no clue what that means, but Jane is smiling proudly so she smiles back.
A pause, then Jane asks, “Guess what?”
“What?”
“Someone just got her first American gig.”
Nymphia lights up.
“Really?”
Jane nods, obviously giddy about it, and says, “It’s a festival in Vegas.”
“That’s amazing!”
“I didn’t even have to give any handjobs.”
“Aw, Janey, I’m so happy for you. When is it?”
“A month. Fuck, I don’t have a single song in English.”
“I can take you to the studio whenever.”
“I love that, but I also have never written any music in my life and that might be an issue.”
“Never?!”
She shakes her head.
“And you’re a musician because?”
“Because I have a deep need to wear fun outfits and be on stage,” she replies with a cheeky grin. “Just like you, miss ‘I don’t write my songs I get some Danish guys to do it.”
“They’re Swedish, first of all,” she replies after a second.
Nymphia can tell Jane wants to banter back, but the blonde just continues smiling, reaching up to brush a strand of Nymphia’s hair behind her ear.
“Will you watch me perform?”
“Obviously.”
She takes Jane’s hand.
“We’re gonna go to Vegas and stay in a big hotel and I’m gonna watch you perform from my exclusive VIP booth.”
“Can we stay at Caeser’s Palace?”
“The Venetian is better,” she states. “But sure.”
“Are all of your fans gonna bombard me?”
“There’s gonna be a lot of people in the audience wearing yellow,” Nymphia agrees. “Wait, we haven’t interacted on social media at all.”
“The fans are always in my DMs asking if we broke up.”
“Why would they think that?”
“Beats me.”
“As if we would ever do such a thing.”
“Right? The audacity.”
“If we broke up I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Nymphia states. “That would be too embarrassing.”
“If we break up I’m stealing Xunami.”
“Jane!”
“She’s tall, I wouldn’t have to break my neck to kiss her.”
“I’m not even short, you’re just freakishly tall.”
“Xunami and I could bond over that.”
“And to think I was about to soft launch you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Where I kinda post you but not really. Just a little hint. A hard launch is when you say fuck it and tell everyone we’re dating.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“Can I hard launch you in my performance?”
“You already have it all planned out,” Nymphia jokes.
“Of course. Picture it, me on stage, everything is silver and green, sexy backup dancers, then when the crowd is most hyped I stop and say I couldn’t have done this without my beautiful girlfriend Nymphia Wind.”
Nymphia is embarrassingly happy at the thought.
Boris jumps up directly onto Jane’s face, and she splutters.
“Boris, nakhuy tebya,” she exclaims.
Boris looks gravely offended.
“What does that mean?” Nymphia asks.
“It means fuck you,” Jane says.
“Do the cats only know Russian?”
“They’re bilingual.”
“What was it again? The phrase.”
“Nakhuy,” she enunciates. “That means fuck.”
Nymphia repeats it and probably mangles it but Jane smiles anyway.
“Tebya. That means you.”
“Tebya.”
“Not bad.”
“I’m versatile like that.”
Jane snorts and Nymphia rolls her eyes and says, “Shut up.”
“What about you, how do you say fuck you in your language?”
“Qù nǐ de.”
Jane blinks, and Nymphia laughs and repeats it.
“It’s like chee nee da.”
Jane says it and it sounds completely terrible but it’s so cute Nymphia doesn’t bother to correct her.
“Are we trilingual now?” Nymphia questions
“Because we know how to say fuck you in another language?”
“Everyone has to start somewhere.”
She grabs Boris’ face and says, “Your mommy is so mean sometimes.”
“Your mommy is so correct sometimes,” Jane replies.
She sits up, holding Nymphia’s gaze, and says, “I ona lyubit tebya.”
She doesn’t offer a translation, just kisses Nymphia then walks to the kitchen.
The soft launch comes in the form of a pool chair selfie later, the ends of a certain someone’s ash blonde hair visible on the side.
Chapter 7: King and queen of the weekend
Notes:
Morphine and Mirage my beloveds
Chapter title from Sober by Lorde
Chapter Text
The next weeks in the Nymphia-Jane household are filled with music, music, music. Jane spends her time planning her performance, practicing old songs, trying to come up with new ones in English, while Nymphia works on songs about her, coming to the office nearly every day for songwriting or recording sessions.
It’s exhilarating. Spending her days working on music, nights with her love, waking up in the morning looking forward to doing it again.
Nymphia wasn’t depressed before, was actually pretty content just chilling in her mansion, traveling, hanging out with friends, all the usual off duty popstar things, but these recent weeks have been so incredible. She feels like a different person, a new person. One who’s a successful singer with a hot girl by her side. She can’t think of anything better.
One Saturday they’re relaxing. The sun is high in the sky, casting a pleasant warmth over LA. They’re in Nymphia’s backyard, lounging around on the furniture, resting under the shade of an umbrella. Jane was swimming earlier and her skin still glows with droplets, hair falling in damp waves. Nymphia’s wearing an old swimsuit, hair up in a messy bun, no makeup.
She shifts in her chair to look at Jane, who’s lying face down, arms crossed to support her head. The blonde looks back at her and grins.
“What?” Nymphia questions.
“Nothing. Just admiring you.”
Nymphia’s heart swells.
“I’m admiring you too.”
A moment passes before Nymphia says, “I’m making music about you.”
Jane smiles, chuckles.
“Saying good things, I hope.”
If only she knew.
“I try to write songs about you,” Jane states. “But I’m not a songwriter.”
Nymphia pouts from the cuteness, then Jane adds, “It’s in Russian too so every word sounds like an insult.”
“If you think Russian sounds bad, you should hear any old person speak Mandarin.”
“True.”
Jane looks at her phone and says, “We’re going to Vegas in two days, that’s crazy.”
“And we’re staying at Caesar’s just for you.”
“I’ve never been, is it actually like The Hangover?”
“It’s better than The Hangover,” Nymphia says. “The only reason I’ve been being good these past few weeks is because we’re about to go wild there.”
Jane smiles.
“So many clubs, bars, pools, hotels…”
“Say no more.”
“Plasma and Xuxu are coming.”
Jane’s eyes widen and says, “My god, is it gonna be like last time they were here but in a party city?”
Nymphia grins and nods.
“I think your manager is going to follow us and murder me in my sleep.”
“I’ll defend you,” Nymphia says dramatically. “But she’s calmed down recently. She’s just glad I’m in the studio again.”
“She better be okay with the hard launch that’s coming next week.”
“Is it really a hard launch if we’ve already been seen together?”
Jane shushes her and says, “Let me have the moment.”
Nymphia giggles and says, “Okay.”
The next day, Nymphia’s arms are tied to the bedpost, staccato moans coming out of her mouth, when her phone rings.
“Wait, can you get that, it might be important,” she says, opening her eyes.
Jane looks at her with an “are you serious” expression but stops anyway and grabs the phone from the nightstand. She doesn’t pull out, is just kneeling there with the strap still halfway in Nymphia, and the brunette laughs at the sight.
Jane lights up when she sees the screen, then she asks, “Morphine, like, the singer Morphine?”
“Yeah,” Nymphia replies excitedly. “Wait, you know Morphine?”
“I fucking love her,” Jane states. “I went to Miami a few years ago. When I said I wanted to move to America she offered to marry me so I could get a visa.”
“Did you?!”
Jane laughs and says, “No, I got a visa on my own. Maybe I should have though. Then I would be living in Miami instead of dealing with your ass.”
“Hey! And answer the phone!”
Jane snaps back to attention and answers the call, holding the phone to her ear with a cheeky grin.
“Nymphia can’t answer the phone, she’s a little tied up right now,” she says, making Nymphia roll her eyes but laugh at the joke.
“Jane?!” Morphine exclaims.
“Surprise, bitch.”
“Miss thing, why do you have Nymphia’s phone,” Morphine starts, then pauses. “Wait a minute.”
“Hang on, Nymphia’s right here, I’m gonna put you on speaker,” Jane says.
She presses the speaker button and Nymphia loudly says, “Hi Morphine!”
Jane sets the phone down then pulls out, Nymphia biting her lip to muffle her whine, then crawls over and unties her hands.
“I fucking knew y’all would date eventually,” Morphine says. “Or fuck.”
Nymphia doesn’t know how Morphine predicted that but says, “My god, it’s been so long! You need to come to LA!”
“Bitch, I’m in LA right now!”
“What?!”
“I was calling because we need to hang out, but shit, clearly you’re busy.”
“Not anymore,” Nymphia says with a pointed look towards Jane even though she was the one who told her to answer the phone. “But we’re leaving for Vegas tomorrow.”
“Vegas?! Wait a minute, is it for the festival?”
“Yeah!”
“I’m performing,” Jane adds.
“Bitch, I saw! I was gonna come surprise you!”
“Oh my god, you have to come,” Nymphia says. “Xunami and Plazzy are gonna be there too!”
“My god.”
“Is that a good ‘oh god’ or a bad one?”
“Good, bitch. Shit, let me write my will right now in case you bitches kill me with alcohol poisoning.”
“Girl, you cannot be talking,” Jane jokes, making Morphine squeal and shush her.
“What are you doing right now, can you come visit?” Nymphia asks.
“Already on my way. And if y’all are still fucking when I get there we’re gonna have an issue.”
Jane fake moans and Morphine makes a gagging noise before hanging up.
The next morning, they set off for Vegas, Nymphia and Jane in the Lamborghini, Morphine behind them in her rental Porsche. They blast music as they drive, hair whipping in the wind, car roaring across the interstate. When they get to the empty desert, Jane floors it, dust flying and Nymphia screaming, then when she slows down the brunette leans over and kisses her hard.
Jane marvels at Vegas, the lights, the people, the buildings that seem to jut out of nowhere. Nymphia rests her head on her shoulder as they cruise down the streets.
They get to the hotel, drawing stares, which makes Nymphia nervous, but Jane seems solely focused on the hotel, jaw dropping as she spins and walks to look at everything.
They walk into the suite and now Nymphia is the one with a dropped jaw.
She saw pictures when she booked it but they don’t compare to the real thing. It’s massive, so fucking big, probably even more than her house, which is slightly embarrassing but she’s not gonna ruminate on it, grand and gold and so much fucking stuff they could probably spend the rest of the month just inside and not run out of things to do.
She’s looking around when she hears a splash, and walks to see that Jane has jumped into the hot tub, clothes and all, wet hair and clothes clinging to her as she cheers.
Nymphia snaps a picture, then says fuck it and jumps in too.
They spend the rest of the day running around the suite like idiots, meeting up with Morphine again, the three of them walking down the strip with alcohol slushes and 7-11 hot dogs. Tourism season is in full swing, and usually Nymphia hates crowds with a burning passion, but right now, she’s still having fun because Jane is there. Or because the hotel gives them free drinks and she may have taken advantage of that earlier.
Either way, she’s having the time of her life right now.
They shop in the underground mall at Caesar’s, ride a gondola at the Venetian, go down the lazy river at the MGM, have dinner at the Wynn before going back to the suite and getting high while playing pool and raiding the bar.
The next day Jane has to rehearse for the festival, and even though Nymphia is a little hungover and wants to do nothing but stay in their ridiculously oversized bed, she goes with her.
They’re backstage, interns and managers running around as they handle the technology and the performers. Jane mutters lyrics, finalizes her setlist, and Nymphia lives her overbearing manager fantasy and barks out corrections that leave Jane wondering why she’s with her. Nymphia giggles. She’s kind of annoying sometimes, but hey, isn’t everyone?
Heels click near them, and Jane looks up and smiles.
“Hey, Mirage, right?” she asks as a girl approaches them.
Nymphia feels like she’s seen this girl but can’t remember, but she also feels that way about a lot of people. She’s brunette, hair up in a messy bun, bright blue eyeshadow, towering over even Jane which Nymphia can see is because of the stripper shoes she’s wearing.
“Yep,” the girl says. “Shit, I can’t believe you’re actually performing at this thing. When I told them to book you I didn’t think you would accept.”
“She wasn’t doing anything else,” Nymphia jokes, making Jane glare at her and receive a pout in apology.
Mirage turns to look at her, and she freezes for a second, lips parted and eyes wide as she sees Nymphia.
Nymphia smiles, and Mirage says, “Oh my god.”
She turns back to Jane and says, “Bitch, you didn’t tell me you were gonna bring an actual celebrity, I would have worn my nice shit,” before turning to Nymphia and asking, “Oh my god, can I hug you?”
They hug, then Mirage says, “Oh my god, I’m so fucking gagged, Yellow Pages has literally been my most streamed album for the past three years-“
“Wait, Mirage, you made that she’s such a bitch song, right?” Nymphia asks.
She nods, smiling broadly, then an idea seems to dawn on her and she asks, “Wait, so are y’all actually dating?”
“Yep,” Jane chimes in, and Nymphia shrugs and nods in agreement.
“I fuckin’ knew it,” Mirage replies. “Aw, Nymphia, are you gonna come to the festival?”
“She bought the most expensive ticket she could,” Jane states.
“Shut up,” Nymphia exclaims. “But yeah.”
“That’s dedication right there,” Mirage says, looking towards Jane.
Jane smiles, looking at Nymphia almost bashfully, and Nymphia’s heart melts.
Jane texts something and looks at Nymphia, and she opens her phone to see that Jane is asking her if they want to invite Mirage to party with them. Judging by the music she makes and the shoes on her feet, Mirage definitely seems like a fun time, so Nymphia subtly nods.
“Hey, we’re gonna go out after this if you wanna come,” Jane says.
Mirage’s jaw drops, and she asks, “Did you bitches just ask me to come party with y’all?”
Nymphia nods, and Mirage jumps and squeals before calming herself.
“I may have some connections around here.”
“And we have a suite at Caesar’s,” Jane replies. “With unlimited alcohol.”
“Girl, you had me at Caesar’s.”
They get back to the hotel room and are greeted by Plasma and Xunami screaming and running towards them, followed by a giggling Morphine, and Mirage screams back, then all of them are gathering and walking between each other like an ant colony if ants were overenthusiastic musicians in Vegas.
“Morphine,” Mirage greets.
“You’re such a bitch,” Morphine jokes, making Mirage laugh.
Mirage catches Xunami’s eye, the New Yorker looking back at her, then Mirage is yanked out of it by Plasma talking to her.
“Girls, why the fuck are we standing around here?” Nymphia questions.
“Come on dom Nymphia,” Xunami jokes.
Everyone who knows Nymphia laughs, and she doesn’t even care to come up with a dispute to the very incorrect idea of her ever being a dom.
She’s in Vegas with the best party girls in this industry and she’s not gonna waste a second.
Nymphia blinks, seeing a glimpse of light and immediately shutting her eyes again like they’ve been burned. Hair is falling in her face, and she pushes it away, then realizes by the texture it’s Jane’s. Hand over her face, she cracks open her eyes to see that they’re in their bed, Jane wrapped around her, last night’s dress halfway falling off, Nymphia’s in the same position. She thinks for a second to cover her tits then her head pangs so hard she abandons any notion of movement.
She sees an imprint on the bed on the other side, then a pair of stripper heels and a cocktail dress on the floor beside it.
She furrows her brow and flops back onto the pillow.
Please don’t tell me we had a threesome with Mirage. Jane’s gonna be pissed.
Well, actually, she probably wouldn’t be mad, but still.
Eventually, after reaching the conclusion that her headache and sore throat is not going to get better by lying there, she heaves herself out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom, downing pain relievers and bougie bottled water that probably comes from Iceland or something.
As she’s getting back into bed, Mirage tiptoes into the room, wearing a robe smudged with last night’s makeup.
“Did we have a threesome?” Nymphia asks softly.
“Girl, we were too fucked up to move last night.”
Mirage glances over at Jane and says, “And she wouldn’t let anyone else even look at you.”
She grabs her clothes and goes back into the main room.
Nymphia gently runs her fingers through Jane’s hair, exposing her sleeping face, serene and still stunning even with last night’s makeup.
She presses a kiss to her temple, then slots herself back into her arms, letting herself be protected for another moment.
The two of them eventually emerge from the master bedroom, clad in swimsuits and robes, still hungover but ready to face the world. The girls are sitting around the dining room table, talking quietly or on their phones or munching on the room service.
“Oh goodness, the wives are here,” Plasma announces.
“We’re not wives,” Nymphia says dramatically. “This one’s too busy being married to some random Russian man.”
“We’re divorced.”
“Jane was married?!” Xunami questions.
“Don’t be surprised! Just because you’re not pulling anyone doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t,” Jane replies.
Mirage laughs a little too loudly and Nymphia eyes her, then Xunami.
“Your voice is sounding a little hoarse, miss Jane, you good?” Plasma asks.
“Because she was screaming my name all night,” Nymphia says dramatically, making Jane smack her.
“My voice doesn’t matter, I’m lipsyncing,” Jane says.
Morphine does a finger snap.
“Lord, y’all had me fucked up last night,” Xunami says, leaning back and rubbing her forehead dramatically.
“Mama, that was all you,” Morphine counters.
“The jury’s still out on that one,” Xunami compromises. “Is it time for a chill day by the pool.”
Everyone says yes or agrees in some way, then they begin getting ready, grabbing suitcases or room keys. Mirage looks around nervously, glancing at the door, and Nymphia walks over and mutters, “I don’t remember anything from last night but I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason we got into that one club, so thanks.”
“And thanks for letting me stay in this whole ass mansion,” Mirage says. “But I know y’all don’t want me to stay here all day-“
“Yeah we do!”
“Really?”
Nymphia smiles and nods, and Mirage smiles back before asking under her breath, “If I pull the I don’t have a swimsuit card will Xunami let her borrow one of hers?”
Nymphia nods, a conspiratorial smile on her face, and Mirage does the same smile before squeezing her hands and walking away.
While they’re by the pool, Nymphia sits with her notebook and writes words, sounds, snippets of lyrics or ideas. She checks Twitter once, finding that, of course, pictures from last night are out there, very messy pictures from last night, but she hasn’t gotten any calls from Amanda.
She texts the manager a sorry about last night before putting her phone away.
Jane is somehow playing, and winning, a game of pool volleyball, laughing and shrieking as she hits the ball and the other team sends it back.
Nymphia snaps a picture of that, too, then writes a fresh set of lyrics.
They have light cocktails at the pool bar, dinner at the Palazzo, watch the lights of the city as they sit in the hot tub at night.
The next day Nymphia still wakes up with a hangover, the remnants of the night before pushing their way out one last time before disappearing back into hell where they came from. It’s Friday, which means the festival starts today, or maybe has already started, based on the soreness of her tits she wouldn’t be surprised if she and Jane were up late last night. She hears muffled talking, then giggling, from the main room, then clicking, then the front door closes.
Jane is performing tomorrow, and right now she looks like shit, still with old makeup on, still with unwashed hair. The second Jane starts to wake up, Nymphia shifts into Asian mom mode, practically forcing her out of bed and into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Jane groans, pinching her eyes shut, and as Nymphia runs the bath she asks, “Why are you doing this?”
Nymphia pauses.
Because you look like shit.
Because you need to be good for your performance tomorrow.
Because if we go out looking like this people are going to rake me over the coals.
Because I love you.
“Just helping,” she murmurs.
Jane blinks slowly, then smiles lazily and says, “You’re kind of amazing.”
I’m making music about you.
I’m making my first album in years about you.
I’ve never even written a full song by myself but with you all the words just pour out.
“You’re kind of amazing too. Now please get in the bath so I can wash this dry shampoo off.”
Jane laughs, then kisses her before getting in.
Chapter 8: This is how we get notorious
Notes:
Chapter title from Perfect Places by Lorde
Chapter Text
@nymphiasrosetoy
YALL THEYRE IN VEGAS TOGETHER
@brklynbussy
do ppl really think nymphia wind and plane jane are dating
@windbeneathmywings
they’re gfs your honor
@nymphianews
Nymphia has been seen with Plane Jane and Morphine Love Dion in Las Vegas!
@literallegenddd
whos that blond bitch next to nymphia shes hot
@streamasmrlover
Wait guys Plane is performing at a festival in Vegas is Nymphia there to support her??
@josh234
omfg i just saw nymphia wind and her gf at 7-11
@versacie
wait her body tea…
@nymphiasrosetoy
And when Jane invites Nymphia up on stage and they announce their engagement what then
@nymphiawindupdates
Nymphia Wind, Plane Jane, Morphine Love Dion, Xunami Muse and Plasma are at the Tao Nightclub in Las Vegas!
@nymphianews
Nymphia in Xunami’s story 5/15
@kyliegender
Oh to be at the club with that group
@bananabuttha
big titty slavic gf agenda is continuing
@sophies
Nymphia dating again we used to pray for times like this
@bananabuttha
i know amanda’s pissed
@mrbig
They haven’t even held hands in public
@planesjane
So when’s the sex tape dropping
@bananatictacs
plazzy and xunami are just constantly third wheeling them 😩
@windbeneathmywings
guys don’t worry nymphia just hasn’t been posting because she’s getting dicked down <3
@itstimmytim
Tatu could never
@planewind
can they stop teasing us and just go public already 😭
@oliviasbitch
Nymphia stans figuring out they need to learn Russian in addition to Mandarin
@ava010101
who’s that girl nymphia is with
@ava010101
oh
@ava010101
good for her
@duolingo
We’re more than happy to help the fans out with our immersive language courses in Mandarin and Russian!
@nymphiasrosetoy
Amanda drafting her retirement letter as we speak
@nathanfieldersbf
Wait this music kinda slaps…
@justaregularperson
nymphia randomly going to the wedding city with her gf and all her friends…
@10dolarsubwaysandwich
ppl are just now discovering plane jane real bitches knew her when she got into a fistfight with miatriss at the russian mtv awards lmao
@nymphiacrave
she’s hanging out with mirage amuro oh the hyperpop album is coming
@nymphiasrosetoy
Did I just buy a ticket to this festival perhaps
@emilyrat
Nymphia hyperpop album with slavic folk music in the background mm hm mm hm
@thesmackthatsmilesback
it’s kinda giving pr relationship
@bananakatana
Jane driving Nymphia’s car oh I am unwell
@willywonkaglasgowexperience69
nymphia wind disappearing for a year then reappearing with a milf that’s queen behavior right there
@angelinas
I would like to see it
@sarahmorgan
Why y’all acting brand new about this relationship do you not remember the pictures of them fully making out at a club like a month ago lmao
@nymphianews
Nymphia in the background of Morphine’s story 5/16
@cykablyat
anyway stream insomnia
@georgefromseinfeld
oh they’re all so fucking wasted
@evessaintlaurent
What does this group of people talk about
@hourlynymphia
the height differenceeee
@demontwunk
Nymphia on her way to get a bbl to match her gf
@pearsfashionweek
Alexa play M.I.L.F.S by Fergie
@19cat99
everyone scrambling to listen to russian pop so they can pretend to know what’s going on
@bananacreampie
girl the war…
@vondouche
Me when I’m in a date a tall musician challenge and my opponent is Nymphia wind
@lillypowerpuff
two bitches coming together to maximize their joint slay
@yellowpaiges
So what’s Nymphia wearing when she gets on stage and performs her new album at this festival tomorrow
@updatingmirage
Mirage and Plane Jane on Instagram stories 💕
@jimmyjammy
12 year old nymphia stans looking up plane jane 😲
@guccicucci
bitches be like nymphia’s in the audience 🥺 when they see a speck of yellow 500 feet away
@nymphiawins
NYMPHIA IS IN THE AUDIENCE
@420lazeit
guys im at this music festival and fuckin nymphia wind shows up 😭
@chimpanzeeenjoyingacigarette
damn this plain jane girl kinda thicc
@nymphiasrosetoy
IM AT THE SAME FUCKING FESTIVAL AS NYMPHIA AJSJSJSJSN
@nymphianews
Nymphia has been spotted in the audience of Piranha Fest in Las Vegas!
