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minarisplaything · 10 months

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Gala Gal ft. Blackpink Rosé

pairing: Rosé x male reader rating: Explicit wordcount: 2.8k prompt: a young journalist gets a chance of a lifetime with Rosé at a recent event.

Being a writer for a celebrity magazine has its advantages, such as getting to attend grand events like the Cannes Film Festival, or in this case, the MET Gala. Now you might think, where's the fun or excitement in that? A bunch of rich people dressed in overpriced clothing and posing on the red carpet while you have to ask them redundant questions that no one truly cares about outside a small niche of fans.

That is a reasonable question to ask, and a fair point to make. Hell, there are times when you wonder to yourself just how legitimate of a job this is. You certainly hear that question from your parents enough. But the answer to all of those questions comes from the woman currently walking towards you.

"Thank you for your time," you say to the current girl in front of you.

You have been interviewing some girl who is apparently 'the next Olivia Rodrigo,' which is a wild title to have, but you digress. As you bid her good-bye, a sudden chorus of "Rosé! Rosé over here!" erupts from the group of photographers, followed by a series of flashing light bulbs.

Your eyes flick over to the red carpet area near you to see none other than the 26-year-old starlet, Roseanne Park. Otherwise known as Rosé from Blackpink.

You have never crossed paths with her at any events you have covered; which you just toss up to bad luck or god punishing you for some crime you can’t remember. Either way, it seems like you will finally be getting your chance. Judging from this distance, she is just as beautiful as she appears in all her photos.

Her blonde hair is flowing down her back while loose bangs frame her face as she smiles for the camera. She is wearing a black dress that is form-fitting at the top, held together by two thin straps, and flares outwards at the waist. Frankly, she looks stunning. It is a classy dress that still manages to spark arousal in you. Though, you will keep that last part to yourself.

It is only a few moments later that you have to compose yourself as the press woman directs Rosé towards your vicinity. Adjusting your stance, and growing erection, you cough and put on a friendly smile as she walks over.

"Hi, I'm with Eros Magazine," you introduce yourself, managing to remain composed.

"Rosie, it’s nice to meet you," she says sweetly. She is even more beautiful up close, and that smile is practically paralyzing. Given that you don't trust your tongue at the moment, you decide to keep it simple.

"So how are you tonight?" you question, knowing how many times she must have answered it already.

"I'm great! It's a little cold tonight, but I'm excited to be here," she starts in her accented voice. "I love the Museum of Arts and supporting a good cause is always great. There are so many beautiful dresses and people here. So it's all feeling great right now!" she says, remaining smiling and bubbly throughout her answer.

For your part, you merely nod your head and smile, holding the recorder up to get every word. You go through the litany of typical red carpet questions: what projects are you working on, how's the music coming; all the typical things you could hand in to your editor when a story is due. You can see the press woman getting antsy though. Typical. Figuring you only have one or two questions left, you decide to venture out a bit.

"So, you're going to be going on tour again soon, that must be exciting..."

"It is! You're actually the first one to bring that up all night," she says, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"I do like to do my homework beforehand," you joke with a grin before continuing, "That being said, how do you manage to have fun and unwind? Even at these events, you have to keep a certain image, right?"

Rosé is quiet at first, and for a moment, she glances around as if to check that the coast is clear before she answers, "Oh, you know the girls and I find out ways to have fun. And this is actually my third year at the Gala, so I’ve found the little tricks and ways to have some fun."

There is something about the way she looks at you as she speaks that screams there is more than meets the eye to her words. Maybe it is the coy tone to her voice or the glint in her eye as she smiles. Whatever it is, you suddenly find yourself wondering exactly what ‘some fun' entails.

"By the way," Rosé says, interrupting your thoughts, "Eros Magazine...as in the Greek word for erotic love?"

Again she fixes you with that mischievous grin.

"Uh — yeah. Nice catch," you stammer, causing her to giggle.

"I like it" she says, a look you can’t read in her eye. Before you can ask anything further, the press woman begins to nudge her on to the next reporter. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, have a good one," you reply, watching her intently as she walks away.

If that is your first and last interaction with the K-pop star, then you can say it has been interesting if nothing else. You get the feeling there is more to that little minx than meets the eye, you are only disappointed that you’d likely never get the chance to delve a bit further.

Covering the event means that you gain access to the party but hardly anyone does any real reporting. After all, these kinds of events are meant for the rich and famous. To cement their status as celebrities, they then sneak off inside to where they can have their fun. For the most part, you reporters stay together, talk, and drink the free liquor that is available.

You expect your night will be spent at the bar, winding your time down until it reaches an acceptable time to call it a night. But first things first, if you are going to be here on the company dime, you might as well get your money's worth.

"I've been looking for you all night!"

You are in the middle of ordering yet another drink when a familiar accented voice reaches your ears. Turning in your stool, you lay your eyes on Roseanne Park for the second time tonight, only this time there is something a little more...loose to her demeanor. You get an explanation when you spot the glass in her hands and briefly wonder how many she had at this point.

"Me? You must be confused," you say, both amused, curious, and a bit confused, "I don't think anyone at this party has said I’m wanted."

"Well, you are!" she says, smiling as she moves towards you, "And now that I've found you, I have something to show you."

"Don't you have famous friends to entertain?" you question more than protest as she places her drink on the bar and takes your hand.

You catch a glimpse of a hint of a pout on her features, "Don’t worry, they’re occupied." Again, there is that suggestion that something more is going on. Of course, there is the very realistic possibility that your mind is just running away with crazy, erotic theories. But that potential doesn’t stop you from being any more turned on by the thought. Coupled with the fact that Rosé is dragging you through a gala to god-knows-where and you are practically dreaming. In that moment, she could take you to hell for all you care.

"You're going to love it, trust me," she assures, looking back at you as she continues leading.

"Oh, I’m sure," you reply. Your mind is racing with things from a blow job to taking her from behind, so needless to say, you are a bit disappointed when she stops at your destination.

"A photo booth?" you ask, a bit amused at how silly it seems.

Rosé is either undeterred or doesn’t register your lack of enthusiasm as she simply nods, still smiling and pulling you into the booth.

“It's fun! Come on," the blonde insists, pulling you by the hand into the photo booth. Judging by the size of it, the booth is clearly an afterthought to the gala planners, or maybe it just isn’t meant for two people at the same time to occupy it. You do your best to squeeze yourself in so she can close the curtain behind you. To your surprise, Rosé neatly slides onto your lap, her perfect, tight ass sitting right on top of where your hard-on has been growing for the last couple of minutes.

"Alright, so it takes six photos then prints them out there," she points to the deposit box under the screen. She either doesn't feel the bulge pressing firmly against her ass, or she is very good at playing naive.

"Okay," you nod, as if you are bothering to pay any attention to the pictures.

As she shimmies on your lap to get into a better position, you decide to be bold and snake your arm around her slim waist, only to receive no complaints from the pop star. A countdown shows up on the screen, and when it says CHEESE, Rosé throws her arms around you, smiling openly as you try and fail not to look too bewildered. The screen replays your photo, and you can’t help but laugh at your own expense.

"Not bad," you grin, as the counter starts for the second photo.

"Not bad, but I think we can do better!" she says with a determined look on her face. When the screen says CHEESE again, Rosé suddenly leans over and licks the side of your face. You are so surprised you don't know how you react until the photo replays.

"Oh my god! That's great!" Rosé laughs.

You take the next few photos in the same fashion, going for ridiculous and silly in each one. After every photo, Rosé would shift her weight on your lap, rubbing against your erection each time. You are certain that she has to be well aware of what she is doing, and by the time the countdown for the last photo appears, you have made up your mind.

When the screen flashes, you turn Rosé's head to you and push your lips flush against hers. To your surprise, it takes less than half a second for her to respond, her hands moving up to cup your face. You kiss passionately like that until the simple need for air breaks you apart.

"I was starting to think all my work was for nothing," she says, a devilish grin on her face.

You raise an eyebrow at her; apparently, all your theories have just been confirmed. "You planned all this then?"

"I told you we know how to have our fun at these things," she comments, twirling a strand of hair in her finger.

"We?"

Mischief gleams in her gaze for a moment, “Maybe later. I know you’re a reporter, but you shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

She places a delicate finger to your lips as she gets up off your lap. The low ceiling of the booth doesn't allow her to stand up fully, but she doesn't have to as she crouches and reaches under her dress and begins pulling down her panties. "Fuck...these things are definitely ruined. I practically soaked them."

Her comment is more to herself than you, but your cock only grows harder at the revelation. You watch as she slides her thong down past her ankles, and her eyes fall to your crotch. With nimble fingers, she works on your button and zipper, springing free your aching cock.

"Oh wow..." she mutters, eyeing it with an animalistic hunger. "I would love to wrap my lips around that..."

"You're more than welcomed to," you groan, starting to get that sense of teasing with the amount of anticipation that is building. You are tempted to just force her head onto your cock, but you stop short when she speaks.

"Later. We don't have a lot of time."

Your disappointment at that statement is short-lived as she stands again and turns around. Rosé lifts her skirt and hovers over your lap. Grabbing hold of your member, you let out a groan as she positions it at her entrance, rubbing it for a second in her dripping juices. Unable to hold out, you thrust your hips slightly upward, causing your tip to pierce her folds.

"Mmm, somebody's anxious," she purrs, her accent coming out thick.

"Can you fucking blame me?" you say through gritted teeth, reaching out to grab her waist. Before you can yank her down, she beats you to it and spears herself on your rod. "Oh fuck," you let out, feeling how tight her petite body is.

"God, you feel fucking amazing," you mutter into her shoulder.

"Ah~...and you're...much bigger than you look," she says, clearly trying to adjust to the size she just filled herself with in one go. Apparently, the discomfort isn't so bad as she soon begins lifting and dropping herself on your cock slowly. "Try not—ooh— to get too loud," she moans out, her ass rocking against you.

"Speak for yourself," you grunt, your hands gripping her waist firmly as you start to move your hips to match the movement of hers.

You can't wrap your head around the fact that you're fucking a member of one of the most famous girl groups in the world in a photobooth at a gala with hundreds of celebrities. Thankfully, you don't need to wrap your head around it, as long as you keep fucking her. With that in mind, you take control of the pace, gripping her waist and forcing yourself up into her. Each time you spear her pussy, it's like another piece of heaven. Her pussy is squeezing you like there's no tomorrow, only increasing the pleasure you get with each thrust.

"Shit, yes, yes! Fuck me," Rosé chants in a loud whisper as she puts her hand on the console to steady herself as you thrust up into her.

"God, you're fucking tight," you moan, continuing to pound her Australian pussy. "Someone could look in here at any second."

"Oooh, I know," she lets out a shuddering breath.

"You're getting off on that, aren't you?" you continue the dirty talk, sliding a strap off her shoulder so you can push her top down to fondle her pert breast.

"Yes, yes! It fucking turns me on," Rosé pants.

For a moment, you fear she has given you away, but you're too far gone to truly care at this point. Her hands slide down the console, and you're only aware of what happens when the shutter of the camera makes you look up. Looking over Rosé's shoulder as she bounces up and down, you see your photo displayed, Rosé's mouth opened in pleasure.

Grinning to yourself, you increase the speed of your thrusts, determined to get her orgasm face by the last photo.

"OH!" she squeals, surprised by your sudden turn of action. "Oh fuck, right there. Keep going," she pants, her hand covering yours and holding it firmly against her breast.

You squeeze firmly, shoving every inch of your meat deep into her snatch. Her lithe body arches back into you. She's panting heavily, each thrust causing her to take a sharp breath. You turn her head towards you and kiss her, her hand gripping the back of your head. It's sloppy and passionate, perfectly fitting the current heated moment that is occurring.

"I'm close. I'm so fucking close," Rosé chants, continuing to grip your head as she moves her hips to yours.

A few moments later, you have to cover her mouth with your hand as she shrieks her orgasm. Her walls clench around you as she comes, her juices flooding your cock.

"I'm going to cum," you warn, knowing you aren't going to last through her orgasm.

"Mmmph," Rosé says, until you remove your hand, "In me! Cum inside me!"

You don't take a second to question it, instead thrusting your hips upward, your cock pushing into her one last time as you empty rope after rope of your seed into her womb. You continue unloading into the star for what seems like eternity until you both finally collapse in the booth. Her body heaves on top of yours as she tries to catch her breath.

"I don't think I've ever cum that hard before," you pant, causing the Blackpink singer to giggle.

"Don't speak too soon," she says, leaning back and kissing you softly on the lips. Thinking of what she could have planned only causes your cock to twitch inside her with anticipation.

One thing is for certain: this girl certainly knows how to have fun.

BUY ME A COFFEE - if you enjoy my stories considering buying me a coffee! always appreciated, never required.

#kpop smut #blackpink smut #male reader #rose x reader #rose x male reader #park chaeyoung x reader

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morganbritton132 · 11 months

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I love the newer teachers not knowing who Eddie is and visiting Steve at his house and wondering how they can afford such a nice house. I can imagine that they live in a house way above a teachers salary, much less a teacher with presumably, a lot of medical bills. They see gold records hanging on the walls and all of Eddie’s awards on a bookshelf and they are trying to connect the dots to who Eddie is.

David’s first impression of Steve is, admittedly, not great.

He was hired as a long-term substitute halfway through the school year and technically, Mr. Harrington was the only teacher on their floor not to introduce himself to him. They’re supposed to cover the eighth grade lunch period together, but Steve hasn’t shown up once since David was started three days ago.

Instead, the principal covered for him.

Cindy McCullen, the gossipy history teacher across the hall from him, says that it’s because of favoritism. She says that Principal Moreno always lets her favorites run rampant around the school and lets them do whatever they want, especially if they’re tenured. Steve Harrington is the most egregious example of blatant favoritism.

David starts to form an opinion about Mr. Harrington in his mind that only gets worse with every story he hears from Cindy. So, it’s a bit of a shock when Steve shows up for lunch duty the next day with a whole ass service dog.

He feels like an asshole.

Especially because Steve is so apologetic about missing the last three days and leaving David to ‘the wolves’ during his first week, “Is this your first teaching job? I’ve heard from the kids that you’re doing great!”

He makes a conscious effort after that to get to know Steve and to stop letting other people form his opinions for him. Though, admittedly. He kinda fucks that up too.

The first time David meets Eddie, he thinks that he’s Steve’s brother.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t talk about his life outside of work. It’s just that he doesn’t go into a lot a detail. David knows that he’s married to a man, that he’s from Indiana originally, and he might have a kid. Maybe? A girl name Erica that tells him what a brony is and how they ruin everything.

Hell, David’s not even entirely sure he knows what Ozzy is in service of. Steve just said that he bumped his head one too many times and now he has a dog so his husband stops worrying so much.

The only surefire thing that David knows is that Steve has a brother that’s a bit of a dork. He has great hair and is really smart, but lacks tact. Steve loves him. You can tell by the way that he talks about the guy.

So one day, David is in the teacher’s lounge heating up a cup of Easy Mac while Steve is sitting with his head down at one of the tables. He’s about to suggest that Steve go home and sleep off whatever cold he has when a guy with long hair and a leather jacket sticks his head in the room and declares, “You look like shit.”

Steve doesn’t even lift his head when he flips him off which is – whoa, not something that David would expect from Mr. Harrington. He makes himself busy with stirring his mac and cheese while the two bicker with each other which is, admittedly, childish.

Leather Jacket’s main argument for why Steve has to listen to him and go home is because he’s older. Steve croaks out that that is bullshit and Leather Jacket threatens to call their Uncle Wayne if Steve doesn’t listen. He eventually agrees.

Before they leave, Leather Jacket sticks his hand out to David and introduces himself as the cooler Mr. Harrington (that gets a laugh out of Steve).

So, color him shocked when Steve invites their event committee over to his house.

David hasn’t even fully gotten over how nice of a neighborhood Steve lives in on a teacher and retiree’s salary when Leather Jacket gets introduced as Eddie, the husband Steve has mentioned. Then he just casually mentions a red carpet like, what?

And the craziest part is that he’s asked about his husband before!

Steve mentioned once that his husband was out of town and when David asked what he did for work, Steve said that he was retired. He said that his husband can play guitar and that one of their friends (James Hetfield) needed a last minute guitarist for some kind of fair (Coachella) so Eddie went to help out.

He definitely worded it like playing guitar was just a hobby that his husband has, not like. Not like platinum records lining the hallway to their bathroom or the picture of Steve and Eddie in Vegas with KISS stuck to the fridge. He swears the note on the dry erase board by the garage entrance signed ‘Dave’ is in Dave Grohl’s handwriting.

There’s an Grammy on the bookshelf by the fireplace.

Who the hell is Steve Harrington?

Better question: Who the hell is Eddie Munson?

Kathy laughs the entire drive to her house and she is still laughing when he drops her off. The only thing she says that could even be considered an answer is, “I think he’s on Tiktok. Start there.”

#Day 2 of not really answering the prompt #I thought that it’d be funny if Steve was so casual about Eddie’s fame that it comes off like his husband plays Wonderwall in their garage #and then the rest of this was written #I like to imagine that David goes back to school and gossips with the other first year teachers and all try to figure out who Steve is on #their lunch breaks. they all nearly lose it when they find an article about the Starcourt Mall fire and Steve was mentioned in it #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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usedpidemo · 7 months

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Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under.

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?”

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.”

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker.

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses.

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were.

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet.

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong.

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle.

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance.

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected.

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them?

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them.

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear.

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further.

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed.

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!”

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs.

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle.

“Don’t look. Stay still.”

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact.

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away.

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going.

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous.

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t.

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace.

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control.

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out.

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you.

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed.

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you.

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous.

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her.

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.”

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway.

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for.

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you.

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #itzy #ryujin

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stylescine · 7 months

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no because i have had this thought since this years met and i NEED to tell someone

imagine like influencer!reader who is doing interviews at the met (kinda like emma chamberlain) and she’s like a very known fan of harry (and was very open ab having a crush on harry online because she was so sure this man would never see it) and she interviews him and is lowk nervous because….. he’s harry styles and maybe he somehow (definitely) KNOWS. she has a massive crush on him and just

basically that!!! so if you could could you write something w that? i’ve had the idea for months it was driving me crazy

lingering

Summary: Everyone knows Y/N has a crush on Harry. But she didn't expect him to know about it too. She could have never imagined things to unfold this way...

Warnings: Y/N has a very obvious crush on harry, fangirling ig???, Harry is a tease, suggestive language, anxious Y/N, oh Harry is also a huge flirt, kind of a fast pace way to a one night stand (no graphic description)

Words: 2.3k

A/N: Gosh, I love that idea!! Influencer!Y/N x Harry is one of my favourite dynamics ever. This turned out way longer than planned but I hope you still have fun with it!

Masterlist | Request

The Met Gala was the event of the year. For everyone. Not only for her. But for her it meant so much more. It was her first opportunity to make the jump from being a simple Influencer to being a real presence in the world of fame and celebrities. Of course, she wasn't just seeking fame and attention, but more possibilities. Open up new ways of life for herself and–

There was a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around in an instant, looking at a familiar PR manager she had talked to a few weeks ahead of the gala.

"I'm so glad you could make it. We were really blown away by the podcast you did and we're excited to see how the interviews on the red carpet will turn out," the blonde woman said, giving her a soft smile. She was wearing a tight black dress, a clipboard in hand, but the blush on her cheeks, combined with the small beads of sweat on her forehead, were the only things telling of today's pressure on her.

Y/N could understand. She had paced up and down in her hotel room earlier today, changing her outfit three times and making sure every little strand of her hair would be in place perfectly. Today was not for imperfections. Today was a step into the future – hopefully.

"I need to thank you for inviting me. This opportunity is really one of a kind and–"

"I'm so sorry, dear," the manager interrupted her as she fumbled around in her small Valentino bag, following the ringing of her phone. "No problem," Y/N replied, giving her a reluctant smile.

She could hear the camera shutters go off in the distance, probably due to the arrival of the first guests. Her palms were growing sweaty. She was getting closer to her "big" moments. Soon, she would be talking to all these famous people, ones she had always looked up to, others she had admired for years.

"It's time to go," the manager said quickly, pushing Y/N into the direction of the carpet. The camera man followed close behind, probably being on her tail the entire day. A microphone was pushed into her hand as well as she stepped out onto the long red carpet, hundreds of photographers waiting on the sides. Their lenses were focused on the few celebrities already on the carpet.

Ryan Reynolds was one of them which made her feel giddy inside already.

But the real surprise came around the corner just a moment later. Flashing lights were going off left and right as he appeared in his lace outfit. It was way more see-through than she could have handled in any other situation.

Harry Styles looked stunning.

Her grip around the microphone became tighter as she watched him pose in front of the cameras, earring dangling on his sides, his hair styled perfectly.

A part of her wanted to rush over immediately. Ask him a million questions and record all of it. Because when would she ever be face to face with the Harry Styles again?

Another part of her, a much stronger one, felt the urge to run backstage and escape this moment. She was way too afraid to embarrass herself in front of her biggest celebrity crush. The worst thing was – everyone knew she had this huge crush on Harry for years. She was quite open when it came to talking with her community about people she thought of as attractive or had a crush on. But she was also usually a thousand miles away from said crushes. It had always been a quiet admiring through her phone screen and giggles exchanged with friends over dinner.

Harry wouldn't know this, of course, but it surely didn't make the situation easier for her.

He seemed to be a walking reminder of what people knew about her and testing her own awkwardness in the process.

Before she could turn around and make her escape to probably lock herself in the bathroom as to not embarrass herself in any way – because that would truly be a tragedy in front of him – he was already right in front of her.

There was the charming, witty smile he was giving his fans or interviewers all the time. His eyes looked a deeper shade of green as she was standing right in front of him. Of course, she had looked at a thousand pictures of him over the last few years, but nothing came close to this moment. Maybe it was the heat that was rushing into her face or maybe the overwhelming urge to present herself from her best side – but it was all so different than she had ever imagined.

Y/N took a long breath. She needed to focus. Or else millions of people would see her shocked expression all over Instagram, Twitter and National TV. So she did what she always did best. Entertain.

She turned towards the camera. "Harry Styles just joined us at the Met Gala!" She said excitedly and none of it was part of her acting. Genuine excitement was bubbling uncontrollably in her belly.

Then she turned back around and shook Harry's hand. It was enough to make her legs wobble for a moment, but she was a grown woman and she would stay calm. On the outside at least.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N."

He knew her name? How did he know her name?

Something had to be wrong. She tried hard to stop herself from pinching her arm in an attempt to wake up from this dream or nightmare – whatever you wanna call it.

"You're looking amazing tonight. Do you mind telling us more about what you're wearing?" She smiled and held the microphone into his direction.

Harry gave her an enthusiastic nod and then started to talk all about the designer of his outfit and how it was composed. She listened carefully, bound to his lips as she had been so many times before through the screen.

He continued to keep eye contact with her, continuously making her nervous. It wasn't his fault. She just wasn't prepared to get any attention at all from him.

"Thank you so much. Are you looking forward to tonight's after show party?" She had so many more questions to ask. About his music. Even about his favourite food. But none of that was expected of her right now and she didn't want to lose herself in the admiration she had kept for that man for so long.

"Definitely. Will you be there too?" Harry tilted his head to the side, slightly – a small sign of curiosity.

The thoughts in her head stopped for a moment. Was he really asking her...? He was just making friendly conversation. Nothing more. The slight smirk in his face was nothing. Nothing to think more about.

"Probably. Maybe we can share a drink if we see each other?" She could feel her palms growing more and more sweaty. Was this really not just a dream?

"That will be on me. See you later then." Then he shook her hand again and she prayed that he wouldn't feel how sweaty she had become. How her nerves were running wild inside her body.

"See you later."

Her face felt like it was on fire just a few hours later. She was looking at herself in the mirror, her hair having turned messy and her eyes almost screaming the truth at everyone.

She was nervous and out of her mind.

The music outside was loud. Giggles and laughter echoed over into the bathroom whenever the door opened and a new woman came in. She had seen so many celebrities today that she had lost count. Some of them asked her if she was alright, if she needed help with her make-up, while others just continued on with their day.

When she was alone for a brief moment, she took a deep breath. "It's gonna be alright," she muttered under her breath before she pushed herself off the sink and went back into the crowded room.

The bar was illuminated with purple lights and that's where she was headed. On her way there, she could see him following her in the corner of her vision.

This was really happening.

"What would you like to drink?" His voice was deep, but loud enough for her to make out his words in the packed room. A shiver ran down her spine when she felt his arm brush hers as he made his way to her side.

Harry leaned against the counter casually, his outfit catching her interest immediately. He had changed into a white shirt with a huge red bow at the front.

And he still looked as good as earlier.

"A Martini is just fine," she answered with a smile, pushing herself to sit on the barstool. Harry ordered two drinks for them, before he sat down on the chair next to her.

"You're enjoying yourself?" His voice was laced with curiosity once more, his hand resting on the bar. She had a hard time not taking a closer look at the rings adorning his fingers.

"Oh yeah, a lot. What about you?"

"The evening is about to get a lot better now that I finally found you," he admitted with a low chuckle and accepted the drinks from the bartender when he came back over.

Y/N could feel her head spinning. What did she do to get all this attention from him? Did he know what he was doing to her? Did he know about her crush on him?

"Those are some pretty heavy words if you acknowledge the fact that we have never met before today," she replied, a simple attempt to cool down herself and ground them both in reality again. Or more so herself.

"That's true, but I like to make people happy."

She almost choked on her drink. He had to know something. How would he know that talking to her would make her day?

Knowing that Harry Styles had probably seen a video of her made her feel even more dizzy.

She needed to loosen up. This would be her only chance at spending an evening with her favourite singer and long-time celebrity crush. Another sip from the Martini as a way to gather some liquid courage as quickly as possible.

"Me too. I hope talking to me makes you just as happy as it makes me," she answered with a smile, gathering all the confidence she had.

Harry's lovely smile as he took a sip from his straw was all she needed as confirmation. Maybe she was in for a good time if she came out of her shell and was able to push her anxiety to the back of her mind.

"It definitely does. I've seen your video on 2010's fashion just a few days ago. It was a really good watch."

She couldn't hold back her huge smile. Harry had seen her videos and liked them. That was more than she had ever hoped for. More than she had ever allowed herself to dream about!

“Oh my god, that means a lot to me, I-“

“I’m so glad you didn’t include my too tight skinny jeans in there, actually. That would have been embarrassing,” Harry joked casually, his eyes wandering from her hands to her mouth and then her eyes.

While his eyes were filled with joy and curiosity, his gaze still seemed to keep her trapped under his spell. There was something undeniably charming and menacing about Harry Styles.

She had known it all along, but seeing it in real life, actually being under said spell, was a different experience entirely.

"I believe they still looked decent," she admitted with a small shrug, taking another sip from her drink.

"You certainly don't look decent tonight. That can only be described as stunning."

She was so taken aback by the compliment that she was close to spitting out her drink. Her hand wrapped tighter around her glass and she was thrown into a spiral of nerves and anxiety. Was Harry Styles straight up flirting with her? He definitely was and she had no idea how to act.

"Have you looked at yours-"

"I don't need to look at myself if I can look at something better." His voice had grown deeper and he moved closer ever so slightly.

She was at a loss for words now. Where was this going?

But she quickly decided that she liked it, despite her initial anxiety.