@windbeneathmywings
I TOLD YOU
@bananabuttha
if she’s all the way up in that vip box how is she gonna get to the stage to announce her album…
@juliagarcia55
The Russian onlyfans girls and uwu kpop stans looking at each other in the audience
@itgirlz
russia taiwan relations just improved for the first time in 60 years
@nymphwiki
so can i add jane to the wiki page yet lmao
@homadedynamite
idk wtf she’s saying but girl i am living
@nymphiasrosetoy
JANE JUST SHOUTED OUT NYMPHIA
@nymphiasrosetoy
I REPEAT JANE JUST SHOUTED OUT NYMPHIA
@nymphiasrosetoy
SHE SAID THEYRE GIRLFRIENDS
@bananabuttha
THEYRE GIRLFRIENDS??
@planewind
they had to tell y’all??
@nickurname
I’m at piranha fest and just heard the loudest fucking scream 😭
@nymphiawins
ITS OFFICIAL
@streamasmrlover
I FUCKING KNEW IT
@planesjane
no but when is the sex tape dropping
@planesjane
p can you do this one thing for me
@jefffromwalmart
wait they’re actually dating ? 😭 i thought it was just a random hookup…
@carriecarried
Oh shit the breakup album is gonna be even better
@bananatictacs
if they’re looking to adopt a child i volunteer
@nymphiasrosetoy
I’m about to pass out
@literalllegend
OH SLAY
@nymphianews
Plane Jane has announced that she and Nymphia are dating! Congratulations!
@hourlynymphia
EVERYONE YASSED
@nymphiaspradabelt
just fell to my knees at a wendy’s
@oliviasbitch
Baddie bitch with a baddie girlfriend iktr
@nymphiawindupdates
Nymphia Wind and Plane Jane have made their relationship official!
@horseinahairsalon
historians are gonna say they were very good friends
@bananakatana
Look how happy she is 🥺
@joansbbq
a collab would eat so hard
@hourlynymphia
this is her first public relationship in two years im soft
@planewind
Their matching smiles I-
@milaisalright
A public high profile sapphic relationship can be so healing
@nymphiascsectionbaby
nymphia stans and jane stans awkwardly trying to become oomfs like our parents remarried and now we have step siblings
@bananacreampie
so is the label finally gotta let her release gay music or are we gonna have another album of he pronouns
@georgewashingtonsass
Damn these bitches gay good for them ‼️
@justaregularperson
i still think they’re married idc
@nymphiasrosetoy
It’s been an hour and I’m still crying
@nymphiawind33
um?? jane got arrested at least 4 times?? makes songs about stealing from men and doing drugs?? are we just gonna ignore this??
@aircraftannie
This bodysuit oh I’m barking
@popcovet
Russian singer Plane Jane has announced that she is in a relationship with Nymphia Wind! Congrats to the happy couple!
@bellaisnotokaywiththis
Nymphia going from releasing a song where she said she would never date again to announcing her relationship at a big ass festival ohhhhh I’m gonna cry
@carlytheyjepsen
move over bitches our new power couple is here to stay
@theplanejane
Btw if anyone comes for us I’ll fuck you up check the mugshots bitch
@nymphiawind
i guess it’s official
@nymphiawind
😘
Chapter 9: Whether they like or not
Notes:
Chapter title from Agora Hills by Doja Cat
I have no idea how music or recording works but that’s okay
Chapter Text
It’s been a week since their official announcement and Jane and Nymphia have pretty much been doing the same thing they were before the announcement, aka a lot of hanging out at Nymphia’s house, going to local stores and restaurants, making music, and fucking. Nymphia is almost done with her new song, spending hours in the studio just to make sure it’s perfect. Now that they’re public, they’re more active on social media, posting selfies or hints of the other one. Boris and Chubais have gotten lots of love from Nymphia’s fans. Every time Jane breathes, the fans are commenting yellow hearts or “stream bumblebee.” Nymphia’s Russian listenership has grown considerably.
Amanda was a little pissed at first because she still thinks Jane is a terrible influence, an opinion shared by a small but notable portion of the normal people, but she couldn’t even stay mad because Nymphia’s getting more publicity than she has in a year, most of it good. Twitter is blowing up, people are already drawing fanart and making edits, calling on them to collaborate on a song or make an album together or release a sex tape, the latter of which they are not going to do, but it’s the thought that counts.
Well, said tape already exists, but the normal people aren’t gonna know that.
And so, Amanda kind of relented, after setting the rules that Nymphia and Jane won’t get married, fuck in public, or make any shocking announcements without Amanda’s knowledge. She just shows up for her weekly meeting and occasionally to the recording sessions and figures out what their plan is and keeps her mouth shut about Jane.
Nymphia can’t say the same for Jane. She always thinks it’s funny that the two blonde women in her life hate each other’s guts, but their personalities are like oil and water, an unstoppable force versus an immovable object, so she doesn’t try to fight it anymore.
Honestly, the hardest part of going public was Nymphia’s mom being mad that she didn’t tell her about Jane before. Nymphia had to hold the phone to her ear sheepishly as her mom yelled at her for two reasons, the first being that Nymphia didn’t tell her about Jane, the second being that Jane is…Jane. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised, Nymphia’s always loved a bad girl, but she supposes it’s fair. They’ve been dating for two months and Nymphia didn’t tell her nosy mom, of course she’s gonna get yelled at.
Her mom is pissed about the things the twelve year old fans and their parents are pissed about too, the arrests and constant nudity and other things Jane has gotten into over the years, but after some skillful assuaging by Nymphia, and a couple lies, she’s fine enough to give a sort-of blessing.
Nymphia plops onto the outdoor sofa next to Jane and says, “My mom thinks you’re corrupting me.”
“The truth is you’re corrupting me.”
“No I’m not!”
“I was living a very normal, party-free life here in America until you came along, baby.”
“Well I’m not banned from Spain.”
Jane gasps, and Nymphia laughs.
“That was a temporary ban, it’s over now,” she clarifies, smiling. Then she sighs. “My mom is proud of me for dating someone rich and famous, she’s just not happy about you being…a woman.”
Nymphia nods in sympathy.
“My mom was confused at first,” she states. “Mostly because I dated a boy for two weeks when I was eight.”
Jane laughs and says, “Wow, I’m surprised you ever had a straight moment.”
“It was a dark place, being eight years old, my brain was confused,” Nymphia replies, then bursts into laughter.
“So, both of our moms hate this relationship, as does Amanda, any other news?”
Nymphia smiles teasingly and says, “My new song is almost done.”
“Should I be scared?”
“Well, unless you’re scared about the concept of having a song written about you, no. All good things, I promise.”
“Is it going to be a hit?”
“Obviously.”
Jane reclines onto Nymphia, resting her head in her lap, and says, “A nice song written about me by my beautiful partner, and it’s going to be a hit, what more could I ask for?”
Nymphia almost melts right there.
“How are you so sweet?” she asks. “Usually people from Russia are mean.”
“I’m only nice to you. Sometimes Morphine.”
“That’s not true.”
“It kind of is,” Jane replies, laughing. “You should see how I talk to men.”
Nymphia giggles and says, “Valid.”
“I was about to curse you out for hitting me with that door when we first met, but look at us now.”
“You were gonna curse me out but didn’t because I’m so hot?”
“Well yes.”
“I was gonna awkwardly apologize and go about my day but didn’t because you’re so hot,” Nymphia states. “And your boobs were right in my face and I couldn’t focus.”
“I had to look down at you because you’re so short. But then I finally got there and it was worth it.”
“I was looking at your boobs first then your face and the view got worse,” Nymphia deadpans.
Jane gasps and sits up, making Nymphia squeal and grab her shoulders, their arms flailing and colliding.
They end up with their faces inches apart, looking at each other, and Nymphia kind of wants to rail her right there but she settles for a kiss.
They kiss for a second, languid, then Jane pulls back and says, “It was the opposite for me, I saw your face and fell in love then saw your tits and said never mind.”
Nymphia’s jaw drops, and she says, “Wow, Janey, I’ve been so nice to you, so generous-“
“I’m kidding!”
“I know,” she says, wrapping her arms a little tighter around Jane. “Because my tits are also amazing.”
Jane laughs, the sound reverberating against Nymphia’s arms, and Nymphia smiles and kisses her again.
Nymphia’s phone chimes, and she checks it to see that Morphine has sent her another edit of the two of them, one of what must be thousands even though there’s only a couple grainy fan pictures out there.
“I think she’s our biggest shipper,” Nymphia says. “Oh look, they used one of your songs this time instead of mine.”
“Some poor fan had to look up translations of all my songs to find one that fits.”
“They had to get past all the lyrics about tits and dicks to find a romantic song.”
“Exactly.”
Jane sighs and says, “I want to make music in English right now, capitalize on all this shit, but I don’t have anything.”
“Come to the studio with me tomorrow,” Nymphia says, basically as soon as the thought enters her head. “You can meet some people, get inspiration. Hear the song about you before it gets released to the rest of the world.”
“Are you actually offering?”
“Janey,” Nymphia says dramatically, looking into her eyes. “I would buy a country for you if you wanted it, of course I’m offering to let you come to the studio with me.”
Jane beams, smile stretching from ear to ear, then says, “If you were to buy me a country, I would want it to be Monaco so I can live in a fancy castle.”
“Deal.”
When they arrive at the studio, Amanda is there, and her eyes flash with an obvious “what the fuck,” and Nymphia replies with a glance she hopes is simultaneously apologetic and not sorry at all.
“Hey, how are ya,” Mark, the main audio engineer greets Jane. “I’m Mark.”
“Plane Jane,” she replies, shaking his hand gracefully. “Miss Jane if you’re nasty.”
He and a few other people laugh, and Nymphia smiles. A good way to make people want to work with you is to make them like you, and clearly Jane knows how to do that.
“She’s gonna sit here and watch me do this if that’s okay,” Nymphia states, looking cautiously at Amanda. “She’s trying to get into the English music scene and failing.”
Jane’s jaw drops, and Nymphia quickly clarifies that she’s kidding, the two of them and the employees laughing.
“I just need the right song,” Jane states, looking around as if to make sure everyone knows she’s talking to them.
She looks back at Nymphia.
“Or the right person.”
They play what they have of the song so far. Nymphia watches Jane to see what she thinks.
The blonde is grinning, beaming, the whole time, and Nymphia smiles too.
“It sounds done, is it not?” Jane asks when it’s over.
“It could be,” Nymphia replies. “But it’s not. I don’t know why, it just feels…not right.”
“Why not?” Amanda asks. “It fits right in with the rest of your work.”
“I know, I just…I can’t explain. I want to change it.”
“Maybe you can have some backing vocals behind the chorus,” Jane suggests.
She imitates the song, half-singing the lyrics, and Nymphia catches on, starts singing too. They’re off at first, at different places in the song, but they’re getting closer, their voices practically reaching out to each other as they approach the end of the chorus.
They harmonize, voices mixing and melting together, like an aural hug.
The moment ends, and both of their eyes, along with many of the others’ in the room, widen.
It sounded good. Really, really good.
“Oh my god, that actually sounded good,” Nymphia breathes. “And you can actually sing! Why were you saying you can’t sing?!”
“I can’t sing, your voice made mine sound better,” Jane replies, still wide eyed.
Nymphia whips out her phone and presses record.
“Let’s do that again.”
She sings at a normal volume this time, Jane still singing softly for the background vocal effect, and again their voices hit that sweet spot, again they harmonize like they were born to sing together.
She plays the recording, and it sounds good there, too.
“Sounds good to me,” Mark says. “What are you thinking?”
“I think we need to record this for real,” Nymphia says, standing up.
Amanda’s jaw is set, but Nymphia couldn’t care less as she practically drags Jane into the recording booth.
There’s no vocal warmups, no planning, no thinking other than their desire to get this sound out there as they put their headphones on. Nymphia’s fully confident in front of the mic, singing out the intro, then the chorus, Jane humming and adlibbing alongside her. Jane catches her eye, smiling, and Nymphia almost misses her cue from smiling back.
The music cuts off, and they look back to the booth expectantly.
“This is amazing,” Mark says. “But Jane, what if you went deeper?”
Jane mutters, “Ooh,” and smirks mischievously, and Nymphia smacks her.
“Can you hit lower notes?” he asks.
She gives a thumbs up.
The music continues where it left off, and this time Jane’s voice shifts into a lower register, voice husky and rumbling.
It’s kinda hot. Nymphia forces herself to look at the mic and sing.
Amanda is watching, stone faced, and Nymphia forces herself not to look at her either.
“Can we listen to it?” Nymphia asks when the music ends.
Mark nods, and they go back into the control room. It feels like an agonizingly long time as the engineers download the audio files, lay them over the instrumentals, but then it’s ready.
Even in its crude form, the rough mastering, the unevenness of their vocals from lack of rehearsal, it sends shivers through Nymphia.
Nymphia looks at Jane. Jane looks at Nymphia.
She knows that this is what they’re gonna do. The song sounded incomplete before, but Jane’s vocals were the missing piece, the thing that catapulted it from good to great.
They can tell, everyone in the room can tell.
“We gonna go with that?” Mark asks.
“Oh my god, yes,” Nymphia replies.
“Alright, let’s get this stuff set up for real.”
“We need to do vocal warmups,” Nymphia says to Jane.
“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.”
She looks genuinely confused as to why they have to do that, and Nymphia presses a hand to her forehead before saying, “It’s fine, I’ll teach you.”
They start to walk to the other room, but Amanda stops Nymphia with her “can we talk” look. Jane stops and looks back, and Nymphia gestures for her to continue without her.
“Nymphia, are we sure this is a good idea?” Amanda whispers.
“It’s just background vocals,” she whispers back, a pleading edge to her voice. “Aren’t you all about publicity? This is gonna get us publicity!”
“I was fine with the other stuff, but this gonna be your first lead single in two fucking years, Nymphia, everyone is waiting for it-“
“And what, they’re gonna start a riot if my partner has backing vocals?”
“What if you break up?”
Silence. Nymphia’s heart drops.
“What if she gets tired of living in your big fancy mansion? What if she gets tired of the fans? Of being famous?” Amanda continues.
“That’s not gonna happen,” Nymphia declares. “And if it does I’ll fucking cross that bridge when it comes but it won’t!”
She sees Jane standing there out of the corner of her eye.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” Amanda says coldly.
“Well I don’t.”
Nymphia walks back to the control room and tells them that they’re gonna warm up then record, then grabs Jane’s hand and pulls her into the booth.
They record the song, fully serious this time. Nymphia knows Jane heard the confrontation, but they don’t talk about it, just focus on the song.
When they finish a take, Jane squeezes Nymphia’s hand, and she almost bursts into tears.
Amanda is still there, watching the recording session with her arms crossed over her chest, and it fuels Nymphia more, makes her sing louder, standing against the mic like she’s trying to attack it, Jane singing softly in the background.
On the ending note, their voices click, reach that perfect mix, and one of the sound engineers gives them a thumbs up.
They go back into the control room and listen, both pointedly ignoring Amanda. The song sounds so fucking good Nymphia could cry.
“I wanna do a duet,” she says, not thinking.
“Am I being promoted from backup singer to lead?” Jane asks jokingly.
“Yes,” she exclaims, spinning to face her and grabbing her hands. “Oh my god, we need to do a duet, I can sing the first line then you come in on the second one then we come together for the chorus-“
“Some back and forth, a give and take-“
“We need to do a duet,” Nymphia says to Mark.
“It would be good,” he admits. “Do you still wanna have her vocals on this song?” he asks, gesturing to the computer with the current song on it.
“Yes,” she replies enthusiastically. “This song and a duet!”
“Wanna go in for a songwriting session tomorrow?” one of the men asks.
They both nod.
“Why just one duet?” Jane questions, eyes alight with ideas. “Why limit ourselves?”
“Yes,” Nymphia exclaims. “We can do one about love and one about something else-“
“One about love, one about controversy-“
“Controversy! We can talk about our fame and the announcement-“
They babble about the idea for the duet for a few seconds, then Jane says, “Sorry,” to the employees.
Nymphia calms down, sitting back and letting go of Jane’s hands, but her head is still buzzing, thoughts of their potential duet bouncing around in her brain like a pinball machine.
They listen to the vocals they just recorded for the original song one more time just to make sure they’re perfect, then Jane nods her approval and Nymphia tells them they can go ahead and start mixing it.
“Are we done for the day?” Jane asks when Nymphia grabs her things.
“We’re done in here,” Nymphia says, gesturing to the room. “But when we get home we’re working on our duet.”
“Perfect.”
They say goodbye to the employees, and as they’re heading out, Amanda stands.
Jane wraps a protective arm around Nymphia. She leans into her.
“We’re doing a duet,” Nymphia states firmly.
“Nymphia-“
“And we’re not breaking up.”
She and Jane walk away.
At home, they were planning on brainstorming the duet but ended up making out half naked on the couch. Jane is on top of Nymphia, pressing sloppy kisses to her neck, one hand stroking over her bra.
Nymphia sighs.
“What is it?” Jane asks, pulling back.
“Amanda thinks we’re gonna break up,” she pouts.
“Fuck Amanda,” she responds easily. “She has this fucking vendetta against me for some reason. It’s not like I went to jail for fucking murder, I don’t get why she’s making a big deal about us being together.”
“I don’t get it either. She hasn’t been this insane about anything I’ve done in a while. But I don’t wanna, like, disobey her or whatever.”
“Respectfully,” Jane starts. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks about us.”
“But she’s my manager-“
“Which means she works for you, not the other way around.”
Nymphia pauses, the realization setting in.
“Oh shit. You’re right.”
“I’m always right,” she says smugly.
“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”
She pulls Jane back down, and the blonde gets the memo, pressing her lips into Nymphia’s bruisingly hard.
Yeah, they’re not breaking up. They’re going to make the best duet the world has ever seen and walk red carpets together to promote it and the fans will be obsessed and when it hits number one Amanda will have to admit that she’s wrong.
After sex, while Jane is lying on the couch breathlessly, Nymphia grabs a notebook and pen and starts jotting down ideas for their duet.
Chapter 10: The city never looked so bright
Notes:
Chapter title from White Walls by Macklemore
Chapter Text
“Whatever you do in your music I wanna do that,” Nymphia says.
“Whatever you do in your music I wanna do that,” Jane replies. “Clearly you’re doing something right since you’re this successful.”
Nymphia smiles, then says, “Well, clearly you’re doing something right if all these people are talking about you.”
“Eh, that’s just because I’m an attention whore.”
Nymphia laughs and says, “I do wanna include that in the song.”
“My whoreness?”
“No, your controversy,” Nymphia says dramatically. “The reputation, the scandal.”
“How I’m the evil Russian who came here to corrupt you.”
“Or so they think.”
“Or so they think,” Jane agrees. “Little do they know that you are actually a total whore.”
“Janey!”
She giggles. It’s the truth.
“We need to talk about how obsessed everyone is with us,” Jane says. “Including Amanda.”
Nymphia’s jaw drops.
“Janey, you’re so messy.”
“I know, baby, I know, but that’s what makes it fun.”
Nymphia ponders it for a second, if she wants to be messy, but before she can really think about it Jane is continuing with the ideas.
“I want it to be dancey,” she says.
“Can you even dance?”
Jane’s jaw drops, and she smacks Nymphia’s arm as the brunette cackles.
“I won the Sochi pro ballroom competition when I was nine, thank you very much.”
She flips her hair petulantly and Nymphia laughs.
“But yes, a dancey song is good,” she says. “I want it to be catchy.”
“It needs to be so catchy people can’t help but like it.”
“And it needs to be sent to radio of course, and maybe we can make it go viral on TikTok-”
“You’re such a capitalist, Nymphia,” Jane jokes.
“Says you, miss degree in marketing.”
“Two capitalist bitches from former communist countries, what a twist.”
“I’m not a capitalist, I just know how to work the system,” Nymphia states.
“You live in Malibu and drive a Lamborghini but you’re not a capitalist?”
“You’re wearing five Cartier bracelets right now, don’t throw stones in glass houses.”
Jane laughs and asks, “Okay, so you know how to work the system, what do we need to do in this song in order to make both of us very rich and famous?”
“I think the fact that it exists at all will get us halfway there.”
“That’s true.”
She thinks for a second.
“Do you wanna do your usual thing?” Jane asks. “Or do you wanna try something new?”
She’s grinning. Nymphia can practically see the ideas forming in her brain.
She thinks about herself. Her label. Her fans. She hasn’t come out with an album in a year and a half, the longest break she’s taken in her career, and coming back with a sapphic duet with her scandalous girlfriend is definitely gonna make waves. Maybe too many waves.
Amanda thinks it’s a terrible idea. That their relationship will crash and burn and Nymphia will be stuck with the fallout.
But also Amanda has, in Jane’s words, a vendetta against her for flimsy reasons, a level of personal opinion on this relationship that she hasn’t had before.
It’s unprofessional.
Nymphia doesn’t think they’re gonna break up. She does think that this song would go so viral both of their careers would get such a boost that no one who cares about money, AKA her label and manager, could be mad. It’s a win-win.
Fuck what anyone says.
“I wanna try something new,” she answers.
Jane grabs her hand and squeezes it.
They come to the songwriting session with ideas of love and sex and scandal, and the writers are all for it, except that they don’t have any music to go along with it. The producers haven’t sent any, there aren’t any flash drives with beats sitting around.
“What kind of second rate label is this,” Jane jokes, then winces and says sorry when a writer looks offended.
“Do we wanna wait until Monday, try to work with a producer then?” Megami asks.