So Y/N took a step closer as well, her fingers brushing past Harry's as she was setting down her drink on the counter.

"You're really a flirt," she whispered, wondering if he had even heard her over the loud music.

But his eyes seemed fixed on her lips, a smirk resting on his own.

"As you have suspected in a video or two..."

It sent a shiver straight down her spine to get more and more confirmation that he had been watching her stuff. He knew exactly what he was doing to her and she wanted to let him do whatever he wanted.

This was what she had been waiting for.

"Maybe you can prove a bit more of my assumptions right?" She replied, fingers brushing over his forearm, under his sleeve and feeling the soft skin. She wanted to see him without the top. She wanted to finally see that naked chest up close, take a look at every little line of his tattoos and count them all.

"Why would we waste any more time then?" He grinned, his right hand coming up to wrap around her wrist slowly. He took her hand away from his skin, intertwining their fingers slowly before he slid off his chair.

They left their drinks unfinished.

But there was more important business to get to.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #love on tour #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #fine line #harry styles headcanons #one direction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #one direction imagine #hs1

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majaloveschris · 2 months

Text

Why nothing makes sense part 9.

Vanity Fair edition

What a weekend we had, right? We started with the Oscar pre-party thing, then ended it with Vanity Fair.

First of all, isn't it weird that they waited up until this point to make their red carpet debut? Why not on the Ghosted premiere or on the Golden Globes? Why did they wait until the biggest event's afterparty? She was there at the Ghosted premiere, they were there at the GG after party, why now?

Looking at those VF Fair videos and photos, I still have the same opinion and feeling about them as a couple. They don't look natural at all, and it always seems like they are doing everything for the camera. As if they are always playing a role. And I know, I know, that the most famous couple use their relationship for PR reasons too, which is totally fine. But where is the love? Why does everything seem so forced? I mean, we are supposedly talking about two people who are in love, married, and happier than ever.

They look really awkward in this video. They don't really know what to do. It got better when they started talking to someone, but when they are alone, it seems so unnatural, as if two acquaintances are standing next to each other. The kiss was awkward too, similar to the LA restaurant one. A little kiss on the mouth, and that's it. His face after the kiss was interesting too. He seemed happier before it happened. You can clearly see that when Chris realizes they are being recorded, he starts talking to her, while up until that point he was rather talking to someone else and not even looking at her. They always make sure somebody is watching them when they are about to show how much they "love" each other.

And I'd also like to talk about this gif (thanks to the person who sent it to me via DM), where you can clearly see he didn't want to pose with her but had to since she made him stay. They posed separately, and then he wanted to go, but she had a different idea.

People say they looked in love, but I don't see it. This was probably his best attempt to sell it, but I wouldn't say it was convincing. Of course he is not going to wipe his mouth; of course he will try harder. This is the VF party, not some kind of pap walk. This is the afterparty of the biggest event in Hollywood. More people will see these contents; more people will see them together. It's also to his benefit not to act like a jerk. But body language doesn't lie. Vibes don't lie. And theirs are always off when they are around each other. It's always hard to pinpoint the exact meaning of this, but the best way to describe it is as being awkward, uncomfortable, and strange. Or as if they always had a fight before they were being photographed and tried to play it off. And two people who are supposedly in love shouldn't give off these vibes or be acting like this.

All in all, it didn't change my mind. However, it showed me that there is still something so weird about them. I guess he could've at least been more convincing in the past years if he tried (I don't think he could've sold this relationship, because again, his body language doesn't lie, but he could've made it better). One thing is for sure: they are awkward together, and everything they do seems so ungenuine.

#majaloveschris #chris and alba pr #chris and alba relationship #chris and alba vanity fair #cevans-love #why nothing makes sense posts

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seeingivy · 2 months

Text

style

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

an: this is 10k. I decided to leave the what am I to you scene for the next chapter bc of it...apologies....also I jsut wanted to post it bc I promised this at the beginning of the week and yday and now its been a long time coming

songs mentioned: style by taylor swift and glimpse of us by joji (minor mention of peace by taylor swift too)

“Wait, so. I don’t get it. You’re basically…acting like a couple on purpose?” Zeke asks.

Eren spares a weary glance to his parents, matching apprehensive looks in their eyes, as he slides the salt and pepper shakers towards Zeke.

Leave it to him to bring up the elephant in the room.

One mention of attending an award show or a red-carpet event had the three of them dropping everything to come to New York at the drop of the hat. Especially when Scott Clarkson was going to be attending.

Levi was more than happy to oblige them at the hotel they were all staying at, much to Eren’s dismay, which left him in his current predicament.

That unlike his friends, who were secretly letting him indulge in something he probably shouldn’t and turning a blind eye, the three of them were never going to let it go.

Eren knew that part of what he was doing was wrong. That he was walking a very fragile line and that their concerns, in some sense, were very valid.

He had promised you a show. The problem was that it wasn’t just a show for him. It wasn’t even the slightest bit difficult for him to give the public exactly what they wanted to see – to go above and beyond to prove that the two of you were better than ever.

He wanted that deeply – for it to be true. Fervently, desperately. It wasn’t hard to pretend when Eren had spent a majority of his life thinking about you, about what this would be like, anyways.

It started out simple. Eren offered to accompany you on your first walk out in public that morning – after watching you stare at the people through the window the entire morning. There was a big crowd lingering outdoors, supplied by rumors that the group of them were staying in the hotel, and he was positive that some part of it was making you feel green.

That and the fact that as much as you could front, some part of this had to be some level of nerve wracking to you. You had put on a brave face very well, but Eren’s deep rooted fear is that this’ll just send you deeper into that cave you retreated into last time – and that you’ll leave him waiting outside again.

So he offered to do your first paparazzi walk with you. Cited that it would have been the perfect thing to build up more publicity, give them a greater chance of stealing the morning headlines about how today was Hyla’s birthday and the buzz around what she was going to wear tonight.

It gave him an excuse to make sure you didn’t run off this time – that he’d be able to catch you if something happened.

Except Eren took it too far. He had given you the permission to pump the brakes whenever you felt like it was too much and the fact that you almost never did made it impossible for him to stop. So he pulled you close whenever the paparazzi were near, brushing his nose against yours as the two of you smiled sunshine into each other’s faces.

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Though from Eren’s expert point of view, he couldn’t fall any more than he already had.

The problem would come later – when it would just become another memory that he cherished, had to relive after he was finally denied the promise of your company and friendship for good.

When the show ended in two months and when you would have no reason to talk to each other again.

Eren shakes the thought from his head as he looks back up at them.

“Yeah. But trust me, it’s actually working. The record label dropped Ricky James and now that Y/N promised them her new album, they’re going to sever ties all together.” Eren states.

“I just don’t see what that has to do with pretending to date. You know, especially when you’re still in love with the girl.” Carla states.

“It’s sadistic. Even for you.” Zeke states.

Eren shoves him in the side. With his parents' eyes averted, he takes the chance to knee Zeke this time to catch his attention.

Could you just back me up? Eren mouths.

Zeke rolls his eyes, before quietly mouthing his response back.

Okay, fine! Just relax.

Eren turns back to the two of them, mustering his best smile. And hoped that deep down, that fleeting flare of hope that’s been burning in his chest won’t go to waste this time – that there are real grounds behind actually bringing Scott Clarkson down.

“There’s a certain publicity that you can’t buy with people who have…such a drama filled history like us. We’re aiming for a solidified deal with Ethan Cole by the end of the Met Gala.” Eren states.

He flinches when his dad drops the fork against the ceramic of the plate.

“Ethan Cole? Are you crazy, Eren? He’s never going to agree to a deal with you guys.”

“Maybe a little. But I think that we could do it. I spent years being played by idiots like Scott Clarkson – it’s not hard to tell that’s how he keeps people around. And…we have an idea of exactly how to do it.” Eren states.

“I don’t know, Eren. I don’t exactly like this idea. I wouldn’t exactly put your hopes on this.” Carla murmurs.

Eren gives her a smile, reaching to tangle his ankle with hers under the table.

He gets it. Deep down, he does. Because the last time Eren did this – with the court case and Connie and Lana at his side – Eren was downtrodden when Scott Clarkson’s life virtually stayed the same. Almost everyone knew, or had some semblance of an idea, that Eren had sued him, that Scott had terribly wronged him.

He had gone through the lengths of an entire court case, just for it to amount to nothing.

He still had his career. He still had the movies, a beloved producing company, and the godawful tabloids that ruined Eren’s life. People continued to work with him despite everything that had happened.

“I won’t be like last time. It…it almost feels better this time around. I have everyone around me and I don’t feel alone, so.” Eren adds.

“Well, you weren’t exactly alone the last time.” Carla states.

“You know what he meant. It’s different.” Grisha murmurs.”

“I do think she can do it. These people only care about what makes them money or…or moves their business forward. No one can do that for them like her. And even besides that, she’s really earnest in the way she moves. I feel like people could even become more aware of this type of thing if she spoke out about it.” Eren finishes.

Eren looks over, looking to his mom’s brown eyes hoping for her approval. He doesn’t exactly find it, but there’s a nod. He understands it all the same – that he’s the one who gets to make the calls here, regardless.

“Oh, let’s all relax! If Eren wants to kiss her and run around doing god knows what, that’s his business! He’s a grown man.” Zeke adds, sliding one hand around his shoulder and using his free one to pinch his cheek.

Eren seethes, stomping hard on his foot under the table.

“I don’t kiss her.” Eren defends.

“Not yet, you don’t. That’s for next month, right?” Zeke responds, with a wink.

Is this what Zeke thought backing him up was?

Eren can feel his cheeks burn. Leave for the empty spots in the script – that Levi had stated he had some special plan for – the last part of the show was almost finished. And much to Eren’s dismay, Hange and Levi overrode his opinion in the writers room and included a kiss in the script.

He’s just hoping for his own sake that they end up cutting it before the day comes like they did the first time. There were only so many things that he could stomach.

“That’s filming, Zeke. That’s different.”

Zeke rolls his eyes.

“Right.”

Eren’s thrown out of the loop when the door swings open, with Connie and Mikasa barging in with you at their heels. The three of you look particularly disheveled – sopping wet from the rain outside, giggly smiles on your faces – as Connie and Mikasa shake their hands at the group of them.

“We ran out of toothpaste over there, Eren. We’re just gonna take some.” Mikasa states.

“You needed three people to get one tube of toothpaste?” Eren asks.

“Well, I was going to come. Then, Connie decided he wanted to accompany me. And then Y/N realized we were going to get it from your room, then decided to come.” Mikasa responds, dragging Connie off to the little bathroom at the side.

Eren lifts his head to find you standing at the door, with…an almost awkward look on your face. The big smile that he saw seconds ago was virtually gone.

“You know what! I think Falco’s actually calling me…so I’m just going to…”

“You should sit. Eat breakfast with us.” Carla states, gesturing to the empty seat at her side.

That’s when Eren realizes it – and it sends an overwhelming amount of relief through him. That you didn’t feel awkward around him but around his family instead.

Eren racks his mind trying to remember it – when you were with them last. And if his memory isn’t deceiving him, it was the last Thanksgiving that you guys were together, a snowy November years ago.

And he gets it, the immediate nervousness. God knows he felt the same way around Falco and Colt when they arrived – after Levi hadn’t listened to his advice to not cast the two of them in the show. Just to spare him some torture.

Levi, obviously, refused to listen.

You always had your guard up around Zeke and if he knew you half as well as he thought he did, he knows for a fact that you must feel embarrassed to show your face around his parents now after everything that happened.

“Mom, it’s okay. You can go see if Falco’s good, Y/N.” Eren affirms.

Eren watches as your eyes meet his, slightly faltering before you shake your head and drag yourself to the table. From his peripheral, he can see that Zeke’s already too delighted for his own good as Zeke quickly offers you the seat at Eren’s side and sits directly across from the two of you.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jaeger. I appreciate it.” you respond, smoothing the little cloth over your lap as you knit your fingers into knots.

Eren busies himself with filling your plate, carefully sectioning small amounts of each dish, before he puts his hand in between yours. You welcome the touch, linking your fingers in with Eren’s under the table, as you shoot them all a smile. And Zeke’s godawful delighted smile back almost makes you sweat.

“Eren. You should go check on Falco, since he was calling Y/N.” Carla states.

“Huh? Oh, I-I’m sure he’s fine. Colt’s here and Gabi too, you know.” you mumble.

There’s no way you’re sitting alone with his family.

“I think Eren should check on him. That way, it won’t be in the back of your head while we talk.” Carla responds.

Eren shoots you a questioning look at your side, as you release his hand, and give him a nod. You can tell that he’s hesitating, his movements painstakingly slow as he exits the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you with the three of them.

“I apologize for that. He wasn’t going to leave unless you gave your approval.” Carla murmurs, as the three of them relax with his presence missing.

Zeke takes the opportunity to take the seat at your side, filling the empty space Eren left. He leans closer, voice quiet as he whispers and nearly makes your heart drop in your chest.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold your hand under the table like he did.”

You fight the urge to spit the water in your mouth straight into the glass – but swallow the shock and battery acid sensation down as you spare the two of them a glance ahead of you.

There’s a twinge of regret – that at one point, you used to be like their chosen family and now it feels like you’ve allocated a lifetime of hurt to their son.

“I want to start by apologizing.” you state.

The two of them look up at you confused.

“For?” Grisha asks.

“Everything I did to Eren. I…I care for your son an awful lot, though it may not seem like that at times. And I hope that you know that even causing the smallest bit of pain is something that I have to carry with me everyday. Something I’ll spend a lifetime trying to rectify.” you state.

Carla sighs, setting her fork down in her plate and crossing her arms against her forearms. You can tell that Zeke’s priming some sort of response against her just from the almost enraged look in his face and you make it a point to spare him a warning glance not to.

Whatever wrath she had prepared for you was what you deserved. And just like Eren and Mikasa, you’d spend your entire life fixing it till it was better with her too.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand what it was that happened between you and Eren. I can read news articles and watch interviews and documentaries but…it doesn’t exactly make sense to me. I can admit that. I don’t know why you broke up with him and…and I surely don’t know why Eren thought it was okay to say everything that he did to you.”

“Oh. That’s nothing, really-”

“I don’t understand how you guys can make these big, love confessions without even confronting each other in the first place. Because…you’re not together, right?” Carla asks.

You bite down on your cheek.

“That’s right. It’s just for the paparazzi, trying to build up the hype around-”

“No, I get that part. But the interview, the documentary. You guys did that for each other, on some level. So I’ll ask again. You’re really not together?” Carla asks.

You sigh.

“No. I’m sorry. I…I haven’t thought much about that because I want everything settled before I even consider it. Being careless ruined everything last time…and I can’t afford to do that again. I want to be careful with his feelings this time around.” you state.

Carla pauses, before standing up and joining you at your side. And you’re caught completely off guard when she wraps her arms around you, pulling you up until you’re nestled in her arms and she’s rubbing at the sides of your biceps.

You forgot – she used to do this to you all the time.

“You…you’re a good girl. We’ve always loved you, always loved how Eren was around you, but…just be careful with our son, okay? I don’t want him to be hurt again and he’s sensitive, if that much wasn’t obvious at this point.”

“I appreciate that. Really, I…I don’t think you guys understand what it means to me. And I won’t, I’m making my sincerest promise that I’ll try not to. He’s….he means the world to me. He’s been my best friend as long as I can remember and…no one is going to be who Eren is to me.”

And for the first time, the two of them spare you a glimmering smile.

“He feels the same way.” Grisha states.

You sigh, offering the two of them a smile. And right on cue, Eren barges right through the door, the worry on his face melting as the two of you offer him a smile. You can tell that he’s a little confused – as he settles back into his seat and gives a questioning look to Zeke.

The two of them return to eating, as you dig your own fork into the food and push it around. That’s when Zeke slides his arm around the back of your chair, leaning forward as he gives you a smirk.

You can’t help but feel annoyed. Not in the genuine, hatred way, but in the same way you did when Colt used to tease you when you were a kid.

“So…family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother? That is about me, right?”

You roll your eyes, sparing him a laugh, as you elbow him in the side.

“I’m so sorry to break your heart here, Zeke, but that line in peace was about Eren and Falco. Not about you and me.” you state.

“Yeah, dumbass. She doesn’t even like you.” Eren mutters.

Zeke feigns hurt as he clutches his right hand to his chest and groans. You watch as Grisha rolls his eyes in front of you and Carla fights the urge to smile at his theatrics.

“You’re a bitch.”

“Language, Zeke! God.” the two of them cry, rolling their eyes at Zeke. Eren rolls his eyes as he stands up, stacking all the plates and placing them at the island as you turn back to look at the group of them.

You shake your head, laughing, as you thank your lucky stars at how comfortable it is, that you’ve floated right back into the ease that you always seemed to be in when you were around them. And Zeke too, for the first time.

Zeke spares you a genuine smile this time, as he gets closer to you.

“I think that you and I could be really good friends. We both love Eren and…and maybe we haven’t always done right by him but…”

You can tell that he’s getting tripped up by the words, that the sentiment that’s underlying is something the two of you have never really shared before. A closeness that brings you together. Because for you, Zeke was always something you needed to protect Eren from and for him, you were positive now, knowing what you did now, that maybe Zeke felt robbed of some part of that.

Getting to meet his little brother’s first girlfriend. Tease him about it, give him some brotherly advice – the way Colt did with you. That maybe he wanted the relationship that Eren and Falco had with each other with you, if things were different.

“Yeah. But…we’re going to do right by him this time. We’ll make sure of it.” you whisper back, averting your eyes to where he’s standing.

Zeke breaks out into a smile, extending his closed fist out to you as you push your own against his.

“One thing?” Zeke states.

“What’s that?”

Zeke has a nearly murderous glint in his eye when he says it. And it fills you up with a searing feeling of warmth.

“You give that asshole Scott Clarkson hell. For all of our sake.”

You give him a smile back.

“That’s a promise, Zeke.”

Eren can feel himself sweating on the opposite side of the red carpet. The stickiness of the hairspray is sitting heavy in his hair, the collar digging into his neck, and palms embarrassingly sweaty as he stares at the group of people around him.

Lana and Sukuna are fussing over fixing Connie’s outfit, Jean and Mikasa are taking shots at his side, and you can tell that Suguru Getou is truly cutting his losses at this point.

Satoru’s wearing an outfit with literal, raw meat on it.

“It’s camp!” Satoru whines.

“That was the theme last year, dumbass. And it’s not camp, you’re just a nuisance.” Megumi grumbles, pinching his nose as he joins Eren at his side.

Eren gives him a nod in acknowledgement, as he watches Yuuji at Satoru’s side, snapping excited pictures of Satoru’s meat hat and pokes his fingers into the red flesh.

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?” Eren asks.

“Everyday I question my sanity.” Megumi mumbles.

“Could be worse. You could be married to Satoru.”

“Don’t remind me.” Suguru groans at his side, the two of them sparing a laugh.

Megumi chooses to keep the comment to himself. He swallows, pointing out that you had said the same thing to the pair of them when Satoru dressed up like that godawful cat years prior. Megumi figures that he’ll keep this thread of your invisible string to himself, for the time being – that it might not exactly be productive for right now.

Eren catches Levi’s head shifting towards him in the peripheral, as he looks over and tries to follow Levi’s line of vision. And feels his throat constrict as Ricky and Hyla walk past, the two of them sparing him and Lana a sickly sweet smile, and take their spots at the end of the line.

Eren notes that despite the fact that you had side-swept all of her designers to work with you, naturally she still put together an outfit. He was hoping that it would be worse than it actually ended up being. Though he supposed the birthday girl would always get what she wanted in the end.

“I’m ready to wipe that smug smile off of their fucking faces and I’m so serious.”

Eren nearly jumps as he realizes you’re now standing at his side, your eye nearly twitching as you watch the two of them. But all he can feel now is his own throat itching, Ricky and Hyla the least of his problems as his skin ignites at the sight of you so close to him. Your flowery perfume is invading his senses, as he fights the urge to ogle your dress full on.

“Y/N.” he whispers.

“Do I look stupid? The underslip they had for the dress didn’t fit me because Hyla’s so much taller that they just…told me to wear this matching set. I feel like I’m going to be flashing everyone.” you mumble.

“Better for you. You look fucking hot. And apparently, Hyla stole her dress from a piece that was already in the museum. I’m sure she’ll ruin it by the end of the night.” Lana states, as Sukuna joins her at the side and links his arm through hers.

The two of them have matching stitching on their outfits, wedding rings sparkling on their fingers. Eren clears his throat, your eyes expectant as you wait for a response, and his head nearly spinning from the overstimulation.

“She’s right. You’re beautiful.”

“You can say she's hot, Eren. It won’t kill you.” Sukuna complains.

Eren watches as your eyes widen, a soft pink blush running up your neck, as you avert your eyes. And Sukuna, naturally, ruins the moment by making gagging noises only to get smacked by Lana after the fact.

The two of them shuffle off, giving you a thumbs up behind their backs, as you turn to each other. Eren links his hands in with yours, giving you three squeezes, as he looks down at the dark makeup smeared around your eyes, making your eyes appear even bigger and brighter.

Eren gestures his head to the left, snaking his hand around your bare skin in the dress, and lines up directly behind Ricky and Hyla. And the two of you wait for them to walk out and follow directly after.

It goes exactly how it thought you would. You haven’t walked a red carpet since the last awards show – and from what Eren told you – it had been years since he had too.

It was simple.

Seeing Hyla and Ricky at a carpet together was almost a given, almost too predictable. It would hardly spare a headline in comparison to you two – together. Years after the fact, with Eren’s documentary behind you.

The clicking and the flashing immediately throws you off your guard, coupled with the screaming of your name, that you almost fall off the stiletto of your heels. But Eren’s quick with it, hands looped around your waist as he held you up against him.

“Thanks. I-”

“Don’t look at them. Just look at me.” Eren whispers, voice almost gravelly.

“What?”

“It’s better that way. Just act like you’re above them. Like you and I are the only people in the room.” Eren murmurs.

You give him a nod, catching his drift as you follow his lead. And it almost works too well – easing your red carpet nerves when you literally don’t have to acknowledge them and just have to hold hands with Eren all the way down the carpet.

Eren stops dead center, right before the steps, as you spare a glance over your shoulder. The group of them are following – Satoru’s raw meat causing a commotion at the start – and you turn back to him.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you just asked me to get you a necklace for the Ricky thing, but I actually did ask them to design a custom one for you.”

You smile. You had made it a point – that you were going to stick it to Ricky for that stupid night that he left you drenched in the rain – but you failed to consider that this would happen. Though in hindsight, you should have expected it.

Eren was always thoughtful when it came to things like this.

“Really?” you ask.

Eren nods, as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the little charm necklace. You take it in his hands, admiring the little charm at the center, of the planet Saturn. You frown, turning it over in your fingers.

“Does Saturn have some connection to Uranus that I don’t know about? I thought that I was supposed to be the moon.” you mumble.

Eren laughs, as he shakes his head and gestures for you to spin around. You oblige, moving your hair to the side and feeling your cheeks heat up as the paparazzi snap what feels like hundreds of pictures – of Eren clasping the necklace and then pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. His voice comes out as a whisper on your skin as he pulls you closer to him, the two of you posing for the picture.

“I mean, Marco was always a big fan of immature jokes. So I guess it does?” Eren states.

You widen your eyes as you press your fingers to the charm, realizing what it means.

Your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn.

The last time that you were at the Met Gala was when you performed with Marco. You can feel warm tears accumulating in your eyes as Eren cups the side of your cheek, a soft smile on his face. He taps the little pin on the lapel of his jacket, a matching little saturn charm as you bite down on your cheeks and smile back.

“He’s here with us. Haunting us from his grave like he promised.” Eren jokes.

You give Eren a teary laugh.

“Yeah. I think he is too.”

You lean your head against Eren’s shoulder, as the two of you walk straight up the stairs into the venue. There’s a glimmering chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the stage decorated a sparkling silver.

“Do you have a Maya Angelou quote for me? She always was Marco’s favorite.”

Eren smiles.

“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refused to be reduced by it.” Eren states.

Falco and Colt are the ones by your side backstage. You can feel your hands shaking, throwing the mic from one hand to the other, as the two of them lean their heads against yours.

You’re performing for the first time in years. Since you performed the grudge, at that godawful awards show years ago.

You choose to use the wall of pictures as a distraction. One of your favorite things about performing at the Met was that they took pictures of each of the performers and pasted them to the big walls behind the curtains. People would sign the walls, the pictures themselves – to mark that they had performed here, to immortalize themselves on the wall.

And it takes a few seconds, but you find the picture dead center. Of you and Marco. The two of you are hugging each other, cheeks pressed together with pink, teary eyes, with your names scribbled in Marco’s loopy handwriting underneath.

seven by y/n l/n ft marco bodt

And directly next to it, is a picture you’ve never seen before. Of Eren and Marco – their hands clasped together – and the same loopy handwriting underneath with the song.

“He didn’t want to take that picture. He…he made me do it. Said he should still remember the moment, even if he wasn’t at his best.” Armin states.

“Oh. Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Just checking you’re okay. First time performing and all that. And I was back here with you the last time this happened too.” Armin murmurs.

You smile, lacing your hand through his as you both stare at the pictures of Marco and you wrap your arms around Armin at the first sound of his sniffling.

“Well, this is hardly about me performing, Armin.” you mumble.

Armin gives you a watery laugh, before pulling back and wiping the wetness on his face away.

You frown as you lightly dig your elbow into his side, trying to gesture him into talking.

You were a little harsh when you talked to him last – when you had to convince him to finally forgive Eren. You regretted it after, being so rigid and forcing him into it, but you figured direction was what Armin needed at the time.

“Marco said that even though that moment was bad for Eren, that even though he felt like he was never going to recover, there would be a day that he looked back on it and would relish in the fact that it was never going to be like that again. I hate the fact that Eren’s probably having that moment right now and shit is still so awkward between us that I can’t even tell him that I’m happy for him.” Armin murmurs.

You stare at the pictures.

“I didn’t realize you were…with Eren that day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. I called him a lot after the whole Girlfriend thing, he was kind of convinced that we all hated him. And I did the same when the whole Satellite Port thing happened too.”

Armin pauses.

“I was always there for him, until I wasn’t. And I feel like I’m fucking groveling but things still won’t be the same between us.”

“Well, don’t lose hope about that. Mikasa and I-”

“You and Mikasa are different. You’re…you overlook things easier than we do. Mikasa wanted you to be her maid of honor again after you said you wanted to sleep in her room – just because she realized you still loved her. Even if Eren knew I loved him, I doubt that would fix what happened with us.”

You lean your head against your shoulder.

“Did you finish the script yet, Armin?” you whisper.

“What?”

“Did you finish it?”

“Yeah.”

You look over at him and smile.

“That last conversation? Between your character and his? He wrote that all on his own. It’s obviously a little bit more dramatic than he intends it but…the premise is still there. You and him, still best friends at the end of it.”

Armin looks back at the pictures, running his hands through his hair, and ruining any semblance of styling in his golden locks.

“You think Marco would be pissed at us? All of us?” Armin mumbles.

“No. I know he would have loved to seen us all reconcile. That he would have been really happy for us.”

Falco and Colt give you a gesture over your shoulder, as you shoo Armin back to his seat, and readjust the feathers on the sleeves of your dress. You give Colt a smile as he hands you the last piece of the outfit, the glittery garter belt that you wrap over your thigh as you take your cue.

Eren gives you props for hundreds of things, but this one specifically. It was hard to find something that you were bad at, since it felt that you were naturally skilled at everything, but when he watched you, like this, he couldn’t help but feel like you were born for it.

You really knew how to put on a performance.

It’s pitch black, leave for your purple silhouette against the back of the stage. Of your fingers running across the neck of the guitar, playing the opening notes to the song Maki requested days prior – that you named Style.

Midnight You come and pick me up, no headlights Long drive Could end in burning flames or paradise Fade into view, oh It's been a while since I have even heard from you (heard from you)

And I should just tell you to leave 'cause I Know exactly where it leads, but I Watch us go 'round and 'round each time

Eren watches as you pause, the entire backtrack and music stopping, as the entire crowd jumps to his feet and starts hollering for you when they finally shine the lights on you. Eren watches as you give everyone a little wave, pressing your hands to your cheeks unable to contain your smile before you gesture for everyone to be quiet so you can keep singing.

And feels his chest fill with immense pride as you walk all the way down the stage, fingers fast and smiling from ear to ear as you sing again. He can’t help but feel embarrassed as the group of them – Connie, Reiner, and Jean – start smacking him on the back, screaming about how crazy his girl was.

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

When you reach the end of the stage, Eren watches as you slightly trip on your steps, before averting your eyes down to your leg. In the mess of walking and the notches on the guitar, a part of your stockings had ripped.

Eren was impressed that you were still singing, as you reached down and took the halves of the garter belt in your hands, before you started looking out in the audience. And Eren can’t help but feel like in that moment, that some divine power might actually be real.

Because three years ago, it was Hyla’s birthday and he was stuck at a dinner table thinking about you. About how he’d never feel that rush, that thrilling electricity that seemed to thrum in his veins whenever you looked at him.

And he knows for a fact that really, it almost has to be real – a higher power that was looking out for him the entire time. Because years after the fact, he’s sitting here, blushing profusely as you throw the garter belt to him to catch, before you like down on the stage and scream your heart out.

To a song that you wrote about him.

Take me home Just take me home Yeah, just take me home Oh, whoa, oh (Out of style)

Oh, you got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down (now we go), we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

“Ethan Cole! You’re just the person I wanted to see.” you state.

Fresh off of the performance, with the little note card tucked in your hand, he’s the first person that you beeline towards.

On first impression, he’s younger than Scott Clarkson by a landslide – beachy, golden hair as he stands from his share to take your extended hand.

“Y/N L/N! Quite the performance up there, my daughter is a huge fan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ethan asks.

You give the girl at his side a warm smile, the girl barely above the age of fifteen, as you turn back to him.

“You know, I’ve really missed doing romantic comedies. I’ve heard that’s your forté,” you state.

“Is that right?”

“As fun as Attack on Titan can be, the drama can…be a little draining. I would love to get behind you if you produced a romantic comedy that I could star in.”

You watch as he pinches his smile, eyes strained as he looks around the room.

“I’m not sure how keen…some people at the company would be about that.” Ethan murmurs.

“Who said you had to do it with them?” you state.

“Huh?”

You give him the best, most sickly sweet smile that you muster. “Who said…you have to do it with him?”

You pull the little note card out of your backpocket, with your phone number scribbled over the top, and hand it to him.

“You could easily produce it on your own. And if it was a star studded movie, you could avoid the risks of being associated as a start-up all together.” you state.

Ethan pauses, for a while.

“My own company?”

“That’s right. You’re young, younger than your competition, and with how things have been going lately…I’m doubt they’ll stay afloat longer. If I were you, I’d capitalize on the fact that your own competition is about to be eliminated.” you state.

You can tell that he almost doesn’t believe you.

“I’ll have to think about it.” Ethan states.

“Sure thing, Ethan. If the situation was right, I could even be persuaded to get some of my….friends to join. And I know you’re a smart guy – there’s some publicity that other people couldn’t even dream of buying.”

You spare a glance over your shoulder to Eren at the stage with Lana, as she takes her seat at the piano and Eren begins adjusting the microphone at the stand.

“I look forward to talking to you, Ethan.”

And you give him a sickly sweet smile before you walk away. You settle back into your seat next to Levi and Connie – who had decided to take Eren’s open seat while he performed.

“How did it go?” Levi asks.

“He didn’t buy it.” you state.

Levi gives you a terse nod, as you shake your head and readjust your seat to face the stage. Connie pulls his seat up right next to yours, the two of you giving each other a smile as you link your arms together and lean your head against his shoulder.

“It’s your song!” you whisper.

Connie leans his head on top of yours, voice quiet as Lana starts playing the piano.

“It’s actually not. It’s even worse.”

“Huh?”

You lift your head off of his shoulder to eye him, and he only smiles, deviously, in return.

“Let’s just say if it was my birthday today, I’d commit a murder after this.”

You turn back to the stage, eyeing the little star decals hanging from the little ceiling, and watch as Eren nervously shakes his hands, before placing them on the mic stand. He turns to his left, giving the group of you a smile, before he starts.

“I wrote this song exactly five years ago today when I was twenty. I was stuck at a birthday party, with a bunch of people I hated, and all I could think about was how I just wished that I was somewhere else. And really, I was hoping that the person that I really wanted beside me, had some semblance of that feeling about me too. This is my new song, it’s called Glimpse of Us.”

When you're out of sight In my mind

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

Eren always claimed that singing was never his forté and even from the way he moved – you could tell that he clearly felt more comfortable when he was acting. That he most definitely believed that his talents lied on a set rather than on a stage.

And for maybe the hundredth time, it’s clear that Eren’s own visions of himself have clearly limited him.

Because he’s beautiful.

The stage design makes it look like he’s suspended in the sky, in between the moon and the stars, and the lack of production to the song – the fact that it’s just his voice and Lana’s fingers on the piano is chilling.

It reminds you of that song that he wrote for you on the beach.

Eren dislodges the microphone from the stand, tossing Lana a smile over his shoulder, before he walks directly to the edge of the stage that’s closest to you and Connie. And uses his hand to gesture for you to come closer, as he takes a seat and dangles his legs off the edge of the stage.

You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach as you pull your chair closer to the stage, right until you’re looking up at Eren from your little seat and he’s looking down at you. And as he sings, he reaches down and places one of his hands on your cheek – the biting cold of the rings on his fingers cooling the warmth on your cheek – but doing nothing to help the burning in your chest from his dark green eyes, filled with such warmth and sincerity that it makes your heart race.

You bring your own hand up to where his is on your cheek and he gives you a dimpled smile in return.

When he finishes, you press a kiss to the top of his knuckles and try to memorize the way the smile spreads across his face.

Your last chance to convince this cowardly idiot Ethan Cole to agree with you guys is at the afterparty for the Met Gala, which coincidentally, you’ve never attended.

The last time you were here, the entire ordeal was so draining – considering it was the first time that you had seen Eren since you broke up and you were here with Ricky – that you just skipped the party afterwards and went home. And you would have done the same thing now, since your hair was feeling sticky and your legs felt like lead from the heels, but you had to give it one last shot before you left.

You had taken Mikasa and Jean’s lead, and decided to take four shots with them, by the time the party was in full swing. And right before the fifth, Eren suddenly materialized after being missing for the first half of the party and slipped it away from your nimble fingers and downed it himself.

“Are you drinking?” he asks, shaking his head from the burn, before handing the glass back to Jean.

“Well, obviously not if you’re taking my glass.”

Eren reaches forward, fingers on the little ribbon around your neck, before you smack his hand off.

“I like the outfit. It’s like the scarf from the show.”

“That’s the point.” you state.

Eren rolls his eyes as you both lean back against the wall, eyeing the crowd of people in front of you.

“You should have told me. I would have matched.” Eren states.

“How are you supposed to match? Your costume on set doesn’t have something as…obvious like the scarf.”

“I would have just done the titan marks and called it a day.” Eren mumbles back.

You nod, mulling over the idea, as you reach for the back hanging around your shoulder. And luckily for you, your lipstick is still in the bag – though most of the time, the bags that you have on red carpets have literally nothing on them – and instruct him to crouch so you can reach. He obliges, flashing you a smile, as you intently focus on drawing the lines under his eyes.

Eren takes the distraction – the focus that you have from drawing on his face – and uses it to observe you.

“Did you like my song?” Eren asks.

“You’re insane. Did you really write that five years ago or did you make that up?” you whisper.

“Nope. I wrote it after the last Met Gala, I think Hyla’s birthday was like a week or two after that.” he mumbles back.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, what you were hoping was actually true. When I was at that Met Gala, I really just wished that I was with you, sitting with the rest of the cast.”

Eren laughs.

“Who said the song was about you?” Eren jokes.

You pause, only to look up to glare at him, before you lightly shove him. And you can tell that he’s joking but it’s still irritating.

“You’re such a dick, sometimes.”

“You were thinking about me?” Eren responds, closing his hand around yours and snatching the little tube of lipstick from your hand.

He lifts his phone up, looking at the reflection from the screen of his phone, as he messily finishes off the marks on the other side, more messy and jagged. And as annoying as he is, it’s extremely attractive when he does it – capping the lipstick and curling it back into the palm of your hand.

“You wish.” you respond.

Eren leans against the wall and you join him at his side, the two of you eyeing Ethan Cole at the end of the hall, with Ricky and Hyla posted up on the other side. You can’t help but seethe with anger as you watch the two of them together, curling your hands into little fists at your side.

“I saw that video that was going around on Twitter a little while ago. Of you and Ricky, last time you were here.” Eren responds.

“What video?”

“It was on the red carpet. He like…grabbed your arm and shoved you.” Eren clarifies.

“Oh! That’s right. He was trying to introduce me to John and I said some crap about him to Historia. Then, he got all pissed saying that I had to be nice to him or whatever since he was nice to you guys.” you respond.

Levi and Hange walk up to the pair of you, arms linked together, as you straighten up. The two of them had weary eyes, focused on Eren, as they look around.

“Eren. He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” you ask.

“Scott Clarkson. He just walked in – guess he’s not deciding to skip after all.” Hange responds.

Eren leans forward, angling his head over the crowd of the people, towards the opening at the front of the hallway and feels his throat turn to sandpaper. Eren clenching his fists so hard that he’s sure he’s drawing blood, the entirety of the conversation almost lost to him as he feels himself nearly losing balance on his legs.

“You’re free to leave, Eren. We have a car ready for you. If you want to stay, we’re here with you.” Hange states.

You look around to the other side of the room to find Connie talking to a group of people, none of which you knew. Mikasa and Jean are a few feet away – but clearly drunk out of their mind – and you can’t seem to find anyone else who could stay with him. You jerk your head back, to the two of them.

“Listen. I’ve got Eren. Could you guys check that Connie’s going to be fine?”

Hange and Levi turn their heads to the side, giving you a nod, as they speed walk to the other side of the room and you link your arm in with Eren’s. He’s still staring at the other side of the room and you lightly tug on his arm to catch his attention, his eyes almost dazed when he looks at you.

“Sorry. Did Hange and Levi say something?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay. We can leave if you want to, there’s a car and everything.”

“No…no, we didn’t talk to Ethan Cole yet. And, it’s fine.” Eren responds, shaking his head.

It’s not that Eren’s exactly scared of Scott Clarkson, though there was a point in time that he most certainly would be. It’s more that he’s intimidated by what could go down, because while Eren knows that he isn’t exactly being swayed by him anymore, it’s a debilitating reminder every time he makes a comment that sends Eren tumbling back down.

“Lana and Sukuna are together. I sent Hange and Levi to check on Connie. And I’m here with you, so…so all the bases are covered.” you respond.

Eren smiles.

“You’re here with me? What are you going to do?”

“Punch him in the face.” you respond.

Eren laughs.

“Are you crazy?”

“Do I look like a comedian to you?” you ask Eren.

“You look more like a clown to me.”

You feel your eyes widen, as you turn to your side and find Hyla and Ricky standing right to the left of you and Eren. You’re not sure what it is, but Eren suddenly squared his shoulders back, muscles tense at the sight of them.

“Do you need something?” Eren asks.

Hyla rolls her eyes as she looks at Eren, before turning back to you. And her eyes flicker to the necklace around your neck, before she looks back up at you and smiles.

“Cute necklace!”

Eren grins at your side. They took the bait.

“Do you like it, Ricky? It’s custom Tiffany. I had it made special for Y/N myself.” Eren asks.

You watch as Ricky furrows his brow, slightly clenching his jaw and nearly pink in the face, as he rolls his eyes in response – very clearly understanding the reference.

“I don’t know where the fuck you think you get off, Eren. Need I remind you, that while I was at the top of my fucking career you were cleaning up a baby’s diapers.”

You watch as Eren’s eye twitches, knuckles white at his side as he doesn’t respond. And it only gets more agitating since Ricky clearly gets off on the fact that Eren refuses to fight back, and takes it as an invitation to keep going.

“Seriously, dude. You started at the fucking top of the food chain – your parents are literally Grisha and Carla Jaeger – and yet you’re slumming it with Lana and Sukuna. Lana’s quite literally the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t pretend like you’re both not trying to get your five minutes of fame by talking about me. And don’t even get me started on how pathetic Sukuna is for what he said in that dumbass documentary the two of you made. Donating to sexual assault victims won’t fix a lack of talent.”

“Where do you get-”

“Y/N.” Eren states, silencing you all together.

“That’s right, Eren. You better keep my sloppy seconds-”

Ricky doesn’t get to finish the statement, because Eren’s punched him in the face. Not once, not twice, but three times to the point where he’s tackled him onto the floor, a bright red decorating his knuckles.

“Y/N. What the fuck? Get him to stop!”

You know that it’s petty. That maybe if you were a little bit of a better person, you actually would have asked Eren to stop. But Ricky James was quite literally the worst person you had ever met and deep down, there wasn’t even a single part of him that didn’t deserve what he was getting right now.

You crouch down on your knees, Eren momentarily stopping to look at you, before you shake your head and look down at him.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky. I don’t think I can do that right now.”

Eren smiles, as he lands one more punch, before a very drunk Jean and Reiner are able to pull him off – Maki and Pieck at your sides as they rub into the softness of your arms. You shake your head, signaling to them that you were fine, as Eren looks over at you over the accumulating crowd of people, and gives you a gesture. You nod, as Eren extends his hand out to you, and the two of you walk to the other side of the room. You eye the blood on Eren’s hand, all Ricky’s you’re sure, as Eren stops at the table and starts filling the cups with the lemonade.

“We need a drink.” Eren states.

“That’s what got you pissed off, Eren? When he started talking bad on my name?” you mumble.

“I love your name.” Eren defends.

You smile.

“Though, I always felt like it’s missing something.” Eren adds.

You roll your eyes.

“And what’s that, huh?”

“My last name.” Eren responds.

Eren watches as a blush creeps over your cheeks and try not to laugh when you mutter something that sounds an awful lot like fuck you under your breath as he passes you one of the glasses of lemonade. Which is right when Lana comes up and snatches the glass from his hand and slams it down on the table.

“Are you a fucking idiot, Eren?” Lana seethes.

“What?” Eren responds, giving her an annoyed shrug back as he takes the glass back and hands you one.

“You promised, Eren.” Sukuna responds.

“You two can get your panties out of a twist. I didn’t break any promises.”

“Do you think I’m blind, Eren?” Lana asks.

Eren rolls his eyes, as he leans down, bringing his face closer to Lana’s. It’s the same thing that Colt does to you – on the rare occasions that he’s able to prove you wrong.

“You made me promise that if Ricky said anything about Teddy or you, I wouldn’t say anything. And Sukuna made me promise that if Ricky said anything about him, I wouldn’t do anything, because it would upset you.” Eren states.

That’s why he didn’t say anything.

“Our princess over here didn’t force me to make any promises like that. So the second he called her sloppy seconds, I did what I had to do.” Eren responds.

Lana’s eyes widen, as she turns her head to you.

“What a dick. Are you okay?” Lana asks.

“I’m fine. He said worse about you guys, I wanted to punch him myself.”

Eren smiles, as he leans down to look at you.

“Too bad. He’s getting escorted out on his ass now, so you lost your chance.” Eren responds, pointing towards the door.

And surely enough, the security are taking him out with his hands secured behind his back – no thanks to the obscene screaming he’s doing – while Hyla looks maybe the most irritated you’ve ever seen before. She spares you one last glance, to which you and Eren respond with glimmering smiles, before she walks out.

Lana gestures towards the bathrooms as Eren follows, presumably to wash his hands, leaving you and Sukuna by the table, nursing the little glasses of lemonade in your hands. And wordlessly, you extend your glass out to Sukuna – and thank your lucky stars that he understands – as he pulls the little flask from the pocket and pours it into your drink and then his.

“Eren’s been waiting for that one.” Sukuna states.

“I’m shocked you haven’t.” you respond.

“Maybe before. But you know, with the kid, you have to be a good role model and all that. Plus, I hate when Lana lectures me because she gets really mean.”

You snort.

“I’d be scared of her too.” you respond.

“Speaking of scared, how many drinks until he falls off?” Sukuna asks, pointing to the left.

You follow his line of vision to find Yuuji standing on top of the bar, tie loosely hanging around his neck and pink in the face with Satoru, as he sings along to the music playing from the speakers.

“Which one are you talking about? I think they’re both well past that point.” you respond.

“Yuuji, obviously. I’m going to stop him before he ends up on a headline.” Sukuna responds.

“You have fun with that. I’ll watch from over here.” you respond, as Sukuna walks away.

When you scan the room for Ethan Cole, you find that he’s already looking at you. You give him a polite wave, positive that whatever Eren just did with Ricky James must have swayed him some type of way, as you lean back against the edge of the table. And the table dips slightly under you, nearly making you spill the glass of lemonade, when you find Scott Clarkson leaning against at your side, his beady eyes fixed on you.

“Y/N. It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m so glad you were finally able to learn my name.” you respond.

Scott clicks his tongue in his cheek, before extending his hand out to shake it at you. You begrudgingly oblige, skin curling with disgust as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, and leans back.

“I’ll admit, I had you pegged all wrong in the beginning. But I’m sure that you can understand, it can be so hard to trust new and upcoming talent like that when you run a big company.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” you deadpan.

“I think we should let bygones be bygones. I even think that we could be useful to one another. If you really wanted full ownership of your albums back, I could get it for you. Just a few movies, here and there, and they’d be back in your hands.”

You feel your throat dry.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I’m sure you know I am well acquainted with Danny and Sareen. I’m sure I could persuade them, after a little give and take.”

You thank the heavens that the stylists had stacked each of your fingers with a perfect set of silver rings. You sure it made it hurt even more when you slapped him across the face.

“You have some nerve, you asshole. Don’t even think about-”

You feel a set of arms on your biceps, squeezing hard, as you turn your head to find Levi at your side. You shake your head, turning back to Scott, who no whas a group of people around him, inspecting the red mark you’ve left on his cheek.

“Levi. Fucking, get off.”

“This is not the time for this. You and Eren are leaving, you’ve had too much to drink.” Levi responds, pushing you out into the cold air outside the hall and near the taxi.

Eren’s leaning against the car door and he quickly jumps up at the sound of your voice, meeting Levi at your side.

“Did you hit him, Y/N? They’re saying that you hit him.”

“I slapped him.”

Eren pinches his mouth into a line.

“Did he hit back?” Eren asks.

“What? No. Levi started yanking me off of him before I could get another one in.”

Eren passes Levi a thankful smile, before ducking your head into the taxi, and tuning back into your rambling.

“He’s such a dick. He fucking had that coming, trying to offer me a career like I don’t know who he is and what he fucking does. Like really, even down to being an opportunist, does he really think I care about my album that was already stolen from me over all of my friends? Over you? I think he’s a psychopath and we didn’t even get to solidify the deal with Ethan Cole or-”

“Okay, Y/N. Relax. It’s-”

“We have to do something to get his attention. Something crazy. I have an idea but…you have to follow my lead, okay?”

Eren’s slightly hesitant. Only because he can tell that you really are tipsy from the light pink tint in your cheeks and the way that you’re shaking your legs. But he hates to tell you no, especially when you’re staring at him so expectantly, waiting for an answer.

And when you drag Eren into a sweaty tattoo parlor, Eren realizes that maybe you’re well past tipsy.

“I technically picked what we did last time, Eren. So it’s your turn. Just make sure it’s something like…fucking crazy. Like iconic.”

Eren has an idea. But he can’t say it. Because you can’t possibly get that tattooed. And he’s sure that it’s showing on his face, because now you’re giving him an excited smile, jumping up and down on your feet waiting for him to tell.

“Oh my god. What is it? Tell me right now.”

“Uh. The moon and the ocean.” Eren responds.

You frown.

“We already basically have that as a tattoo, Eren. With the fish? And I can tell that’s not what you were going to say.” you respond.

Eren sighs.

“Y/N. It’s too much.”

“Nothing’s too much! Come on, it’s you and me that we’re talking about. We got fucking matching tattoos when we were like eighteen and released songs about quite literally fucking each other on the same day! We can get a crazy tattoo!”

“You’re so crass when you’re drunk, Y/N.”

“The word Levi used was homicidal.” you respond.

Eren sighs, as he tells you his idea, and watches your face light up. And after the fact, Eren can’t help but feel like he’s on top of the world.

Because for a second time now – the two of you are running down the streets, bathed in the dim lamplight and laughing into the night. Matching tattoos of each other’s names on the inside of your lips, a confession on the tips of your tongues like you were two soulmates destined to be together.

That’s the moment you’re able to coin it.

You’re head over heels in love with Eren Jaeger. Again. Maybe even worse, more desperately than the first time.

And as the perfect cherry on top, Ethan Cole sends you a message confirming the deal the following morning.

next part linked here

an: are you catching my hint for the songs in our next chapter.....which is an AWARDS SHOW CHAPTER ARE WE READY. and don't worry....scott clarkson and danny/sareen welcome to your tape...this next chapter is for you

(pls tell me someone gets the pussy joke that megumi made and that im not just horrendously chronically online)

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

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alexfromjersey · 10 months

Text

𝓝𝓨𝓒 & 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭

jenna ortega x g!poc

summary: nine months ago, your best friend Davis took you to an afterparty for a movie premiere. nine months ago, you hooked up with Hollywood's newest "IT" girl...

warnings: semi-famous!reader, smut, mature language

a/n: honestly I just started writing whatever came to mind. so enjoy 👍🏾. Never in my whole fanfiction writing time have I written 5.1K words...NEVER! Also, the stuff Jenna does here does not reflect her actual character, this is just fiction and is for fanfic entertainment purposes.

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

MARCH 2023

"Back the fuck up, move the fuck back, back the fuck up, move the fuck back” Your best friend, Davis shouted the lyrics at the top of his lungs. You were sitting next to him recording him for your YouTube channel trying to contain your laughter.

The two of you were on your way to the red carpet premiere of a new movie Davis was in, Scream 6. Usually, you tend to stay away from red-carpet premieres because it ain’t your thing but you wanted to support Davis. The two of you have been friends since the 1st grade. Through thick and thin, you’ve been through it all with each other.

He begged you to come with him to the red carpet, at first you declined but then he used puppy dog eyes and told you a vlog of the event will get you views. You caved in. He offered to get you a stylist and everything but you declined. You wanted to do it yourself and you don’t think you did that bad.

( ^ your outfit )

“Don’t come to Bronx with that shit ‘cause we ain’t fuckin’ with that shit” Davis shouted into the camera just as the video stopped recording. You looked up and saw the driver kept glancing at y’all in the rearview mirror with a scowl on his face.

I guess you were to ghetto for him…ANYWAY.

Soon y’all pulled up to the place and immediately was hit with bright camera flashes and semi-screaming fans. Security got out first then Davis, then you, and then his manager Jerry. They led y'all to the carpet where fans were behind a barrier. You stayed next to Jerry while Davis went to take pictures with the fans.

“Damn these lights bright as fuck” You mumbled under your breath. You took out a pair of sunglasses you stole from Davis’ closet and put them on to shade your eyes from the light.

A few minutes later, Davis had to take pictures down the red carpet and do some interviews. But he motioned you over to come take pictures with him. Y’all did different poses, some serious and some funny. He also dragged you to an interview with The Hollywood Reporter.

“Davis, congratulations on your first-ever major movie role. I have to ask, how did it feel being in a movie and with a cast like that?” The interviewer asked.

“It was such a blessing. I’m so blessed to have been around talented people like them. I learned so much from them and being in the movie was such a privilege and amazing learning experience” Davis flawlessly answered.

That media training coming in handy.

“Now I can’t help but notice the guest you brought. They look fly, who is that?” The interviewer asked.

Davis placed his arm around you and pulled you in next to him. “This is my best friend since 1st grade, Jahaziel. I’ve brought her here today so she can get out of the house and step into my world for a little. She even dressed herself.”

You took a step back and did a little pose but when you took a step back, you bumped into someone. You quickly turned around to see a slightly familiar face. You only see her on the poster for the movie. You think her name started with a G or J?

“My fault” You apologized.

“Jenna!” Davis shouted and hugged his co-star who returned his hug but she kept glancing at you.

“Jenna, this is my best friend Jahaziel. Jah this is Jenna” Davis introduced the two of you.

“How you doing” You greeted her and shook her hand.

“Hi, nice to meet you” Jenna replied politely.

Suddenly, Davis and Jenna had to take group pictures with the rest of the cast. Which meant you were stuck next to Jerry again at the other end waiting for Davis.

While you were waiting though, you took pictures and videos yourself of the cast for Davis on his phone and for the vlog on your camera. But as you were doing it, you kept catching Jenna glancing at you. At first, you thought she was looking for someone or something behind you so you moved out of the way out of respect. But that theory went out the window when her eyes followed you to your new spot.

It was time for everyone to head inside for the premiere. Jerry guided you to where you’ll be sitting and handed you a menu.

“Oh, you get five stars meals too? I might have to come to more premieres with him” You said to the camera with a wink. You picked something simple and waited for Davis.

While waiting, you decided to go over the footage you gathered already to give yourself an idea of how you gonna edit it.

“Let me guess, you’re a YouTuber?” A voice in front of you said. You looked up from your camera and saw Jenna standing there.

"I guess you could call me that. I’ve just recently started doing videos. I stream on Twitch a lot though" You answered.

"Twitch? Oh that live stream platform. My younger brother likes to watch that stuff. He watches that Kay Seenat or something, do you do the same things he does?" Jenna asked intrigued.

“Kay Seenat is crazy" You laughed.

“Oh my god, did I say it wrong? I’m so sorry” Jenna gasped.

You chuckled, “Nah you good but it’s Kai Cenat for future references and I sort of do the same thing. I mostly play games like Call of Duty, Fortnite, and horror games.”

Jenna hummed in response before sitting down next to you.

“Where are you from? I detect an accent" Jenna asked.

"Bronx-born and raised baby" You smirked at her. Jenna also smiled at you but before she could reply, her manager came up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. They spoke in a whisper and Jenna turned towards you with a slight frown on her.

"I have to go but I'll see you at the Afterparty right?" Jenna asked, hopeful.

"Nah yeah fo'sho, I'll see you there Hollywood" You nodded. A blush formed on Jenna's cheeks at the nickname as she got up from her seat and followed her manager. You may or may not stare at her backside while she walked away...respectfully though.

"Not you acting thirsty for my co-star" Davis plopped down in the seat Jenna was in.