“I want it to be done now,” Nymphia says dramatically, flopping onto Jane.
“Wait a second, Plasma’s good at this kind of stuff,” she continues, sitting up.
“Is it going to sound like a showtune?” Jane asks.
“No, no,” Nymphia replies, growing more enthusiastic as the idea dawns on her. “There’s a lot of studios in New York too.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing to go up there,” one of the men agrees. “See what they have to say.”
Jane looks around, then her eyes land on Nymphia.
“Are we going to New York?”
By the way Nymphia is looking at her she’s pretty sure they’re going to New York.
“Are you okay with that?” she asks.
“Of course,” Jane replies. “Going to a fun city to make the best song ever, what’s not to love?”
“Have you been there before?”
Jane nods and says, “For a couple weeks. I think I fucked every man in Brighton Beach.”
Nymphia’s jaw drops, and she glances over at the songwriters, prompting Jane to smack a hand over her mouth and apologize to them. One of the guys shrugs. Jane is in desperate need of a brain filter that stops her from saying everything that comes to her mind but Nymphia loves it. She’s like if everyone acted on their intrusive thoughts. It’s refreshing.
“But yes, I do like New York, and our song would be very good if we made it there,” Jane says.
“God, I haven’t been there in so long,” Nymphia says. “I think I’m still banned from some clubs.”
“Aw, we’re both banned from places.”
“A couple clubs in Brooklyn isn’t as bad as a whole country.”
“Fuck off.”
Nymphia texts Amanda to book her some songwriting sessions and studio time in New York. After an hour, she still hasn’t responded.
Fine. Nymphia can do it on her own.
They show up in New York, Saint Laurent suitcases in hand, Jane wearing a shirt that says New York ❤️’s me, Nymphia with a choker around her neck, and people on the internet go absolutely fucking wild.
They arrive at the hotel, Jane throwing her bag onto the bed and placing her hands on her hips, looking out the window in awe. Nymphia stands next to her, rests her head on her shoulder. New York stretches out before them, skyscrapers and streets and people, and their hotel room is high up, overlooking it all. There’s a balcony and Nymphia kind of wants to get railed on it but it’s still daytime so she settles for grabbing Jane’s face and kissing her hard.
They make their way to the bed, falling onto it while kissing. Nymphia bumps her head on Jane’s suitcase, and Jane apologizes by shoving the suitcase away and peppering Nymphia with kisses, making her giggle.
Nymphia pulls her shirt off, practically melding her body to Jane’s, and the blonde softly asks, “You don’t wanna work on the song?”
“Not right now,” she replies breathlessly. “I’m gathering inspiration.”
Jane laughs, making Nymphia’s heart flutter, and she kisses her cheek, her forehead. Nymphia savors the attention, smiles as Jane loves on her, then maneuvers them so she’s on top, Jane lying below her. Nymphia kisses her neck, harder than before, then she’s between her legs, pulling her shorts and underwear down. Jane is surprised for sure, eyes widening, but her expression of surprise quickly turns into one of happiness, lips curling upwards as Nymphia buries her head between her legs.
After Jane comes, hand on Nymphia’s head as she exhales, Nymphia practically throws herself onto the bed next to her.
“You want me to get the strap?” Jane murmurs, smiling at Nymphia’s eagerness.
She nods, and Jane sighs, gets up on wobbly legs to go to her suitcase, mumbling about how much of a pillow princess Nymphia is. She straps the harness on, then crawls up onto the bed. She looks at Nymphia expectantly, waiting for her to turn over how she usually does, but Nymphia stays on her back.
“I wanna see you,” she says, pouting.
Jane obliges that request, fucking her in missionary, kissing Nymphia’s neck as she fucks her, and Nymphia clutches her, enveloping herself in everything Jane.
After she comes, she holds Jane there another moment, kissing her, savoring her.
They go out for dinner in the dresses they wore when they first met, Nymphia’s Prada and Jane’s Versace, just for fun.
They’re getting ready in the bathroom, standing side by side at the sinks. Jane’s hair is in an updo, again revealing the tattoo on the back of her neck, and Nymphia runs her fingers over it.
“What does it mean?” she asks.
“It’s stupid.”
“No it’s not, tell me.”
Jane looks at herself in the mirror, then says, “Zhivy budem. It means we’ll stay alive. I got it for the queers in Russia. For my friends in jail for protesting that couldn’t get out.”
“Janey,” Nymphia coos, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing. Jane hugs her back, resting her head on top of Nymphia’s, and they stay like that for a moment.
“I’m so glad I escaped,” Jane murmurs. “That I get to live a real life.”
“I’m so glad you’re here too. I love you, Jane.”
“I love you too, Nymphia.”
They stay like that for another moment, embracing, then Jane pulls back, wiping a tear away.
“Fuck, I’m gonna have to redo my foundation,” she says, laughing as she dabs at her eyes.
“I think half my makeup is on your chest,” Nymphia jokes.
Jane looks down and brushes off her chest, then pulls up her dress and yanks her tits back into place, making Nymphia laugh.
“That’s another reason why we have to make this song,” Nymphia says. “Representation.”
“Hell yeah,” Jane says as she touches up her makeup. “Can I have a line in Russian?”
“Only if it’s the most dirty thing imaginable.”
“Oh baby, of course it is.”
Jane sets her makeup brush down and says, “Sorry for bringing down the mood, you asked about the tattoo and-“
“No,” Nymphia urges. “No you didn’t.”
She cups Jane’s jaw, the blonde relaxing into her touch.
“Thank you for telling me,” Nymphia says. “You’re making them proud.”
“Thanks, baby. What about you, any tattoos?”
“No, I hate needles.”
“Why do you have so many ear piercings then?”
“I hated getting those, but it was worth it because they look cute.”
“I think you would look good with some tattoos.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“One that says Jane’s bitch, right there,” she says, holding her fingers up to Nymphia’s neck, the two of them bursting into laughter.
“As if this thing doesn’t say that already,” Nymphia says, gesturing to the choker.
“And it does a wonderful job of doing it,” she replies.
She deliberately wraps her fingers under the choker, then abruptly tugs it. Nymphia’s eyes go wide, her breath hitching, and Jane smiles.
“We should get to dinner,” she says. “Don’t wanna be late.”
They have drinks, then dinner, then more drinks, then they’re tipsily walking around the city, holding hands and giggling. They stop at an ice cream shop, wobbling in their heels as they wait in line.
A girl comes up, smiling nervously, and asks, “So, are we getting a collab or-“
“Yes,” Jane blurts.
Nymphia gasps and stage-whispers, “Janey, you weren’t supposed to say that!” before turning to the fan and saying, “But yeah, it is.”
The girl cheers and takes a selfie with them before heading off, undoubtedly to tell the world that the Nymphia-Jane collab is actually happening. They were going to keep it somewhat secret until the song was actually made, but in this moment Nymphia is too tipsy and too in love with Jane to care. May as well plant seeds of excitement early.
They get their ice cream, then walk around more, eventually ending up at a club.
They wake up in the morning with matching tattoos, but there’s no time to worry about that because they’re off to go make this song with Plasma.
“God, it’s like an Audrey Hepburn movie,” Jane mutters as they walk into Plasma’s apartment. “If Audrey Hepburn was a gay club rat.”
“I heard that,” Plasma quips, waving a hand to show she’s not actually offended. “So, lovebirds, what kinda song are we making today?”
They explain the concept, and Plasma listens, gears turning in her head.
“I think I have something,” she says, walking over to the computer. “You guys have any lyrics yet? Wanna try something out?”
“No,” Nymphia says.
Plasma looks at them in disbelief and says, “Two singers and you couldn’t come up with a single lyric?”
“My English not so good,” Jane quips, making Nymphia burst into giggles.
“God, you really are perfect for each other,” Plasma says. “Alright, just listen to this and see if it inspires you.”
It starts off with horns, then drums, like a marching band if marching bands sounded cool. Jane is immediately into it, bopping her head, and when the bass kicks in, Nymphia joins right in alongside her.
“We need a stronger bass,” Jane says.
“I like it,” Nymphia says.
“Well jeez, that was fast,” Plasma quips.
“It’s cause you’re a genius, Plazzy.”
“Oh, thank you darling.”
They tinker with it for hours, adding and removing instruments, trying out vocals just to make sure they go with the sound, making every single part of the beat as perfect as it can be. Plasma has a martini in one hand, other hand on the keyboard, Jane is dancing around the apartment, and Nymphia is cheesing like an idiot.
She looks at the airplane tattoo on her ankle, then up at the woman that inspired it, listens to the song, the product of this sudden but very, very welcome relationship.
She’s so unbelievably happy that she walks over to Jane and yanks her down into a kiss, the blonde eagerly reciprocating, wrapping her arms around Nymphia and holding her tight.
“Get a room!” Plasma exclaims.
“Can we have this one?” Jane asks, pressing her cheek against Nymphia’s.
They receive a middle finger in response and laugh.
By the end of the day, the beat is as perfect as it can be just using the tools Plasma has. They’ll refine it in the studio, possibly change it once they actually have lyrics. They thank Plasma for her help, Nymphia by jumping onto her and hugging her, Jane by sliding her a hundred and saying she’ll owe her one.
Nymphia records a snippet of the audio and sends it to Amanda, almost as more of a heads up, a declaration that they’re doing this rather than in search of an opinion on the actual music.
I still don’t think it’s a good idea.
why not?
it’s my career
why do you have such a problem with it?
with jane?
No response. Nymphia puts her phone away and tries to focus on the present.
But Amanda is dragging her down yet again, her earlier ecstatic mood turned into anxiety.
She takes her phone back out and looks at Twitter, focusing on the fans. As predicted, they’re going insane over pictures of them last night, about a possible collab.
The two of them go out again that night, in a classier way, though, no drinks to help the tattoos heal. Jane laughs at hers, bumping her ankle against Nymphia’s, who smiles back. A tattoo of a banana on her ankle kind of seems dirtier than it actually is, and the plane on Nymphia’s makes her look like a basic bitch who’s gone to Bora Bora once, yet both of them like them, no matter how unplanned they were or awkward the designs are.
Her mom is also going to kill her for this, but she’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it. She’s overdue for a visit. She’s always telling her mom to come visit her in LA, but her mom insists that she’s too old to travel, that Nymphia’s young self needs to come visit her. If anyone asks where Nymphia gets her stubbornness from she knows exactly where. Maybe she and Jane can go someday.
Nymphia takes another sip of her soda, twirling her straw in the cup, and Jane asks, “Are you okay?”
Nymphia sighs and says, “I sent a sample to Amanda, mostly just to tell her that yeah, we’re still doing this, and she’s mad again. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea’ wah wah wah, and she won’t give me a fucking reason either.”
“That’s so unprofessional!” Jane exclaims. “What’s her problem?”
“I don’t know, and it’s stressing me out.”
“Baby, it’s been stressing you out a lot,” Jane says, looking into Nymphia’s eyes and placing a hand on hers. “I noticed it, too. How Plasma and I were celebrating finishing the song and you were looking at your phone in the corner.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.”
Jane takes her hand.
“I just don’t like that she’s making you feel like this.”
“I don’t like it either.”
An idea pops into her head. An objectively bad idea.
Yet it unfurls within her mind, convincing her more and more.
“Yeah, it is unprofessional,” she says.
“You look like you’re scheming.”
“And it’s very unfortunate that she’s acting this way when her contract is almost up.”
Realization sets into Jane, and she looks at Nymphia with wide eyes.
“Am I being crazy?” Nymphia asks.
Jane shakes her head, grinning.
“I think you’re being very reasonable. Can’t have a petty manager sabotaging your new song like this.”
“That’s right. We need to make sure this song succeeds.”
“She’s gonna bring it down.”
“Who knows, maybe we’ll want to collab again in the future.”
Jane raises her eyebrows, mischievous smile still on her face.
Nymphia pulls out her phone and begins typing.
“What are you doing?”
“Telling her that she is going to get it together,” Nymphia says, still typing. “Or I’m not renewing her contract.”
She doesn’t need to worry about Amanda. She needs to focus on the song. To enjoy the entire process. To think about what matters to her, which is her enjoyment, her goals, and Jane. She realizes then that what her manager thinks, hell, even what the label or the general public thinks, doesn’t matter to her. She cares about herself and Jane, and the two of them are loving this song.
So she gives Amanda the ultimatum. Either she’ll get over this hangup and help promote the song, or she won’t be Nymphia’s manager anymore.
She and Jane sit on the balcony that night, holding hands, not speaking, just enjoying each other’s company as they watch the city lights.
Chapter 11: Throw caution to the wind
Notes:
Identity reveal teehee
You can find me on Tumblr at adoordelanoChapter title from Peppers by Lana
Thank you so much everyone for your kudos, comments etc I don’t respond but I love them all dearly <3
Chapter Text
The next day, they go to the studio for a songwriting and maybe recording session for the duet. The songwriters, producers, engineers, everyone’s impressed with what they came up with, with what Plasma came up with to be real, and they spend the rest of the day coming up whether lyrics, phrases, Jane and Nymphia singing to test them out, their singing leading to more lyrics, more lyrics leading to more singing, cycling through inspiration until it’s late into the night and the song is written. You and Me.
They just have to record it. And, well, when two people have insane chemistry, in terms of music and everything else, things happen fast.
They record it insanely fast, voices molding together, playing at each other, the voices and the words and the music just coming together so well it’s almost magical.
It is magical.
The singers’ jobs are done. The engineers and whoever need to mix it, but Jane and Nymphia have done their duty.
At least until the inevitable creation and filming of the music video, but for tonight, they’re done.
Nymphia’s energized, hyped from the song and from Jane, and they go to a club, the first club they could find that looked cool. Electronic music is playing, not regular electronic music, music that thumps through the building, music with girls screaming about sex and drugs, music that’s so fun and so different. For Nymphia, at least.
“Do you wanna do your usual thing?” Jane’s voice echoes in her head. “Or do you wanna try something new?”
“I wanna try something new.”
She’d thought the duet was new enough. But now, in this place, with all this new, insane music, after the song has been made, she’s realizing that this duet is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s like her mind is opening up, blooming like a flower, high off the music, off the possibilities, no drugs needed.
Well, that last part isn’t entirely true, but it’s enhancing her imagination even more.
She spends the rest of the night dancing, recording snippets of the club’s music that she likes, firing off texts and voice memos to her musician friends and anyone who she thinks can do this with her, can help her bring this vision to life in any way.
What vision she doesn’t really know. Just that it’s different.
Well, that is the vision. Different. Something Nymphia has never done before.
It’s eight in the morning and they’re at a cafe, Jane scribbling notes on a napkin in a mix of English and Russian as Nymphia tells her her ideas. Everyone is probably looking at them like they’re insane, Nymphia’s animated gestures, her enthusing of topics like DUIs and strap ons, Jane’s frantic nodding and writing, but she frankly can’t give less of a fuck. This is the first time in a while that Nymphia’s felt this enthusiasm for music. The first time in a while that she’s felt like that wide eyed eighteen year old girl ready to make her mark on the world.
She eventually crashes, both of them do, wandering back to the hotel like zombies, but even as she’s falling asleep, ideas are rocketing through Nymphia’s brain so fast she can barely remember them.
She wakes up to Jane brushing her fingers through her hair, her own hair a total rat’s nest, and immediately grabs her hand and says, “We need to make some fucking music.”
“I know, baby, you were muttering about it in your sleep,” she smiles, voice husky. “And I fucking love it.”
“Your voice is so scratchy right now, we need to use that in a song.”
“Do you even know what this song would be?”
“No,” she breathes. “But I wanna make it.”
bitch how drunk r u Morphine texted back.
Omg I liveeee said Xunami.
Also Mirage is in town if you wanna hit her up
Oh she’s truly infiltrated your mind 😉 Plasma texted.
In the best way
“They’re on board with it,” Nymphia says to Jane, waving the phone in her face.
“You don’t need to convince me, baby.”
Jane climbs over her, straddling her, and says, “You don’t know how bad I wanted to do this with you.”
“Do what?” she giggles, trying to deflect from how turned on this position is making her but also genuinely curious.
“Make music with you.”
She kisses her temple.
“New music.”
A kiss to her jaw.
“To corrupt you. Or so the public thinks.”
Nymphia shudders.
“I was inspired by you,” she states.
“Oh yeah?”
“I wanna do what you do.”
Jane kisses her neck, clearly holding back, careful to not leave any marks.
“Who gives a fuck what they say?” Nymphia asks, more to herself than anyone else.
“Jane?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you make this music with me?”
“I would love to have the honor.”
Nymphia giggles.
“I wanna make it with Plazzy and Xuxu and Mirage and everyone,” Nymphia says, voice and brain hazy. “But I wanna make it with you the most.”
“Nymphia, you don’t have to convince me,” Jane says. She laughs slightly, but she’s still looking at Nymphia with soft eyes, such genuine fondness radiating off of her it makes Nymphia want to grab her and kiss her senseless.
She does so immediately after, tangling her fingers in her hair and kissing her hard, the rest of the world melting away.
Jane leaves a hickey on her neck, then two, then a third on her shoulder, just for good measure. It doesn’t matter because Amanda doesn’t matter. Because whatever the execs at the label think doesn’t matter. Any pearl clutching fans or naysayers or haters don’t matter. The only person whose opinion matters in her life is hers. Nymphia’s known this, deep down, but has never let it rise to the surface, never acted on it.
But here, in New York, in this hotel room, buzzed from the high of her girlfriend and what they’ve created together, what they’re going to create together, it’s finally unfurling, coming into fruition, becoming true and there’s no taking it back.
She cuddles into Jane’s side and smiles.
They go to Xunami’s that night, where Mirage is lying on a couch, wearing a shirt that’s a little too small for her. Nymphia smiles. She had her suspicions about them and enjoys the fact that she was right.
“We’re just collaborating on music,” Xunami clarifies.
Nymphia looks at her with a “sure” expression, then sits on the couch opposite Mirage.
“This apartment is beautiful,” Jane says, looking around. “Love the decorations.”
“You never complimented my decorations,” Nymphia says.
“I bet your house is banana themed,” Mirage interjects.
“Most of it isn’t, but she has this fucking banana plushie that stares at us while we fuck,” Jane states.
“It’s not like it’s alive!”
“It has a creepy smile.”
“Anyway,” Nymphia says, turning to Mirage and Xunami. “Let’s make some music.”
“Nymphia Wind asking me to help her with music, I never thought I’d see the day,” Mirage says.
“She’s turning over a new leaf,” Jane says.
“I’m metamorphosizing,” Nymphia says dramatically, furrowing her brows at the word. “Metamorphosizing? Metamorphosing? Well, whatever, I’m changing.”
“I love it,” Xunami says. “I always knew you had a bad girl streak in you. How does Amanda feel about it?”
“That bitch hates it,” Jane states.
“Oop,” Mirage replies.
“Amanda hates it,” Nymphia echoes. “But that doesn’t matter.”
Xunami cackles and says, “I love it! Damn Nymphia, miss Jane over here is rubbing off on you.”
“More like rubbing me off,” Jane quips.
A chorus of squawks and laughs comes from Xunami and Mirage, and Jane sits there smugly as Nymphia smacks her.
“We do want to make songs about that,” Nymphia states. “You know. The nasty parts.”
“And a big fuck you to the haters,” Jane adds.
“And the Karens.”
“And Amanda.”
Nymphia shrugs, half in agreement. She’s not going to go as far as straight up shit talking her manager in such a public way, but, also, this whole project is kind of a fuck you to Amanda.
And, hey, their contract is almost up, if Amanda hates this she can quit, if Amanda tries to put a stop to it Nymphia can decide not to renew her contract. A win-win.
“Alright, you got your manifesto,” Xunami replies. “Are we just brainstorming here? Do you wanna invite your producer or anything?”
“I don’t have a producer,” Nymphia says. “Not for this.”
Xunami’s eyes widen.
“Don’t you usually work with that guy?”
“Usually,” Nymphia emphasizes. “But this is different. We had some guys from the label help us with our first duet, but I don’t want this to sound like just another one of my albums.”
Mirage raises her eyebrows.
“Maybe I’ll get other people involved, if we can’t make the best album ever all by ourselves,” Nymphia continues. “But I want to make this with you guys. And Plasma. And Morphine if I can pry her away from all the men in Miami.”
Mirage’s jaw is on the floor, eyes alight, and Xunami is more restrained but clearly excited too.
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Nymphia says. “But there will be some generous compensation, and you get to hang out with me, so…”
“Girl, I’ve been on board the second you asked,” Mirage says. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.”
“Kinky,” Jane says.
“Nymphia,” Xunami starts, somewhat seriously, though she’s smiling. “Are you sure you want this ragtag ass group of people to make an album with you?”
“I’m sure.”
Xunami grins.
“Well shit. I guess we’re finally collabing.”
“It’s long overdue,” Nymphia says. “We need at least one song with a sickening rap from you.”
“You know it.”
“Mirage, I want you to help me with the hyperpop part,” Nymphia states. “Stuff that the girls and gays will go crazy for.”
“So you’re familiar with my work?”
She laughs and says, “I got you, girl.”
“I want Plasma to help with the music and lyrics,” Nymphia says. “Morphine with lyrics and music videos.”
“What about me?” Jane asks jokingly.
“You can sit here and look pretty.”
Jane’s jaw drops, and the others die of laughter as she crosses her arms indignantly and huffs.
“You know I’m just kidding,” Nymphia coos, snuggling up against her.
“Your songs are really fucking good,” Mirage says, pointing at Jane. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying but I live.”
“Thanks. Usually the things I’m singing are just about boys and boobs and money.”
“You’re so real for that.”
“No wonder you didn’t tell anyone you were dating for a while, I know the label was pissed,” Xunami laughs.
“I thought they were gonna send someone to kill me in my sleep,” Jane says dryly.
“I would have protected you,” Nymphia says.
“It’s so cute that you think that.”
Nymphia pouts, then says, “But yeah, they, especially Amanda, aren’t the biggest fans.”
“So that’s why you’re making this music with us?” Xunami asks.
“Yep.”
“That’s dedication,” Mirage says. “Standing up for your girl like that.”
“Mm-hm,” Nymphia says, looking up at Jane.
“Don’t make her ego any bigger than it already is,” Jane quips to Mirage, voice steady but clearly joking. She presses a kiss to Nymphia’s head.
“Why don’t you do stuff like that for me?” Mirage pouts, looking at Xunami with puppy dog eyes.
Xunami makes a surprised noise, glancing around, and Nymphia says, “Don’t worry, we already knew.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well, I knew when you asked to borrow my strap when we were in Vegas,” Jane states.