"What? I ain't acting thirsty, you buggin'" You sucked your teeth and leaned back in the chair.

"Lying is sinful. I saw those eyes. That's not a path you want to go down B, I'm telling you" Davis said.

"What you mean? She got a stalker boyfriend or some shit?" You questioned. Your food was then placed down in front of you.

"Nah, Jenna is the good girl in Hollywood, despite the movies she's been in. Plus, her fans are mad crazy, her team is mad strict, and you don't exactly fit their expectations of someone she would mess with" Davis shrugged and stole some food off your plate. You hummed in response before looking at your food.

"Yo, why they give me prison portions?"

🤰🏻🩵

It was now time for the Afterparty. The food was shit at the premiere, it had no flavor, looked pale as hell, and the portion was small as hell. Mad was an understatement of how you felt.

"I still had to pay for that shit like are you fucking kidding me? I wanted to smack the shit out of the waiter but he ain’t do nothing wrong” You grumbled while spraying some cologne on your neck and wrists.

“No one ever orders the food at the premieres because 9/10 shit sucks” Davis chuckled.

“Yo fat ass could’ve told me that BEFORE I ordered it” You rolled your eyes.

“At least someone ate it, technically your money didn’t go to waste” Davis shrugged and grabbed his phone and wallet.

“Yeah, you right…I want my $72.65 back WITH interest” You said and held out your hand towards him.

“How about I pay you back in coochie? The number of women that’s gon be at this after party…man somebody is leaving that party pregnant” Davis smirked.

“Pregnant? Lord help us all if either one of us becomes parents” You joked. Davis laughed and the two of you exited the hotel.

( ^ your after-party outfit )

The two of you quickly arrived at the lounge because it was a 10-minute walk from the hotel. It was a decent amount of people there and the music…was horrid but what you expect from a Manhattan lounge party.

You and Davis ordered some drinks and smoked some hookah before Davis went off to mingle with some girls. You, however, stayed in the booth and continued smoking hookah and scrolling through Instagram.

“Excuse me, mind if we sit here?” A voice said. You looked up from your phone and saw Davis’ other co-star Mason and a beautiful girl next to him.

“Go for it” You replied and scooted over a bit to make room for them.

“You look familiar…do you stream on Twitch?” Mason asked.

“Yeah, I do. I just started making mini vlogs of the Bronx” You answered.

“I knew it! I saw a few clips of you on TikTok. You’re hilarious. You did something for another YouTube channel…TalkNYC or something like that” Mason questioned.

“SideTalkNYC. No lie you watch that shit?” You asked with a smile.

“Honestly, I saw your clip and I just fell down a rabbit hole” Mason laughed.

You laughed with him.

Mason then looked to his girl who was paying no mind respectfully, “I’m sorry, how rude of me. This is my girlfriend Amenah” he introduced.

“Nice to meet you Amenah, I’m Jahaziel” You politely responded and waved at her.

“Jahaziel. That’s a strong name” Mason complimented.

“It’s Dominican. My dad is from Punta Cana and my mom is from Jamaica. Got Caribbean blood all through me” You smiled.

“Me too. But my great-grandfather was from Barbados” Mason responded.

“Nice. I got a brother living there” You replied.

“Sweet. Maybe your brother can hook us up with a trip there” Mason said.

“Oh, he’ll love that. He love showing people around the island” You nodded and took another hit of the hookah.

The two started to converse more and his girl even joined in a conversation. The three exchanged socials and the couple left to go dance. Davis didn’t return to the table because he was too busy rizzing up a nice-looking woman in the corner.

You were hungry. You needed food. Now.

You shot a quick text to Davis about heading out to get some food. He replied with a thumbs up. You head out of the lounge and start to make your way down the street. But a soft voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Where are you going?” Jenna asked.

You smiled when you saw her, “Gon’ get some food. I’m starving. That food at the premiere was trash. Y’all gotta step y’all game up.”

“Do we? I’ll be sure to let the event planners know next time” Jenna smirked.

“Bet” You smiled.

You contemplated asking her to join you in your adventure. But you quickly gather up the courage to ask.

“Do you wanna join me?”

“Mind if I tag along?”

You both asked at the same time. The both of you laughed at the interaction.

“Come on, I know a good spot around here,” You said. She starts to walk but stops when she sees that you weren’t walking either.

“What happened?” She asked.

“You should tell your people where you going. I don’t feel like going to jail on kidnapping charges” You replied.

She chuckled but you were dead serious. She told her friends and manager where she was going. They insist on her bringing her security guard which you understood and had no problem with.

“How you doing? I’m Jahaziel, you can call me Jah if you want” You introduced yourself to the security guard. He shook your hand and told you his name, Big L.

The three of you started the adventure to the restaurant which was about a couple blocks away. You took Jenna to a little Mexican restaurant that sold some banging ass food.

You got a table and Big L decided to sit at a table beside the two of you to give you some privacy.

“I recommend getting their grilled veggie enchiladas. The enchiladas here are fire” You said while looking at the menu.

“You know I’m vegan?” Jenna questioned, impressed.

“Yeah…I may have looked you up while I was at the lounge. All I know is that you’re vegan and you’re from Cali. Which makes a lot of sense” You laughed.

Jenna laughed, “Yeah it does.”

You go back to looking at the menu while Jenna just stared at you. She was taking in your features. The way your hair was into a short curly afro, the way your glasses sat on your face enhanced your beauty. The way you occasionally licked your lips while zeroed in on something. She even noticed the tattoos under your hoodie. Her thoughts quickly turned into sinful thoughts and she had to tear her eyes away from you before she did something she regret.

Thankfully, the waiter came and took our orders for everything.

“So, Ms. Hollywood, tell me something I can’t find on Google,” You asked.

“Pretty hard question. My entire life is on Google truly.” Jenna said with a hint of sadness.

“Hmm…ion believe that. I believe that you want the world to think that they know everything about you but there are some things you keep to yourself” You replied.

Jenna smirked, “You think I’ll just willingly tell you right now? We barely know each other.”

“Duh, that’s why we’re having a conversation to get to know each other” You stated.

“Touchè” Jenna nodded.

You still can sense her hesitation so you decided to go first.

“I used to be in the military” You blurted out.

“Wait what? Seriously?” Jenna questioned.

“Yeah, I enlisted in the Marines right out of high school. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The options I had was garbage. I didn’t want to go college, I didn’t want to get a regular 9-5, and I just came from the streets I ain’t wanna end up back there. So the military was a decent option. Good benefits, the pay was good, and I was occupied” You explained.

"What made you get into Twitch?" Jenna asked.

"Well I started off with music but it quickly went nowhere so I turned to doing little comedy skits on Instagram. That gradually got me some followers then I was scrolling through Twitch one day and I stumbled upon this Twitch streamer who was making mad money off of gaming. I was like I can make bands off of just playing games say less. I got myself a PC and PS5 and I started grinding out streams but they weren't hitting like I thought they would. So I got discouraged and I went back into the military for another year, said fuck this shit, got honorable discharged, and went back to streaming." You explained.

The whole time you were talking, Jenna was engaged the entire time. She realized how much she loved how you explained things and told a story. It was entertaining as hell but also interesting.

“Wow” Was all Jenna could say. It wasn’t a bad wow either and you picked up on that. But you wanted to tease her a bit.

“Bad or good wow?” You teased.

“Good wow. Your story is inspiring. I have to watch your content now” Jenna smiled.

“Thank you I appreciate it” You replied.

The waiter brought your drinks and appetizers which you both devoured.

“Oh my god, that was so good. Best food I’ve had in a long time. I don’t think I even have room for my entrée” Jenna commented.

You chuckled, “We can always take it with us.”

Out of the blue, both of you hear a loud gasp. “Oh my god, it’s Jenna Ortega. Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you but can I get a picture real fast?” The fan asked excitedly.

You see her guard instantly go up around the fan. She glanced at you with apologetic eyes before standing up and taking a quick picture with the fan. The fan bid her goodbyes and ran off smiling hard.

“You okay?” You asked.

“Huh?” Jenna absentmindedly said.

“You okay? I saw how tense you got when she came up to you” You pointed out.

“Oh…yeah I’m fine just caught me off guard” Jenna lightly chuckled.

You saw it was a sensitive topic so you didn’t push further out of respect. The food came next and you saw how Jenna was a completely different person now. She was a lot more quiet and not flirtatious like before. The rest of the meal was only one-sided small talk. You got to go containers and paid for the meal even though Jenna insisted on paying.

You wanted to take her mind off whatever it was so you decided to bring her to the roof of a building that looked onto the Manhattan Bridge.

You both sat on the ledge, taking in the view.

“Um…are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you but I just want to let you know that I’m a good listener if you wanted to like vent” You comforted her.

“Thanks…” She muttered quietly.

You nodded in response and looked back at the view.

“I felt…normal again. I felt like a normal human being again with you back at the restaurant. I haven’t felt like that lately especially, since the success of Wednesday, my new show, and Scream. Then a fan came up and reality snuck back in. I’m not even upset at the fan because she doesn’t know what I’m going through and it’s not her fault but I just wanted to cherish that feeling a little more” Jenna explained.

“I get it. I seen how hard the fame life can be. I saw it through Davis at one point. That shit can break you in ways that you didn’t know it could. I don’t wish it on my worse enemy” You empathized.

Jenna scooted closer to you and laid her head on your shoulder. You made the bold decision to interlock your fingers with hers.

“Even though we literally just met earlier this evening. I feel comfortable with you like we’ve known each other for years” Jenna said.

“Well, you can keep getting to know me more. You a cool girl Hollywood” You smirked.

Jenna rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. Before she looked up at you, her brown eyes piercing into your hazel ones. Neither acknowledges how your getting closer until the gap between you disappears and lips interlock. At first, the kiss started slow before Jenna placed her left hand on your neck and pulled you closer to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started to heat up rapidly, tongues were now involved and Jenna gripped your neck hairs tightly. Her body heated up at the intense make-out session.

Jenna pulled away, “My hotel is not that far from here.”

You nodded and the two of you rushed off the roof in a hurry to get to her hotel. You got a cab and the ride was only 10 minutes but it felt like forever. Neither of you wanted to touch each other inappropriately out of respect for everyone else. But the cab stopped in front of the hotel and the two of you quickly got out and ran inside. Big L was stuck with our food, unfortunately.

The two of you got in the elevator and once the doors closed. Jenna pounced on you, her lips locked onto yours feverishly. You pushed her up against the elevator wall. Your hands were on her waist, gripping her hips while her hands were on the back of your neck gripping the hair.

Your lips then made their way down to her neck. Nipping and sucking on the flesh until you found the sweet spot under her jaw. A low moan escaped her lips and it egged you to continue but the elevator doors dinged. The two of you pulled away quickly in case there were people but luckily there wasn’t. So you exited onto her floor and sped walk to her room. Your lips were together again before the door fully closed.

Jenna dropped her phone and the hotel key onto the floor. You pulled off your flannel shirt and hoodie and threw it somewhere. Jenna kicked off her shoes and so did you. You then hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around your hips.

You blindly led the two of you to the bed and laid Jenna on it. You sat up quickly and peeled off your white T-shirt showcasing the many tattoos on your body. You trailed kisses down her body, from her lips to her jaw, to her neck, and to the top of her breasts. A quiet whine escaped her lips while she worked to her top off.

Suddenly, she flipped the two of you over. She was now straddling your waist. The pressure of her body was now your crotch which was painfully restricted due to your jeans.

“Shit” You mumbled as she finally got her top off to reveal her perfect breasts. Instantly, you sat up and took one in your mouth. You started to suck softly as your tongue ran across her nipple. She twitched from the pleasure and you internally patted yourself on the back.

You flipped the two of you over again. You gave attention to the other breast while also unbuttoning her pants. The noises she was letting out were making your jeans tighter than ever. You kiss down her stomach while pushing her pants down her legs. You threw her pants behind you and kissed her bikini line.

“Take it off” She whined impatiently. You chuckled before she pulled off her underwear leaving completely nude to you.

You admired her body for a hot second before you settled in between her thighs. You were on your knees and you pulled her to the edge of the bed. You kissed both her inner thighs, teasing her a little more before you dove right in for the prize.

A loud gasp left her mouth and she slightly arched her back. Her hands quickly found their place tangled in your hair and the sheets. You licked up her slit slowly before wrapping your lips around her clit. You swiped your tongue over it a couple of times before sucking.

Damn, she tastes good.

“Oh, my god…” Jenna moaned, her grip on your head tightening. Her thighs also tightened around your head keeping you in place. You moved down and inserted your tongue into her hole. Your tongue was long and it brushed against certain spots pleasurable inside her.

Her breathing was starting to pick up and her moans increasing in volume. Knowing that hotel room walls are paper thin, you reached up and placed your hand over her mouth. Her right hand gripped your forearm, her nails were making indents in your skin.

You felt her tighten around your tongue before she arched her back high. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head while she orgasmed hard. Her screams of intense pleasure are muffled by your hand. Her body shook as she let go and wave off juices that splashed against your mouth and dripped down your chin. You lapped up as much as you could.

Even though she orgasmed, you continued your assault on her golden area. She hissed and pushed your head from her area, feeling overstimulated. You sat on your knees in front of her with a drenched mouth and chin. You kissed up her body once more before you collided your lips together.

She moaned into your mouth as she can taste herself on your tongue. She grabbed your chain around your neck and pulled you even closer. You used one hand to reach down and unbuckle your belt, throwing it somewhere. You undid the button and pushed your pants off.

Jenna pulled away from your lips and pushed your black boxer briefs off your hips. You watched as she gathered some saliva in her hand before wrapping her fingers around your length. All while never losing eye contact with you.

She’s a super freak, super freak, she’s super freaky…

You groaned as she started rubbing your length sensually. Her thumb brushed over your tip and precum leaked out, giving her extra lubricant. She started pumping you faster. You didn’t want to finish just yet so you grabbed her arms and placed them above her head. You took off the rest of your underwear and positioned yourself. You were leaning on your knuckles that were by her hips and you lined yourself up at her entrance.

Slowly, you pushed in. Her legs automatically wrapped around your waist.

“Mierda nena (Shit baby girl)” You moaned as you watched yourself disappeared inside her. At the sound of you speaking Spanish, you felt her slightly clench around you.

More Spanish speaking it is then.

Once you were fully inside, you paused for a second to let her get used to your size. After a moment, you started with some slow strokes.

“Faster…” She moaned out.

Obeying her request, you started to speed up. You found a suitable rhythm for both of you. It felt so good, you’ve been with your fair share of women but nothing compares to right now. You leaned down on your elbows close to her ear. Her fingernails scratched down your back and the heels of her feet digged into your cheeks.

Her moans and heavy panting were going straight through your ears and sending chills down your spine.

“Te sientes tan bien apretado a mi alrededor (You feel so good clenched around me)” You whispered into her ear. The low tone you spoke in brought out your accent more and it sent vibrations throughout her body straight to her core.

Even though she didn’t know what you said, it still turned her on massively.

You buried your face into her neck as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. But suddenly, you were pushed away and flipped onto your back. Jenna was on top of you again but this time she had a new game plan in mind.

You slipped out of her while in the process of being flipped on your back. You watched as she undid her ponytail and let her hair flow, which was the sexiest thing ever. She then reached down and positioned herself over you before slowly sinking down.

“Oh my god…fuck” She moaned. She placed her hand on your lower stomach and began to ride you expertly.

You cursed out in pleasure and threw your head back against the pillows. Jenna grabbed your hands and interlocked your fingers for a minute before she placed them on her breasts. You massaged them rolling her hardened nipples in between your fingers.

“Te ves bien encima de mí (You look so good on top of me)” You licked your lips before pulling her down to you. You connected your lips with hers while bending her legs to get stable and wrapping an arm around her waist. You then started plowing into her.

The sound of slapping skin echoed through the room along with Jenna’s heavy breathing. The knot in your stomach got tighter and she clenched around you, letting you know that you were both close.

More profanities spilled out of Jenna’s mouth and her nails dug into your shoulders. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she stilled in your arms. You heard her suck in a breath and her nails dug deeper into your skin. She was cumming hard. Her body started convulsing. You felt the hot liquid around your stick and that sent you over the edge.

The knot in your stomach finally exploded. A deep groan left your body as you felt your member twitch inside of Jenna as you emptied out into her. Your hands gripped her hips aggressively until you felt you had nothing else left.

Jenna fell against you, completely exhausted but highly satisfied. The sweat made her baby hairs stick to her glistening forehead.

“God damn girl, I ain’t know you were like that” You complimented while trying to catch your breath.

Jenna laughed and slowly lifted herself off you and plopped next to you. She was exhausted, the recent activity draining her completely. The two of you were still catching your breaths before a phone ringing interrupted your blissful silence.

Neither of you acknowledged the phone, too tired to move. But whoever was calling, called again and the ringing was starting to get on your nerves. You got up and found whose phone it was. It was Jenna’s, you tossed it to her before you went into the bathroom and emptied out your bladder.

You cleaned yourself properly and headed out back into the room.

“Yeah, I’m back in my room…I know…okay bye” Jenna finished the conversation on the phone. She groaned and rubbed her hands down her face.

“You good?” You asked.

“Yeah…my friends are heading back here right now. I wanted you to stay and cuddle” She pouted.

You chuckled and started putting your clothes on, “You can always fly me out Hollywood. I never had a woman fly me out before.”

Jenna smiled and rolled her eyes playfully, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You grabbed her open phone and she watched as you as you entered your number in her contacts.

“Text me whenever you’re back in The City” You smirked at her.

“I definitely will” She blushed. You went to put your flannel shirt on but she stopped you.

“Wait…I hope this isn’t weird but can I have that?” She shyly asked while pointing to your flannel shirt.

You shrugged and handed it to her. She stood up, with shaking legs which you noticed.

“Shut up” She mumbled. Jenna placed the flannel shirt over her naked body. It was hella big on her. You stood at 6’1 so the flannel was down to her knees. She looked sexy.

“I don’t want you to leave” She whined and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Oh no I got you dickmitized. I gotta make my escape ASAP” You joked. You heard her suck her teeth and slap your arm. You bend down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. This kiss was slow and full of unacknowledged passion. You hate to admit it but you felt butterflies in your stomach and so did Jenna but neither of you addressed it.

“If you don’t leave now, I don’t think I can fully restrain myself to throw you on this bed again” Jenna whispered against your lips.

You laughed, “Ight Imma go.” You stole another kiss before leaving the hotel room.

“Best work trip ever” Jenna smirked.

Meanwhile, you make it to the elevator doors. They opened and three girls stepped out. But they were staring at you as they knew you. Now usually, you would’ve said something about the staring but you were too tired so you just ignored them and stepped onto the elevator.

“White people…” You mumbled and shook your head.

#jenna ortega x reader #g!p reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x oc #Spotify #nycxhollywood

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r3starttt · 5 months

Note

Rockstar abby/elliein, in interview!!

"Is your girlfriend dating you because the fame and the money?"

The reader was there even before the fame!

Even asking is offensive! How can someone think that of her girlfriend?!

And reader is in their apartment watching the interview on TV concerd because she's scared ellie/Abby would think that's true

Take your time and take care 🫶

English isn't my first language, I'm sorry for any mistakes

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS

Rockstar gf! Ellie in an interview

You’ve met Ellie in high school. She was shy, had her small group of friends and was amazingly smart at science, physics and math, subjects that you sucked at. You’ve always catch her staring at you but whenever you two talked she would act so awkward. You always noticed how her cheeks turned slightly red whenever you were together, how she would toy with her fingers and how her legs would move up and down if she was sitting, making her converse tap on the floor extremely loud. And you also noticed how much effort she added to try and hide it, but she couldn’t.

You were the one to take most first steps on everything, staring with asking for her Instagram thinking you could start to know her more but it failed because her account was empty so you couldn’t get to know anything at all.

Then you proceeded to ask for help at physics, because that was her best subject, which was actually a win because after that you became closer, friends, or so she thought.

You’d had plenty of dates with her after that one class, but it wasn’t until you mentioned the word out loud that Ellie finally understood what was going on, and god she felt so stupid.

When she finally invited you over to her house one of the first things she did was playing guitar to you, to which you asked her if she could sing too, and she did. And when that happened you just couldn’t believe you’ve got such a hot talented smart girlfriend. That’s when you told her she should take advantage of that talent and the idea of making a band wouldn’t disappear from Ellie’s mind.

And that’s how it all started, Dina and Jesse being convinced by ellie to make a band, but not really convinced, they only agreed because how the fuck would a band like this ever work and how would it became famous? it was just for the experience and the fun and to not let her friend die alone.

So they performed for the first time ever at a bar, you’ve asked Ellie to make a cover of bad idea, yeah, from girl in red, and so she did. And for everyone’s surprise (yeah, including you) it worked more than perfectly. By starters, people did pay attention to them, that’s a win right? then people recorded them and asked for any social media to support them and you, from the public’s view, couldn’t be more happier because your girlfriend’s little dream might come true.

Thankfully you were right, they went viral and got a lot of followers real quickly. And so they kept on performing, until they started to make their own music and that just lead them to more fame.

Sooner that you could ever imagine they were already having small concerts, opening shows for bigger artists, being invited to red carpets and big events, appearing on magazines, having photoshoots and of course, being invited to podcast and having interviews as well.

For starters, fans and public in general wasn’t mean to you. When Ellie started to get the girls attention she quickly made sure everyone knew about you. She’d post you on both her own and the bands social media, she’d make you appear on lives, she’d make you go on stage as well. Everything to make sure that you and everyone else knew more than well that you were her girlfriend and she loved you a lot.

There’s the fan girls that hate you a bit and always insist that you’re only there for fame and money, the ones that would do anything to convince Ellie on breaking up with you just because they think they’ll have a chance with her if that ever happens. But after those comments became repetitive you learned to ignore them.

However today you weren’t so sure about it. The band had been invited to a live podcast that was super viral because of the influencers behind it and the type of questions they asked to their guests, as well as a small section at the end where the artists invited would have to read fan comments. They’d make them answer all, and of course they were all the polemic ones. And you knew you will eventually get involved in those comments.

You decided to stay at your shared apartment, you weren’t sure if you were gonna be able to handle the comments. So now you were just laying on bed with your phone on your hands anxiously watching the podcast.

So far everything was good, they’d given some context about themselves and how the band was created. They’ve been talking about how they meet and how it was all the process of becoming famous, and how was fame for them.

That was until they were told about the comments. Honestly at this point you’re way to focused on how fun everything was and how hot Ellie looks to feel anxious, but it does freak you out to see what type of questions they might get, no only Ellie but the whole band, you’re very aware of how annoying and disrespectful people can be.

Most comments are about how hot the three of them are, about how hot Ellie’s tattoo is, the typical fan girl comments that make the whole band laugh and make fun of it. Then there’s also hate comments and that unfortunately where you appear the most. One of the influencers grabs their phone and reads out loud “I bet Ellie’s girlfriend is only there for the fame and the money, she must get a lot from being so close to Dina and Jesse as well. Fucking good luck she has” then he proceeds to say excitedly how many likes the comment has, you hated them and hated this because even though you weren’t there you felt humiliated.

And as much as you try to ignore the whole situation you can’t help but feel like shit, you freaked out because if that comment had so many support that meant there’s a lot of people that thinks that and what assures you neither Ellie, Dina or Jesse have ever thought about it?

The three of them stay in silence for a couple of seconds, everyone just staring at Ellie awkwardly and waiting for her response, including you. And just when anxiety is eating you alive you hear her voice.

“Whoever wrote that comment is jealous as fuck” Ellie says clearly annoyed, her brows furrowed and a very sarcastic smirk on her face “the three of us meet her in high school as well. I was amazed by her when I first saw her but just couldn’t manage to talk to her, I was shy as fuck back then” both Dina and Jesse laughed, nodding their heads as making fun of her because only they know the amount of times Ellie would go with them to speak excitedly about how you had noticed her.

She speaks one more time and you can’t help but feel excited, now you understand the fans “however if she was here for it I don’t mind it at all because she’s hot, y’all wished to be m’ girl, stop being so annoying guys” and you can hear the interviewers laughing at the back, praising her for being so honest and calling fans out since most artists don’t.

And as you’re in bed, watching the live and feeling like a teenager in love. Ellie is dying to grab her phone and make you know how much she adores you and how much she can’t wait to get home with you, but she can’t of course cause she’s live and with her phone way to far from her.

#lesbian #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x y/n #ellie fluff #ellie x you #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie smut #tlou2

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pleasingsatellite · 1 year

Text

liked by harryfan1, y/nfan2 and 25,840 others

harryandy/n Harry and y/n arrived in Venice today for the Venice Film Festival, looks like y/n is going to be his plus one! We can't wait to see them on the red carpet.

view all 1,930 comments

harryfan1 ugh he looks so rich are you kidding me???

y/nfan1 my favorite thing about them is they always look like they're going to two separate events

↳ harryfan2 you're so right, harry looks like he's on his way to some fashion event meanwhile y/n is holding ice cream looking like she's going to frolic

y/nfan2 ughhh need a y/n and Florence interaction so I can feed my delusion that one day they will be in a movie together

liked by harrystyles, harrisreed and 890,303 others

yourinstagram I feel like I'm sending my over dressed toddler off to his first day at school. Happy Brit's day! I'll be cheering you on from my table in the audience with the endless supply of champagne 🫶🏻

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harryfan1 omg omg omg omg

harryfan2 he looks so good, the flower? the bare chest? the everything???? 😗

annetwist please remind him to drink water between his alcohol ❤️

↳ yourinstagram don't worry mama twist he's in safe hands

↳ harrystyles I told y/n and Gemma I'll have max 2 drinks.... or 5 if we win

jefezoff BEHAVE GARY

liked by y/nfan1, y/nfan2 and 45,594 others

y/nupdates y/n today at the Brit's reacting to Harry drunkingly confessing his love for her during his speech

view all 2,303 comments

y/nfan1 stop she's so cute she was so embarrassed 🥺

y/nfan2 I just know the minute he was running to the stage she knew he'd say something to embarrass her

harryfan1 he loves her so much are you kidding me

y/nfan3 "and to y/n, everyday I look at you and wonder how I managed to land such a hot girlfriend. Everything I do, I do with you in mind. Everyone give it up for the prettiest girl in the room!" 😭🥹😭🥹

↳harryfan2 if any man said this about me I'd propose and jump his bones on SIGHT!!!!

liked by harryfan1, y/nfan1 and 29,234 others

harryupdates y/n is in the audience tonight at LOT Japan! Harry waved at her when he came out and sent her kisses and told security to check on her!

view all 1,845 comments

harryfan1 he's so cute and smiley tonight and now we know why

harryfan2 I need someone to love me as much as harry loves y/n fr fr

y/nfan1 omg I saw her at the show tonight she's so cute and was telling the people with her how jet lagged she is but didn't wanna miss the show so she had to drink a bunch of coffee before hand 😙

y/nfan2 my angel I love her I hope she stays in Japan with harry now that she's not filming anymore

harryfan3 someone threw a shirt at harry with a picture of him and y/n on the front and he said he's gonna wear it as soon as he gets off stage

↳ harryfan4 we're about to get a 1d gym shirt repeat again with this shirt I just know it

liked by harryfan1, y/nfan2 and 89,382 others

pagesix I just can't keep my hands to myself! Singer Harry Styles and actress y/n were caught in a very public PDA session last night during a street party in Japan. The couple who have been together for 5 years were spotted by onlookers but clearly only had eyes for each other. Ugh, young love!

view all 12,493 comments

harryfan1 heart stopped I've been standing in the same spot for hours 😫

y/nfan1 MY MOM AND DAD!!!

yourinstagram ...oops 🤭

↳harryfan2 girl that's all you gotta say!!! we know you don't regret it

↳yourinstagram not at all 😙

harryfan2 you know harry's in deep when the man who catches every camera doesn't catch the one recording his make out

↳yourinstagram it's more like the 6 highballs he drank 🫢

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 34,590 others

harrydaily Harry out shopping with y/n and friends today in Japan! When fans mentioned the kiss harry and y/n just laughed and shook their heads

view all 3,084 comments

harryfan1 that man regrets NOTHING

↳harryfan2 I mean would you lol

harryfan3 I'm so happy harry and y/n finally feel comfortable to be so open with their relationship

harryfan4 he looks so fine ugh that post pubic makeout glow

harryfan5 I know Jeffery was loosing his shit seeing those pics and harry and y/n were just like...it is what it is

liked by yourinstagram, annetwist and 8,945,931 others

harrystyles I mean do you really blame me?

comments have been disabled

....hello.... the longest long time no see wow. tbh I just have not felt like even opening the Tumblr app since like mid-january and eventually just deleted the app but finally felt a little bit rejuvenated tonight. I've been trying to reply limit just how much time I spend on social media and trying to read more and have been but also miss just being on here and posting (I'm not saying I'm back to regular posts but will try and post when I can)

#harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake social media #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles instagram #harry styles au #harry styles headcannon #harry styes #harry styles fanfiction

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comics-and-fanworks · 1 year

Note

Prompt for you (feel free to adjust this if you like)! Based on Princess Diana’s interview in 1995:

Marinette was interviewed by Lois Lane on live television about her past relationship with her former friends, bullying and harassment as well as abuse from her classmates. With Chloe, Marc, Nathaniel, Sabrina, Kagami and Luka as her only friends. Her mental health struggles including Marinette’s suicidal thoughts because Lila lied and falsely claimed about her, the toxic environment at her school and the reasons for her, Chloe, Marc, Nathaniel, and Sabrina to transfer to another school.

After the interview, it became number 1 trendy on Twitter and a national topic around the world. Bustier and Damocles were immediately fired from their jobs and had their license taken away, the class became pariahs from their peers in school and was excluded from any school activities and events. Their parents lost their jobs because of their kids' actions and nobody wants a bully parents to work for them. Lila and Alya were also sued by multiple celebrities for libel and defamation. Adrien was then stripped from his miraculous ring by Ladybug and his father sent him away to a very strict and harsh boarding school that his cousin Felix attended in London.

Hello! Thank you for the request!! I hope you like it, I tried to stay true to your original prompt, thank you again!!

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Past Abuse, Mentions of Violence, Bullying, Mentions of suicide, heavy angst

If you or someone you might know are struggling, please, please, PLEASE know that there are resources and people willing to help. It doesn't matter who you are, YOU ARE deserving of love and support!

There is a second message for this that was part two of the original request but I have no idea how to link the two.

~~~~

Marinette knew this was coming. She knew the second she decided to wear that dress to Fashion Week. She could feel everyone's eyes on the scars that ran up and down her body. She was covered in them, and almost all of them were inflicted by people she once considered friends. "This is a step towards healing," she remembered her therapist saying. "We may not like the past, but the more we try to run from it the faster it chases us," she remembered Luka humming as she ran her idea through him. "Your scars are not a sign of weakness," Kagami told her as they sparred, "A lion who has won many battles has many scars, and no one doubts its strength. Your scars are the mark of your strength." She took a deep breath and continued to walk forward. She could hear the paparazzi's cameras clicking as they took her picture. She would surely end up on the news, but Marinette decided, to let them talk. Let them talk about her scars and wonder where they came from, let them talk about who could have inflicted them on the designer. Let them talk until they finally decided to approach Marinette and ask. Despite her nerves telling her to curl up in a ball and hide, she kept her head high and walked down the red carpet like a queen walking to her throne. As soon as she was inside her phone buzzed, a message from Lois Lane. "Hi, honey. I saw the live feed from Fashion Week, are you going to be okay?" Marinette smiled as she read the message, Lois may be a reporter with a supernatural ability to detect a good story, but she was a mother first and was going to make sure her son's friend was alright. "I'll be okay. It was very scary because I knew everyone was staring," Marinette replied, she watched those little dots appear, and then Lois responded, "Do you want to talk about it? Off the record of course." It gave her a warm feeling to know that one of the greatest journalists was willing to let such a big story go to prioritize her comfort. She thought about it and replied, "Yeah, I would like to talk about it, but I'd like to talk about it on the record. Do you have some time in your schedule?" Lois's reply was almost instant, "Everything else can wait." Marinette typed out, "Perfect. I'll be in Metropolis in a week."

The first thing Marinette saw when she got off the plane was her friend Jon, followed by the airport's ceiling as she was quickly tackled into a hug. The two friends made small talk as she got her luggage and Jon decided to get her lunch. As they ate their conversation eventually turned to the reason for her trip. "Mari if you're uncomfortable at any time just say the word and mom will stop the interview. She's not like that one lady in Paris, she's not gonna push you into sharing anything you're uncomfortable with." Marinette sighed and picked at her food, "I know. That's why I want it to be Lois. She's the only one I can trust to let me tell my truth and not try to put some narrative on it or dig into more... private things," Jon nodded. His mother immediately figured out that Marinette was a hero. He remembered having to help his mom calm down the panicking girl and promising that if anyone could keep a secret identity a secret, it was Superman's wife. "If you don't mind, what made you decide to finally talk about all this?" Marinette's face contorted as she felt rage boiling in her stomach, "Damocles and Bustier still have their jobs," Jon gasped and Marinette continued, "It never would have gotten as bad if it did if they'd stepped in, but they refused! They refused to help me, and I bet they'll refuse to help others. I can't stand by and do nothing! I have proof of everything that was done to me, physical proof not just my word. I need to make sure they can't hurt anyone else," It felt so good to let out her anger without the fear of being akumatized for it. Taking a minute to calm down, Marinette continued, "I've also decided I'll be immigrating to Gotham. As much as I love my parents, I need to get out of Paris. So, this is also kind of one big last 'Fuck you' to the people who hurt me," Jon laughed, happy to see Marinette was still as feisty as ever. "Now what can I say to convince you to ditch Gotham and stay in Metropolis?" Marinette laughed, "Get my fiancé to move here, and then you've got a deal."

Lois really knew how to wrap the media around her finger and make a subconscious narrative, Marinette thought as she sat down on the porch of the Kent Family Farm. Mama and Papa Kent were more than happy to let Lois use it as a set for the interview, and when she asked Lois why the woman explained, "When people talk about something tough, or in our case hear you talk about something tough, they prefer to be in a safe environment. The farm has a very calming atmosphere, there's gentle background noise, and it's warm enough that we can be outside. Plus, it helps make you more sympathetic than an expensive set or a pricey hotel would. Most importantly, if it gets too overwhelming there are plenty of cute animals here to take your mind off things!" Marinette was a little concerned with just how well Lois understood how to paint a narrative but decided to roll with it. The two were in casual clothing as well, instead of the professional attire they were used to. Eventually, they were a couple minutes out from the camera feed going live, so Lois decided to give Marinette a rundown on how the process would work. "Ok honey, here's what's going to happen. I'll start off with an introduction explaining who you are and why we're here, and I'll ask you some basic small talk questions. After that, I'll ask about the scars, and it's your choice how much detail you wanna give. I'll base the rest of my questions off of what you tell me, so it will be like you and I just having a normal conversation. If at any time you need to stop, let me know and we'll cut the feed immediately. We've got a statement ready and everything, hell if you need me to I'll send the Super Boy Scouts to fetch Damian. Speaking of which you owe me an interview explaining how the hell you managed to charm that demon!" The two women laughed as they were told to take their places. The camera's light turned on, letting both women know they were now being broadcasted live to the entire world.

"Hello everyone! Thank you for joining us at such short notice. I'm Lois Lane and this gorgeous woman next to me is the marvelous designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" Marinette waved at the camera, trying to ignore the nerves in the pit of her stomach. "Mari started designing at only eight years old, and by the time she was fourteen, she had already started her own company and won multiple design competitions. She's one of those rare people with a special kind of spark. We first met when she attended a business conference that my son and his friend, her fiancé, by the way, happened to be at. I love this girl like a daughter, so Damian Wayne if you're listening, I'll kill you if you hurt her." Marinette laughed, she could practically hear the sound coming from Damian, a mix of indignation and shock that such a thing would ever be suggested. "I really could spend the whole interview just gushing about you Marinette, but then we'd have wasted your time and two plane tickets. As you know dear, the media has been speculating about you particularly intensely since Fashion Week. I'm not going to pull my punches, Mari," Lois said, the tone shifting to a more serious one as the older woman reached over to gently hold her hands, "What happened? Where did those scars come from?" Marinette took a deep breath; it was now or never. "For starters, they did NOT come from Chloe. Ever since she apologized and we worked on becoming friends, she has always been open and honest about how she bullied me in school. That stopped when I was fourteen and even at her worst she never physically hurt me. She's never denied what she did when we were young, and I want to make sure the message is clear." Lois nodded. The businesswoman had always been honest about how bitchy she was as a child, and as a result, created multiple organizations to deal with bullying. "I also want to be clear that these did NOT come from my parents. My Papa wouldn't hurt a fly and my Maman would only ever hurt someone who hurts her family." 'Smart move,' Lois thought. If she didn't clear it up, tabloids would certainly spread rumors that she was abused by her parents, and they didn't want that for Tom and Sabine.

"If I may, who did they come from? Or is it a bit more complicated than that?" "It's a bit more complicated. It was kind of like the perfect storm. I didn't realize it at the time, but my old school was a very toxic environment. My teacher was more concerned about preaching unconditional forgiveness and pushing problems under the rug. For example, I had paint poured on me right before our class photo, and instead of punishing the people who did it, she made me THANK them for "adding their creative touch" because I had designed my dress and obviously this was just them wanting to help." A screen behind them was showing the incident in question. Marinette managed to get the surveillance footage and audio of many examples of her bullying. Many of her tormentors had gone on to be successful, and if she didn't have proof she could be sued for defamation. "Chloe can back me up on this, but the principal wasn't much better. If you had money or power, he was at your beck and call. As a baker's daughter, I didn't have the resources a fashion heir, Mayor's daughter, and Diplomat's daughter did. So even in situations like the paint one, I was always in the wrong because if their children were in trouble, it would upset the money." Lois nodded, "It sounds like a lot of what happened to you was ignored. What about the school board?" "I tried to contact them, but they either never got my messages or ignored them. Either way, I had no adults I could trust, and anything I tried to make it stop only ended up backfiring." Marinette honestly had no idea why the school board never intervened. She called, emailed, and wrote letters, hell she was about to resort to telegraph.

"So, was it one person who bullied you, or was it, multiple people?" Lois asked. Her heart hurt for the young girl across from her. "It was everyone in my class except Chloe, Sabrina, and Nathaniel, my other friends, Kagami, Luka, and Marc weren't in my class. One girl led everything. Lila Rossi transferred to our class right before summer when I was thirteen. She was a liar, she claimed to know all these celebrities, go to all these countries, and do all these charities. Most of my class believed her right away, but I was always suspicious of her because I actually knew some of the people she lied about. I tried to call her out on it, and while a couple of my classmates like Nathaniel put the pieces together and realized she was full of bullshit, one classmate, Adrien Agreste, basically told me to shut up and take it. 'Take the high road,' he kept telling me even as he helped them shove me into lockers, shred my sketchbooks, and steal my stuff. He never physically hurt me, but he would cover for the others when they would. They would shove me down the stairs and I'd break an arm, and he would tell them that 'Typical clumsy Marinette tripped and feel.' They would cut me, cut my hair, and slice me with scissors," Marinette gestured to the many scars on her arm, "And he would tell any teachers that I was just not paying attention. They'd burn me with chemicals in the lab, and he would say I was goofing off. Thankfully Mrs. Mendeleev never believed that, and she had me come to her every time something happened so she could document it. It was all she could do with the principal being less than competent, and thanks to her I actually have a timeline of what happened and when," Marinette turned to face the camera, she had started crying a while ago but was still able to speak clearly, "Love ya, Mrs. M!"

"If you feel comfortable talking about it, how did their abuse, and let's be honest it was more like torture, affect you?" Marinette sighed and rubbed her wrists as she could feel herself sinking back into that feeling of dread she had dealt with each day. "I won't lie, it got to me, it really did. I struggled to sleep and was so scared to go to school that I'd get physically sick in the mornings. I completely shut myself off from the world for a while, it felt like I was on autopilot and just... doing what I had to do to survive." She took a couple of deep breaths and continued, "It didn't take long for me to believe what they were saying about me. My mental health was already screwed up thanks to Bustier, I had a martyr complex the size of Jupiter. I was taught to always be the peacemaker, always do things for others, and always take every burden. I would get in trouble if I asked for help or tried to decline to do something. I would get yelled at for asking to be paid back the thousands of dollars of costs I was taking on trying to please everyone else. So, when Lila, my classmates, and even Adrien began telling me that I was worthless, that they would be happier if I was gone, and that nobody would miss me if I died..." Marinette choked back a sob, but still tried to continue, "I spent many nights contemplating if I should take their advice and end it. I never did, primarily because I didn't want the people I loved to have to deal with the aftermath. Then, and to this day I don't know how she did it, but Lila got me blacklisted from Gabriel. She claimed to anyone who'd listen that I was an awful bully, I stole my designs, and that I only liked Adrien because I was a gold-digging whore. I had a crush on him at one time, but after what he did to me... He's dead to me. They all are. Anyways, it felt like my whole world shattered. I cried for days and stopped eating. Even though I've gotten better, I still struggle with my self-esteem. They told me I would never amount to anything, and I still struggle with trying not to believe them."

"How long were you in this awful situation?" Lois asked. She seriously considered signaling to the person controlling the TV that was set up behind them to cut the feed. Some of the injuries Marinette and Mrs. Mendeleev had taken photos of were truly awful, and the security camera feeds were tough to watch. But the world needed to know what had happened and needed to know that it wasn't okay. "I put up with it for two years, until I just... snapped. I couldn't take it anymore and broke down to my parents. I begged them not to send me there, I didn't care where they sent me to school, as long as it wasn't Dupont. I had kept so much from them because I was so scared they wouldn't believe me, that they'd be disappointed, that they'd tell me it was my fault," Marinette dabbed at her tears. Lois had told her to wear waterproof mascara and she was very grateful for it, "I never should have doubted them, Maman and Papa believed me, and had me switched to Luka and Kagami's school within the week. Marc, Chloe, Sabrina, and Nathaniel joined me shortly afterward. They told me that without the class punching bag infighting began, Lila apparently began a witch hunt of sorts. She began accusing anyone who even looked at her funny of bullying. They left before it could get much worse. It was a bit tough to adjust to my new school, I had my friends there, but I was still pretty quiet and kept to myself. My new classmates were so kind and patient with me, I think they understood that something really bad had happened to me. They never pushed me to tell them what happened, and while there were a couple of meaner students it was NOTHING compared to my old school. Because of them, and because I was in a healthier environment I was able to bounce back!"

Lois couldn't help the rush of pride she felt looking at the young woman. She remembered when she first met Marinette, who seemed rather shy and overwhelmed at that conference. She had offhandedly mentioned having to go get a dress for a press event and watching as a roaring fire was lit within Marinette's eyes. The girl had explained she was an aspiring fashion designer, and seemingly out of thin air she pulled out a sketchbook and pencil and began working. Lois swore the pencil was smoking with how fast the designer was working. She had been handed a sketch (and list of colors and materials) of the most beautiful dress she had seen. At said event, she was dubbed the best dressed and was quick to tell everyone she met about the talented teenager that had designed it. "One last question Mari, it's been a long day and I think you need TLC more than anyone right now. If you could face your tormenters today, what would you say to them?" Marinette took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Well, I would like to say a few different things to a few people. To Lila, I want to say: I hope you're happy. You got everything you wanted and yet I'm still standing. I won't ask you why because I know why you did it: You could, plain and simple. To my classmates: I feel so sorry for you all, that you were so easily manipulated, that you were so quick to resort to violence on word of mouth alone. I feel sorry because you all were also victims of Mrs. Bustier, but in a different way than I was. You all were taught to expect someone to always carry the brunt of the load, and your bad behavior was encouraged. To Adrien: I know you're going to try and reach out to me and tell me to release a statement saying I made it up for attention. I can practically hear Nathalie typing it out now. I will not stand down, go ahead, and try to sue me, I have the evidence on my side. You were the only one who reached out to me after I changed schools, only to tell me to come back and that the problems the class had after I left were my fault. Leave me alone Adrien. I don't need you in my life and I don't want you in it. Stay the hell away from me." After she said this, a notification from Twitter pinged on everyone's phone. The tweet was from Damian Wayne and was quickly displayed on the screen behind the two women, 'On behalf of my Fiancée, legal action is being taken against her former tormenters, the people, and institutions that allowed this to happen and go on as long as it did. Don't bother harassing Marinette, this is completely out of her hands. If anyone decides to ignore her warnings or mine, a restraining order will be filed.'

The interview set off quite the explosion on the internet. May students of Dupont came out and confirmed Marinette's claims. It was trending for weeks and sparked international conversations about bullying. What shocked everyone was the severity of what Marinette endured, and it posed the question, "If she went through all that, who else could be going through similar things?" Suddenly the schoolboard had finally heard about what had happened to Marinette, and quickly fired Damocles and Bustier, primarily due to the public outrage that the two had flown under the radar. Investigations into their conduct revealed that Dupont did not just have a high akumatization rate, it also had a high suicide rate. Mrs. Mendeleev was revealed to have stayed primarily to try and help students escape such a bad environment and received a lot of praise. The school board finally released its statement, "We were greatly disturbed to hear of the abuse Mrs. Dupain-Cheng suffered at Collège Françoise Dupont and that educators under our employ did nothing to aid her. We were alarmed to hear that Mrs. Dupain-Cheng and her family tried to report her abuse and were unable to reach us. We are currently investigating this along with the many failures that led to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng's suffering. The two educators who were most responsible were let go and will no longer be in teaching positions. We sincerely apologize to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng and any others who have suffered due to oversights by the school board." The statement did not have the effect the school board had hoped for. The public largely found it unacceptable, and while they were happy Bustier and Damocles could no longer cause any damage, they were still infuriated and disturbed by the sheer ignorance (willful or not) of everything that went on within Dupont. An unexpected side effect of Marinette's interview was the scrutiny the parents of her bullies faced. People questioned how they could be so unaware of just what their children were doing and becoming, especially with Marinette making them so many things that obviously required time and money to make. Alya’s parents were criticized more harshly than the rest, primarily due to how many videos of the class's abuse were posted to the Ladyblog. The main question on everyone's mind was, 'How did this not get noticed sooner?'

Marinette's former classmates felt like their lives were imploding. They were served by the Wayne Lawyers, and it was made very clear to them that Damian Wayne was spearheading the fight against them, not Marinette. Adrien talked to his family lawyers about how they could get the suits dropped, and they told him, "Hell will freeze over before a Wayne backs down." Lila and Alya were hit with additional lawsuits from various others as well. Alya had posted Lila's many false claims about various celebrities on the Ladyblog, and their reputations had taken a hit. People began to wonder why so many famous people associated with Lila when all of her actions were revealed, and many PR teams had to work overtime to reassure the public that they had never met the girl in question. An investigation revealed that Lila had charged many of the class's shopping trips and expensive dinners to various celebrities' accounts, so she was also facing criminal charges as well. She had been effectively excommunicated from the class. After her lies came out and their actions were revealed they quickly cut contact. They were at a loss, their excuse for why they teased (They still refused to see it as anything more severe than light teasing) Marinette was because she was bullying Lila. Now that that was proven to be false, they searched for any reason to justify their actions. They can't really say that they were completely oblivious to Lila's lies, Marinette had tried to tell them multiple times and they had brushed her off thinking she was jealous that another girl was close to Adrien. Speaking of the blond, he had arranged a meeting at the Agreste Manor, and he looked like he hadn't slept since the interview. He wished he still had the Cat Miraculous, so he could escape this nightmare. He didn't want to admit it but the evidence of what he did and helped cover up was pretty damning, and it made the last words Ladybug had said to him the night she took his Miraculous all those years ago make sense, "Your actions as a civilian and in costume have proven that you are too irresponsible and immature to wield a Miraculous." He froze, Ladybug knew what he did. Ladybug, the love of his life, knew he helped make Marinette's life hell. His classmates looked at him as he was stuck in his mental turmoil, and they realized this was probably the first seriously negative press the Agreste Heir had ever gotten.

His image as Paris's Sunshine, a perfect gentleman who could do no wrong was ruined. All of their careers were, but they still held on to hope that they could save it. They didn't want to apologize, they didn't think they should have to, they were deceived by Lila after all. Adrien had hired a PR team to figure out what they should do, he had also asked privately what he should do. They had suggested a public apology and then disappearing from the public eye for a while. Thankfully his aunt and cousin agreed to let him stay with them, although he knew that Felix was never gonna let him live this down. His cousin called the second the interview finished and ripped into him. It had been incredibly hard for him to watch, and his classmates said the same. Seeing all those scars on Marinette, watching her breakdown, seeing the injuries he had helped cause, and watching the security footage of what they did... He had run to the bathroom and thrown up. Were they really that bad? Come to think of it, he remembered Marinette switching to long sleeves after they pushed her down the stairs and broke her... He was going to be sick again. His father was managing his own crisis, with his blacklisting of Marinette without solid evidence being put on blast. People were boycotting Gabriel, and it seemed like everything he did to try and fix the situation made it worse. He was brought back to the present by the cough of the man from the PR company. "Alright, now that I have everyone's attention, this is by far one of the most difficult cases I've seen in my career," Alya cut in, "We weren't that bad! Besides, it was so long ago, and I'd hardly call what we did bullying-" "Mrs. Césaire what you all did to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng is considered torture! Thank your lucky stars the statute of limitations is up, and you were children at the time, people have gone to prison for a long time for doing much less than what you all did!" To emphasize his point, he began playing the parts of the interview that showed the extent of Marinette's injuries. No one could bring themselves to look at the screen, a couple started to cry, and Adrien felt bile rise in his throat. The PR expert continued, "This goes far beyond simple bullying, you all are lucky Mrs. Dupain-Cheng did not make an attempt on her life. You are especially lucky that she said you were victims of Mrs. Bustier's utterly abysmal failings as an educator. But-" He cut Alya off before she could start,"-That does not mean you're completely Scott-free. You all still made the conscious choice to do what you did to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng, and that cannot be excused by being misled or having an enabler for a teacher. The best you can do is apologize and admit what you have done was wrong. You'll have to pray that Mrs. Dupain-Cheng decides to throw you a bone, and you WILL NOT contact her to try and force her to forgive you. That is absolutely the worst thing you can do because it will come off as if you haven't changed at all. The best thing you can do is apologize, admit you were in the wrong, and leave. Her. Alone. I will arrange an interview of our own so you can publicly apologize, a script will be written, and you'd better not deviate from it."

Nadja Chamack was the only journalist willing to interview them. It was decided that they would use the same format Marinette did and that Adrien would do most of the talking. After a brief introduction, their apology interview began. "What brings you all here today, especially after the shocking revelations that have come out," Nadja asked. She hated that she had to stick to a script, if she had it her way she would be asking the REAL questions, 'Why do you think Marinette is speaking about this now? Do you think she has something to gain? Isn't it a little fishy that she has the Wayne legal team suing you all and not her own? Do you think she's hiding something, or is she trying to get revenge?' Her producers stressed that she had to stick to the script because they would not hesitate to fire her if she began making such allegations. Adrien spoke, trying to keep himself composed, "We're here because we saw Marinette's interview, we saw how our actions hurt her, and we wanted to publicly apologize to her. We know what we did was wrong, and we were assholes. We wanted to explain our side, we know it won't fix anything or make things right, but we owe Marinette an explanation." He was doing exactly what his PR team told him to do, sounding sincere and referring to Marinette by her first name to establish a connection. Nadja nodded for him to continue, so he did, "When Lila came to school and began telling us about all the things she did and people she knew, it wasn't that hard to believe. I'm a model, Alya ran the Ladyblog, Rose knew Prince Ali, and Marinette had all these amazing connections. We weren't surprised that a diplomat's daughter knew all these people, and it wasn't exactly out of the norm for a class like ours. Somehow Marinette found out she was lying, and we refused to believe her." It was Alya's turn to speak, and the importance of staying on the script was highlighted to her, "Marinette had a massive crush on Adrien at the time, and she had gotten jealous of other girls before, so we figured this was just another one of those episodes. We also wanted to believe the best in Lila and give her the benefit of the doubt, it was what Mrs. Bustier had taught us."

Nadja couldn't help herself, she had to ask, "Adrien, when did you find out about Marinette's crush on you? How did you feel about it?" "I found out a few weeks before she transferred, and at the time I was shocked. It explained so much, about why she was so shy around me, why she was willing to listen to my awful advice. I was fully wrapped up in Lila's web then, and couldn't see past my massive crush on Ladybug so I tried to convince myself that she was a bully, and her crush was weird, but now? Now I wish I hadn't been such a coward. I wish I had seen that such an amazing girl was in front of me, if I could go back and do it differently I would. I would have stood up for her, I would have had her back for real. My biggest regret is that I didn't help her when she needed me and that I didn't reach out sooner to apologize and fix things. I lost the most amazing woman to Damian Wayne, and I’ll always regret that.” A small part of him hoped that Marinette still held a small flame for him and that he’d have a chance. He did some thinking and realized that Marinette was likely (he wasn’t 100% sure) Ladybug. If he could win her back, then he had a chance to convince his Lady to return his Miraculous, and that they were meant to be. Ladybug had no reason to be active, she defeated Hawkmoth and Mayura by herself, and had gone around the world gathering the remaining Miraculous. Part of his theory that the two were one and the same was that Marinette’s Fiancé and his family are in Gotham and are most likely providing funding for the Bat Family, and a new hero called Lady Miracle had been spotted patrolling with them, and she was reported to have multiple powers. These powers lined up with the Miraculous and her costume changed as she used them, so the two women were either one and the same or working together. Had Adrien developed these logical deduction skills earlier he would have recalled Marinette’s declaration that he was dead to her. Both the producer and PR rep were signaling to get back on the script or else their interview would be cut short. Nadja went on to the next question, “Okay, I can understand falling for someone whose life sounded similar to yours, but what I can’t understand is why you decided to pick on Marinette?”