“That was your strap?!” Mirage exclaims. “Wait, does that mean me and Nymphia are dick sisters-“
“Okay, music-“
Nymphia and Jane realize later then that they’re staying in New York for the foreseeable future, and they’re both entirely okay with it. Everyone they’re working with is here or will be, Amanda and the label execs are not here, and, well, New York is fun. And the perfect place to get inspiration. Nymphia’s been in LA long enough, it wouldn’t hurt to switch it up for a little bit. Jane is glad to have a break from being nice to people.
So, Nymphia rents a suite with multiple bedrooms for them and the collaborators while Jane flies back to LA just to get her cats and more clothes for both of them.
She’s only been gone for a few hours but Nymphia already misses her. It’s stupid, she knows, yet she keeps looking out the window as if she’s expecting her to come walking down the street any moment.
She assuages the yearning by watching Jane’s music videos to see what she does and get some inspiration for her new music. It’s funny, the contrast between Jane’s music persona and her normal self. Nymphia’s kind of the opposite. Jane’s music persona is a dictator dominatrix and her real self is a cat lady who can spend hours just admiring Nymphia. Nymphia’s music persona is a sweet popstar. Her real self doesn’t remember anything from when she was twenty-one.
Plasma texts to confirm that she’d love to work on this project. Morphine says that she has stuff to do in Miami now but she’ll be there in two weeks. Jane sends a picture of the cats lounging outside of Nymphia’s house.
She clutches her phone to her chest and smiles. She’s making new music with all her best friends and her girlfriend, her beautiful amazing talented kind sweet girlfriend who is maybe the person Nymphia has felt the most attachment to ever and it’s only been two months. But hey, they’re gay and famous, two months is basically two years in their time.
She spends what feels like hours just staring at the tattoo on her ankle before getting up to unpack at their new hotel.
The next day the group gathers in Nymphia and Jane’s room, bringing with them computers, microphones, 808s and 505s, whiteboards, anything that can be used for music. It’s a flurry of activity, the four of them throwing out ideas and writing things down, and when Jane comes back from LA with Boris and Chubais in tow she startles at all of it but quickly sits in their circle and joins in.
“Should we think about the music video for You and Me?” Jane asks.
Nymphia comes to the realization that they should, or at least start brainstorming on the director, locations, all that, but the song isn’t done yet, so the others can’t listen, can’t give any input. She jots down ideas anyway, her and Jane working on the video, the others working on other songs just a few feet away, a flurry of activity and music and ideas.
When they have even the vaguest idea for the video, Nymphia does everything by herself, with help from the crew, reaching out to potential directors and everyone else involved in the making herself, not involving anyone except them.
They work like that until the evening, when Jane gets tired from her travels and words are starting to blend together in Nymphia’s head, then the others head home, leaving them alone.
Jane waits a second before asking, “Wanna go out?”
“I thought you said you were tired.”
“Nothing a Jagerbomb can’t fix.”
Nymphia yawns. The past few days have been busy enough that she kind of just wants to collapse into bed, and she doesn’t want to be hungover while working on music.
But also, going out is fun, and this is a relaxed music making process. The others aren’t gonna get mad if she takes a day off or spends the entire session chugging Gatorade.
Another reason she fucking loves this situation. She should have done this thing sooner. But then it wouldn’t have been made with Jane.
So yeah. She supposes it’s the right time to do it. To say fuck it and do what she wants.
“We don’t have to,” Jane says as she sits next to Nymphia again. “It just feels like a shame to be in New York and not live it up.”
“Hm,” Nymphia replies.
She straddles Jane, sitting on her lap and wrapping her arms around her neck.
“Fuck me first, then maybe I’ll consider it.”
Jane laughs and does as instructed.
going out tonight everyone pull up!! she texts the group chat.
They walk to the club, dance for hours, go to the afters that Xunami somehow always finds, stagger back to the hotel room to eat and fuck before crashing and waking up late the next day.
That day is a rest day, dedicated to taking pain pills and exploring the city, then the next day they work on music, then more hanging out, then more music, hours turning into days, days turning into weeks. They go on shopping sprees on Fifth Avenue, swimming on the rooftop pool, bar crawling with the girls, sunbathing at the beach, staying up late into the night to make music then waking up the next morning to do it again. It’s hot and humid in New York, more than Los Angeles, and they’re always sticky and sunburnt but that just makes it better, gives it that romantic summer feel. Nymphia and/or Jane are constantly making appearances on social media, in the background of Xunami or Mirage’s Instagram stories, sometimes drunkenly uploading their own stories with blurry pictures of the other that the fans go insane over. Nymphia accidentally uploads a picture where you can see the banana tattoo on Jane’s ankle and for days the fans write literal essays on it. Nymphia’s mom calls to ask if they did the stupid thing of getting matching tattoos. Nymphia’s excuse of being drunk does not hold up in her mom’s eyes.
Amanda has been keeping quiet, either because Nymphia told her off or because Nymphia hasn’t talked to her since that time so Amanda doesn’t have anything to say. She intends to keep it that way.
After a couple weeks of that, it’s time to film the music video for You and Me. They film it in LA, right under everyone’s noses, and the whole time Nymphia is giggling about the secrecy of it all while Jane giggles simply because of Nymphia.
It’s a simple concept, them at a house party, nighttime vibes and neon lights and coordinating Prada outfits, ending with a big sloppy kiss, just in case there was any doubt.
They’re back in New York, filming for the video done, several songs sitting on a computer ready to go, several more in the stages of being made, storyboards and concepts for music videos sitting on a table, the living room of the suite solely dedicated to this project. The cats roam curiously, Boris scaring himself for the millionth time when he steps on a keyboard, Chubais batting at some wires. It’s raining softly outside, pattering against the window, and Jane and Nymphia are cuddled up in bed, relaxing in the darkness of the hotel.
“I feel like I haven’t made music in so long,” Nymphia says. “I mean, I came out with an album like two years ago, which isn’t that bad, but even then it didn’t feel like making music, you know?”
“I totally get it. Like you’re just doing what you were supposed to.”
“Yeah.”
She pauses.
“I went through a bad breakup too.”
“Yeah?”
“It was painful,” Nymphia says. “We were together for two years and then she just ended it and-“
She starts crying, voice breaking, and Jane hugs her, holding Nymphia tight against her body. Nymphia sobs, memories of the breakup, of how she was before and how she was after pouring out.
But usually she’s alone when going through this. Now Jane is here, consoling her, holding onto her like a lifeline.
She lets it out, bad emotions exiting and being replaced with good ones.
“The album coming out at the same time as the breakup,” she sniffs once the crying has calmed down slightly. “It was so hard, I didn’t wanna do it anymore.”
She wipes her eye, accidentally brushing against Jane’s hand, which she grabs and holds.
“But I fucking love this,” she says. “I love this music and my friends and I love you.”
“I love you too, baby,” Jane says softly. “So much, you don’t even know.”
Nymphia wipes another tear from her eye. This song, video, the album it’ll be on eventually, everything is like a culmination of the past few years, the breakup, the hiatus from music, her relationship with Jane, everyone else that’s been in her life, Xunami, Plasma, Morphine, even Amanda.
And even though all of that manifested into an innuendo filled dance song whose music video ends with them dramatically making out, Shawn and Camila but lesbian, it’s still beautiful and she wouldn’t change a thing.
They just have to release it. And promote it. And have people listen to it.
But if there’s one thing they’re both good at it’s getting attention, as evidenced by the thousands of tweets simply talking about the collab even though they haven’t dropped any hints to the fans other than a confirmation that it’s coming. Nymphia Wind releasing a love song with a Russian whore will quite possibly break the internet, for a day or two at least, even without any help from Amanda.
She posts on her story that night, just a blurry dark picture of the window and rain outside, and within minutes people are speculating.
Chapter 12: She’s the one I’m running with
Notes:
Chapter title from She’s My Collar by Gorillaz
That kinda took a while but aren’t we all in mourning from the season being over
If you saw me stealing Charli’s album name no you didn’t <3
Chapter Text
Nymphia tells Amanda and the label that they’re releasing the song and video about two minutes before she tells the rest of the world. A little unprofessional, sure, but also, she kinda doesn’t care. Any publicity is good publicity, right? And even if everyone decides to drop her, she and Jane can just live their isolated Malibu lesbian lives like they were before, just with less designer clothes.
Well, Jane has been very into wearing Versace thongs and sheer Saint Laurent dresses, which Nymphia is very in favor of, so yeah, hopefully this song will make them a lot of money.
The past few days, they’ve been doing subtle promo, posting blurry pictures of the makeshift recording studio or screenshots of the music video, but on this day, a blazing hot late June scene in New York, they announce it for real.
You and Me out July 5, accompanied by a picture of the two of them in directors’ chairs, holding drinks and looking at the camera cuntily.
And, of course, people go wild. Nymphia is pretty sure she heard a girl down the hall scream. The likes are multiplying faster than seems physically possible, comments flying in, people screaming about it on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, even goddamn Reddit.
It’s so beautiful, so encouraging, so validating. Nymphia can’t stop smiling. Even with her hiatus from music, even though just from the promo this song is very obviously lesbian in a way none of her other songs have been, even with Jane’s controversial status, people are still excited about this, about Nymphia’s music. She spends the rest of the day giddy, unable to keep the smile off of her face as they walk around the city and work on more music with the crew. It makes Jane smile too, the two of them looking like utter fools together. It’s beautiful.
Nymphia could live in this feeling forever, the hype from the fans, the excitement for her and Jane to release the song, everyone’s anticipation for what she’ll do after this. As of right now, they don’t have any more duets with the two of them, though Nymphia has ones with Xunami and Mirage in the works, and of course the original single with Jane’s backing vocals heavily featured. Nymphia wonders for a second if she should have released that single first, made people wonder who it’s about even though the answer is pretty fuckin’ obvious, but then she dismisses that capitalistic part of her brain and focuses on what’s actually important: her and Jane.
Jane’s fame whore ass is possibly loving this even more than Nymphia, watching her follower count go up with rapturous glee.
And, to her credit, Amanda simply asks if they have marketing planned out and if she needs to do anything. Nymphia is impressed with the restraint. Maybe Amanda has turned over a new leaf, or she just realizes that the cat is already out of the bag and there’s no stopping this song from coming out or controlling either of their stubborn asses. Or she doesn’t want to get fired. Whatever the reason, Nymphia loves her for it. Their marketing ideas had basically been “announce this thing and the stans will be so excited that momentum will carry them all the way through the album’s release,” which apparently is not enough, so Amanda books Nymphia to perform at a late night talk show at some point. She asks if Nymphia has any other songs in the works, and Nymphia sends a picture of the files on her computer, dozens of songs or snippets or voice recordings, most of which have placeholder titles such as “the one about getting fucked” or “the one about being on coke.”
I think you’re trying to make me have a heart attack Amanda texts back.
they’re just placeholders don’t worry
She’s pretty sure Amanda is gonna worry anyway.
The next day, she’s hanging out with Mirage while Jane gets her hair done, bleaching her hair so shockingly light it must burn her scalp off but it looks pretty so Jane’s okay with it. Nymphia and Mirage sit at an outdoor cafe, Nymphia posting a picture on her stories of the other girl with the caption lunch date, regretting it later when she sees that people think it means they’re actually dating. She posts a second picture of her ankle with the airplane inked onto it.
“If you told me from two months ago that I’d be helping Nymphia Wind make a whole ass album, I would not have believed it,” Mirage says.
“If you told me from two months ago that I’d be making an album at all I wouldn’t have believed it,” Nymphia replies.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just felt like I had been doing the same old shit.” She shrugs. “What I really needed was some estrogen in the room and hyperpop. And you’re really good at providing both of those things.”
Mirage laughs and says thanks.
“In other news,” Nymphia says, grinning. “How’s it going with you and Xuxu?”
Mirage squeals and covers her face in embarrassment, making Nymphia laugh.
“Y’all weren’t supposed to know about that,” Mirage whines. “But you know what, it’s going good, we’re taking it slow, unlike y’all’s crazy asses.”
“Oh, so moving in after one day is crazy, you’re so judgmental,” Nymphia jokes, making Mirage’s eyes go wide.
“One day?!”
“I mean, we were at my house, and she just kinda…stayed.”
She realizes they haven’t really been apart for more than a day in months but is very okay with that.
“That’s crazy, I could never,” Mirage says. “Well, okay, except for that one time, but we don’t talk about that.”
Nymphia winks and makes a zipping her mouth gesture, receiving an agreeing nod from Mirage. “Not gonna lie, I gotta get back to Vegas in a few weeks,” Mirage says.
“Oh no!”
“Morphine’s gonna be here soon, isn’t she?”
“Tomorrow.”
Jane is bleaching her hair today partially so that Morphine doesn’t judge her grown out roots which Nymphia finds so funny.
“We have to film our music video,” Nymphia says.
“We can do it in Vegas! You wanted to use my car right?”
“Vegas in July? I think I would rather die.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nymphia sees a girl taking a picture of her, and she looks back at Mirage.
“How does your manager feel about this?” Mirage asks. “Jane was talking shit about her earlier.”
“You know, she’s actually chill about it. Totally opposite of what she was saying a few weeks ago.”
“That’s good.”
“I still don’t know what her problem with Jane is,” Nymphia says.
“Well, clearly the feeling is mutual.”
“Jane was making fun of Amanda’s clothes at first,” Nymphia says. “Well, she still does that. But the second Amanda saw us together at that party she was weird. Like, yeah she has controversies and stuff, but who doesn’t? It’s not that bad!”
“Yeah, who knows. Maybe she thinks she’s protecting you or something.”
“But Janey’s so nice,” Nymphia whines.
“Well,” Mirage replies correctively. “She did tell me that I look like I’ve never brushed my hair and all my clothes are from Shein…”
“And was she wrong?”
“Okay, first of all-”
Morphine arrives the next day, tanned up and ready to work on some cunty music. She’s written several lyrics in Spanish that Nymphia tries her hardest to sing but is laughed at by everyone in the room and that idea is quickly scrapped.
“You cannot have Nymphia saying dame más leche,” Xunami says to Morphine, the two of them laughing.
“No, we definitely have to include that line,” Mirage replies.
“What does that mean?” Nymphia asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Morphine says. “Don’t worry about it, baby, just trust me.”
Nymphia googles it, then says, “First of all, I’m a lesbian.”
They book a club to do a surprise performance at the night the song releases. Morphine makes a background appearance on Nymphia’s story and the fans clock that she’s helping with the album too.
Technically only a few songs are fully done, with more in a state of being worked on, but Nymphia feels like the album’s completion is within reach. She still hasn’t figured out what to call it, or the cover. The group has been writing potential titles on the whiteboard this whole time, but none of them have stuck out, none have clicked just right.
Jane is wandering around the suite, holding Chubais and singing softly. Nymphia decides she’s going to release the second single, the one they made originally, soon after the first one.
“Janey, what should I call this album?” she questions.
“Fuck You Amanda.”
“No.”
“The Coke Diaries.”
“No.”
“These names are incredible, you don’t appreciate my talents.”
“Use them for your own album.”
“I’m not making my own album.”
“I mean your eventual new album.”
Jane flops backwards onto the bed, Chubais letting out an indignant mrrp but not moving, and says, “It feels wrong to make a regular album now. What we’re doing now is so much better than doing it the regular way.”
“I know right,” Nymphia says, lying back next to her.
Boris jumps onto the bed, shoving his head into Nymphia’s hand, and she pets him. Their whole little family together on this bed.
“How are you handling this newfound fame?” Nymphia asks semi-jokingly.
“Excuse you, I was already famous,” Jane jokes. “But it’s going well. My dad actually talked to me for the first time in years, gotta love that.”
“Aw, Janey.”
“No, it’s fine, we were never close. He didn’t even tell me he moved to America until I literally ran into him in Miami.”
“I’m not close to my dad either. I mean, I don’t even know who he is, kinda hard to build a relationship off of this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If you knock me up you better pay child support,” Nymphia jokes, pointing at her.
“If it was possible for me to knock you up it would have already happened.”
Nymphia laughs. That’s very true.
“I kinda miss LA,” Jane says.
“Me too.”
Morphine texts potential music video ideas, and Nymphia says, “Somehow, every other person in this group has contributed more to this album than you have.”
Jane looks at her incredulously, then exclaims, “I’m the backbone of this fucking thing, the whole reason it even exists, the muse-”
“You talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t make music,” she quips, smirking.
“You little brat.”
Nymphia perks up, focusing on something in the distance, and Jane asks, “What?”
“Brat,” Nymphia breathes. “That’s the name.”
She jumps up and writes BRAT in big letters across the top of the whiteboard, then steps back and nods. She doesn’t even need to think about it. This is the album title. Simple, powerful, descriptive. She’s a brat to her label and manager and to Jane.
“See, I just came up with the literal title,” Jane says.
Nymphia rolls her eyes and says, “Okay, I guess you did that.”
The song comes out in six hours and they’re getting ready for this secret club performance. Well, secret meaning it wasn’t announced to the general public, but Amanda has invited some journalists and reviewers. Gotta get that publicity after all. They’re side by side in the bathroom, Jane tying her hair into a ponytail, tits almost falling out of her top, while Nymphia sticks her false lashes on, Morphine on speakerphone as she tells them about a new show she’s been watching. Usually for anything, even the smallest performance or appearance, she’d have ten makeup artists and hairdressers and stylists buzzing around and making sure everything’s perfect, but today it’s just her. And that’s on purpose. This era is all about normalcy, her version of normalcy at least, all about fun, all about community.
And right now, trying to get a lash to stick for the fifth time while Jane and Morphine call each other dumb bitches, is the embodiment of all of those ideas.
The club is moderately crowded when they get there, and they stay within the crowd for a bit, Plasma, Xunami and Morphine joining at various intervals, the former complaining that the latter two made her late but Nymphia’s only half paying attention. All she can look at is the stage, the two microphones waiting, the crowd that’s gonna be cheering for her and Jane soon.
Maybe it’s the fact that she’s already had a shot but she kinda thinks this is the most excited she’s been for a performance in years.
When it’s midnight and the place is packed, the DJ turns down the music.
“Cheers,” Jane murmurs, holding up a shot glass.
“Are you nervous?” Nymphia mutters back.
“No. You’re here.”
She has to fight not to melt right there.
“You might have heard of these two,” the DJ says. “And they are here to perform their brand new song, so let’s get hyped for…”
Jane downs her shot.
“Nymphia Wind and Plane Jane.”
The crowd goes fucking wild.
They push their way up onto the stage, standing tall in front of the hundreds of people who have just discovered they’re at a Nymphia Wind concert, then they look over at each other.
“You ready, baby?” Nymphia asks.
“Ready when you are, babe.”
The music starts and they can barely hear their own words from the thundering bass and the cheers of the crowd but it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s a goddamn party.
The song ends, the building practically shaking from all the clapping and jumping, and they can’t just leave like that.
“Fuck it!” Nymphia yells. “Another one!”
The DJ hits play on the next track, and Nymphia says, “This one is called Bad Influence.”
Jane is dazed and out of breath, but she grins and holds her microphone up.
“I think you all can guess who it’s about,” Nymphia says.
They perform that song and from then the party is at fever pitch, so many people and noises and lights and just pure fucking hype that after Bad Influence they just continue, the DJ playing assorted songs from Nymphia and Jane’s discography, the two of them trying their best to sing along to the other’s songs even though most of them are in languages they don’t speak, dancing when they’re not singing. It turns into glorified karaoke at some point, the hoarse voices of Nymphia and Jane and the rest of the crew and the hundreds of people watching singing along to Wannabe and Love Shack and Since U Been Gone. Alcohol is flowing and ceilings are shaking and it’s been hours but Nymphia is still floating on this cloud that feels like it’s never gonna go away.
It’s 4 AM and everyone is still going strong, even though Jane’s taken down her ponytail and thrown her shoes off, Nymphia’s muscles aching and her voice shot to hell, and she decides to end on this note.
“Brat out soon!” She yells. “By Nymphia and Jane!”
Well, the Brat era has officially started now.
And they’re doing it as Nymphia and Jane.
Chapter 13: Fuck it I love you
Notes:
That took like two weeks but it feels longer because the semester is over and now I got that summertime sadness but here’s this chapter yippee
Chapter title from Fuck It I Love You by Lana
Chapter Text
“Are you sure you want to add me as a collaborator?” Jane asks for the fifth time that day.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Nymphia assures. “Nymphia and Jane! Right on the cover, it’s so cute! Or we can change that name too, like Plane and Wind, or whatever the fans are calling us.”
“Remember twenty-four hours ago when you said I haven’t done a single thing for this album?”
“But that’s not true,” she says dramatically. “I was joking. Poking fun. You’ve been there every time I work on it, you’ve helped with all the songs and videos somehow, you’re my muse…”
“Yes, baby, keep telling me how amazing I am,” she jokes.
“Have you done a collaboration album before?” Nymphia asks.
“Do I look like someone who willingly works with other people?”
“Well, I haven’t either,” she says sweetly. “It’s a new adventure.”
She examines the whiteboard, then says, “I want you to sing some of these songs too, they sound better with you.”
“Did you sneak off and do coke in between songs last night?”
“No, you silly goose.”
She takes Jane’s hands.
“I would have invited you.”
Jane looks genuinely touched.
“Oh my god, imagine the album cover, the photoshoots, the tour-“
“Okay, slow down,” Jane says. “I don’t like touring.”
“Really? Well, either way, we’ll do some kind of performance, an arena in LA or something.”
“Are you su-“
“You’re the co collaborator on Brat and that’s final,” Nymphia declares. “And the cat’s kind of already out of the bag.”
Of course, social media has been crazy since they stepped foot into that club, the news of them not only releasing a duet but a whole album together going even beyond that with the articles written by the reviewers Amanda got to be there. All day they’ve been reading headlines like “Nymphia Wind and New Bombshell Girlfriend Announce Collaborative Album at Club” and “Plane Jane and Nymphia Wind Surprise NYC Club with Album Announcement,” and, their favorite, “Drunken Karaoke and Nip Slips: Nymphia and Jane’s Wild Night,” which is funny because the author decided to be both scathingly honest and also completely wrong. Last night didn’t even crack the top twenty wildest nights they’ve had together, which is kinda sad if Nymphia thinks about it too hard so she doesn’t think about it too hard.
Nymphia has made another announcement, this time to the group chat saying that they’re going back to LA in a few days. She misses her house, hasn’t been away from it this long since she bought it, and this damn heat and humidity in New York has her sweating and frazzled and it’s frankly very embarrassing for her. Plasma is of course berating her for leaving the greatest city in the world while Morphine is just happy that she can go back to a location where it’s acceptable to wear bathing suits as clothes. In between this, Nymphia’s mom is telling her once again to come visit, to which Nymphia politely but firmly tells her isn’t gonna happen until this album is done. She’s in the groove, this creative flurry that only comes once in a blue moon, spurred on even further now by the fact that this isn’t just a Nymphia album anymore, it’s a Nymphia and Jane album, so there’s more possibilities. She’s definitely making Jane sing lead vocals on Valentino and Angel, and maybe they can turn Magazine into a duet.