Adrien took a deep breath, “Well Nadja, just like Marinette said in her interview with Mrs. Lane, it was a really complicated situation. What we believe now is that Marinette never bullied Lila, we know it was the other way around,” Rose cut in, going off script, “Mari didn’t have a mean bone in her body!” She sobbed into her hands, “I don’t know why we believed that, that witch over her.” “She told us what we wanted to hear,” Max sighed, “Lila promised us that she could introduce us to her important friends who could advance our careers and whether we consciously realized it or not we were willing to do almost anything to stay in her good graces.” Adrien shot them a look and continued, “My theory is that Lila gave Marinette an ultimatum, play along or she’d make Mari’s life hell. Not long after Lila began modeling for my father’s company, she began claiming Marinette was doing various things like stealing answer sheets, stealing from her, and pushing her down the stairs. Marinette was expelled without an investigation, and because we were kids, we trusted that the adults in charge were following procedures. She was reinstated, and Lila began claiming Marinette was tormenting her again. Like Max said, we were worried that if Lila didn’t believe we supported her then she would refuse to help us, but it mostly comes down to the fact that Lila lied well, and we were scared. She would claim Marinette beat her up after school and would come into school the next day with bruises. We suspect now that she was using makeup. Lila never outright said to hurt Marinette, but she was great at implying it. She said that she wished Marinette knew what the hurt she caused felt like and that If it happened to Marinette, she might quit being a bully. I think it was a case of falling into groupthink and fear. Everyone else around us seemed to believe Lila so fully, and anyone who didn’t was outcasted and treated terribly. We were afraid to challenge her, afraid to challenge the group, and we genuinely didn’t realize just how far we had escalated. I swear we never intended to hurt Marinette so badly, we sort of mindlessly followed along with what Lila suggested. When she and a couple of our other classmates transferred, Lila’s control snapped, and it was like waking up from a bad dream. She began to see her control slipping and began accusing others of doing the same things she accused Marinette of doing. It got to the point where she accused all of us of bullying her, and we realized she was full of shit. We realized what kind of person she was, and what we had become and decided to go our separate ways.” Nadja frowned. They had literally been spotted hanging out with Lila the week before Marinette was at Fashion Week and this whole thing began. If they had known Lila was a lying sociopath back in school, why the hell were they still hanging out with her? What about Marinette’s evidence? She had phone calls from Adrien demanding she returns to fix Lila’s mess, and evidence that he had known the whole time that Lila was lying. She may not be at Lois Lane’s level of reporting, but she could smell bullshit when it was in front of her, and judging by the look on her producer’s face, he’d caught on as well. Their PR agent nodded along, which told her that this was the narrative they created. They weren’t telling the truth, at least not the full truth, they were trying to slip out of trouble like they always did. Nadja remembered Marinette’s drastic change when she came to babysit Manon and listening to what these young adults were trying to spin confirmed that her earlier questions about Marinette’s interview were unfounded. Then she saw it: The signal from her producer, she could go off the script!

“Now Adrien,” She started in a tone she usually saved for when Manon was being challenging, “I’m not sure we were watching the same interview. I clearly remember some evidence Marinette presented showing that you all had fun tormenting her. I also remember that she had recordings of you demanding she comes back and fixes Lila’s mess. You called her a punching bag and said that the class needed its punching bag back otherwise they would begin ‘taking things out on each other.’ That’s not exactly what you’re telling me here. You all were spotting spending time with Lila before fashion week, and you seemed to be thick as thieves with her. So let me ask you this: Why are you lying to me?”

Adrien looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and so did his PR agent. They hadn’t expected Nadja to question their story, “I… We might have remembered some events differently. Most importantly, we want Marinette to know how sorry we are for everything that happened and what we did. We know that what Mrs. Bustier taught us is wrong, we are not owed her forgiveness, but we hope that she can find it in her heart to forgive us. Hopefully, we can work on rebuilding our friendship, but we understand that wounds like the ones we caused take time to heal. Mari, when you’re ready, please reach out to us. We’d love to apologize in person as well.” Nadja rolled her eyes. Looking at this bunch, it was obvious the sincerity wasn’t there. They acted like children getting caught sneaking an extra cookie when Nadja brought up Marinette’s evidence proving they weren’t as remorseful as they claimed to be. The fact that they only recently cut off Lila proved that they were lying and had planned to use her as a scapegoat. Nadja decided to make one last attack, “When she’s ready? She made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with you all. Why do you all think she owes you her attention and friendship after everything you did? You hurt her, yet here you all are acting like you’re the injured party!” “We are the injured party! Marinette’s little pity party ‘poor me’ attention whore act cost us our careers! She’s being overdramatic like she always is and now WE’RE suffering because she couldn’t take a little teasing,” Alya yelled with her classmates voicing their agreement. Everyone in the studio froze. The PR representative was shaking his head, while everyone else was in shock. The former Dupont students realized their mistake and quickly tried to backtrack only to be cut off by Nadja, “We are done. I will not let you use my coworkers or me to harass that girl anymore! You clearly cannot see the error of your ways and blame her for the misfortune you brought on yourselves. I may not be at Lois Lane’s level of journalism, but I am not a fool, and I will not be a puppet for you to spread your pitiful self-gratifying apology. Let’s be honest, you all clearly don’t care about the hurt you caused Marinette, you just care about the damage the truth did to your reputations. Get out of my studio! Get out of this building!” And with that, the interview was cut.

Their interview was trending, but it wasn’t for the reasons they had hoped. If they had done anything, it was throwing gas onto the fire. People almost couldn’t believe how heartless and totally unaware they were, that was clear from the various social media posts. “WOW. You guys are making grey sweatshirt Influencer apology videos look more sincere.” “Ew. Just. Ew. I used to like Adrien Agreste but now? No way. Watch out Damian Wayne he’s coming to steal his punching bag back.” “Teasing? Teasing doesn’t leave MULTIPLE SCARS.” “That was so self-serving. I gotta admit I feel terrible for whoever they hired for PR. Talk about letting the true colors out.” “I gotta give Nadja Chamack some credit! I was not expecting that level of journalism and take-no-bullshit out of her!” Twitter was having a field day with the live interview, and the statement released by Marinette’s former tormenters apologizing for their behavior during the interview and to Marinette didn’t fair much better. It was safe to say they had lost whatever little goodwill they had with the public. Lila had taken a slightly different approach. She did her own interview claiming that she never wanted Marinette to be hurt physically and that it was their former classmates that took things way too far. She cried that she was so, so sorry and that all she had wanted was to impress her classmates who had much more exciting lives than she did. Lila revealed that she had a crush on Adrien as well and was jealous of Marinette whom she saw as a threat. She explained that she spread rumors about Marinette hoping that Adrien would believe them and think Marinette was a bully, but their classmates took it too far. Lila claimed that she wanted to reveal that she’d made it all up, but she was scared that their classmates would turn on her and hurt her. She expressed shock that her friends would throw her under the bus for their wrongdoings and had her own apology for Marinette. Her interview was met with a bit more sympathy until someone (We all know it was Tim) released the recordings of Lila threatening Marinette and expressing to her victim the delight she took in watching Marinette being hurt by their classmates. Suddenly Lila’s image of the ‘Girl who made a few bad choices trying to impress her classmates and crush’ was shattered, and on top of all the lawsuits her public lies on the Ladyblog brought her, she was shunned as well. Gabriel, trying to cut his losses, fired Lila, and released a statement claiming that she was the one giving him false information on Marinette. However, Lila was determined to go down fighting and revealed her ace: Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth, and his assistant was Mayura. She had somehow collected evidence linking him to it while she worked for him as a model and as an Akuma provider.

The outrage was gigantic, with Ladybug having to return to explain that she had tried to go to the police, but they had not believed her or the proof she had. Ladybug had hung onto that proof, such as the gigantic map she had of where all the Akumatizations happened, and where the purified butterflies returned to. The French Federal Government decided to investigate how the Parisian Government had handled Hawkmoth, and they also decided to investigate Ladybug. They had found a young woman (whose identity they kept anonymous) who had been forced into the role by chance but had thankfully turned out to be incredibly competent. They found that she had worked within the law and had tried on multiple occasions to work with the police, but they had rejected her. Once she had discovered who Hawkmoth was she went to them, only to get laughed out of the police station. Why she wasn’t believed was something that was still unknown to the Investigators, but they had found Ladybug to be a superb hero. She was cleared, and given full permission to operate in France, should she ever choose to return. Chat Noir did not fare as well and was thoroughly raked over the coals by the report that was released. He had started out alright, but as time went on he quickly began to act out. He prioritized flirting and trying to win Ladybug’s affection and would refuse to help or even show up when she didn’t humor him. The report also revealed that he had been harassing civilians, such as one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The designer had to explain that she had met Chat during an Akuma attack, and they’d become friends before his behavior worsened. Then after that, he’d harassed her on behalf of his other friend, Adrien Agreste. Twitter was on fire after this revelation, and #GiveMariABreak was trending.

No one knew who leaked Chat Noir’s identity, but theories were abundant. Some believed one of the investigators had loved ones who had suffered from Akuma attacks and Chat Noir’s behavior, and another group thought that the Waynes were behind it. They said that the Waynes were so enraged by the treatment their youngest’s fiancée had received at the hands of people who would have otherwise escaped punishment, that they decided to completely destroy her former tormentors. Considering Damian brought out the Wayne legal team, and Tim leaked the Lila Files, it was definitely possible that both theories could be true. What everyone did know, is that this outrage would go down in history. Adrien was still catching a lot of heat from the horrendous interview, which certainly did not help his case. It was quickly cleared up that he had no idea his father was Hawkmoth, and while officially on the report it said there was no evidence that he’d helped his father, the public speculation could not be stopped. In the chaos, photos were released of Ladybug landing on Marinette’s balcony and entering her room. These were brushed off as nothing surprising, surely the two women that were constantly harassed by the same man (even if they didn’t realize it) would find each other and start a support group. Adrien made a public plea for Ladybug to back him up and explain that he was a good hero, but it would seem that the Heroine of Paris had disappeared into hiding. It was clear that she had turned her back on him, just like he had turned on her all those years ago. He narrowly escaped getting charged along with Gabriel and Nathalie, but that didn’t stop the barrage of civil lawsuits he got hit with. The year ended with many trials, and the Wayne legal team proved why they were not to be messed with. Shortly after, a documentary was announced, to permanently document the fall of so many powerful people.

The documentary was a hit and contained all of the interviews that had taken place in the saga. The documentary was released at a party hosted by Bruce Wayne to celebrate his new Daughter-in-Law’s success, and it was met with rave reviews. But where was Marinette during the outcome of her interview? The designer had decided to step back from the spotlight until the mess had been resolved and hadn’t been seen in public since the initial interview. She was currently standing in the Wayne Manor with her husband, preparing to walk into the ballroom for her first public appearance as a Wayne. She was nervous. What if people began claiming that she’d only done this to take down a business rival? What if people accused her of making all of it up? She was brought back to reality by her husband, who pulled her into his arms. Damian gently kissed her forehead and whispered, “What’s bothering you, My Love?” Marinette had told him what had happened to her a year after the two became friends, and her bullies were lucky Bruce stopped him from going on a rampage. When he was watching his Darling’s interview with Lois at the Manor with the rest of his family, he could feel that fury reignite. It was also the first time his family learned about the abuse Marinette had endured (and suddenly his protectiveness made sense), so when he asked his father for the contacts for the Wayne legal team, Bruce had happily given them to him. Marinette took a deep breath, “I guess I’m just nervous, this is my first time being in public since everything came out and…” “And you’re worried that you’ll be walking into a den of lions.” Mari nodded, still amazed that he always seemed to know exactly what was wrong.Damian took a small step back and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, “My Jewel, you’ll be fine, I promise. The world believed you when you told them, you had strong evidence to support you, it’s illogical for them to turn on you now. Besides,” He gently poked her cheek, “Lila exposed Gabriel Agreste as Hawkmoth in a last-ditch effort to save herself. Think about it this way,” he gently twirled her around, admiring as the crystals she had hand sown into the stunning train on her dress sparkled. It was a tradition for every new member of the Wayne Family to debut in an all-black outfit, and Marinette had designed the most stunning dress in the Family’s history. “We attend the party, which is your debut as my gorgeous wife and I want to brag, and afterward we can go home, order some takeout, and binge-watch whatever you want on the couch with the Kwamii and the cats.” Damian would gladly and proudly admit that his wife brought out a side in him that he didn’t know he had, and Marinette was the only person he was regularly affectionate with. She was his star, and he wanted everyone to know how amazing she was. Marinette laughed, “Well I suppose we could do that; you drive quite the hard bargain Mr. Wayne.” The couple laughed, and all of Marinette’s worries evaporated as they entered the ballroom.

The young couple was met with hushed awe as they walked in, the wind from the open balcony doors catching parts of Marinette’s train. She looked ethereal in her gown, a stunning black dress with a long train that sparkled like stars in the void. The dress was form-fitting, with a galaxy of crystals wrapping around her body, coming to frame the neckline of her dress. It was an off-the-shoulder gown with a low V-neck. Marinette’s hair was done in an elegant bun, and the only jewelry she wore was her Miraculous, disguised as a pair of diamond earrings. The only other color she wore was blood-red lipstick. She looked like a goddess, elegant and regal, and held herself as if she was one. Despite the scars that littered her body, she stood proud, they were a part of her and would always be. The crowd began to murmur as the two youngest Waynes joined the rest of their family, “Is that Marinette? She looks spectacular!” “I heard she based parts of her dress off Princess Diana's Revenge Dress.” “I definitely believe that! She certainly looks like royalty!” “I’m surprised she’s showing her scars.” “Why wouldn’t she? The world should know what happened to her, and there’s no shame in being a survivor.” Kagami was right, no one doubts a victor’s scars. Cameras flashed, capturing her image from every angle as she talked with her parents and in-laws, and soon she was quickly whisked away by Damian to dance and mingle. She had to fight back a laugh, he loved letting everyone know that he had married this fantastic woman, despite the fact that the two bickered like cats and dogs when they were younger. He also knew that her old classmates were watching from their homes and wanted them to see the phoenix that had risen from the ashes. Damian wanted to drive the point home that while they had attempted to break Marinette, she was stronger. As the two danced and talked, the media had already begun crafting tomorrow’s newspapers. By the time the two had said their goodbyes and left the party for the night, the first article was out. ‘The Revenge Dress has a Successor: Marinette Wayne’s Revenge Look.’

#adrien salt #lila salt #marinette deserves better #maribat #class salt #gabriel salt #marinette dupain cheng #ml x dc #daminette #possibly triggering #read with caution

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kindtim3 · 4 months

Text

— actress!abby x popstar!reader hc’s

౨ৎ warnings - implied smut on first hc , gn!reader , if there’s anything else plsss lmk !

౨ৎ a/n - omg hi sorry ive not posted in sooo long ! i’ve been busy with holidays, work, & preparing to go back to uni in a bit , but i hope u enjoy these hc’s <3

- first to see you in red carpet event outfits.

“Gotta tell the driver to close the partition, baby,” Abby flicked her wrist to check the time on her watch, “promise I’ll put it back on correctly.”

- brings you on set; every single one of Abby’s coworkers has NOTHING but nice things to say about you.

- Abby’s a big partner gal (my vers. of wife guys lol)! she brings you up in every conversation, media tours about her own movies, acceptance speeches, if this woman is talking ITS GONNA BE ABOUT YOU.

Abby giggled into the mic and took a deep breath, “and to my wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, and talented partner,” Abby grinned and pointed towards you in the crowd, “you kept me company, you’ve loved me up and down, you share your heart with me, I love you and… thank you.” Abby held up her shining, golden statue, “in the wise words of Beyoncé, ‘I would never let you go before I go’!”

- the amount of lovesick poems you’ve written for this woman could make a bridge.

- oh, y’all hard launched on a random thursday!

- there’s a famous paparazzi picture of the two of you stumbling out of a club with bright red cheeks, swollen lips, messy hair, and a sparkling grin on both of your faces.

- Abby lovesssss to interact with your fans at concerts!! she’s dancing, she’s screaming lyrics, she’s trading bracelets, she’s putting glitter makeup all over her body, and she 100% is recording every single song you perform even if she’s seen you perform it a dozen times.

- double dates with other celeb couples all the time.

- incredible street wear.

- met gala looks are always stunning and there’s not a single photo where Abby isn’t absolutely adoring you.

- you both talk so highly of each other in the press :,)

Abby patiently listened to the interviewers questions, waiting for the moment she could bring you up. Her face lit up when the interviewer asked what kept her going, “oh, absolutely my partner! No one has ever been so proud of me like they have. Sometimes I need a break from my work of lying in front of a camera and here’s my lovely partner planning their next stadium tour four years ahead. It’s incredibly special to have someone so dedicated and so inspiring around.”

#bey writes <3 #actress!abby anderson #abby anderson hcs #popstar!reader #abby x gn!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou

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majorblinks · 2 years

Text

we could call it even (twice nayeon)

(smut, idol Nayeon, car sex [oral], semi-public sex, choking, fluff, angst [kind of], 12k words)

For the record, it’s been seven years since you last saw Im Nayeon in the flesh.

You don’t really like to think about it: about being sixteen and getting the news that your best friend in the whole world - the person who’d been by your side as long as you could remember, the person who’d been there for every single significant event in your life, who you’d been with through tears and failed tests and shitty high school relationships and nights spent at the beach in your hometown, running right into the waves the moment school let out - was heading off to chase her dream, to become wildly, unimaginably famous, which meant that you probably wouldn’t see her again for a very, very long time.

“It might not even go anywhere,” Nayeon told you, wrapped up in a towel, the two of you huddled together on the beach, stars glimmering overhead. “I might - I mean, it’s totally possible that I’m going to fail miserably.”

“You won’t,” you said, wistful, because you were acutely aware that Im Nayeon - gorgeous and charismatic and talented beyond belief, even then - was meant for so much more than anything she could get in your town. “There’s no chance you’re going to fail.”

Nayeon glanced over at you, bottom lip caught between her teeth, eyes glassy, and you already both knew that things would never be the same.

So - that’s where it ends, really, or at least where it should. She left, and got famous, and you stayed, and went to college. She didn’t keep in touch, because she couldn’t, and you didn’t expect her to. You stayed and you loved her and you understood.

It’s not like you haven’t been keeping up with her, though.

See, she’s everywhere: magazines, social media, on the radio, playing over the speakers in every store - there’s that voice, that perfect face, that body in form-fitting gowns and slinky designer dresses, caught by paparazzi in jeans and crop tops - now she’s all grown up, and a superstar, and so breathtakingly beautiful you do a double take every time you see her. Snapshots of her on red carpets, music videos; Nayeon’s present all the time, even when she’s not with you. You’ll be okay with it, you think. Not everything’s meant to last forever. Sometimes, it’s just a moment, but it’s enough.

Your childhood best friend, taking the world by storm; you, behind the scenes, always cheering her on. Like you said, that’s where it all should end. Call it there - give it a clean break. It’s what you both deserve.

It’s all over, except you’re in grad school, and it’s winter break, and by some miracle, you’re both in your hometown at the same time.

You don’t know it right away. You’re too caught up in the stunning nostalgia of your childhood bedroom, which is so deeply saturated with Nayeon’s presence that it’s almost like she’s still there - almost like she never left. It’s the pictures, it’s the candle on your nightstand that she bought for you, graphic t-shirts in your dresser that she used to steal; being here is like cracking open a time capsule, playing a supercut of the two of you, a short film cutting off right before the end. It’s more than a little bit suffocating, this kind of history spread out right in front of you, but you’ll deal. You always have.

You’ve been here for a day, and you’re still settling in. It’s a sleepy afternoon, chilly in mid-winter, but the sun’s out, and the sky’s clear and cloudless. You step outside with your keys in your hand, about to go for a drive - there are ways to seek out nostalgia without drowning in it; you’re thinking old streets, movie theaters, coffee shops-

You stop short, confused.

You don’t actually make the connections, at first. Look, you were never close with Nayeon’s family: for all you know, they could’ve moved away years ago; you wouldn’t be surprised. And there’s no reason for her to be here - so it’s a fleeting thought, flickering out like a light.

Plus, the girl you see right now, loitering by the car parked in the driveway of the house across the street, has long, silky blonde hair, catching in the sun like a halo. So - there’s no chance, you’re thinking, no way: it’s some new neighbor, or, like, a criminal - well, she’s tiny, she’s unassuming, so probably not that, but still-

The girl keeps leaning in, mumbling to herself, checking the back left tire.

“Oh, shit,” she says, suddenly, and then lands a very ill-placed kick to the tire with her shoe.

It’s a bad choice. It must hurt, because she gasps, tips to balance herself on the car - you notice her nails, which are these ridiculous acrylics, talon-sharp and with swirly white patterns - and you can’t see her expression, but her head ducks, swivels fast, glancing from her shoe to the tire, and then-

“Shit,” she says, again, and she bursts out laughing - and that's when you realize it.

Even from all the way across the street where you can’t see her face, even though this girl is blonde and there’s zero fucking chance she should be here right now, kicking her parents’ car with one of her beat-up leather boots - it’s all in that laugh, ringing brilliantly in the air like the music she makes. It's been seven years, and it’s still her.

“Nayeon,” you call. It’s not a question. You've never been more sure of yourself.

She turns, and - God - it’s like everything kicks into sudden slow motion, blurs, sharpens; you see her like you're seeing her for the first time, and in an instant, it's all in perfect clarity.

There’s that face: the one across billboards, album covers, the one in every photograph you have from high school, pressed close to yours - and abruptly it’s like you can’t even breathe, looking at her. Oh, none of the pictures do her justice, but you already knew that: she’s unbelievable, and right in front of you, and so, so real.

It’s something straight out of a movie, out of some fantasy, a far-off dream. Nayeon stands, straightens, stares, stares-

Then, casual to the point of comedy, she says, “Hey.”

And it’s all so easy: like it hasn’t been years since you two have spoken, like you might be sixteen again and preparing to corral her to your side so you two can go to the beach - so natural, like nothing has changed at all. Nayeon props a hand on her hip, gestures to the car, asks, “Does this tire look flat to you?”

You'll play along. Hey, you always did. “Um,” you say, from the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot. “I’m not an expert or anything, but - yeah, it does look kind of fucked up, huh?”

“Kind of,” agrees Nayeon.

“Yeah.”

Nayeon doesn’t even look at the tire; doesn’t take her eyes off of you for even a second. She’s so insanely, impossibly beautiful - and then her full lips crack to a smile, flashing her teeth at you, radiant enough to rival the sun.

“Hey,” she says, again, except now her voice is thick with emotion.

“Hey,” you echo, and wait.

It takes one beat, then two, and then Nayeon’s running at you, her laugh carrying on the wind. Her leather boots clap on the asphalt, her blonde hair streaming behind her, giving up every act, every attempt at playing it cool. It's just like her, around you again: you'll click right back into place like it's the only thing you were ever meant to do, and-

“Oh my god,” Nayeon exhales, and then she’s launching herself right into your arms.

For those few moments - those moments when you catch her around the waist, and her hands loop around your neck, and you hug her body close to you, half-drunk on the smell of her hair - she’s not Im Nayeon, global phenomenon; she’s your Nayeon, your best friend, your girl, yours. Yours, and she’s laughing that wonderful, infectious laugh, giddy like she knows it.

It’s been seven years - and then Nayeon pulls back, palms slipping to cup your cheeks, and it’s like it’s been no time at all.

“Oh my god,” she whispers again, reverent. “You…”

Her thumbs find the sides of your face, the dimples bracketing your mouth that she used to obsess over, and her words slip away into nothing. “Me?” you ask, teasing her. “You. That hair, Nayeon-”

“It fits me, right?” Nayeon’s tongue pokes out between her teeth, eyes sparkling. There’s something about her name on your lips: it makes her shiver, and you press your fingers into her hips, needing her closer - her chin’s tilted up at you, expression open, like she needs the exact same thing. “It’s for my new comeback. No one’s seen it yet.”

“Saving it for me?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You laugh out loud - the vulgarity. You can’t imagine she’s been able to be so profane in her day-to-day life, not in her line of work: she’s had to be pristine, this whole time, holding back with a camera-ready smile and a script. It’s something else, seeing her instead of her image. There’s something you’ll test later - what rules she’s ready to break, after all this time. You’ll get back to it.

Nayeon’s beaming, sunlight threading through her hair. She’s still got your face in her hands, and you’ve got your hands on her waist, and there are no boundaries like you’ve never spent any time apart. “You look so…”

She trails off, flushing prettily.

“I look so what?” you prompt, entertained.

“No,” says Nayeon, accusatorily. She pats your cheek with one hand, and there’s that charming glint of her front teeth in her grin - that’s a smile people’d pay just to see, and they have. “I’m not saying it.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, and pat her hip in retaliation. It gets another laugh from her, bright and pleased. “I know what you meant.” You grin, pull her closer, add, “Right back at you.”

You could kiss her and you don’t. Instead, you draw her into your arms, hug her body tight to yours, feel all the new, firm muscle where youthful softness used to be; everything seems so different, on the surface, and you’re both older and busier and there’s her blonde hair, her nails, how every part of her seems planned and curated, a trademark of the celebrity life - she’s in a cream-colored sweater and jeans and no makeup, and still looks permanently silver-screen perfect. It’s been years, and she’s grown into herself elegantly, beautifully. It’s been years, and she’s in your arms again, and she’s become everything she wanted to be and more.

Nayeon buries her face in your neck, and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying to keep it together - and you realize that maybe some things never change.

See - against all fucking odds, really - you and Nayeon are never anything more than just friends.

There’s all this pretense, at first. You’ve spent basically all your lives glued to each other’s sides, right on the edge of codependence, but it’s high school, and it’s the status quo, so you both try dating other people. It’s not that it’s totally disastrous, or anything - it’s just that none of the relationships last, and none of them are as important as the two of you together.

“They’re so boring,” Nayeon complained to you one day, both of you in your living room, watching some movie, her feet kicked up in your lap. “Well - okay, maybe that’s not totally accurate. It’s just - every date I go on, I just think of how much more fun it would be if you were there.”

“Yeah,” you said, pinching her knee, earning a squeal from her. “You, me, and your boy toy of the week. It’d be a laugh riot.”

“Fuck off,” said Nayeon, nose wrinkling, staving off a smile. “No, I mean - if you were there instead of him.”

So - sure, it’s really obvious, and everyone who knows you two sees it too. It’s you, and it’s her, and no one else is ever really going to be able to compete.

The reason why you never say it out loud is because of the only thing bigger than how you feel about her: Nayeon’s ambitions, her goals, her passion and drive. She doesn’t belong in this town, with you. She’s got stars in those gorgeous eyes, dreams of glitz and glamour and fame - and if there’s one thing you know about Im Nayeon, it’s that she knows exactly what she wants and just how to get it. You sort of always know that one day she’s going to end up leaving you behind. You know that the thought of tying her down, shackling her to the streets of this town, to you - it makes you nauseous. Holding a girl like that back would be a mortal sin: the universe would never forgive you for it.

(You know it all the way up until the night before she leaves for good, when she kisses you at your front door, her suitcases already packed - it’s not the first time you’ve kissed her, and it certainly doesn’t feel like the last, but you know it’s all you’ve got for now.