See? Making it into a collaboration album has opened up even more possibilities that will make it even better.
The meeting with the label is gonna be something, especially since Jane isn’t even signed to the label, isn’t signed to any label currently, but they’ll figure out the details later. They already funded the recording and video of You and Me, clearly they’re somewhat okay with this collaboration.
At night, she’s writing ideas and concepts for the album cover.
“Xunami invited us to go out,” Jane says. “A final sendoff from New York or whatever.”
“I don’t want to.”
“What? Why not.”
“Our flight’s early tomorrow,” Nymphia says.
“Well, it’s a private plane, you can do whatever you want with it,” she laughs.
Nymphia still says no, and Jane pouts.
“Can I still go?”
“Yeah,” she replies. “Say bye to everyone for me. Well, we’re gonna see them again in like, a week, but whatever.”
Jane wears a flimsy black cocktail dress and red lipstick and she looks heartbreakingly good but Nymphia still doesn’t go with her because they have a travel day ahead of them and she does not want to be hungover or otherwise incapacitated and easily pissed off during it.
Jane comes home late, of course, when Nymphia is half asleep in bed. She closes the door a little more roughly than usual, the lock taking a second to click into place, then walks to the bedroom, vaguely visible from the city lights.
“Are you drunk?” Nymphia asks playfully.
“Just a little,” Jane drawls as she throws her purse onto a chair.
She flops onto the bed next to Nymphia, face inches away, and when Nymphia looks at her she grins and kisses her.
Jane moves so she’s almost on top of Nymphia, pressed up against her, then kisses her again, then her cheek, her nose, her chin, her lips smacking against Nymphia’s skin. She giggles, drunk, and Nymphia smiles too. She’s too tired to do much but she’s not exactly gonna stop Jane from doing whatever she’s about to do.
Jane moves backwards down the bed, pulling the sheets back with her, and Nymphia instinctively presses her thighs together to give Jane the opportunity to pull them open.
She slots herself between Nymphia’s legs, a hand on her stomach, then presses a kiss to her pussy.
She licks up her slit, then her clit, circling her tongue before moving back down and licking inside of her. Nymphia is whining, quivering under Jane’s touch, and the blonde looks up at her and smiles before going back to eating her out.
When Nymphia comes, Jane presses one last kiss to her core before sitting up, wobbling a little then correcting herself and smiling.
She lies next to Nymphia and pulls the sheets up, and Nymphia asks, “Going to sleep already?”
“Mm-hm,” she replies, pressing her face into the pillow. “Just had to do that first.”
Nymphia wakes Jane up the next morning and the blonde groans and closes her eyes again. Her makeup is smudged across her face and her hair is spread in every direction but she still looks very hot and Nymphia is jealous.
“Come grab your bastard son,” she says, referring to Chubais. “He won’t get in the carrier.”
Jane sighs and yells something in Russian to the cat as if he can understand, then sits up and rubs her eyes.
“Are you excited to go back home?” Nymphia asks.
“It would be nicer if this flight was at night. But yes, I am.”
“Sitting by the pool all by ourselves,” she says, spinning around for dramatic effect. “No humidity.”
“Can we have a beach day?”
“We can have a lot of beach days.”
She delicately cups Jane’s face, then asks, “Now can you please get up so we’re not late?”
Jane rolls her eyes and gets up.
Where New York felt like an adventure, LA feels like home, a warm embrace at the end of a long day. Jane is mostly content sitting on the porch and smoking weed, but Nymphia is pumped from being home and the album. She runs all around the house, unpacking in a hurry, then the backyard, then goes for a drive, mansions and mountains and highways flying by as she plays music and cheers. She comes back to the house with windswept hair and a smile that won’t go away and Jane smiles fondly. They hug, Jane’s hand delicately stroking Nymphia’s hair, and she closes her eyes, rests her head against her chest and smiles.
Jane’s hand stills, and Nymphia looks up to see that she’s looking at something behind her.
Amanda’s car is pulling into the driveway.
Well, this is not ideal considering they just got back from a long trip, Nymphia has spent the last hour just fucking around and Jane is high as a kite, though that might also be the most ideal for this scenario.
“Who’s that?” Jane asks.
“It’s Amanda,” she sighs. “Maybe if you run inside right now she won’t see you.”
That plan won’t work because Amanda is already walking across the driveway, waving and smiling cheerfully, which almost makes Nymphia more scared. She hasn’t talked to Amanda at all since her little announcement, and now they’re back in the same city, nowhere to hide.
Well, Amanda definitely heard what the album title is because she’s being a brat.
Nymphia breaks the hug but stands side by side with Jane, an arm wrapped around her waist.
“Hey, Nymphia,” Amanda greets. “Jane.”
Jane seems kind of mad but too high to be really mad and Nymphia is grateful for that.
“We just got back here,” Nymphia states.
“I know, sorry to bother you like this, we just,” Amanda says. She lowers her voice. “We need to talk.”
“It’s not a good time,” Jane says.
She mirrors Nymphia’s movement, wrapping an arm around her waist, and Nymphia squeezes her a little tighter.
“To be real with you, if it wasn’t me it would be someone from the label here right now, because they definitely have some shit to say.”
Nymphia groans and says, “I know, I know.”
She sighs and asks, “Do you wanna come inside?”
“I would love to.”
Amanda heads inside, and when she closes the door Nymphia turns to Jane and asks, “Are you good?”
“I thought this was a fucking free day,” Jane hisses.
“I did too.”
She can visibly see an idea pop into Jane’s head right before she says, “Such a shame her contract is up in, what was it, a week?”
“Janey, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She is being weird right now,” Nymphia agrees. “But we also have to worry about shit like this. I’ll get her out of here fast, I promise.”
Jane pouts in a way that makes her look utterly pathetic and if Nymphia had a dom bone in her body she would probably fuck her right there on the porch but she doesn’t so she pouts back and leads Jane inside.
Amanda is sitting at the dining table, folders and papers in front of her, and Nymphia sits opposite of her and says, “So, I don’t know if you heard, but we have decided that this isn’t just my album, it’s also hers.”
“I did hear.”
“Equal credit,” Nymphia declares. “Equal profits.”
“Nymphia-“
“Yes I’m sure,” she interrupts. “And I want the girls to get a lot of the profits too.”
“Who?”
“Plasma, Xunami, Mirage, Morphine. We’re the only ones making it, except for You and Me.”
Amanda presses a hand to her forehead. She writes this information down, half-heartedly.
“Jane, who’s your manager?” she asks. “And are you currently at a label?”
“No manager, I left my label.”
“Alright, that makes things easier,” Amanda says. “We don’t have to get permission from a different label.”
Jane is visibly trying to focus and probably not doing well, and Nymphia says, “Okay, Amanda, I know this is important and all, but if we want to have a meeting I think we should schedule it ahead of time.”
“Can I talk to you?”
“We are talking.”
“One on one.”
“It’s a joint album, we need to talk about everything together.”
Amanda picks up her phone and types.
I think this is a mistake
you thought that way about the yellow pages and look where we are now
Amanda pauses for a moment, then stands up and gathers her things.
“Let me know when you want to schedule a meeting,” she says calmly. “I’ll be on my way.”
Nymphia follows her out, and when they’re outside Amanda turns around and says, “Making a multi-million dollar project with your girlfriend of four months and your besties isn’t exactly a smart decision.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Nymphia yells. “What is your problem? I have so much fucking money I don’t know what to do with it so I can do what I want so I’m making music with these people because I love them and I don’t know why it affects you-“
She runs out of breath, gasping for air, and Amanda looks startled. Nymphia wants to slap the expression off of her face.
“You’re sabotaging me,” Nymphia states. “We’re done, we’re over.”
She turns around and says again, “We’re done.”
Jane is still sitting at the dining table, and Nymphia comes up behind her, wrapping her arms around her neck and inhaling the scent of her shampoo.
She’s just fired her manager, the most important person in her career, when there’s an album on the way and a lot of talking and negotiating and business shit to do with the label.
But this right here, the two of them, in her house, their house, beautiful weather and nothing to worry about, nothing really, makes her realize it doesn’t fucking matter, at least for now. It’s just them.
“We don’t need to worry about Amanda anymore.”
“Mm-hm?”
“Yeah.”
Chapter 14: And you’re here, I’m yours, you’re mine
Notes:
Well it’s been two months since I updated this…surprise bitch, I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me
Chapter title from the Homemade Dynamite remix
Chapter Text
When Nymphia wakes up the next morning, which is actually the afternoon, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she made a mistake, but then she drinks coffee and opens her computer and decides that she can do this.
Whatever “this” might be.
The first thing she does is schedule a meeting with the label for a few days from now, and the second thing she does is tell Plasma because Plasma will definitely know what to do in this situation.
The call comes in barely a minute after she sent the text, and the first thing out of the redhead’s mouth is, “So who’s your new one?”
“What?”
“Who’s your new manager? Surely you have someone else lined up.”
Nymphia is silent.
“Oof, girl.”
“I don’t know,” Nymphia admits. “I don’t have anyone else lined up, maybe the label will find me one or something, but this is a DIY album anyway, we’re doing everything ourselves!”
“A DIY album with main popstar money and fanbase,” Plasma sighs. “But hey, what do I know, you’re the expert here.”
“Me and Janey are the experts,” she corrects. “Whatever, I have a meeting with the label in a few days, we’ll figure it out.”
“Are they cool with this whole collaboration thing?”
“I don’t know. Amanda wasn’t,” Nymphia laughs.
“You haven’t asked? Girl, you know they hate her ass.”
“We don’t know that. They let us go ahead with You and Me.”
“Yeah, but that was one song, not a whole album. Some things can be assumed.”
“You can assume, but I don’t care if they hate this because we’re doing it no matter what.”
“Well, my darling, I wish you luck for this,” Plasma says. “I might come to LA soon, I’ve been working on new material for the album, those articles about the performance were very inspiring. Can you believe they had the audacity to not even mention me in some of them?”
Nymphia laughs and says, “You and Xuxu should come, I’m feeling inspired.”
She looks at the staircase, thinking of Jane asleep upstairs, wishing she was down here with her.
“We’ll arrange it, don’t you worry,” Plasma says. “Where’s Jane? Popping bottles of champagne in celebration?”
“She was so high last night she probably doesn’t even remember we fired Amanda,” Nymphia says. “She has the audacity to be asleep right now. I’m gonna go annoy her.”
“And that’s my cue to go.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen, or more accurately heard, what happens when you “go annoy” Jane and I don’t need to hear it again, but listen, you said you have a meeting with the label, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re probably gonna have some suggestions for a new manager, and I think you should get one. Not to be a downer, but there are a couple ways something like this can go wrong.”
“Well, I’ll get a manager if they promise all of us will share the profits of this album. Anyways, I’m gonna go check on my qīn’ài de, bye Plazzy.”
Plasma says an overly dramatic goodbye, then Nymphia runs up the stairs, practically exploding into the room. Chubais is resting on the bed, and he hisses. Nymphia gives him the middle finger before crawling into bed. Jane peeks an eye open, looking around before finally landing on Nymphia. She’s clearly still tired but Nymphia wraps her arms around her neck anyway.
“I had some weird ass dreams,” Jane mumbles.
“Like what?”
“Fucking Amanda was there.”
She furrows her brows, and Nymphia smiles and asks, “Well, good thing we don’t have to deal with her any more, right?”
Jane is silent for a moment, looking off into the distance, then she sits up ever so slightly, looking at Nymphia with wide eyes.
“You actually did it?”
Nymphia’s smile stretches from ear to ear as she says, “Yep.”
Jane stares at her for another moment before surging forward and kissing her so hard Nymphia thinks she’s gonna have bruises.
Jane looks like she’s taken three tabs as she gets ready, and Nymphia feels like she has, the combination of the freedom and her girlfriend’s elation making her feel so giddy she can’t help but smile. It’s a little horrible, being this happy about firing her manager of years, but it’s also a weight off everyone’s shoulders. They don’t have to deal with Amanda and she doesn’t have to deal with Amanda. They are gonna need to do promo by themselves, but based on the past couple months they’re more than capable of that.
Nymphia’s mom FaceTimes her, and she yells for Jane to come in and say hi.
“I can’t believe you haven’t introduced me to her yet,” the blonde says.
“She always calls when you’re asleep.”
“Nymphia!” her mom greets in Mandarin.
She looks closer at the camera and gasps.
“Nymphia, is this Jane?”
“No, just another hot Russian girl I’m spending time with.”
Her mom rolls her eyes and says in English, “Hello, Jane, lovely to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you too.”
She snuggles up against Nymphia, making the brunette giggle.
“Very large breasts,” her mom mutters in Mandarin, making Nymphia roll her eyes and say, “Yes, I know.”
“Is she judging me?” Jane murmurs.
“It’s probably a compliment,” Nymphia murmurs back before turning back to her mom and saying in Mandarin, “We’re making an album together.”
“I heard, daughter,” she replies. “It’s all over the news.”
“Really?”
“Well of course, they love you.”
Jane obviously doesn’t understand the conversation but is content to rest her head on Nymphia’s shoulder, and Nymphia strokes her hair.
“They don’t like her, though.”
“What?!”
“They think she’s a bad girl.”
“Because she is,” she laughs. “But it’s just a persona.”
“Really?”
“Of course, mama, do you think I would date a monster?”
At the same time, Jane wraps an arm around Nymphia’s shoulders, and she giggles and asks, “See?”
Her mom examines the scene, brows furrowing, and Nymphia says, “Mama, I promise she’s good.”
She lowers her voice as if Jane can understand what she’s saying regardless and says, “I want to marry her.”
She’s surprised, but not entirely, having a very calm reaction, and Nymphia isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
“We’re not going to do it yet,” she adds. “But we will.”
“Be cautious,” she warns. “Get a prenup or sue her ass if you break up.”
Nymphia bursts out laughing, then says, “Well, this album is gonna make so much money it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
“If you say so.”
She sighs and says, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Well, let me know when the album comes out,” her mom says. “Or when you two have babies.”
“Mom, we’re not having babies.”
She glances at Jane, then adds, “But they would be pretty.”
“Anyway, you two better perform here on your tour,” she says. “Bye, Nymphia.”
“Bye, mommy.”
Nymphia hangs up, then says, “She says you have big boobs.”
“So she has working eyes, good to know.”
Nymphia rolls her eyes as Jane laughs.
“What else were you talking about?”
She makes a humming sound, looking off into the distance, Jane’s hair tickling her neck, and says, “Oh, nothing, just how much I want to marry you.”
Jane stiffens, pauses, and Nymphia’s heart sinks, her mind immediately jumping to assumptions and scenarios that she can’t stop.
Oh god, this is how you mess it up? After all we’ve been through you’re just going to do some half assed declaration that ruins it all .
But then Jane says, “If you’re gonna propose, can you at least wait until I’ve brushed my hair?”
And Nymphia nearly melts, exhaling the negative thoughts as Jane wraps her arms around her shoulders, hugging her until they fall back onto the couch.
“And I thought I would be the one to propose, considering I’m the top and all,” she continues.
“That’s very old fashioned,” she replies in a faux-condescending tone. “Bottoms can propose just as well as tops.”
“Was this supposed to prove your point?”
Jane squeals as Nymphia breaks the hug to grab a pillow and smack her.
“Well how’d you propose to your ex, since you’re so experienced?” she jokes.
“During sex, of course. It was like, ‘uh, daddy, give me a ring’,” Jane says, going into a fake-sexy voice and closing her eyes as Nymphia laughs. “So yeah, maybe try that next time.”
She winks, and suddenly the conversation has turned, the vibe shifting, but Nymphia doesn’t mind one bit.
They’re in the shower afterwards, and Jane asks, “So, are we actually, like, engaged?”
“Do you…want to be?”
She smiles awkwardly and says, “Yeah.”
“Me too.”
They clasp hands, smiling gently.
“We need to celebrate this,” Jane says. “Go to dinner or something.”
Ideas flash in Nymphia’s mind, and she says, “I would love that.”
They step out of the Hummer, dresses flowing, Nymphia’s Prada collar glinting off the mirror, and the cameras flash.
@nymphianews
Nymphia and Jane have been seen at Providence Restaurant in Los Angeles!
@nymphiasrosetoy
A COLLAR oh these bitches kinkyyy
@bananatictacs
they look so good im gonna cry
@nymphiacrave
are y’all just gonna ignore the rings…
@yellowpaiges
Streets saying Nymph and Jane are wearing rings 👀
@planewind
so where’s my invite to the wedding
@nymphiawind33
not the paparazzi walk nymphia you’re better than this 😩
@propagandah
Some 13 year old is about to get their world shattered by Nymphia wearing a collar
@nymphiasrosetoy
Y’all I’m actually freaking out like this is actually happening
@4beersinthedark
we love toxic yuri <3
@hourlynymphia
they’re so wholesome 😭
@pearlissokind
the pr is pr-ing that amanda bitch deserves a raise
@mordecaithemenace
oh they’re fuckin nasty lol
@bananabuttha
them both wearing rings on their ring fingers is not a coincidence you can’t tell me otherwise
@bratfavre
One of the most famous women from Russia rn publically getting married to a woman this is huge
@nymphiawins
And when the album comes out and they reveal they’ve been married the entire time
@planesjane
just fell to my knees
@horsecorse
You can just tell they hit each other
@bellaisnotokaywiththis
NYMPHIA AND JANE ENGAGED??
@bellaisnotokaywiththis
No one tell me it’s not true let me believe
@sophies
Amanda must be mad as hell
@fg4lsg21od8
getting engaged after four months is so chic
@nymphiasrosetoy
I could write a dissertation on this picture
@pr1ncesspussy
they need to get married in russiaaaa
@nymphiawins
Oh that’s not-
@bananabuttha
they’re either gonna have a 300k wedding in bora bora or one in a random ass gas station and we’re not gonna know until the day of
@planesabortedfetus
If last year was Barbie summer this year is lesbian summer fr
@lizerin02
idk if im convinced that they’re engaged but stepping out with rings and a collar is kind of admirable actually
@justaregularperson
what did i say
@bananatictacs
i know the people who said it’s just pr are fuminggg lmao
@lemmingloofah
I’m not even a fan but the fact Nymphia Wind went from the most heart wrenching breakup album to potentially being engaged makes me so happy
@james0405
gay
@9wind6
when does the album come out though 😭
@bananabuttha
music’s power couple is here to stay bitch
Chapter 15: Til the love runs out
Notes:
Whoo that took like three months and you guys probably thought I abandoned it but I didn’t so yay
Chapter Text
Their pap walk to hint at the engagement was successful in the fact that everyone, from the stan accounts to TMZ to a girl that Nymphia interacted with once in high school, is asking if they’re engaged, or even married already. Her mom called to confirm, and to tsk tsk over the collar, and though Nymphia can tell there’s some reservations she’s genuinely happy and content with this progression of their relationship.
Nymphia wonders if Russia gets news of western celebrity gossip, if Jane’s parents have heard the news, how they, or, hell, the entire country, feel. She can’t imagine the homeland having an entirely positive reaction to the fact that she’s getting married to a woman.
Everyone else is mostly on board with it though, the stans because, well, they’re stans, pop culture fans who are excited about a wedding and an album, gays who are excited about the fact that it’s a gay wedding. There’s the other side, too, of course, gossipers who think they’re gonna crash and burn, people who think it’s PR, people who think it’s anti-PR, but she frankly couldn’t give less of a fuck about them. She and Jane are actually engaged, just like they’re actually making an album together because their love is manifesting through their art, the latter of which being why they’re currently getting ready for a meeting with the label.
“So,” Nymphia starts as she buttons up her shirt. “They might be mad about this, but just remember that they can’t do anything about it, so their opinions don’t matter.”
Jane barks out a laugh and says, “You’re kinda evil sometimes.”
“Says the one with mugshots floating around.”
“I served cunt in those mugshots.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Nymphia fluffs up her hair and says, “I think the easy part will be getting signed, but they’re gonna be mad about wanting to share the profits between six people, but I’m their biggest artist, they can’t say no forever-“
She turns to see Jane leaning against the doorway, texting.
“You need to dress professional,” Nymphia says.
“This is professional, it’s a suit.”
“A suit includes a shirt.”
“Ugh, fine,” she says playfully. “But this outfit has gotten me several deals throughout my career.”
“I like the drive,” Nymphia says as she rests a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to fuck old men if you wanna get a record deal now. You just have to fuck me.”
She smiles sweetly and walks off as Jane laughs.
The label’s headquarters are in a very tall and very imposing building, but Nymphia has gotten over that intimidation factor.
Well, normally she has. But now, as they walk inside, hand in hand, she feels butterflies in her stomach. It’s stupid, irrational, she knows she’s gonna get her way with the label, in some form at least, and she doesn’t need their love or validation, she knows that, yet something traitorous in her wants to just grovel at their feet to appease them. There’s more obstacles than usual now, too, mostly in the form of the blonde next to her, her previous work in the music industry, her public image, her controversies. Every couple days Jane will show her a tweet of someone posting her mugshot or the video of her getting into a fight at a Russian awards show or some other old shit in an attempt to take her down, even tagging Nymphia sometimes as if she’ll be persuaded by it, and she laughs and Nymphia laughs too, but it’s a little concerning how many of these tweets there are, how many likes some of them get. She doesn’t think the label or most fans will care about that, Nymphia’s image isn’t squeaky clean either, but one never knows.
In the elevator, Jane squeezes her hand, a huge grin on her face.
“This is surreal,” she says.
“What is?”
“Getting a record deal at a big ass label. Dating you. Marrying you.”
Nymphia grins shyly, then sighs.
“Hopefully we won’t be in here all day. I don’t think they’re gonna be happy with…a lot of this.”
It’s gonna be fine,” Jane assures. “I’m gonna get signed and we’re gonna make this album and make a billion dollars and get married and it’s gonna be beautiful.”
Nymphia squeezes her hand again.
“I still need to get you a wedding ring,” Jane says. “It’s gonna weigh five pounds.”
“Well yours is gonna weigh ten pounds.”
The elevator doors open, and Nymphia leads her to the meeting room.
The sun is going down when they walk out of the building with a deal and six contracts, each stating that the people who worked on it will split the album’s profits equally. There’s a release date, too; March 24th, the one year anniversary of them meeting.
Jane yells in excitement, then yanks Nymphia into a hug that’s almost so hard it hurts, and Nymphia reciprocates that same energy. It feels like everything is coming together, that it’ll be perfect with a teeny bit of extra work. Jane’s got her record deal. They’ve got their album. The girls have their money. And, of course, the engagement, the declaration that they’re gonna be together forever. Nymphia feels so on top of the world, and Jane is obviously feeling the same, the way they’re jumping around in the parking lot exemplifying that.
Jane breaks the hug to look at her contract again, then says, “So, what should we do to celebrate? Avalon?”
“I wanna work on the album.”
“Really?”
“I’m so inspired,” Nymphia says. “And we have a release date.”
“I know, but this is a special occasion.”
She pouts, but Nymphia doesn’t budge.
“Fine,” Jane says. “Can we at least do a line though?”
Nymphia rolls her eyes in what isn’t entirely a dismissal.
They call the other girls to tell them the good news, of course, Jane driving as Nymphia calls. Xunami is trying to be cool but she can hear the absolute excitement in her voice. Mirage can’t even talk. Plasma asks how long it took to convince the label to do this. Morphine wants to know when the tour is. Nymphia doesn’t know that either, but she definitely wants to do one, the biggest tour she’s ever done, and she’s sure Jane will be on board. The blonde is lipsyncing to one of her own songs, somehow missing the words but unbothered about it.
She makes a note to talk about the tour next to all her other mental notes for the project such as “come up with album cover” “wear cunty outfits” “live performances” and “music video that goes viral on twitter once a month”.
She kisses Jane as they get to the house, then again as they’re walking down the driveway, and when they get inside Jane finally reciprocates, kissing her hungrily, hands tangling in her hair.
Nymphia breaks it off and pulls her to the music room, eliciting a, “Really?”
“We’re working on the album,” she says sweetly.
They work on it for a little bit, playing around with the sound mixing, and after a while Jane heads up to bed.
“Love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
Nymphia continues to fiddle with the songs, but it feels aimless. It feels wrong without Jane there, without any of the girls there, yet she tries anyway, the deadline looming in her brain. When that becomes pointless, she pulls out the notebook and thinks of concepts for the album cover, music videos, photoshoots. It’s also fruitless.
It’s late when she finally heads to bed. Jane is asleep, facing the middle of the bed with a hand on her pillow. Nymphia rests her hand against it, their fingertips grazing.
The next morning, she’s checking her emails, something she hasn’t done for herself in a very long time, and for a moment it’s so stressful she thinks she’s going to fake her own death and hide in the Caucasus mountains, but then Jane brings her a coffee and wraps her arm around her shoulders and it’s okay.
Among the many, many emails is one asking the two of them to perform at a club. The idea of performing is alluring, as well as the figure on the screen, especially in a club, a more intimate, fun setting, very in line with the album’s aesthetic.
She responds yes immediately, no need to wait for Amanda to approve it, no need to get permission from the label, no need for any of that. It’s just what she and Jane want to do.
And she wants to sing and get wild for a crowd of revelers. So, the invitation is accepted, the message is sent out to the girls if any of them want to attend or perform.
“Okay, I guess we’ll plan this,” Nymphia says. She grabs the notebook and asks, “Are there any choreographers you like?”
“Why do we need a choreographer? We didn’t have one last time.”
“Yeah, but…”
She doesn’t know how to explain that the last time had been less serious, that they didn’t have public pressure or an album release date then, hell, they weren’t even fully sure what the album was going to be yet, but now they do and it’s kind of weighing on her and she just wants this to be perfect.
So she just says, “Because you can’t dance.”
Jane presses a hand to her chest in offense, then says, “Well, who needs to dance when you can shake your tits.”
Nymphia discreetly writes down names of choreographers before moving onto the songs.
They talk about this performance for hours, figuring out which songs are finished, which ones they want to finish and perform, what they’re gonna wear. Then, the subject of choreography comes up again, and again Jane doesn’t see much importance in it, but Nymphia makes them get up and test out a few moves anyway.
With that, though, they get into it, falling into a groove of dancing and developing the performance. Nymphia feels like her brain is on fire, in a good way, energy just flowing through her like water. Dancing is one of her favorite things about being a popstar, second only to wearing archive designer pieces, because it always gives her this brain-on-fire feeling, because it feels like the fusion of her music and body and image, the culmination of all the factors that go into her art. She’s spinning and kicking all over the living room, feeling it. Jane is, well, Jane is trying her best, mostly looking like a drunk aunt at a wedding, but she’s feeling the energy too, and having a blast.
Nymphia is once again reminded that she’s never done this before, this collaborative, intertwined approach to music and the spectacle that comes with it. She’s nervous because of it, that maybe the label won’t let them make another one, that maybe the people won’t like the finished product, that maybe it just won’t be as good as the two of them think it is.
But then Jane is singing out loud as she catwalks around the living room, a TV remote in her hand in place of a remote, and Nymphia would accept a lifetime of bad press if she gets a lifetime of seeing Jane like this too.
They stop this impromptu rehearsal a little bit later, satisfied with their progress. Nymphia’s stomach is growling like it’s about to explode, so she goes to the kitchen and prepares a little dinner. Jane is still humming along to one of their songs while she waits at the counter. Nymphia gives her a plate before grabbing hers and going back to the study. Just as she’s sitting down, Jane follows her in, eyebrows knitted together, and asks, “What are you doing?”
“Writing down what we did today,” she says. “So we don’t forget.”
“Nymphia,” Jane says, high pitched, almost incredulous. “We’ve been working all day, take a break.”
“But what if we forget?”
“We’re not gonna forget,” she urges.
“Just give me two seconds,” Nymphia says, looking back at the notebook.
When she comes back to the kitchen, Jane is almost done with her food, and Nymphia realizes it’s been longer than two seconds, but she sits next to her anyway and they eat together and laugh while making jokey suggestions for the performance, gems such as, “perform only in interpretive dance,” “project the sex tape on the wall behind us,” “get arrested so we can have matching mugshots.” They’re silly but Nymphia is cataloging them anyway in case there’s some material there they can use in real life. This performance will be the first one where they know this album is actually happening, with label backing and all, and they’re debuting several songs, so it has to be amazing. Maybe it’ll set the tone and aesthetics for the full tour. Oh god, the full tour. She doesn’t even wanna think about planning that without a manager, but it’ll have to happen at some point. At least she’ll have Jane and the girls to help her.
Jane retires to bed early again, ready to shower all the dancing sweat off her body, and again she asks Nymphia to come up with her, and again Nymphia wants to continue to work on the album.
She emails local journalists and pop culture aficionados to the event for promo, telling them what it’s about but to keep it a secret. She asks Plasma how the hell one goes about planning a tour by themselves and the redhead has so much to say she just types out three dots and a “we’ll talk later.” Xunami has asked when the wedding is and what color the bridesmaids’ dresses will be, to which Nymphia replies that they’re still a long way off from that, that this engagement is more of a promise than a declaration of an imminent wedding.
Then finally she gets to go upstairs and fall asleep next to her beloved, hands intertwined, ready to do it all again tomorrow.
Chapter 16: Cause we live forever
Notes:
I need to reiterate that I wrote most of this in like April 2024 when Brat by Charli seemed like it was gonna be another niche gay album and I don’t feel like coming up with another album title so we’re just gonna have to deal with that
Chapter title from Dracula’s Wedding by OutKast
Chapter Text
Checking emails is possibly the bane of Nymphia’s existence. No matter how often she does it, there’s fifty the next time she checks, some of them being spam, some of them being offers for million dollar campaigns, each one requiring some googling to see what the truth really is. She wonders why she hasn’t hired someone to do this for her then realizes she had done that, many years ago, and she obviously can’t go back to that. She briefly considers getting one of her friends, Xunami or whoever, to do it, then realizes that she and her friends are a bunch of dumbasses who can’t be trusted with cooking their own food much less running a main pop girl’s career.
But that’s okay. She has their combined efforts, her label, her ten years of experience in the industry, Jane…and the album is called Brat. You can’t fuck something up if it’s already fucked.
She asks Jane if she wants to do a Prada campaign with her and receives a yes as casually as if she’s asking if she wants to go out to eat. She sees a reminder that they’re appearing on a night talk show in a few weeks which she totally did not remember, but she’s excited about it. By that point they’ll have the cover and official announcement, and they just need to get in a little quip at some point in the interview and it’ll go viral.
She and Jane rehearse a little more, and Nymphia is sure they’ll be doing that all day, but after a little while, Jane convinces her to take a break, and Nymphia obliges. They sit by the pool, mojitos in hand, then Jane snaps a quick picture to post on her story. While she’s posting it, notifications are pouring in, her thumb not fast enough to swipe all of them away, and she groans and asks, “How do you do this?”
“Being an attention whore.”
“And I thought I had that in the bag already.”
They sit there for a moment, basking in the sun, then Jane says, “I still haven’t bought you a wedding ring.”
“It’s fine-”
“No, baby, it’s not fine, we’re getting married.”
It makes her heart pitter-patter, the fact that they’re getting married, the way Jane affirms it, celebrates it.
Jane extends her hand to Nymphia, eyebrows raised, and asks, “Ring shopping?”
Nymphia presses her mouth into a line, eyes darting to the side. She had fully intended to keep rehearsing and doing album stuff until the show, or, well, the album’s release. Ring shopping is just another thing to add to her plate.
But Jane prompts her again, and she looks really eager.
“Tomorrow,” Nymphia says.
Jane claps.
They’re unwinding in their room later that night when Jane says, “God, my first wedding was so fun.”
She shows her phone, displaying pictures of her a few years ago. A big banquet hall, Jane clad in a poofy wedding dress, the first picture showing her and a group of women smiling and laughing, the second picture of her and her husband, embracing as she rests a hand on his chest and he wraps his around her waist.
“That’s a big dress.” Not that she expected anything else.
“Blame Russian tackiness,” Jane says. “This time, though, I want the opposite silhouette, like a mermaid or something, but with stones, feathers, accessories-”
“Blame Russian tackiness, huh?”
Jane fixes her with a glare as Nymphia laughs.
“What kind of dress do you want?”
She makes a “hm” sound, worries a section of her lower lip in her teeth.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh come on, didn’t you go to fashion school?”
“They wear red dresses in Taiwan, so probably one of those,” she elaborates. “I want a white one, too. Silk, probably. Sleek.”
Jane is satisfied enough with that answer and scrolls through more of her wedding. More pictures of the hall, pictures of the guests, a video of everyone taking a shot, more pictures of Jane and the groom dancing and smiling.
“No ring?” Nymphia asks.
“They don’t care about those over there,” she says with a sigh. “I always wanted a big diamond, though.”
Big rings aren’t a thing in Taiwan, either, and Nymphia has worn plenty of expensive rings throughout her career but never really thought about a wedding ring, what she might or might not wear when the big day finally comes.
She hadn’t considered that Jane was married before either, what her wedding might have been like. From these pictures it doesn’t look like it was a large event but it was fancy enough, and fun, all the guests drinking and laughing in the pictures and videos. In one video Jane is singing one of her own songs while her groom cheers from the sidelines. Obviously, it didn’t work out between them, and Nymphia is pretty sure she knows why, but they both look happy there.
It’s not the biggest problem. They can have whatever kind of wedding they want when the time comes, wherever they want, no expense spared or exceptions made.
Wedding ring shopping tomorrow will be fun, Jane will get her diamond, Nymphia will get whatever speaks to her. One step at a time.
They need to be taking steps in the form of actual steps, aka choreography for the show, but she supposes that’s fine too. They’re at a good spot right now. None of the other collaborators are going to be performing, just the two of them, but that’s good; it’s their album after all. They can do this performance, tidy up the music, find a cover, try to make a music video or two, photoshoots, the cover, all while wearing wedding rings and being so desperately in love they can’t stand it.
This is kind of perfect.
The next day, they get into Jane’s car, Jane wanting to chauffeur her lady. She drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the window ledge, two fingers loosely outstretched like she’s holding an invisible cigarette. Nymphia looks out of her passenger side window as they drive past a McDonald’s. She doesn’t remember if that was the same one where they had their “first date,” but it looks nearly identical.
She gasps, shooting up from her slump against the seat. Poor Jane’s eyes go wide and her head whips to the side, asking what’s wrong, and Nymphia mutters a quick apology before switching back to the creativity tab in her brain.
That can be the album cover. The two of them in Jane’s car, nighttime, illuminated by the glow of headlights, Jane looking to the side with her invisible cigarette, Nymphia as her passenger, not looking at each other but you can still feel the romance, the passion. It’ll be like Rumors by Fleetwood Mac, like Elephant by The White Stripes. They can take other pictures with that theme, too, lounging on the car’s hood, embracing in the backseat, whatever. For the audience, it’s sensual, a little mysterious. But the two of them will know that it was their first date, their first hours of being together. A little self indulgent, yes, and if they wanted to capture what the album is on its surface they could just slap the title and some garish colors on the cover and be done with it, but this is what it's about under the surface.
She assures Jane that everything is fine, and the second they’ve parked at the first jewelry store she turns and rattles off every detail she’s thought of, Jane listening with rapt attention. When Nymphia is finished talking she whips out the drawing app on her phone to write the thoughts down and to draw a preliminary sketch. Jane is shifting around in her seat, and after a moment Nymphia asks what she’s doing.
“Practicing my pose. So, am I gonna be looking at you, or-”
Nymphia laughs at Jane’s willingness to go with the flow before saying, “No, look the other way,” and delicately placing her fingers under her chin to direct her. When the pose is right she jumps out of the car, running around the front to see how it looks from where the camera will be and involuntarily lets out a giddy laugh as the vision comes together even more. Still outside, she tells Jane to move her head, her arm, to look towards Nymphia, towards the camera, and her subject graciously complies with her orders.
She could do this all day until she remembers that they’re in public, right in front of Cartier no less, and the people in the store are definitely staring at them, so she jots down more ideas before shifting from music mode to fiancee mode.
That gave her a big boost of energy, though, another piece of the album clicking into place, another creative thing for her to wrap her brain around. She can picture the ads in Times Square, the vinyls lining the shelves of Target, the interviewers asking what the cover means and the two of them coyly hinting at it. She practically skips into the jewelry store, ready to take on the task of the album art and of shopping for engagement rings.
She always forgets how many diamond rings can exist in one store, their stones glittering under fluorescent lights. An employee follows them from across the counter, eager to make a sale. It’s nerve-wracking, trying to choose which ring you’ll wear for the rest of your life. Maybe her fellow celebrities get those million dollar custom rings so that salespeople aren’t breathing down their neck. She’d thought about doing that, shelling out the big bucks so they can have something unique to them, but Jane doesn’t seem to mind the mass-produced stuff, practically running down the aisle and pointing at several pieces to try on.
Nymphia is still thinking about the album cover. What are they gonna wear? Should it be the dresses from when they first met or would that be too predictable or cheesy? If not, what else?
Jane tries on a round cut ring, and they both shake their heads. Another ring that’s more square, but something about that one isn’t right either. Jane puts on a third one, pursing her lips then taking it off.
“What about you, are you finding anything?” she asks Nymphia.
Nymphia shakes her head. She obviously hasn’t been looking very hard, hasn’t been looking at all really. She’s never been big into shopping for jewelry, perfectly content to sit back and let companies send her stuff for promo or red carpets or whatever, and with all the other stuff going on in her life her brain refuses to register engagement rings.
“You know what,” she says. “How about I buy a ring for you today…”
She rests a hand on Jane’s with an ever-so-sweet smile.
“And you can buy one for me after that performance money comes in, because you need it.”
Jane lets out this offended “ah” as Nymphia laughs. One of the employees is stifling a laugh.
“You’re gonna be my sugar mommy now, is that it?”
“Mm-hm, I’m gonna be your sugar mommy and buy everything because you can’t afford it-”
“Oh please, next you’re telling me you’re gonna top.”
The whole store definitely heard that, and the two of them look around sheepishly before giggling.
Jane tries on more rings, mostly just for non-wedding purposes at this point. Cartier’s rings are too modern, too edgy to fit her goal of a traditional wedding ring. They drive to another store. This one is a local business, and the rings are more whimsical than Cartier’s, almost too whimsical. Jane doesn’t want to look like a fairy, she wants to look like a pop star.
They head to Tiffany and Co. for one last stop that day. Nymphia isn’t sure she has much hope anymore, they’ve both seen so many rings and not been inspired, looking at a thousand more diamonds might just be the definition of insanity, but Jane wants to keep going so she keeps going.
As they resume the search for Jane’s ring, Nymphia adds the concept of the rings to the mental image of the album cover. Will they be raising their hands on the cover, showing off their rings as much as they can? Maybe she’ll be wearing hers but her hand won’t be in frame, so only she and Jane will know it’s there. Maybe she won’t be wearing it but it’ll be resting on the dashboard or hanging from the rearview mirror or something. Ooh, hanging from the mirror, that’s good. They can hang both of their rings, maybe another trinket or two. What will those trinkets be? It has to be something sentimental, but not overly sentimental, and not take away focus from themselves.
Jane gets her attention and holds up her hands, a ring on every finger, and says, “Maybe this is the look.”
“Pirate couture.”
Nymphia wonders how she’ll debut her own ring when she finds it. She would like to do it in a big way, an official way, on a red carpet or whatever. She doesn’t think there are any of those coming up. Maybe just a nice photoshoot.
They’re there for another hour, Jane trying on every single engagement ring in the store and still not finding anything. She reluctantly heads to the car, Nymphia following. Nymphia scans the dashboard, the mirror, mentally measuring out how long the chain to hold their rings should be, how many other things they can add to the chain without it becoming overpowering. She’s about to tell Jane about this new idea when she pouts and asks, “How did we not find a single ring?”
“Because we have expensive taste,” Nymphia declares. “But we can go to as many stores as we want.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Mm, not tomorrow. We need to really rehearse for the show, okay? I’m gonna ask the venue if we can practice there.”
“Okay, I guess the show is more important than finding a ring,” Jane says, a smile growing.
As they drive home, they listen to their own music. The car has no windows, anyone could hear the music if they got close enough, could see them poorly lipsyncing to their own songs, yet it feels like they’re in their own little world. She wants to say that this little pocket of time is too good to be true, but that’s not right; this is their reality, their world. She gets to make music and perform and go shopping and sing in the car with her favorite person in the world, her fiancee.
This giddiness is helped by them lying in the grass and drinking red wine at home. It’s getting cooler outside, the breeze creeping in once the sun goes away, but they’re both cold blooded bitches so it doesn’t matter. Normally with this wine she’d be practically climbing Jane like a tree but tonight she’s not horny, just content, dopey in a good way.
It’s not like they were going to wear their rings at the show anyway. They’ll have to wait a little longer to make the official announcement that they’re engaged, but that’s fine because the show will be all anyone can talk about for weeks. She pictures them on stage, starting off in darkness, then the lights on, strobing and illuminating them in all of their glory. They’re both wearing a mixture of black and yellow, high ponytails, severe heels, then they’ll pause for the cheers before one of them gives a little intro and they debut their music to the world.
She pictures Jane wearing a suit on the album cover. Or maybe herself. One of those rumpled suits with the tie undone that shows the viewer the wearer has been fucking. When it gets too cold and they go inside, she grabs a notebook and sketches out a few ideas. She’ll go through her closet, maybe tomorrow after rehearsal.
So many things to do, so little time. If she didn’t have Jane she would have probably faked her own death the second she had more than two emails in her inbox. She definitely wouldn’t have been making any music.
She’s never told anyone, not even Jane, how close she was to just…not making music. Nothing about it had been doing it for her; the process in which the label gave her a fully-fledged song and she only had to sing a little, the boring promo, the seemingly-endless touring. She liked all those things ten years ago, but it was getting so old, so uninspiring. She was close to trying acting or modeling or just showing up to red carpets to serve and nothing else, but then Jane walked into her life and the music came back to her. She has the girl and the music, can’t get better than that.
She pauses her sketching to draw a little ring around Jane’s finger.
Chapter 17: I wrote you a symphony just to say how much you mean to me
Notes:
Imagine the album as like a lesbian child of Blackout and FutureSex/LoveSounds
Chapter title from My Love by Justin Timberlake
Chapter Text
Jane collapses onto the couch with a dramatic groan and says, “My outfit isn’t gonna fit after I lose fifty pounds from sweating too hard.”
“You’re not losing fifty pounds,” Nymphia says. “Only forty.”
If Nymphia did sweat she’d be looking just like Jane right now. They’ve been rehearsing all day, first at the club and then at home.
“This is the hardest I’ve ever worked,” Jane says. “And I did the Russian The Voice.”
“Well I did Super Idol,” Nymphia replies. “And that’s probably harder.”
Gifs of her seventeen year old self on that show still get passed around on the internet occasionally. She knows the same happens with Jane because she looks it up a little more than a normal person would. A dark-haired, flat-chested Jane auditioning for a competition show; it’s so weird that Nymphia always has to look twice just to make sure it’s really her. They both had this mixture of unfounded confidence and utter nervousness on their shows. Now they’re fully realized popstars making their mark on the world or whatever those stupid magazines say.
That reminds her of their song Magazine, which will be performed for the first time very soon so they need to work on it. She drags Jane off of the couch and they get back to rehearsal.
“If you think this is intense, wait until the tour,” Nymphia says.
Jane pauses in the middle of a turn, body arching awkwardly until she stumbles, then says, “I thought I told you I don’t like touring.”
Nymphia vaguely remembers that.
“It doesn’t have to be a big one.”
The next song, Music to be Hungover To, comes on, and they slide into that choreography, a hand around the other’s waist and the other hands joined like they’re about to waltz.
Nymphia says, “Touring is probably a lot better with a fiancee.”
“Or a wife.”
Jane twirls Nymphia, and when Nymphia spins back around and lands against her chest, she asks, “So, whose last name are we taking?”
She wraps her arms around Nymphia and adds, “I think Nymphia Dunayevskaya sounds good.”
It does sound good, better than Jane Tsao at least, but it doesn’t feel right.
“Maybe we can make up a new one,” Nymphia suggests.
They toss up random last names, more nonsensical each time, and then the song ends but they’ve settled into this rhythm of ballroom dancing and just keep doing it. Nymphia is wearing her heels and Jane isn’t, making them almost the same height. They stare at each other’s faces a little harder than usual. Maybe Nymphia can try to convince Jane to wear flats for the wedding.
When Jane twirls Nymphia again, she asks, “Any ideas for where you wanna get married?”
“Courthouse.”
Jane’s eyes widen in fear, and Nymphia laughs and says, “I’m kidding.”
“What about Taiwan?”
“That would require you to go there.”
Nymphia dips, head falling back as Jane holds her by the waist.