Don’t forget about me, alright? Nayeon said, then, tears in her eyes, tears in yours.

Never, you said. I could never.

You didn’t tell her you loved her, because you wanted to have something to give her when she came back, no matter how long it took.)

You and Nayeon never actually date in high school, but somehow - as delightfully easy as breathing, as inevitable as the stars slipping right into alignment - you two end up falling in love anyway.

It’s seven years later, and your heart is hers, just the same way as it always has been.

“No one knows I’m here,” Nayeon tells you now, from the passenger seat of your car; turns out her tire actually is flat, so now you’re chauffeuring her around, basically - not like you’re complaining. “I’ve done a pretty decent job at keeping my childhood private - the general public cares a lot more about my present than my past.”

Plus, no one knows she’s blonde yet, you point out, not even her fans. “Because you were saving that for me,” you insist. “You wanted to get my opinion first.”

“Shut up,” says Nayeon, then softens, goes serious. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure if you’d even be here, you know.”

The truth is you haven’t been, for the most part. Your university’s around an hour and a half away, and you don’t visit as much as you should. But now you’re here, and she’s here, and you’ve been driving in circles for the past hour - going past your old school, the church, all the rich neighborhoods. It’d be too risky to actually go anywhere, so this is what you’ve got, and neither of you seem to mind.

“Hey,” you tell her, flick your blinker, hook a left. “I’m always going to be here.”

You’re not talking about the town. When you glance over at Nayeon, she’s got this tilt to her mouth, a telltale sign: she understands exactly what you mean.

You’re falling back into old rhythms, patterns. You go through a drive-through, and Nayeon studiously stares out the window the whole time, trying to cover her face with her hair - it’s an admirable attempt at staying incognito, considering anyone who takes a single look at those eyes and that dazzling smile is going to know exactly who she is.

“Smooth,” you say when it’s over, pulling into the parking lot. You’re splitting a giant coffee and it’s like you’re back in high school. “Were you just planning on holing up in your house the whole time you’re back? You can’t exactly go anywhere without being recognized.”

You both click your seatbelts off, and now Nayeon’s got her legs tucked to her chest, her cheek resting on the tops of her knees. “Honestly?” She waves her hand at you, glittering acrylics flashing - you tip the coffee towards her, let her sip from the straw. “I didn’t really plan any of this. I had time off for once, so I took it. It’s the holidays, so it was just…” She shrugs. “The most reasonable plan of action, I guess.”

“You could’ve gone anywhere,” you say; you’re fishing for something, and she knows it. “Like, way more fun places than this shitty town. Los Angeles. The Bahamas. Paris.”

“Sure.”

“So?” You set the coffee in one of the cup holders. “Why didn’t you?”

You and Nayeon were best friends for so long that you basically grew to share a brain, thoughts, opinions - there were those times you’d look at her and know exactly what she was thinking, those times where just a lift of her eyebrows or a curl to her lips could communicate whole sentences, sentiments - things with her have always been so natural, so instinctual. It should be awkward, after seven years, after her rise to fame and your lack thereof. There should be oceans between you, whole worlds. There should be stumbling, time to find footing, missteps and whatever thread always tied you two together at least frayed, if not snapped entirely.

There should be, but there isn’t. Nayeon’s always been able to read your mind just like you can read hers, and that’s not about to stop now.

“You don’t need me to answer that,” she says, gaze stuck on your eyes, your teeth, your throat. The two of you are just as inevitable as you always were, and she’ll prove it. “I think you already know.”

Like you said, you’ve kissed Nayeon before: too many times to count.

You don’t really have a logical explanation, for all of that. It’s just that when you were younger you two spent every waking moment together, and you two were deliberately, unusually touchy: you can’t even begin to fathom the amount of times your classmates ran into you and Nayeon in the halls, or at parties, and pointedly backed off like they thought they were interrupting something.

(Well, they kind of were - it’d be her with a grip on your forearm, her with her legs in your lap, you with an arm slung around her shoulders, her waist, caught up in some conversation that was only comprehensible to you two. It’d have killed you to be apart, back then, even though you always knew it was coming. You knew you’d be ripped apart, eventually. You took all the time you could get.)

The kissing - you can’t even blame that on alcohol, can’t fall back on cop-outs or excuses. It wasn’t like you two ever truly planned for it to go down like it did. Just - sometimes, you’d be looking at her, so filled with unbridled, uncontained affection, something you couldn’t even begin to put into words - you’d see her eyes, and the soft way she’d look at you, and it was like everything you’d wanted had already happened.

So that’s where it starts, really: you’d kiss her just to make a point, tilt her face towards yours, slot your lips together. If it were anyone else, they’d have freaked, called you insane; Nayeon just smiled afterwards, eyes shutting, content and understanding, the kind of knowing that comes with whatever cosmic connection that was obviously keeping you two tangled up together beyond repair - intertwined at the hands, at the heart.

You didn’t talk about it, because she was always leaving, even while she was right there with you. You could feel it, more than anything. You’ve always sort of been running out of time.

The point is - well, you’ve kissed her plenty of times, just to tell her how you felt without saying it out loud. Careful, and gentle, and with all the clear intention in the world.

(The point is, it’s all these years later, and you know exactly how it feels to watch Nayeon leave. The point is that you have nothing left to lose, so-)

You’ve driven around so long that it’s dark outside. You’ve talked for hours, recapping the past seven years as best you can, hanging on each other’s every word: going through friends and careers and drama and conflict in excruciating, meticulous detail, and you’re still not even close to being done. It’s pouring outside, raindrops coating the windshield, and Nayeon says, abruptly, “I’m leaving in a week.”

“Okay,” you say, and pull your car into the driveway.

It’s not a question, and it’s the opposite of tension. You park the car and step out, and she’s right there at the passenger side, rain soaking her blonde hair, dripping down her neck, staring at you. It’s pitch-black outside, but there are those eyes: luminescent, longing personified. She’s the most famous woman in the country - you’ve seen those eyes everywhere. It’s nothing compared to having her in front of you now.

“A week,” Nayeon says, again, shutting the car door. “That’s all we’ve got.”

It’s not a question, so you don’t answer it.

It all gets away from you, in a split second - time, and your mind, and all your inhibitions - you’re rounding the car, and then you’ve got your hands in her drenched hair. Your mouth’s inches from hers, and her lips are already parted - you think of deja vu, you think this has already happened, or it was already meant to - you think of crazy, impossible things, and then you kiss her.

Nayeon melts underneath you, like succumbing to a wound - no, it’s too soft to be that, too safe - like slipping between sheets, like finding rest and relief after months on your feet - it’s a thunderstorm after a drought, an oasis, a second chance - and she’s so small when you press her against the car, as her mouth opens, spine curving, hands finding the nape of your neck.

The energy between you is electric, a shock to a system: it’ll be an overload, if you don’t fuck her right now - it’s been too long, it’ll blow all the breakers. You need her and it’ll kill you if you don’t have her. “Nayeon,” you murmur, fingers tangling in her hair, hips trapping her to the car door-

Nayeon makes this otherworldly noise into your mouth, high and keening and needy, and for a beat you actually think you’re going to die.

“Your house,” gasps Nayeon, panting when she pulls back, the pressure from what feels like eons wanting you and being denied finally dropping to the pavement, washing away with the rain. “Is it - please tell me no one’s home.”

It’s the two of you, and every single star aligns, for once in seven years: call it a comet, an eclipse, something to capture and study and scrutinize. “No one’s home.”

There’s that moonlight, gleaming overhead, breaking through the clouds. It bathes Nayeon like it’s blessing her, like it sees the extraordinary life she’s led so far and deems her deserving of it - like it looks at you, and by some million-in-one chance, by some surreal string of fate, it deems you deserving of her.

(Maybe you are, then. Maybe you always were.)

“Okay,” says Nayeon, and her hand takes yours - for a moment, you swear she’d run away with you, leave it all behind. “Then let’s go.”

Somehow, in the dark, you still know her.

You stumble up to your bedroom and you never even make it to the light switch - the moon’s coming in through slats in your blinds, the rain’s a drum line, a soundtrack - and Nayeon’s peeling off your shirt, fumbling with her ridiculous nails at the button of your jeans.

“Don’t strain yourself,” you say, grinning, your hands finding the hem of her top. “Your company will crucify you if you fuck up that manicure.”

“Fuck you,” says Nayeon, and suddenly she’s laughing, a harmony to the growing storm outside. She pops the button, drags the zipper, slow like she knows she’s unraveling you in the process. “Fuck you. Fuck me.”

The rain’s got her soaked to the skin - you get her sweater off, and then her jeans, and she’s in this scarlet-red bra, matching panties - it’s an image straight out of all your wet dreams, and you can’t help but stare, mouth agape, fingers lingering at her hips. Nayeon’s too flawless to be real; she’s smirking at you like she knows it. She’s used to be ogled, stared at, lusted after: she’s used to people wanting to rip her apart, and she’ll act like it.

“Jesus christ,” you say, unable to tear your eyes off her body - there’s her collarbone, her tits, her smooth, toned midriff - her wet hair, her creamy thighs - it’s all there, just for you. No one else gets to see her like this, no eager fan or follower - just you.

“Right?” says Nayeon, breathless and amused, high on how you’re looking at her. “Red really is my color.”

Somehow the arrogance only heightens the mood, the overwhelming arousal steeping the room. Something about making a god learn manners, respect; something about taking a deity and putting her in her place. “That ego,” you consider, skating your nails up her back, stopping at the clasp of her bra.

“What about it?”

“No, nothing.” You unhook it, grin at the shaky breath it gets from her. “I just think you might need to get it fucked out of you.”

Nayeon’s used to being mythologized, idolized, painted so perfect that everyone arounds her considers her something more than human, more than magic: she’s got hundreds of thousands of people ready to kneel at her feet, give her the world on a silver platter. She’s been spoiled, you think, tracing her body with your fingertips. She’s been treated like carved marble, behind glass and roped off, invulnerable, untouchable.

(But here you are, anyway: the one person on the planet who truly knew her before all that - before fame took hold of a girl and made her a legend. Before fame took the love of your life and let everyone else fall in love with her, too. Well, you’re not about to blame them; you never could.)

Nayeon’s staring at you, a challenge in her eyes, a sharp, secret violence in her smile.

“I don’t know about all that,” she says, “but you can try.”

It’s a dare, it’s a taunt - after all this time, and you’re still the only one who can match her beat for beat, touch for touch: there’s her bra, slipping to the floor, there’s your thumb over her nipples, hardening them to points, your teeth on her chest and leaving marks. She’s on your bed, her damp hair tumbling over one shoulder, the intoxicating ring of her irises like a shot in the dark.

“You don’t even know,” pants Nayeon, voice thick with heat, as you stroke her pussy through her panties. “You don’t even fucking know how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Oh,” you say, and pull her underwear to the side roughly - there’s that cunt, just for you, glistening and sopping wet and so, so ready - and a smirk finds your mouth, just off the brink of cruel. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Nayeon’s so greedy, and you get it - she’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted for years and years, without question or hesitation - and she’s reaching for your hand, your fingers, needing you inside her in any way she can get you. She’s beyond wet; you already know she’s going to ruin your sheets, she’s gonna ruin something-

“Watch it,” you snap, grabbing her wrist so hard she yelps. “If you wanna get fucked, Nayeon, you need to behave.”

“Please,” Nayeon shoots back. The words tremble - she’s so turned on, she can’t hide it - but she’ll never back down from a fight. “I could get anybody to fuck me. I could walk out of here right now and have someone else’s dick in me in ten minutes.”

She’s rambling. You’re gonna bruise her wrist. Her tits heave as she tries to catch her breath, and when you brush against her pussy with your other hand, she lets out this gorgeous, weakened whimper - you’ve got her, you’ll make an example of a higher power, take an idol and make her human again.

“Sure.” Your fingers find her clit, teasing; Nayeon’s eyes snap to yours, ferocious, murderous. “But you don’t want just anybody.” Your dick throbs - there’s something primal, animalistic; if you wait any longer she’s gonna jump you, take what she wants and fuck you stupid. It’d be a threat if you didn’t want the exact same thing. “You want me.”

“Fucking asshole,” says Nayeon, hoarsely, but then you’ve got two fingers in her, her pussy clenching around you, and there’s a waning edge in the hostility: you know her too well. She’s not into being patient, ever. There’s never been a line between you two that she hasn’t been willing to toe. “You know - you know I never wanted anyone but you.”

That’s the blow, the bomb that’ll implode the two of you - or it would, but there’s never been a single secret between you and Nayeon, and that’s not about to change now.

“I know,” you manage, stunned, mesmerized by her, your palm falling from her wrist to her flat stomach, your fingers sliding out of her with an obscene, slick sound. “I know.”

“Please,” she begs. “Please fuck me.”

It’s filthy, it’s feelings, it’s years in the making. The head of your cock is at her needy, drooling cunt, and you can see it in her eyes, in the bruising marks you left scattered across her tits, her throat. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. No one’s ever going to know her how you know her - no one’s ever even going to come close.

Your bury your dick inside of her, and it’s like there’s an ache you’ve waited lifetimes to relieve - and then, finally, ultimately, you’ve got her perfect pussy just for you, and you relieve it.

“God,” you hiss; Nayeon’s already whining, squirming under your hand firmly at her middle, holding her down - you think of going for her neck and you will, you think of flipping her over and watching her ass bounce back on your cock, and it’ll happen - but working your dick inside her impossibly tight pussy is more than enough for the time being; you’ve got your hands full, figuratively, literally. “This fucking pussy, Nayeon-”

You say her name, and it wrecks her - her fingers find yours where they’re balanced on her midriff, curling around you - and her jaw is slack, expletives falling from between her pretty, pouty lips like she’s never been advised to keep up a clean image. She’s with you, and she’s nothing like she is on camera. “Fuck me,” she’s babbling, “fuck me, fuck - your cock is so - fucking big, fucking me so good-”

She’s nothing like she is on camera, wrapped around your cock and crying out, but she’s everything that Im Nayeon has always been, otherwise: beautiful, irresistible, the most incomparable thing this town’s ever seen, and ever would. There’s all that bite to her, but she’s giving it up. You’re fucking her and for once she’s not gonna fight you on that.

“Just like I thought,” you murmur, and your thumb skates over her clit, gets a squeal, gets several. “You were fucking made to take my cock, weren’t you?”

You’re back in your time capsule of a room, and your veins are on fire, skin up in flames - you knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck her without dragging emotions into it, dragging your heart along as you pound Nayeon’s cunt, jerk your hips and get her screaming - you know that when you say it, you’re really saying something else, too. We were always going to end up this way, weren’t we?

“Yes,” Nayeon moans, voice ripping at the seams - it’s all the pleasure, all the anticipation, consuming, devouring. “Yes, yes, yes-”

You’re captivated by every single sound out of her mouth, every minute expression of that face, every gut-wrenching squeeze of her pussy, tight around your cock - call it a vice, the way she clamps down around you, the way you indulge in her perfect body like it’s a drug you’re using. Nayeon’s features crumple, fold: you’ve seen her onstage with all that bravado, all that confidence, showing off for a crowd - you’ve seen her hips and her tits and her tiny waist in form-fitting, skimpy outfits, practically painted to every curve - but now, she’s all for you.

(Hey, maybe her ego’s contagious; maybe you’ve got the girl everybody wants, and you get why they all treat her like a god.)

You’ll mind all your breaking points. “Cum for me, baby,” you order, and Nayeon screams.

There’s no air in the room, anymore, none in your lungs - it’s a fire without oxygen, nowhere to stay or go or feed on - and as she’s still shaking from her orgasm, jaw slack, you’re pulling out of her just to shoot your load all over the flawless, flat plane of her stomach, covering her skin in your cum - there’s everyone’s god, now, underneath you, slutty and sloppy and so thoroughly fucked-

“Oh, god,” Nayeon chokes out, strangled, the moment your cum soaks her. “Oh my god-”

It’s all in the air, with the two of you: the sex, the intimacy, the history. You take her stunning face in her hands and you dip to kiss her, fully aware of how responsive she is, the very second your lips meets hers. There’s a moan, there’s the arch of her back, there’s her tongue licking desperately into your mouth - “Nayeon,” you murmur, and tip your forehead to hers. Her breath’s uneven, eyelids fluttered shut. “Nayeon.”

Her eyes are closed, but a smile finds her lips, lights up her whole face; it’s a smile you’ve seen forever, in photos, across billboards, in all your best memories.

“You don’t even understand what you do to me,” she says, serenely, faintly. “When you say my name like that.”

There’s all that desire, and then the quiet honesty, and you swear a moment like this could last a lifetime. “Hey,” you say, and kiss her face - her nose, her forehead, both cheeks. You’ll take her as long as she’ll have you. “I think we’ve established by now that I know all about what I do to you.”

Nayeon’s a little hypnotized by how much you came across her stomach, a little stuck on it - you get up to get her some tissues, and when you turn around, she’s got cum-covered nails in her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. The noises she’s making are fucked, and you stare.

“Fucking hell,” you say, dropping at her side on the bed.

“What?” asks Nayeon sweetly, licking her bottom lip. “You’re the one who came all over me. What did you want me to do?”

She’s trying to go for your usual banter, but it’s too soft, her smile too knowing and familiar, her body too open and comfortable. You can’t call this a one-night stand, can’t call it a fluke - she’s so safe in your bed that it looks like she’d stay there forever, if she could, you and her and these four walls.

Nayeon’s clothes are all over your floor, and you clean up all that silky skin. Her hair’s a mess, and the moon’s still coming through your window, glossing her body, her gorgeous eyes. You watch her face, and you can read her as well as you always have: every thought, every single intent.

(She’ll have to let this go, but she’s got a week to feel it first. It’s torture, the ticking clock, but it’s nothing the two of you haven’t had to feel already.)

“I can’t believe we haven’t done that before,” muses Nayeon, as you brush her hair off her forehead - she’ll have to take a shower, and you’ll have to join her, naturally. “Well, what’s the verdict?”

You eye her, sensing the jab like she’s already said it. “Sorry?”

“Fucking someone famous.” Nayeon tilts her head, smile sparkling like the stage lights she spends all her time under. “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

“Shut up.” You grab her at the hips, and she laughs, a mess of giggles, filling the space - she’s a celebrity, she’s larger than life - you’re the only one who can ground her like this. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” you say, touching your lips to the top of her head. “That’s the only reason I wanted to fuck you, Nayeon. Because you’re famous. That’s all this is, obviously. Thanks for the bragging rights.”

The sarcasm drenches each syllable, and Nayeon laughs louder - she can read your every thought, but this one’s a lie that’s too clear to call out: you loved her long before all the superstardom, all the money, all the recognition. She knows exactly how you feel about her, and she won’t pretend otherwise. You know just how she feels about you, and it’s the most certain you’ve ever been about anything.

“Oh,” she says coyly, and leans in to kiss you. “You’re so welcome.”

The next morning, you’re taking inventory, staring at the girl in your bed and wondering how you’re going to explain this to your parents. She’s dressed by now, in one of your t-shirts and a pair of your pajama pants, drawstring pulled tight around her small waist and so oversized they cover her feet - that’s already bad enough, but then there’s her neck, pale skin marred with hickeys - okay, it’s worse.

“How do you feel about sneaking out the window?” you ask.

Nayeon tries to kick you and almost slides off the bed. “You think your parents will care that we had sex?” Her hair’s freshly washed, tied up and out of her face. “They’ve wanted you to marry me since the first time I came over.”

You gape at her, but her nose crinkles up with her grin, and, well - it’s not like she’s wrong.

True to her word, your parents are thrilled that she’s here - they’ve never really grasped the scope of exactly what a big deal Nayeon is, now, so they treat her just like they did when she was younger, spending breakfasts and family dinners with you, fitting in so smoothly it was like she’d always been there. To your parents, you think they’ll kind of always see Nayeon as that bright-eyed, eternally charming girl that stuck by your side like you’d both collapse if you had to be apart. There’s that same smile, that effervescent laugh - you can’t really fault them for it.

“How long are you here?” your mom asks her, as she’s making breakfast, and Nayeon’s at the kitchen table, nonchalantly recounting stories of all her famous friends. “Just for the holidays?”

“A week,” says Nayeon, glancing at you, mouth twisting ruefully.

Your mom makes a sympathetic noise. “Oh, that’s not very long, huh.”

Compare it to the seven years you spent apart - and no, it’s not. It’s a blip, a snag in time. In the grand scheme of things, it’d probably be nothing.

“No,” agrees Nayeon; it’s never nothing, when it’s the two of you. Her hand finds yours under the table, and it’s everything that matters, wrapped up in an hourglass, sand slipping through your fingers. “But we’ll make it count.”

“We’ll make it count?” you berate her, later, in the car as you’re driving up to the mansions on the hill, testing codes for gated communities, pointing out gaudy architecture like you’re real estate snobs - it’s an old game, a remnant from high school shenanigans. Nayeon could buy this whole neighborhood, and it’s somehow become hilarious, all these years later. “Way to tell my mom that you and I are going to be fucking nonstop the whole time you’re here-”

“Like she didn’t already know,” says Nayeon, unapologetic, and points to her neck. She’s still in your clothes: no point in getting dressed when she can’t exactly leave the car without getting recognized, but you think she’d stay in your t-shirts all week, regardless.

It’s an old story, between the two of you. “You’re such a slut.”

“Yeah, and you’re directly benefiting from it, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

She says it like a proposition, and - hey, that’s an opportunity you’re never going to pass up. You’ll cash your checks, reap your benefits. You’ll pull off to the side of the road and throw the car in park, bury your hand in her hair as she leans over the console, tugs down your pants, gets her pouty lips wrapped around your dick in record time-

“What would your fans say?” you tell her, lowly, hypnotized by how she gags around you. “Seeing their angelic little idol with a cock shoved down her throat.”

Nayeon pulls back just to laugh, raspy and shot, spit dripping from the corners of her mouth. “They’d fucking love it and you know it.”

You’re up in the hills, in the midst of construction sites, all danger and risk and safety hazards waiting to happen; you can’t get enough of how Nayeon slobbers around your cock, how she’s everything you’ve ever wanted wrapped up in one - the slickness of her tongue, the tightness of her throat, her blonde ponytail in your fist as her head bobs, fast, faster-

When you cum in Nayeon’s mouth, she chokes on it, can’t even swallow it all down. “Jesus fucking christ,” she gets out, and she’s giggling, so pleased with herself, wiping the cum dribbling from her lips, down her chin. “You - wow.” She taps the head of your cock with the ridged back of one of her nails, works her jaw like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of your dick filling her mouth. “Your cock is so sensitive.”

“Gloating?” you ask, struggling to catch your breath. “That’s - like - that’s such a turn-off, Nayeon.”

It’d be slightly more convincing if she didn’t still have your cum staining her lips. “Liar.”

You hook your fingers in the collar of the shirt she’s wearing, tug her closer to nip at her neck - she gives this noise that’s somewhere between an affronted squeal and an aroused, needy exhale. She’s so easy, but so are you. She’s so transparent, but with this little time there’s nothing else to be.

You’ll make it work; you’ll catch up. “Fine,” you admit, pressing down on hickeys you’ll only darken, aggravate - she’s got you wrapped around her finger, but at least it’s mutual. “I guess your narcissism is kind of sexy, or whatever.”

“I hate your fucking guts,” says Nayeon, but she’s smiling.

There’s all this ease to it, something you’ve never found with anyone else; something you don’t think you’ll ever find again. You two have always been a little obsessed with each other.

“More than a little,” Nayeon revises, considering it; you’re three days in, walking back all your history. You can’t keep your hands off of each other, can’t keep your mouths closed, can’t keep from falling for the millionth time. “I just remember thinking that I could tell you about every embarrassing shitty thing I’d ever done, and you’d just listen, and not make fun of me for it. You knew what I could handle, you know?”

You get what she means: teenage boys like to tease, to insult - you weren’t exempt from that, but you looked at Nayeon and you always seemed to know what lines never to cross. How to be gentle with her, when you knew she needed it.

“You too,” you point out; Nayeon was perceptive when it counted, reading rooms, boundaries. She’d defend you to the death without hesitation. “Whenever I was with you, I knew I could trust you. Like I felt safe with you.”

You can think of situations where you’d feel emasculated, admitting it - but there’s Nayeon with her eyes, her genuine, generous smile, sitting at your desk chair, jeans and a gauzy white top. She gets you, and you never have to explain, never have to bother with defenses. You’re with her and vulnerability spills like it’s never had a reason not to.

“All this past tense,” pegs Nayeon, charmed more than concerned.

“Right,” you say, realizing. “Hey, it all still applies. I feel safe with you.”

There’s your past: teachers knowing you two were a matching set, classmates calling her your other half, texting any second you were apart, touching the moment you were together again. Shifting from jokes to sincerity so easily, ride-or-die in all senses of the phrase. Well, here’s your present: there’s the sex, now, and that’s another angle to it. You’d think it’d ruin a friendship this intense; you’d assume it’d only complicate things - you’d be wrong. There’s never been anything simpler, between you and Nayeon.

Nayeon softens, and rises from your chair just to fit herself into your arms. There’s that smile: no one gets me like you get me, she’s saying. You’ve got only days left; you’re picking your battles. You’ll remember everything that made you two exactly who you are now.

(Oh - it’s not like you ever really forgot. Nayeon’s got all the love and attention she could ever need, and she’s still here, with you.)

“Flattery,” Nayeon says, finally, arching an eyebrow at you, her face too adorable for the suggestive tilt to her voice, “will get you everywhere.”

Her palm slips to your chest, finds your heart. “I’m not even trying to flatter you,” you say, amused. “And if I was, I can do better than that.”

“Then do better,” replies Nayeon, rapid-fire. “What, you need some incentive?”

It’s just like the two of you: teasing, to truth, to seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off, taking sexual tension and bending it entirely to your will. There’s so many routes to intimacy - you loop your fingers in the waistband of her jeans, and this is the one you’re choosing tonight. She’s leaving, either way. You’ll fuck her like you’ve got all the time you could ever need.

You’re all about old habits, the two of you: your jaw drops when you get her out of her clothes, and then you laugh so hard you almost topple over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, enamored, fascinated, “you packed lingerie for a holiday break in your hometown? So - you aren’t even pretending that your plan wasn’t to get fucked, now.”

Nayeon sticks out her bottom lip, furrows her brows. She’s playing at irritated, but she’s too proud of herself, how your eyes are glued to her body even though the laughter - she plants her hands on her waist, and that’s only one place to look. Her lingerie’s all lacy and black and ribboned, panties so tiny you could snap them between your fingers, the cups of her bra with scalloped edges, fit to every curve like it was custom-made for her. It’s Im Nayeon, anyway: you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

“What can I say?” She shifts, tosses her pale curtain of hair over a slender shoulder. All those cracks about her ego - well, you won’t lie here: it’s so fucking hot. “I like to be prepared.”

You hook your fingers in the sides of her panties, tangling your grip in what virtually amounts to nothing but flimsy strings, biting into the creamy skin of her hips. “Was this expensive?”

“Very.” Nayeon’s dark eyes flash at you, already following where you’re going. Perks of fucking someone who basically shares half your brain. “Which means if you rip any of it in any way, you’re paying for the damage.”

“You’d foot the bill for me,” you say, one hand already going to cup her pussy.

Nayeon’s knees tremble, glare slipping down a few watts - she attempts to recover, to double back with twice the venom. It’s a valiant effort, or it would be, if she weren’t so visibly, undeniably desperate. “Uh, the fuck I would.”

“Hm.” She’s already soaked, and the whine you get from her when you slip a finger inside her cunt is music all her fans would bankrupt themselves just to hear. “I think I could probably find a way to convince you.”