“Well duh, I wanna go.”
Nymphia stands back up, confused, then realizes that after all those times her mom badgered her to come back and visit, she’d never told Jane about it, never made a move to plan a trip. Not that they would have, not that they could have, but she’d never asked.
She’s been mindlessly following the steps, and when it comes time for the dramatic spin she twirls right into the couch.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!”
Nymphia laughs at herself falling which turns into more of a cry when she realizes that they could have visited her home at pretty much any time before this and now won’t be able to for months.
They’ll do it eventually. Maybe the album will make so many millions that she’ll buy her mom a second house with more rooms and the three of them can live like they’re in a sitcom. She imagines Jane’s disgusted reaction to what she just suggested and laughs.
Her fiance is looking at her with concern and Nymphia realizes she looks insane. More insane than usual.
“You should have told me that earlier,” she whines. “I want to visit. My mom wants to ask you off putting questions.”
“Oh, my mom is the master of off putting questions, I’ll be fine.”
Jane offers her hand, and Nymphia takes it, ready to dance, but Jane just holds her.
“Do I have her blessing?” Jane asks, softly, seriously.
“She thinks it’s a little soon,” Nymphia admits. “But I don’t.”
“I don’t either.”
Jane cups her face.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They kiss, Jane’s other hand coming up to hold the back of Nymphia’s head, Nymphia doing the same.
They break it after a few seconds, smiling tenderly, then Nymphia snaps back into work mode and jokes, “You’re trying to distract me so your lazy ass doesn’t have to dance!”
“Well maybe you shouldn’t be so easily distractible.”
“I can’t believe I’m marrying someone so deceptive.”
“I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who’s making me learn choreo.”
They smile at each other and get back to rehearsing.
The night of the tour feels like Christmas morning. When the hair and makeup artists come over and work their magic, when they rehearse one more time while in costume, it reawakens something in Nymphia. Performing has always been one of her favorite things about her job, and now she’s getting to do it again with no label interference, no choreographer, just her deciding what she wants to do. It kind of makes her understand why artists stay independent. Kind of.
They arrive at the club in the customary celebrity black SUV, knowing that both of them will probably be so tired they’ll barely even stay awake on the ride home. The backstage area is eerily calmer than Nymphia would have imagined. She’s in no way mad at it, though. They sit in the small dressing room, her freshening up her makeup as Jane runs a straightener through her ponytail, freshly bleached to an even lighter platinum blonde.
Having gotten their hair and makeup done at home and every minute of the show being drilled into their heads over the past couple days, there’s nothing much to do for a little bit. Nymphia turns to see that Jane is sitting on a couch in the main room, a strand of ponytail loosely held between her fingers. She’s staring off somewhere, muttering words that Nymphia assumes are song lyrics, then when she sees Nymphia her face lights up and she extends her arms. Nymphia sits right between her legs, hands loosely resting around Jane’s neck, and Jane wraps one arm around Nymphia’s hip, the other hand coming to brush through a lock of her hair.
“Here we are, huh,” Jane says, looking around the backstage area.
“Here we are.”
There are still several minutes until the club will start getting crowded, and longer than that until they’ll actually perform.
Nymphia holds up a finger and states, “We can’t get too crazy. My mom is gonna watch this.”
“So is mine, but she gave up on me a long time ago.”
Nymphia laughs, and then they’re kissing, lips landing on lips, cheeks, noses, lips again.
“Nymphia, you’re so beautiful,” Jane murmurs between kisses. “And dedicated and-“
“Save it for the show,” she interrupts jokingly. “Show the world how much you simp for me.”
Jane rolls her eyes and says, “I’m trying to be heartfelt, bitch.”
An employee tells them how much time is left, and Nymphia awkwardly slides from straddling Jane to sitting next to her on the couch with her legs curled against her chest. Very smooth. Jane hums the lyric from Bad Influence about Nymphia doing the exact same thing, eliciting a smack to the shoulder.
Nymphia is so full of energy, her body telling her to escalate that smack into a straight up fistfight or ten rounds of sex or a combination of both, and she’s not even nervous. They already performed in a similar way to this at that club in New York, but that was months ago, the internet moves so fast only the hardcore fans even remember it. This is official. This will be the start of the era. After this, it’s pedal to the metal, full steam ahead with the album. She should be nervous. Yet all she can think of is how excited she is for all of it. It’s clearly a sign from the universe that they are very in love and very perfect for each other and they should continue to be in love with each other and to make music together for the rest of time.
She channels her vitality into vocal warm ups and stretching, because they can’t fuck backstage. They have to have tension for the performance.
It’s time. The place is packed, and most of the audience looks like their demographic, considering that the club had advertised it as a Jane and Nymphia themed night, tons of gay people and young women and many of those who are both.
Finally, the music is turned to a minimum, the lights are directed entirely towards the stage, and it’s time for Jane to go on.
She goes from her real to her bimbo persona instantly, doing a stupid little jog to reach the microphone, pressing a hand to her chest in a gesture of demure flattery as the audience cheers.
“Oh my god, thank you so much!” she exclaims in her high pitched “performance mode” voice. “For having a night themed around me! It’s just so crazy that if even a couple months ago I asked for that they would have ignored me, but now I’m dating Nymphia Wind so I’m famous!”
The crowd cheers again, and Nymphia smiles.
“I know that there have been some rumors, some speculation that the two of us are, I don’t know, making songs together, making an album together, that we’re engaged…”
It’s almost her time to go on stage. She thinks she should have gotten earplugs so the inevitable applause won’t fuck up her eardrums.
“And I just want you all to know that we are putting those rumors to rest.”
The audience goes from thrilled to confused in a snap.
This era officially starts now.
“Janey!” Nymphia exclaims as she runs on stage.
The reaction is so intense they might have just broken the sound barrier without playing a single note. It’s shock and exhilaration and disbelief and the sound of hundreds of people realizing that Nymphia is on stage, about to perform, that they’re in her presence. The energy is so buoyant that she feels a head rush, but in a good way, like she’s being lifted into the air by these peoples’ sheer excitement.
She has to wait for a moment for the noise to die down, and she and Jane take the time to grin, to enjoy that buoyancy.
“What do you mean we’re putting the rumors to rest?” Nymphia continues once it’s quieter, her stage voice loud and high pitched like Jane’s. “Aren’t they all true?”
“Of course they’re all true, it can’t be a rumor if it’s true!”
More cheering. They stand with their microphones to their faces, ready to start, ready to unleash this show and these songs and the Brat era onto the world.
“So yeah, we’re making an album, it’s called Brat.” Nymphia says as she walks to her spot. “Do you guys wanna hear it?”
Yeah, she definitely should have worn earplugs.
The song Angel still makes her as giddy as when they made it, when Jane wrote about how when they met she thought Nymphia was an angel. Now she fights to stay focused as Jane sings those lyrics to her, Mirage’s incredible instrumentals thumping in the back.
Maybe she melts a little when she and Jane clasp hands.
The performance flows like water. The two of them are in sync with their bodies, the music, each other, hitting every beat and step as the track list flows, Angel to Agent Provocateur to MTBHT to Magazine to ur cute, snippets of other songs mixed in between to tease them but not reveal the whole album. Their doing well fuels them even more, making them do even better, feeding into each other’s energies like a perpetual motion machine. It also helps that they’re singing song after song about how much they love each other.
It’s almost unreal. The music reverberating through the building, the thousands watching them, the surreality that they’ve made this music together. Her body is almost moving of its own volition, words exiting her mouth that she isn’t sure even sound good, though they must because the concertgoers are still hyped. When they waltz and she dips, head almost touching the ground, the lights illuminate her face in a brilliant glow for that split second before she stands back up and comes face to face with Jane.
The thing that reminds her that this is real is Jane. She’s different than usual too, in performance mode, everything about her heightened under the stage lights, but it’s still her.
This moment is still very unreal, there’s no way it couldn’t be, but it’s an unreality made euphoric by Jane.
She’d already been sure, but this hammers home just how sure she is that she was right to get with this girl, to make this album with her, to vow to marry her.
This rush continues as they perform, as the performance ends, as they run backstage with a club’s worth of applause trailing them. Her legs are sore, her whole body feels like she’s gonna wake up tomorrow with fifty new muscles, and the exhaustion is energizing her.
Jane shuts the door to the dressing room, casting them in silence for the first time in the past forty five minutes, then breathes, “Fuck.” She closes her eyes, head resting against the door, then cracks open her eyes as a dopey little smile grows.
“Fuck.”
Jane tastes like sweat and lipstick, and Nymphia wants to lick both of them off of her, to release her hair and rip her bodysuit off and lick her sweat from the inside out.
They settle for making out. They’re both releasing strained little moans from exhaustion and desire, in knowing that they want to fuck until the sun comes up but have to go home first. Eventually Jane breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath, almost gulping for air, and Nymphia realizes she needs to breathe too. A smudge of Nymphia’s lipstick is above Jane’s lip, and when she looks in the mirror she sees that Jane’s foundation has rubbed off, leaving a circle of white around her lips. They almost cry from laughing at it.
Nymphia texts the driver to make sure he’s ready. They look messy, and like they’ve been making out, smiling dazedly with their smudged makeup, but neither of them care. They just have to walk a few feet to the car, and if any fans or paparazzi are waiting there, well, they’ll just know that they’re in love. She doesn’t even wipe the foundation off. They walk hand in hand through backstage and out the door.
Maybe that year and a half of seclusion made Nymphia forget how famous she is.
Outside is absolutely packed. Dozens, hundreds, who knows, of people stand everywhere they can, taking pictures and cheering and screaming. Security guards push the people back, clearing a path, and Nymphia and Jane shuffle behind them. The camera flashes, the waves of screaming, the sheer number of people, their palpable fervor, it’s discombobulating. She puts on a coy smile, waves a little, and she sees that Jane is doing the same, though with a broader smile, a celebrity smile. She blows a kiss to a camera and the cheers get even louder. Nymphia supposes she’s glad Jane’s a fame whore and not someone who shuns the spotlight, considering they’re gonna be under the spotlight a lot.
They get into the car. The car is almost eerily silent, the windows tinted almost black, the flashes outside only faintly visible. It’s like they’re in a bubble, floating away from this surreal moment to real life.
The silence continues as they drive through the city. They slouch in their seats, Jane’s head resting on Nymphia’s shoulder, hands loosely entwined. She feels dazed, blissfully slow, love drunk in this bubble of a car.
She thinks she dozed off, and Jane probably did too, because all of a sudden they’re parked in front of her house. The cats greet them as they walk inside, as Nymphia slumps to the floor to take off her heels while Jane chucks hers across the room. It’s so early in the morning that the house feels as silent and dark as the car, faint glimpses of moonlight and some lights in the kitchen the only thing lighting up the space.
Sitting against the door, sore legs spread in front of her like a plush on a shelf, she lets out a maniacal giggle that startles the cats.
The concert went perfectly, as far as she knows. The album is almost done. They have ideas for the cover, for music videos, for future concerts. It’s all going perfectly.
She’d expected Jane to startle at the laugh, too, but she just lets out one of her own as she stumbles over to Nymphia and sits next to her. They’re going to have to get off the floor at some point, to remove their makeup and wash the sweat and backstage dirt away, but for now they sit, basking in the feeling of a job well done.
Chapter 18: Again and again
Notes:
Chapter title from Everything is Romantic by Charli XCX
This chapter is very horny but also wholesome
Chapter Text
The concert felt like it went perfectly in Nymphia’s mind, and when she goes on the internet the next day she’s glad to see that it’s going as perfectly on there as it did in person. The timeline is full of pictures, videos, stans discussing and yelling and key smashing. The music was perfect, the choreo was perfect, the sexual tension was perfect; they looked like they were perpetually one inch away from rawdogging on stage, but in a cute way, the pictures of them walking to the car afterwards with each other’s makeup all over their faces are hilarious. She saves several pictures, shares a couple with the group chat who mostly want to know when they’ll get to participate in a concert, too. Nymphia is pumped for that, too, getting the group back together to finish the album and for concerts and music videos and everything. It’s just such a perfect scenario that she’s ended up in.
A part of the concert that they didn’t expect to be shown, the backstage kissing on the couch, is also making the rounds. An employee snuck pictures of it. Nymphia’s a little pissed. Jane seems ready to take the matter to court.
And yet, the pictures are a little cute. Very cute. So cute that Nymphia saves them and annoys Jane into looking at them until she also admits that they’re cute. She says it’s an invasion of privacy, which then turns into her badly rapping Cardi B songs, but the way Jane was looking at her in those pictures makes Nymphia very willing to ignore this particular incident.
The performance and the backstage pictures are going viral, making an impact, but they barely have time to process it because two days later they’re flying to Milan for the Prada campaign.
On the plane, Nymphia researches photographers for the album cover. When they’re halfway across the ocean she’s seen enough portfolios composed of artsy black and white pictures that she just groans and sets her phone down. She’ll have to get a new manager at some point. So much needs to be done to create a Nymphia Wind project.
The worries melt away when she gets under that Italian sun. Their hotel room is in a brick building among brick buildings, big doors with billowy curtains leading out to a balcony overlooking the cobblestone streets. Sightseeing is disregarded for a glass of wine, which turns into two, which turns into making out on the balcony. And on the bed. And on the floor when they get too into it and fall off the bed. Lying on a floor with who knows how many germs on it would usually be a mood killer but Nymphia doesn’t even care, just giggles and keeps kissing her.
Jane wants to go dancing, but Nymphia reminds her that their photoshoot is tomorrow and they should maybe try to reduce their eye bags ever so slightly. While they’re getting ready for bed, she scrolls through a few more posts about their concert. People are still going crazy over it. They have to do so much other shit for the album that it’s not a smart move to be on a different continent, but she wouldn’t turn down a Prada campaign, especially since she gets to do it with Jane. She assumes the shoot will have a sexy vibe. She hopes that’s what the brand had in mind when they asked the two of them because that’s what they’ll turn it into anyway. Plus, it’s practice for the album photoshoot.
Their shoulders touch as they sit in bed. A window is open, letting in the humid air. Usually Nymphia loathes humidity but tonight it’s making her think of vacations, of making music late into the night in New York and sleeping with the windows open the next day, of lying in bed drawing all night as a kid. All those memories because of some air. Being in the country of love is making her loopy.
The studio where the Prada shoot is happening is on the outskirts of the city, large and sterile. There’s a white backdrop, a couch and a nightstand with flowers next to it. Very domestic.
Despite this clinical setting, Nymphia is excited. She loves fashion, loves modeling, loves getting paid inordinate amounts of money to be hot and sell clothes on a billboard. The makeup artists aren’t even complaining about her eye bags as they apply a thin line of eyeliner to her top and bottom lids.
When Jane sees her makeup, a nude lip, the barest hint of eyeliner and brown eyeshadow at the outer corner of her eye, she says, “God, I’m hot.”
Nymphia is dressed in a short white poplin dress, Jane in a longer cotton one, and they move all around the set, sitting or draping themselves across the couch, standing near it, standing in an area that’s just a white backdrop with no props forcing them to serve as much face as possible. They change clothes. They put Nymphia in a slinky black dress that ties around the neck and exposes her back, put her hair into an artfully messy updo to better show it off. She turns her head to look at herself from the back, at the way her neck curves and flows into her spine as she looks back. She’d looked good in the previous look but now she looks hot.
She walks out of her dressing room and sees they’ve put Jane in what’s basically a men’s dress shirt that’s just an inch long enough to be a dress, the classic movie woman the morning after a hookup costume. Nymphia thinks her mouth is gonna water at the sight of her. They both stop and stare at each other, unmoving as the employees run around them.
Finally Jane walks over to her, puts a hand on her back and mutters, “You look so fucking good.”
“No, you look so fucking good.”
“You don’t know how much I want to fuck you right now.”
Nymphia uses her excellent professionalism skills to not rip her clothes off right there.
“On the couch,” Jane continues, voice soft and low. “Right in front of everyone.”
“You want them to watch?”
“I want them to be jealous of me.”
This section of the photoshoot is designed to be sexy, the lighting dim and shadowy, which does not help to quell the fantasies running through Nymphia’s mind. In one picture they stand with Jane’s hand on Nymphia’s lower back, Nymphia’s hand behind Jane’s neck, Nymphia looking over her shoulder to the camera. In the next picture it’s Jane sitting on the couch, Nymphia sprawled next to her, her lips inches away from Jane’s neck, Jane’s hand cupping her cheek. When they’re finished with those photos the photographer enthuses about how great they were. She’s not sure if he knows that the pictures turned out as sexy as they did because they were one glance away from boning on the couch.
They return to the makeup chairs, and Nymphia assumes they’re changing their makeup until the stylists bring out a blonde and a black wig.
“Are we switching hair colors?” she asks excitedly.
“Yes,” one of the stylists says. “They wanted a contrast.”
She’s happy about it, partially because sometimes she misses being blonde, partially because she’ll get to see Jane in dark hair. She has a suspicion that it’ll look beautiful and sexy because everything Jane does is beautiful and sexy.
“Have you ever had black hair?” she asks.
“Once,” Jane says. “I was very emo when I was fourteen. Then I discovered Svetlana Loboda and knew that I needed to be a bimbo.”
“I was blonde for a while. Then I got lazy.”
“Looked good, though.”
It did look good. She considers going back to it often, or yellow, or the mix of blonde and yellow she had in 2017 that influenced a whole generation to try the same thing with mostly disastrous results.
When the wigs are placed, Nymphia looks at herself for half a second before turning to Jane and almost gasping. She knew she’d look good, but Jane looks good, the black hair and darker eyebrows making her look strangely younger and highlighting her face more. Jane looks at Nymphia for a bit, then ponders her own reflection, twisting one of the loose curls around her finger, and a faint smile grows.
“It did not look this good when I was emo,” she jokes after a moment, making Nymphia laugh.
They put Jane in a cropped white jacket and skirt, Nymphia in a black godet dress, and the next set of pictures isn’t as sexy but still retains a little bit of that feeling, the lighting ever so slightly darker than it was for the first set. She still aches to be near Jane, to hold her and kiss her and stare at her face for hours, especially with the wig. She’s definitely going to try to persuade her to change her hair color for real, or to at least keep the wig on standby.
They change into black and white slip dresses for the last set, this one consisting of more close-up shots, the pictures they’ll put on billboards and bus stops to show that they got Nymphia and Jane for a campaign. They take a couple solo shots, some where they’re together in various poses ranging from standing feet apart to almost making out, and then it’s done.
They look through the pictures to make sure everything’s good, and Nymphia is obsessed. This is technically just a commercial, but it feels like a photoshoot for them. It’s technically their first professional shoot, and they’ll have plenty of other ones in the next few months, but it’s so incredible to see themselves in this way.
They get to take all the clothes and everything, and the two of them smile as they pack everything into bags.
Despite the fact that both of them would have been content to go back to the hotel and fuck like rabbits, they go to dinner at a casual restaurant and sit outside, partially because the weather is unusually nice, partially because Nymphia kind of wants people to see their reversed hair colors and go crazy.
Jane wears a white Prada mini dress that cuts in at the waist and flares out into a girly skirt. Her black wig is still glued onto her head, curls cascading down her back. Something about her tonight, or, well, this whole trip, considering they’ve spent most of it having sex or thinking about having sex, is so beautiful, so appealing, so irresistible that Nymphia doesn’t want to do anything but look at her. And take pictures. And think about how much she wants to fuck her. Through the whole meal she’s cycling between those three actions, and Jane is definitely aware of it, a sly little smirk planted on her face.
“I think you should keep this hair,” Nymphia says.
“Really?”
She tosses some of it around her shoulder, the dark locks coming to frame her face, and somehow Nymphia becomes even more obsessed.
“I like the blonde on you,” Jane says.
She reaches over and brushes through Nymphia’s wig, fingers grazing her hairline, and Nymphia nearly melts.
She grounds herself by reminding her brain that they’re in public.
“I’ll go blonde if you go dark,” she offers.
“Maybe for the next album.”
Jane’s hand moves down to stroke Nymphia’s arm.
“It’s been a long day,” Nymphia says. “I think we should go back to the hotel and rest.”
“I completely agree.”
Jane’s dress looks even better when she’s on her back, skirt up and thong shoved to the side. Nymphia has one hand around her thigh, the other pawing around her tits as she eats her out. Jane’s hips gyrate as Nymphia’s tongue laps at her clit, as it ventures down to taste her cunt, Nymphia’s head moving so she can lick every inch of her pussy. Jane comes, but Nymphia keeps going.
After the second orgasm, Nymphia gets up to grab the strap, but Jane stops her by grabbing her dress.
Jane stands up, still gripping the bottom of Nymphia’s dress, then steps closer until she’s running into Nymphia, pushing her back and towards the bed.
“Don’t fuck up my dress,” Nymphia says. She’s standing, the backs of her knees pressing against the bed. “It’s Prada.”
She smirks. Jane pushes her onto the bed, tosses her dress up like Nymphia did with hers.
Nymphia still can’t get enough of Jane with dark hair. Maybe Jane can’t get enough of Nymphia with light hair considering the way she’s eating her out, the way she fucks her in all the positions they can think of.
The wigs come off before they shower. Nymphia runs her fingers through Jane’s real hair, presses kisses to her shoulder.
“Not that I’m complaining, but, just out of curiosity, are you ovulating?” Jane asks.
The answer is most likely yes, but Nymphia stubbornly says, “You’re the one who said you wanted to fuck me in front of everyone on set.”
“You started it by eye-fucking me.”
“I couldn’t help it, I just like you too much.”
“Yeah, well I just love you,” Jane says.
She spins around and bear hugs Nymphia, and it’s supposed to be exaggerated, annoying, but the unbridled enthusiasm is still making her happy. Jane gripping her like a koala on a tree after a day of nothing but shooting a Prada campaign and having sex in their Milanese hotel room.
Yeah, her life is pretty good.
She decides that they’re going to hire the same photographer for the album cover, that they’re going to wear Prada, and that if they can channel the same energy they had in this photoshoot then the album cover will be the most incredible album cover in the world.
After tossing and turning for a bit, she sneaks up to the rooftop balcony and calls Xunami.
“Me and Janey just did this Prada campaign and it was so good!” she says. “They had us wear wigs and we eye fucked the whole time and then we actually fu-“
“Okay, TMI,” Xunami interrupts with a laugh. “That’s cool, though! Did you guys look sexy and gorgeous?”
“So sexy and gorgeous. We got to take pictures of us being in love for a fashion campaign. I’m gonna hire the same photographer for the album cover. Maybe we can make soft core lesbian porn for that.”
“Y’all are like horny teenagers,” Xunami says. “I say that with love. Speaking of the album, do you need me or the others to come over there and work on it?”
“God, yeah. We’re releasing it in March, I wanna finish it as soon as possible so we just have to deal with the promo and everything.”
Xunami tsks and asks, “You do know you’re crazy for firing Amanda, right?”
Nymphia sighs and says, “Yep. But I can handle it, Xuxu. I have the power of love.”
She laughs at the ridiculousness of her own statement but doesn’t deny its truthfulness. She is being propelled by the power of love and happiness and all those other fuzzy feelings.
“But yeah, you guys should come to LA,” she adds. “And no fucking around this time, we have to make the album perfect.”
“Girl, it’s already perfect, or at least those fans at the concert thought so.”
“They’re our stans, they would have loved anything we did that night.”
“Nymphia,” Xunami says sternly. “The album is already perfect, but soon we’re gonna make it even more perfect, okay? It’s gotta be late as fuck in Milan, go to bed.”
“You know I don’t go to sleep until the sun comes up.”
She’s actually been sleeping more since getting with Jane. She gets wrapped up in her arms and is out for hours and hours. Her body probably thinks something is wrong with her.
“Your dramatic ass,” Xunami replies. “See you soon. Bye, Nymphia.”
“Bye.”
She texts Plasma, Mirage and Morphine that they need to come to LA, and adds for Morphine that she should come soon so she can do their makeup for the album shoot. She sends an email to the Prada photographer. She sends emails to Prada and to the owner of her favorite boutique asking if they have any special pieces they wanna loan to the two of them. She’ll put a look together for both herself and Jane, god knows her girlfriend can’t dress herself to Nymphia Wind standards. It’ll still probably be the easiest part of this album process. Totally worth it, though.
She wakes up to Jane straddling her, and when she reaches out to touch her Jane grabs her hand and says, “We’re going ring shopping.”
“Right now?”
“Mm-hm.”
Jane lifts Nymphia’s hand up and says, “Imagine how good a ring is gonna look on your finger.”
Nymphia’s vision is blurry, so she can’t really picture a ring on her finger, but she offers a small smile anyway.
“I wanna go to that one mall.”
“It’s crowded there.”
“Even better. I want to parade my beautiful fiancée around.”
That statement, as well as their breakfast-slash-lunch that mostly consists of pastries and aperol spritzes, makes Nymphia far more willing to get up and go to the Galleria than she was a moment ago.
They’re already tipsy and giggly when they get to the gigantic mall. Rows and rows of designer stores, restaurants, marble floors and giant skylights and chattering Italians stretch in front of them, and soon the goal isn’t just to get engagement rings; they can get whatever the hell they want.
They stumble around in Saint Laurent heels, make out in the Gucci dressing room, whack each other with Louis Vuitton shopping bags. By late afternoon they’ve bought so much stuff that they’re accidentally hitting everything within a two foot radius, and just as Nymphia is going to suggest that they go back to the hotel Jane pokes her and points to a jewelry store.
Nymphia isn’t expecting too much, but within minutes of looking into the glass cases she gasps.
The diamond, or diamonds, as the way this thing is shining could probably blind a person if the angle was right, are narrower than most engagement rings, stretching out from the thin band like the edges of a snowflake. A pear cut diamond rests in the center, a seed surrounded by petals.
She turns to show Jane but her fiancée has found something too. The ring on her finger is a whole rock, a huge oval diamond in the middle flanked by dozens of other tiny diamonds in varying shapes.
Somehow Nymphia can tell within five seconds that it’s the one.
She tries on the one she’s found and knows that that’s the one too.
They both know it would be stupid to buy both of their engagement rings within two seconds, so they meander around the store, seeing if anything else catches their eye, but Nymphia can’t even pay attention to any other jewelry. Her ring just looks like it’s meant to be on her finger.
Jane puts hers on her right hand, the Russian way, she explains, and then they hold hands, the bands of the rings ever so slightly grazing each other.
Jane gets several wedding bands to add once they actually get married, as if her engagement ring wasn’t flashy enough, and Nymphia gets a few because she wants to be flashy too.
She doesn’t even listen to what the price is, just makes sure that the jeweler can resize them before they fly back home then gives him her credit card.
“I’m kind of obsessed with you, you know,” Jane says.
“I know. I’m kind of obsessed with you, too.”
“I know.”
They celebrate their last ringless night by walking back to the hotel hand in hand, shopping bags swinging between them, then cuddling on the balcony, intertwined like clingy cats as the sun goes down.
Chapter 19: Bittersweet, baby
Notes:
Chapter title from Crave by Tove Lo
I added a new chapter in between what is now chapters three and five, so if you’re reading this June 17, 2025 or later go check that out :)
Chapter Text
“We should do another concert in New York,” Nymphia says.
“Fuck yeah.”
“Maybe after Jimmy Fallon.”
“Wait, aren’t we performing on that?”
“Yeah, but that’s a boring performance, I wanna do an interesting performance.”
“You hoes are stressing me out,” Morphine chimes in from across the room.
Jane turns and says, “This is what people with actual careers do, you wouldn’t get it.”
She flips her hair and Morphine throws a makeup brush at her, eliciting a screech.
“Hey, don’t assault my fiancée,” Nymphia says.
“Uh huh, don’t assault her fiancée,” Jane parrots, emphasizing the “fiancée” pompously.
“Don’t assault my fiancée before the photoshoot,” Nymphia adds. “Afterwards I don’t care.”
Jane lets out an offended “ah!” while Morphine cackles.
“I have her permission, I’m beating your ass,” Morphine says to Jane.
“You think you’re beating my ass, that’s funny.”
“You‘ve never beat anyone’s ass-“
“Check the mugshots, bitch-“
“Guysss, focus,” Nymphia says.
The other two mutter “sorry.”
They’re on set for the album cover shoot, a random parking lot a little outside of the city, lights and reflectors surrounding Jane’s Hummer to illuminate it in the night. Nymphia’s campaign to shoot this in a McDonald’s parking lot was rejected by everyone but her and as such she is slightly resentful towards this parking lot but is willing to get over it in time.
Her girl at the vintage store had dropped off a truckful of potential outfits a few days ago, and combined with all the stuff they bought in Milan she and Jane got to have the real life equivalent of a movie trying-on-clothes montage.
Nymphia wears an oversized black suit jacket with no shirt underneath, just a thin chained silver necklace with a heart on the end that she borrowed from Jane, matching pants that flare at the bottom to reveal a hint of her patent black heels. Jane wears a black and silver leopard print dress with tons of silver jewelry from Nymphia’s collection, black combat boots to make it unique and so she isn’t completely towering over Nymphia. When they’d finalized the looks, Nymphia kept gushing about how interesting they are, how the mix of femininity and masculinity and vintage and new all goes together and tells a story and goes with the album. Jane had replied that she just chose her outfit because she thought it was cute but that she loves Nymphia’s imagination. Morphine had asked where the yellow was, Nymphia replied that she’s a changed woman because of Jane, then Morphine asked if she was in an abusive relationship and gagged when Nymphia said she makes Jane tie her up sometimes. There is some yellow, though, in the sense that Nymphia is wearing a yellow thong that peeks out ever so slightly from her waistband.
When the photographer is ready, Morphine gives them one last makeup touch up, and then they’re ready for the shoot.
They pose like they practiced. Jane in the driver’s seat, Nymphia in the passenger’s. Nymphia looking out the window, Jane looking forward and off into the distance. Nymphia looking at Jane and Jane looking right into the camera. Jane looking out the window, arm extended as if holding a cigarette, Nymphia looking almost at the camera but not quite. Jane leaning over and looking at Nymphia while Nymphia slyly looks to the side like she’s pretending not to see her. A chain that holds their engagement rings, a keycard from their hotel in New York where much of the album was made, and a wristband from the Vegas festival where they hard launched, dangles from the rearview mirror.
They haven’t technically announced the engagement yet. Heavily implied, but not confirmed, haven’t been seen with the rings in public. Partially because the rings will be on the album cover and the cover will already garner attention but they want as much attention as they can possibly get.
Partially because Nymphia kind of wants the attention from the album cover to drown out the attention from the fact that they’ve gotten engaged after six months.
It’s stupid, she knows she’s not ashamed, that she doesn’t care what some irrelevant people on the internet think of her, yet every time she thinks about announcing the engagement on its own a tendril of fear creeps up and she can’t shake it.
Jane was more than willing to let the album cover speak for itself because she hates the idea of a cheesy engagement photoshoot where they’re both wearing sundresses and smiling in a field of daisies or something. Nymphia tried to imagine them doing that unironically and laughed hard enough that she felt a little more buoyant the rest of the day.
Announcing an engagement by featuring your gigantic rings on the cover of your joint album is a pretty cunty way to do that, which also makes her feel a little more ready to face potential criticism.
They do a million variations of just that, then they get out of the car for the next part of the photoshoot. A couple more overly dramatic poses, The White Stripes if Jack and Meg didn’t pretend to be siblings, which then turns into them being tastefully horny ala Tom Ford which then dissolves into them just laughing and being sweet.
It’s early in the morning when they reluctantly decide that they have enough pictures. They all drive home, Morphine retires to her room. It’s too late to go out anywhere but Jane and Nymphia aren’t ready to get out of these looks so they sit on the couch in their outfits and makeup while they choose which pictures to use.
They decide that the front cover will be a picture in which they’re sitting in the car and Jane is looking at something near her rearview mirror while Nymphia slyly glances toward the camera. Some other pictures are chosen for the back cover of the vinyl, deluxe versions, outtakes, and their personal enjoyment.
They’ll show it to the girls later, but they’re pretty sure they’ve got their album cover. Nymphia becomes so excited about the album that she quite literally runs around the backyard and does a cartwheel and lands on the grass with a giddy smile while Jane sleepily lies next to her. The sun is starting to rise, orange light cascading out to the stars,
Before they go to bed, they tell the other collaborators to get their asses to Nymphia’s place. Her house has enough bedrooms and she plans for the girls to all stay there like a commune so they can work on the music or the music videos or whatever when inspiration strikes. She kind of misses living with Xunami in New York, Plasma right down the hall, Morphine coming up to visit sometimes. She’d missed living near people in general and was so ecstatic when Jane decided to move in so quickly, though she would never tell her that because she is not in the mood to get bullied for being a sap.
Mirage arrives at the house that night. She has a hot pink Mustang with a license plate that says MALD1TA and that affirms why she was added to the team.
“Holy shit,” Mirage says. “I’m actually at Nymphia Wind’s house.”
“Are you okay with sharing a room with Xu?” Nymphia asks, knowing full well that those two will be more than okay with having a room to themselves.
They smile knowingly, then Mirage looks at Nymphia’s ring and gasps.
“Oh my god,” she coos, brushing her thumb over the diamond. “I do not have enough money to get whatever’s gonna be on the registry but I’ll get you a toaster or some shit-“
Nymphia laughs and says, “Maybe a blender.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Not for a while. We’re gonna release the album, tour-”
Jane comes outside and says, “Nymphia, if you’re gonna order a hooker at least get a classy one,” which earns her a playful shove from Mirage before they hug.
Nymphia gives Mirage a tour of the house, then the four of them sit in the living room, petting the cats, catching up on their lives.
Plasma shows up early the next morning, and the second they open the door she walks inside and says, “Alright, we need to finish this goddamn album before the two of you lose your voices, the sound engineering was all off during that concert because you were screaming so damn loud, but it still wasn’t as terrible as that little intro you did-“
“Nice to see you too, Plazzy,” Nymphia replies.
They hug and Plasma mutters, “Make sure you get a prenup.”
Boris the cat stands against Nymphia’s leg in a request to be held, and she grabs him and says, “We should worry about the album first.”
Xunami arrives that night and screams in excitement about the album and the engagement and the Prada campaign and the fact that they’re all together again.
The next day is a heavy work day. Plasma and Mirage work on the mixing, Morphine and Xunami work on the visuals by coming up with ideas for music videos and directors and photographers and designers, then Mirage goes over to the visual side and Xunami goes to the music side and Morphine snoops through the closet and Plasma researches and they’re all moving around like ants in a hill. Nymphia and Jane are pulled between the groups so fast and so often Nymphia thinks she might literally get whiplash. It’s harder to make an album like this, no passing the work off to someone else, no waiting for others to fix things, but that makes her more proud of it and it makes her want to work harder to bring the vision to life.
When it’s late, Morphine declares, “Alright, I can’t stand to listen to your voices anymore. You guys wanna go out?”
Everyone except Plasma and Nymphia, including Jane, to Nymphia’s dismay, agrees and gets up. Nymphia wants to go a little, but that’s overridden by her need to continue working on the music like she said she would. She’s also kind of tired of hearing her own voice, but she can push past it. It would be a lot better if Jane stayed, too, but it’s fine.
The others go upstairs to get ready while she and Plasma stay in the makeshift studio.
“I’m surprised you’re not going with your wife,” Plasma says.
“I have ideas for Hopeless.”
“Good, I do too.”
They take a break so that they don’t get interrupted when the girls leave for the club. They trickle down the stairs, talking and laughing, passing a bottle of tequila to pregame. Jane takes her ring off and hands it to Nymphia. She still wears a band on that finger, diamond-studded and unmistakably wedding-esque.
“Nymphia, don’t leave me alone with your annoying friends,” Jane pleads. Xunami laughs and Jane laughs back.
“Hey, you’re leaving me alone with the most annoying friend,” Nymphia says.
“True.”
“Hey!” Plasma exclaims.
“And we are gonna make it sound like you can actually sing,” Nymphia continues.
“The shade,” Mirage mutters.
“Alright,” Jane concedes.
She kisses Nymphia, eliciting exaggerated “ew”s and gags from the others, then walks out with the party group. She’s wearing a slinky dress that shifts and reveals little glimpses of her ass as she walks and for a moment Nymphia considers going to the club so they can grope on the dance floor. She stays at home, though, because she’ll be able to do that and more later. Or maybe Jane will do too much coke and be too impotent to get anything done.
It’s only happened once before and she wasn’t even mad. Maybe this bitterness is coming from the fact that her girlfriend is about to get high and have a good time and she’s not.
She and Plasma work on Hopeless in silence. After several minutes she wonders if the others have already gotten to the club. After a few more minutes she checks Instagram and sees that Mirage has posted a picture of Xunami doing a shot, and then Nymphia is hit with so much jealousy and FOMO that she groans and sets her phone face down.
“Would it be bad if I did a bump?” she asks, staring at Jane’s ring as it rests on the table, almost to herself.
“What?” Plasma questions. “Yeah, it probably would be bad, you can never focus, you start going on about the 2007 Dior show-”
“Fuck it. It’s Brat.”
She walks to her room. She’s getting sleepy anyway. This will be a beneficial bump. Increasing productivity and all that.
Nymphia is obsessed with Jane and also herself with Jane and the two of them because Jane is there and she loves Jane and did she mention that she’s obsessed with Jane?
She’s working on the music, adding and removing sounds and listening to the same fifteen seconds over and over and over, but she’s not even sure what she’s doing because she refuses to stop thinking about Jane.
If Plasma is sick of listening to the same snippet of the song then she will also be tired of Nymphia gushing about her fiancée but Nymphia can’t find it in her to care. She regales her with tales of the two of them which turns into just laughing giddily. Plasma graciously pretends to listen and continues to work on the music when Nymphia goes off to replenish.
Eventually the front door clicks and Plasma excuses herself to go to bed. Jane walks in, and she looks weary but happy, stumbling with her heels in hand, but when she sees Nymphia her dazed smile grows.
Nymphia runs over, standing right in front of her, and says, “I’m obsessed with you.”
“I’m obsessed with you, too!”
“No, I’m obsessed with you.”
They kiss and Nymphia realizes the others aren’t there and asks, “Where’s everyone else?”
“Afterparty.”
“You didn’t go?”
“No.” Jane kisses her again. “I need to be with you.”
Nymphia breaks the kiss but stays creepily close to Jane, dilated pupils staring into dilated pupils.
“Nymphia,” Jane says very sweetly. “Did you do a line or two tonight?”
Nymphia giggles and nods.
“Oh my god, that’s crazy that you did that because I also did that! We’re so similar like that-“
Nymphia kisses her to get her to shut up.
They make out on the couch. Nymphia finally gets to snake her hands up Jane’s dress. They stop making out, still in position, so Jane can tell what happened at the club, so Nymphia can tell what happened at the house, then they go back to making out. It’s gross and sloppy and she thinks that she’s never been as connected with Jane as she is in this moment.
They yammer about the songs and the album and the concept of being a popstar in general. They take way too many selfies; regular selfies, mirror selfies, both at the same time with two different phones. They make out again, also captured on camera. Nymphia changes into a party dress to make the selfies more interesting. It results in Jane talking about how hot she is while Nymphia talks about how hot she is and their lips and teeth are smashing together and muffling the words but it doesn’t matter because they know what they’re saying and they’re the only ones who need to hear it.
They throw out ideas for music videos, interviews, concerts. They throw out ideas for the wedding. All of them become more and more outlandish, the two of them egging each other on, laughing and agreeing and elaborating until the conversation just falls apart. Nymphia reflects on how beautiful their collaboration is, how beautiful their relationship is, how crazy it is that just a few months ago they hadn’t even met and now they’re inextricably braided together like they were made to be.
The coke wears off. There’s no sleep that night, just a slow comedown that makes Nymphia feel worse every minute. When the sun rises she lies by the pool. Being outdoors isn’t helping but it’s better than being inside with the scent of tequila. She texts the girls to tell them that they’re taking the day off, then rests her head against the pool chair and sighs.
The burn in her nostrils is so bad that Vaseline barely dulls it. Her knees are bruised, her elbows are bruised, her back feels like she’s been slamming into the ground all night, and maybe she has. Her stomach is empty, hanging heavily, but the thought of food, any food, repulses her.
Jane isn’t at the top of her game either, but she’s faring better than Nymphia, or at least it seems. She brings out a big pitcher of water, gives Nymphia a back massage, adjusts the umbrella every time the sun starts to peek over, tells the others to shut the fuck up when they start talking by the pool.
Nymphia gets more annoyed with her as the minutes go on.
She said she was going to stay focused on the music. She said there would be no partying, not for her and Jane at least. This is crunch time and they can’t be out of their minds or too hungover to work all the time. She’s mad at Jane for going out, mad at herself for doing coke like she’d been at the club, mad at the two of them for enabling each other after Jane came home instead of just going to bed.
It’ll still be fine. The album is ninety nine percent done, the cover is done. There’s plenty of time to send it off and get the vinyls made and everything. Plus, they have plans for a music video, a performance that they can tweak and reuse, interviews, all that. Once she stops being neurotic about this album she realizes that it’ll all be fine.
She’s just disappointed.
She eventually takes a nap and feels ever so slightly better. She and Mirage take the pink car to a restaurant to pick up takeout and Nymphia decides that they should also make a music video for their song, K. She and Mirage and Jane plan the video until it’s late at night and then everyone sits around and watches a movie before retiring to their rooms. Nymphia and Jane pick out their outfits for the music video. Nymphia feels better, appropriately productive.
There’s another full work day the next day. Every song is practically done but they listen to each one a million times anyway just to make sure. They finalize the cover. Book the director and crew for the music video with Mirage. Plan a music video for Malibu’s Most Wanted because they need a video with just Jane and Nymphia since they can’t put You and Me on the album because then they’d have to share royalties with people who aren’t the girls and they don’t wanna do that.
Everyone except Nymphia declares that the album is done that night. There’s nothing more they can do for the music unless they wanna make bonus tracks or something, but everyone agrees they’ll do that later.
Jane says it’s finished. She looks at Nymphia expectantly.
Nymphia tells them that she needs time to think about it and heads up to her room. For some reason she’s not ready to admit that it’s done. She knows it is, she knows that the songs, the tracklist, the most minute details of the production are as good as they’re gonna get and that they’re pretty damn good. Yet something is stopping her from just saying yes and sending it off to the label. Maybe because she’s not ready to move on to other parts of the project like promo. Maybe because it’s such a big project and it feels wrong for it to just be done one random day.
Either way, she looks out the window in her room. Jane comes up a few minutes later and sits next to her and asks what’s wrong.
“Do you think it’s done?” Nymphia asks.
“I think it’s been done,” Jane says, voice lilting at the end like she’s trying not to offend. “And that it’s the best album in the history of pop and these bitches don’t know what’s gonna hit them and we’re gonna make a million billion dollars.”
Nymphia laughs and asks, “What are you gonna buy with your share?”
“New tits. A house for the cats. A wedding in Taiwan.”
Nymphia feels herself smiling uncontrollably and deflects by asking, “You’re gonna buy a house for the cats and not us?”
“By the time you moved all that shit in the closet to a new place we would be ninety.”
Nymphia is considering a bigger house in LA and maybe a penthouse in New York for vacations, but she acknowledges that moving all of her stuff would be the biggest pain in the ass. Maybe she could keep the current place as just the closet and buy enough new stuff for a new place.
She can’t think about what she’s going to buy with her profits from the album because she needs to acknowledge that the album is done first and she just can’t do it right now for some reason. She was so desperate, is so desperate, to finish it but now she’s halting right before the finish line.
An album is such a big and permanent piece of art. A work that lives beyond its creator. She’s always acknowledged that but been totally fine about it, more than willing to send her music out into the world and reap the benefits. Maybe this time it feels scarier because this is her first album ever that she’s crafted nearly by herself, the first one in a while where she fully poured herself into it.
She once again asks Jane if she thinks it’s ready. Jane’s eyes are wide and unblinking like she’s come face to face with a wolf.
“Why don’t you think it’s ready?” she asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you wanna work on it now?”
“I don’t know.”
Jane huffs in frustration and asks, “So what do we need to do?”
“I don’t know!”
Jane rolls her eyes and says, “Okay, I guess I’ll go tell your friends that we need to spend another day working on the same songs.”
“Fine!”
Jane’s tone makes Nymphia mad which manifests in her crying after Jane leaves.
After some time, she peeks down into the living room to see that it’s empty. She walks downstairs to see that they’re not in the kitchen or den or yard. They probably went out or to sleep or are sitting in someone’s room talking shit about her for not just saying that the album is done but she’s okay with that.
She looks at the album cover, the alternate covers, the audio files sitting on the computer waiting to be downloaded and sent.
She won’t make her decision tonight. She needs to sleep on it. She needs to sleep period. The others will be fine with waiting a little bit longer.
After tossing and turning for a while, she sketches performance outfits late into the night. Jane doesn’t return to their room at any point. Normally now she’d be asleep with her face smushed against the pillow, an arm wrapped around Nymphia or at least some parts of their bodies grazing. Now the bed is cold, feels more like one in a hotel than one in her house.
It’s fine. They’ll be fine tomorrow because they’re always fine.
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