You rip the panties, because you know what lines to never cross, and which ones Nayeon’s just begging you to run right through. “See?” you say, gratified, as you make her cum, and cum, and cum. “Told you: I can be very convincing."

You think she’d probably try to put up a fight, on this one, but she’s too busy clamping down tight around your cock, her gorgeous eyes rolling back into her head, lips dropping moan after moan. She shudders when you slide out of her, your cum dripping from her pussy, and curls up right to your side - okay, so maybe there’s no fighting anything. Nayeon presses her lips to your jaw, and smiles like her own satisfaction is a secret she’s hiding.

“I’ll let it slide,” she whispers, soft against your neck. “Only just this once. Only for you.”

Here’s the thing: you’re running out of time, but you always were. You could ask her to stay with you, give it all up, but you won’t; you’d never. She fills you in on every minute detail of her life, and she’s so happy - you’ve never seen her so happy.

“Fame suits me,” says Nayeon, unashamed. “It’s exhausting and fucked and anxiety-inducing - and it’s so much fun. It’s exhilarating. It’s like - it’s a non-stop adrenaline rush.” She laughs, free, talking the dream she’s living into reality - like you’d ever be able to wrap your head around it. “I think I’m kind of good at it, too.”

Her lips quirk at a corner, a deliberate understatement; she never needs to act humble with you.

Nayeon doesn’t even have an agenda, with this. She loves talking about her life, all the opportunity: the events, the fans, the attention, the way she can sing anything and people will listen. You talk about your own life, your major and your mentors and the friends you’ve made, and it’s then that you realize it-

“We really did make it,” you tell her, a little wondrously. “Without each other.”

Nayeon’s curled up to your side, on your couch. Something’s playing on the TV that she keeps laughing at, her whole face scrunching with delight. She looks at you sideways, says, “You didn’t think we would.”

It’s not a question, and you know because now she’s playing with the cuff of your shirt, bottom lip tucked into her mouth thoughtfully. Codependent - everyone said you were. You had a lot of skeptics, looking at the two of you, people disbelieving that either of you would even survive after Nayeon left.

“I wasn’t sure if we would, either,” she says, quietly.

Her life’s all in lights, in every magazine, spread across all the websites; yours is the opposite, but she listens to all your stories anyway - she gets the gist. You’re happy, too. You’ve worked hard to get where you are and it’s all you could’ve ever asked for. You and Nayeon have got success in completely different places, but you’ve got it anyway: you’ve found it all on your own.

“But we did,” says Nayeon, after a beat. There’s a joke on the television that she grins at, wrapped up in your arms. She’s leaving in a few days, a bomb waiting to go off. There’s an implication in this, something she’s not telling you but you understand anyway. “We did make it.”

We did make it, she’s saying. We can make it again, you and me. You with me, even if we’re worlds apart.

Your thumb skims her cheek, slips into her hair. Nayeon looks over at you, then says, “Give me your phone.”

You twist so she can slip it out of your back pocket - she knows your passcode, knows every facet of your life down to the letter. “Nayeon?” you ask, a little puzzled, as her nails click across your screen, the top of her head bumping your chin. “Are you…”

“Shh,” she says, mildly, then without warning, she’s on the camera, flipping the phone to take a picture of the two of you. You raise your eyebrows, intrigued; she’s falling back on her idol training, a peace sign and her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. “There,” she says, after, tapping once and then handing the phone back, a new, decisive set to her lips. “That’s my number. My real number.”

Your gaze drops to the phone screen - there it is, her number and her name and the picture she’d taken sitting as the contact photo - and when you glance back, Nayeon’s observing your face, checking for your reaction: if you’re in this just as much as she is. If you’re serious - if you’re really going to do this. If you get what’s going to come next and if you’re ready for it.

“I can call you on this?” you ask, slightly struck.

Nayeon scoffs, eyes sparkling, shoulder pressed to yours. “Uh - yeah, genius, that’s kind of the point.”

You’re smiling too wide. “So…”

“So if you leak my phone number, my company’s gonna sue you for everything you’re worth,” Nayeon says, haughtily, rapping her knuckles against your thigh. She’s severing the sentimentality of the moment, covering it up with humor. You get it - it’s a way out, an exit route. You know what she means by this even if she’s not saying it out loud.

“Okay,” you murmur, and kiss her temple. Nayeon’s nose scrunches up, pleased. There’s another one-liner on the show you’re watching, and this time it makes you both laugh, Nayeon hiding her giggles in the back of her hand. You’d think it’d be the point where the moment snaps shut, but instead it’s spreading, encompassing - like in a few days, she’ll be on the next flight back to the place she calls home, and you’ll still be able to feel her next to you, music in her laugh, forever wound in the curve of her smile.

She’s leaving, already. Her number’s in your phone, her heart’s in your hands. She’s leaving, but for once, maybe it doesn’t mean that anything has to end.

There are two days left, so you’re taking all the chances you can get. Sure, there’s catching up on shows, gossip; there’s her in your room, telling you things that probably break NDAs - from the outside looking in, you’d never guess that she’s at this ungodly level of fame and that you two haven’t talked in seven years. It’s all so normal, so relaxed, so cute.

Well - okay, most of it is cute. As long as you’re overlooking all the-

“You know, if you get any louder, we’re gonna get caught.”

Your week’s almost up, and you’ve got all your extended family filling your house, so you’ve found your escape the only way you can: in the backyard, your cock tapping against Nayeon’s pouty lips, the both of you drenched in shadow. And - true to form - she’s being a fucking menace about the blowjob that she’s barely giving you.

Everything’s pared down to the tactile, the physical; her hair’s back in two braids that you’ll tug, she’s testing your patience. You glare down at her - her fingers wrap around your cock just to release it. “And who’s fault would that be?”

Nayeon’s tongue darts out to lap at the head of your cock, flicking fast, eyes trained on you, watching as you struggle to keep it together, struggle not to wrap your hand in her hair and bury your dick inside her throat. She’s a tease like it’s her job - because if you think about it, it kind of is. There’s that intoxicating, cunning glint in her eye: she could do this all day.

“You’re fucking evil,” you manage, voice strained.

Like you said, Nayeon’s always had that ego - all the fame’s only stoked the fire. “Sorry?” she murmurs, blinking pointedly up at you, breath hot on your cock, torturous. “I can leave right now, if you wanted to take care of this all by yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re not gonna get to if you keep talking to me like that.”

Oh, that’s a threat with absolutely zero weight behind it, but you already know it. A split second after you cum in her mouth - she’s still wiping semen off her chin, cheeks puffing out trying to swallow it all - you’ve got her up against you, your hand down the front of her sweatpants, her pussy already dripping wet, getting her right to the edge of her orgasm like it’s nothing.

“Look at you,” you say, vicious like a risk just begging to be taken; you know exactly what she wants and how to give it to her. “Now who’s being loud?”

Nayeon tries to roll her eyes only to get caught on a climax, instead. Ah, well: it’s one way for you to call it even.

“I’d kiss you,” she tells you, after, “but some guy just came in my mouth five minutes ago.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, unnecessarily - you’ll make her, instead.

Your time’s almost up. She wakes up in your bed on the very last day, hickeys spanning her neck, her tits, her thighs. You run your fingers along them and wonder how the two of you are ever going to get away with this. “What’s your company going to say about this?”

Nayeon laughs, soft in the morning, sun-soaked and ethereal. “Contrary to popular belief,” she says - she’s built her living around playing coy, showing just enough to tantalize, baring what’ll draw allure and nothing more - “it’s not my company’s job to keep me out of trouble.”

“No?”

“Nope.” There’s that gorgeous face, those eyes trapping stars, captivating anyone who even comes close. “It’s to keep everyone from finding out about it.”

“Oh," you say, grinning. "Is that right?”

“Yep.” When Nayeon kisses you, it’s like a promise she’s making, an oath she’ll make and swear on. “Believe me,” she says, and smiles just to sign on the dotted line. “I can get into all the trouble that I want.”

You stay in for old times’ sake, enjoy no one’s company but each other’s - wrapped in your duvet, Nayeon half in your lap - except instead of talking about shitty classes and dramas and movies you’re planning on watching together, Nayeon’s tilting her phone towards you, letting you flick through unreleased photos for her new comeback. “Perks of fucking me,” she tells you crassly, conversationally, like that’s all it is - the fond curl of her mouth betrays her. “You get all the sneak peeks.”

“I’m getting more than a peek,” you say, struck dumb by a series of photos of Nayeon in this sinfully tight, abominably short pink bodysuit, monogrammed with red. It’s fucked up, so you’ll say it out loud. “Jesus, this outfit.”

Nayeon taps the screen excitedly, nails clicking; it’s beyond adorable how excited she gets about it all, about the music and the aesthetics and the clothes and the choreography - it’s one thing to see her on-screen, and it’s another entirely to see all the passion in person, all the effort. It’s times like this where you understand it all perfectly: if there’s anything in the world she was made for, it’s this. “Right? It was made from this Louis Vuitton towel just for me to wear it - insane, no?”

“Yeah,” you say, gawking at the photos of her with those mouthwatering thighs all on display, the buttons popped at the collar. She’d said red was her color - and it is, but it’s Nayeon, and every color looks like it was created for her. “It’s fucked up.”

“That it’s made out of a towel? I actually thought it was ingenious.”

You take a look at her expression - there’s that mischief in her eyes, a dead giveaway. “Obviously not that,” you say, then amend, humoring her, “well, that’s cool, too. You’re right. A towel - ingenious.”

“Totally.”

You clip her on the hip, making Nayeon gasp, go to pinch you on the shoulder. “No,” you correct, dodging, “the fucked up thing is how hot you are.”

Nayeon’s in one of your t-shirts and her own underwear and nothing else, her neck so marked up that anyone would think she’d gotten mauled, her blonde hair disheveled from sleep and tumbling over her shoulders. You’ve never once had a filter around each other - never had any room for embarrassment or shame, between the two of you.

“You and that flattery,” says Nayeon, her teeth gleaming in her grin.

“Uh-huh.” You press the phone back in her hand, lift your eyebrows in a provocation. “Where’s it getting me?”

Nayeon clicks it off, tilts her head like she’s studying you. You’ll take all your last risks before you wrap it up. “Where do you wanna go?”

You bring it back to the start. You end up on the beach, the two of you curled up on a towel, another one around both your shoulders, staring out at the waves: there's the moonlight overhead, everything hazy like you’re living in a dream.

It’s freezing, so you won’t touch the water. Nayeon’s head is on your shoulder, and neither of you want to snap the silence, but you will, anyway. It’s a night for confessions - there’s the moon, listening; the waves, all salt and seafoam, thinning out to reach the sand. Nayeon whispers, like she’s afraid someone will hear her, “I’m gonna miss this.”

Your hand is slipped under her cardigan, thumb notched under the strap of her tank top - sometimes it’s like you’d just die if you weren’t touching her. Her fist’s at the hem of your shirt, nails brushing your abdomen; you know she’s always felt the same way.

“I know,” you say, and there’s no one else to hear it, but for once Nayeon’s right here, and it’s enough, and she doesn’t need an audience to prove it. “Me too.”

There’s a presence to this kind of intimacy, how it blooms, how it settles. It’s freezing, so you’ll pull her body into yours - there’s the wind, there’s the risk of being caught, nipping at all her smooth skin - and there’s never been any sex like this, for either of you. It’s more than just feral, more than just fucking: Nayeon moans your name, lets her back arch like she has no control over her body, lets her cunt clench tight around your cock like the only thing she has control over is you.

“Please,” she whimpers, the swirling winter air stealing the words right out from her lungs. “Please - please fuck me, please cum in me, I need to feel your cum - filling me up, wanna feel it leaking out of me - please.”

The beach is empty, but you’d fuck her the same way in front of rooms full of people, of watchful, prying eyes. It's all meant to be secret, something between the two of you and no one else - you'll keep it as long as you have her, safe somewhere in your chest, spread between your fingers. When she falls back to flashing cameras and adoring fans, she’ll play like she’s up for grabs, but she isn’t: she’s yours, in every way. She’s yours, always.

“I’m yours,” Nayeon breathes into your neck, pliable and needy underneath you, every part of her body reaching for you as if you’re her first and only instinct. “Yours, yours.”

Please don’t forget, her eyes beg you. Please love me like this forever.

Your fingers wrap around the pale column of her throat - you’ll steal her words this time around, make her eyelids shutter and her eyebrows draw together, panting; she’s slicker than the ocean around you, thighs salty with sweat, cum - and when you squeeze, Nayeon falls apart.

She’ll be gone tomorrow. She’ll be gone, and there’s no telling when she’s coming back.

“Baby,” you exhale, dipping to kiss her, shuddering as your orgasm builds like it’s something to break. You can’t even fuck her without throwing your feelings right at her feet; can’t have her neck in your hand without having her heart, too. There’s no separating the sex and the sentiment. She’s your best friend, she’s the love of your life; you’ll never have one without the other. “Always.”

Forever, you tell her, in your lips on hers, in her nails scoring welts down your back. Years in the making, and it all culminates here. I’ll love you forever.

Nayeon’s whining and writhing and gasping for air by the time you cum inside her, and the moment you let up on her throat she’s rising to kiss you again. There’s so much, between the two of you - there’s the ocean, threatening to drown, consume; there’s fame, alive in every shimmering skyline - and then there’s her number sitting in your phone, a years-long yearning waiting to become something more. The stars are overhead, aligning. The moon’s winking at you, turning all the tides.

You kiss her one more time, and say, “Let’s go home.”

It’s the middle of the night, and you’re back in your bed together, thumbing her ribs like you’re counting lifelines, following the curve of her waist like you’re cartographing all the places you’ve already been. You’ll be back, someday. You’ll trace her bare wrist, follow the pathways of her veins right on home.

“You know I always loved you, right?” Nayeon asks, voice soft, close.

It’s not the time for insecurity, for mincing words, for purposeful ignorance. “Yeah.”

“You know I still do, then.” Nayeon lifts her head, irises glinting with unshed tears, her blonde hair a mess over her forehead. Fame turned a girl into a god, and she came back to you anyway. She’ll do it again, in time. “Don’t you?”

“Nayeon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, heart high in your throat. “I know. I always knew. I love you, too.”

There’s too much emotion in the room for words, and Nayeon finds your mouth in the dark like she’s been doing it her whole life. You’ve said so much already. You’ll crack open every window, let the air in; you’ll crack your chest apart, and let your love breathe.

The morning comes, and it’s time for a return to form - you’ve got lives to live, both of you. Responsibilities, obligations. There’s something in the sunrise, like it’s calling her back; the limelight won’t know how to survive without Im Nayeon sparkling under it. She can’t stay. She never could.

“It’s been fun, I guess,” says Nayeon flippantly, defaulting to stupid humor; if she doesn’t make you both laugh, then you’ll both crumble.

“Shut up,” you say, thickly, as she takes your hand, drags you out of bed. Her eyes are glassy, her fingers laced with yours like she’s scared to let go. “You’re such a dumbass.”

You lean in to kiss the crown of her head. There’s a twist to Nayeon’s mouth, tender - and you know that even when she does let your hand go, you’re still going to be hers and hers alone.

Well, you know what they say about distance, absence: it’ll all make the heart grow fonder. It’d been true, before. Maybe it can be true again.

“What an optimistic take,” says Nayeon, dryly, and her bottom lip’s already trembling, breathing already uneven as she tries to choke back tears. You’re out on the sidewalk again, and it’s all circling back, cyclical; she’s in your arms, and you’re both right where you started. “I agree completely. Seven years wasn’t enough. I need to get away from you, stat.”

It’s so her, making dumb jokes just so she doesn’t sob herself to pieces. Her hair’s spilling over her shoulders, golden; her stunning eyes are locked on yours, one hand pressed to the side of your neck, thumb finding your jaw. There’s a car waiting, her luggage packed up and put away; it’s gonna hurt, and you already know it. Nayeon’s shoulders are high like she’s preparing herself for some physical ache, the moment she steps away - she’s putting up her fronts, but they’re all slipping. She’s putting up a good fight and it’s already lost.

“I love you,” you say, emotion twining up your throat, and it’s enough to cleave her façade in two.

“Fuck,” Nayeon manages, and lifts her wrist over her mouth, expression collapsing in on itself. “I know. I love you. I’m - I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey-”

You go to everything you’ve ever learned, all the ways to ground Nayeon again before she floats away: there’s her face in your hands, and you’re looking right at her, firm so she can see how serious you are. “Hey,” you say, trying to soothe her even as your own heart threatens to constrict, shut off; she’s more important. She always has been. “You don’t need to be sorry, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. This is just - it’s just how it is. We both know that.”

It’s been seven years: you and Nayeon, and it’s the oldest story ever told. It’s no one’s fault - not hers, for everything she’s accomplished; not yours, for not begging her to stay.

(See, she’s got the whole world waiting with bated breath, clamoring to get a glimpse of her. She’s got her whole life at her fingertips, ready for her to reclaim her titles. You’d never, ever hold her back.)

“Yeah,” chokes out Nayeon, visibly distraught, eyes wide and watery, “but, like - it still fucking sucks.”

It’s not the place, or the time - you’re both fracturing at every place that’s already been broken, over and over - but she says this, and it’s such a crass, blunt, stupid way to sum it all up. You can’t help it. She says it, and before you know it, you’re both dying laughing.

Nayeon’s leaning into you, breaths caught on giggles, on sobs - laughing like it’s all okay, laughing like she’s not leaving - and her fingers are gripping your elbows, her face crinkling up, that brilliant grin even through her tears. “Nayeon,” you get out, and your adoration strikes a match through your bloodstream, forest-fire flames licking, demolishing. That’s your girl: so gorgeous no one else exists. “Nayeon.”

She’s laughing, and free, and wonderful, and in that one stunning moment, you feel it: you know you're both going to be okay.

“Like, this is stupid.” Nayeon’s still on her tirade, her palm slapping your forearm vigorously, pitch picking up. You can’t stop smiling, can’t stop the tears building; you’ve never loved anyone more, and never will. “We’re in love and all that shit. We’ve always been in love. Why - I just - I feel like we never have enough time.”

“Nayeon,” you say, for the third time, and finally her focus tunnels completely and only on you.

“What?”

“We’ll be alright,” you say, and press your lips to her forehead so she knows you mean it. “We have all the time in the world.”

She kisses you, one last time. It’s a prospect, or that oath she’ll swear to keep, coming back around. She’s in your arms, chin tipped up at you, and there are doors you’ll throw wide open, hurdles to get over. It’s not going to be easy, this kind of love, this kind of distance, but you’ll make it work. You’ll love each other, and it’ll work.

Nayeon’s smiling up at you, heavy-hearted, hopeful, eyes glittering like constellations. “Promise me something.”

Anything, you think of saying. Anything you want and I’ll do it. “Okay.”

“Call me.” Her hands are in yours - there’s the sun, overhead, and it can’t even hope to compete with her. “If I can’t answer, leave me voicemails. Text me. Tell me everything, even the dumb shit.” There’s that pain building in her voice, half-strangling her - you tap the inside of her wrist, mind her pulse points. You’ll listen like everyone does. “I’m going to miss so much of your life, but - make me feel like I won’t, okay? Make me feel like I’m there.”

“I promise,” you say, softly.

Nayeon sinks into your arms, breath catching, stumbling. You bury your face in her hair and wonder if you can memorialize a second in time like this one, weave it into your soul, lock it up in your ribcage; if there’s a way to take this feeling and make it physical - if there's a way to cup it between your palms and make it forever.

“One more,” whispers Nayeon, into your neck. “Make me one more promise.”

“Anything,” you tell her, out loud - there’s not a thing you’d ever hide from her.

“Promise you’ll remember that I’ll come back to you.”

It's an exhale, a pause to take a breath. It’s not even a question. Your pinky finds hers, coils them together. “I promise,” you say, and you feel her smile against your skin.

Whatever thread’s always been between you two knots, and tightens, encased in steel - you’ll feel it even miles away, whatever’s tying her to you, tugging at your heart, linking your fingers. You’ll feel her, even if it takes years; oh, it’s Nayeon, and there’s nothing you won’t do. You’ll have faith. You’ll keep your arms open, ready for her to come running home. She’ll love you from worlds away, and you know she always will.

(I promise, you say, and you know you’re gonna make it.)

Her car leaves, peeling off the asphalt, taking her back to a universe that adores her, worships her, would do anything to possess her and make her theirs. You could stand on the sidewalk forever, unmoving. You could let your own life disintegrate into nothing. You could cry, and scream, and curse out every deity you can think of, damn everything pulling you two apart down to hell.

Instead, you call her.

"Oh, shit," Nayeon says, on the other line, forgoing any greeting. "I just left three seconds ago. If you can't even handle that, this relationship is totally fucked."

You can still hear the remnants of tears in her voice, the ghost of watery laughter. A phone call can't hide a thing - not from you. "I love you."

A sigh, a huff, a put-upon irritation that's seconds from cracking wide open. "You're so clingy. How are you gonna survive on just phone sex until you see me again?"

"Nayeon," you say, grinning.

"I love you," she says, with all the unabashed endearment in the world, and just like all her songs, you swear it's a melody sweet enough to break records. "I'll see you soon."

You smile up at the open sky, and you know that you will.

stream IM NAYEON <3

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #idol x male reader #idol x reader #twice smut #nayeon smut #reader insert #male reader #im nayeon

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jhkfan123 · 4 months

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enchanted- tom blyth | ch. 2

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✦ii.

it was one event to the next. after the premiere, you had a few off days, but not before you had to slip into another gown and attend the academy gala at the academy museum in los angeles. todays gown was white, with a cascading, flowy skirt below the waistline. at the very bottom of the dress, tiny white bows. on top, a bow that also doubled as the off-the-shoulder sleeves. you'd never seen anything like it before. you wore your hair your favorite way, knowing there would be lots of paparazzi there. you had to walk around for what felt like an hour in your heels to get used to them. you were walking in the opyum heels from ysl, and the logo as the heel made it pretty difficult to walk.

you had managed to hitch a ride with rachel, and according to her text, she was about to be outside your house. you grabbed your clutch and filled it up with all the necessities. lip gloss, a sample size of the perfume you're wearing, and of course, your phone and wallet. you got the text that she was there, and you rushed out the door. you hopped in the backseat with her. her dress was stunning. a gold corset-esque top, with a velvet body. her hair was done in curls and had lots of volume. with smoky eyeliner and a nude lip, she looked gorgeous. she hugged you to the best of her ability while already seated.

"this gown is extraordinary." she touched the tulle part of your skirt.

"you look like you fell from the heavens girl" you replied. "do you know who else is going to be there tonight?"

"well, i heard that like, hailey bieber is going to be there, selena gomez, i think some of the kardashians, oh! i think meryl streep is going to be there. oh and tom is going to be there of course." this came as no shock to you, he had texted in the groupchat you guys had created during filming. it was called "behind the scenes (what the cameras really SHOULD be recording)" you had come up with it, of course. it was a little less active after the premiers had finished, but people still communicated occasionally. for some reason, hunter and josh would not be in attendance, just you, rachel, and tom.

"if i see meryl streep i might pass out." you commented.

"you and me both girl."

...

after multiple photos on the red carpet, you were heading into the building. making your way there, you found rachel again. you took her hand and walked in together. when you got inside, you maneuvered your way through the circular tables till your found your name on a card. you slung the long chain of your clutch over the chair and sat down, adjusting your dress. you had gotten constant compliments throughout the night. when you finally settled in, you noticed that rachel wasn't sitting next to you, but rather slightly across from you. there was an empty seat in the middle of you. when you checked the name card, you felt like a giddy little girl again. "tom blyth" was written on it. you looked down at your lap, trying to conceal the grin attempting to break loose. for some reason, you felt transported back to seventh grade, with your first crush. you couldn't wait.

when you finally saw tom making his way to the table, you stood up on instinct. rachel glanced over at you and did the same soon after. he came up to the both of you and gave you hugs. when he sat down in-between you, you felt like the air had been pulled out of you. you had no idea what to say to him. your last interaction had ended abruptly. you had no conversation to pick up from last time. you thought of an idea, and quick.

"how was the rest of the afterparty? clearly i missed it." he whipped his head around, unaware you were beginning a conversation. when he did, he made eye contact with you.

"the afterparty? oh it was lots of fun. but i have to say, people were dropping like flies. you may have been the first one to, y'know, pass out, but other people followed soon after. I honestly don't know what they are putting in those drinks." you chuckled at his joke. "but yeah, it was fun. you missed karaoke, i know you love it." you really did. maybe your singing skills weren't the best, but it was always fun to hang out with friends and sing you heart out. you had gone to karaoke with tom once, but you couldn't remember most of that night.

"ugh. that's so much fun. oh, did i tell you that i passed out and when i woke up, I was in my hotel? I honestly can't tell if i woke up and uber-ed home and just don't remember, or if i fully blacked out and i got home somehow, like with someone." odd choice. you felt embarrassed. your mouth seemed to keep running, like word vomit. "sorry, that was weird to say."

you saw tom smile into his lap. you weren't sure if that was good or bad. "i think you would have remembered, at least slightly, if you had gotten home yourself." he said, quieter than before.

"that's true. i guess it doesn't matter. whoever got me home was a real one, then." you said. his smile faltered for a brief moment. you looked around for a moment, begging to continue the conversation, but failing to think of anything more to talk about. luckily, he came to the rescue.

"so, any new projects?" he asked you. the truth was, your agents had been sending you opportunities for a while, but you hadn't heard anything back from casting agents. however, you were scheduled for a final round of callbacks in a few days. it was a greta gerwig film. you would KILL to be in a greta gerwig film. little women, barbie, they were your favorites. you'd never worked this hard for a role in your life.

"well, i'm currently in callbacks for a greta gerwig movie. do you know what i would give to be in a greta gerwig film? and the answer to that question is my left kidney and more." when you looked up, tom was looking at you. for once, a man looked like he was truly interested in what you had to say.

"i love greta gerwig. her movies are great. and that's really cool. i've had a few auditions and a few callbacks, so i'll hopefully book something soon." you smiled at him. when you smiled, he smiled back, and time stopped. that's what it felt like, at least. you looked at his alluring, yet kind of horrifying blue eyes. then you took in his whole structure. you swore you'd never seen anything like it. after a beat, a waiter placed food down on both your plates, along with rachels, and the others at your table. you adjusted to sit fully upright and forward, and heard tom clear his throat slightly. the meal presented in front of you was steak with mashed potatoes, assorted vegetables, and chimichurri sauce. everyone at the table seemed to have got the same meal. you heard rachel and tom laugh. glancing over, you noticed you had zoned out. for enough time, at least, for them to start recording a video.

you decided to pick at your food. it was no use. the only thing on your mind was that look tom had gave you mere minutes earlier. you felt like it meant something. he had never looked at you that way, the way you had wanted for so long. while nothing was said, you couldn't help but feel like something had been said, just not directly. you came to the conclusion that maybe he wasn't totally uninterested in you.

you tried to think of anything, any event that was coming up that you could invite him to. your next event was the golden globes, and that wasn't for a long time. until then it was mainly press. then you remembered. rachel was hosting a get-together in a few days. her and josh. he would definitely be there. until then, you would have to imagine what your next interaction would be. hope that it would be more straightforward than tonight.

"hey, tom? are you going to rachels thing in a few days?" you nodded to rachel. he looked over at her and she looked over at you.

"oh my gosh yeah i forgot. you never got back to me." rachel said. you both looked at tom, awaiting a response.

"i wouldn't miss it." he responded. now you had nothing to worry about. except of course, for the nervousness you got in your stomach. it was abnormal, usually you felt very confident, and never got like this around people. but something was different. you felt giddy. and you loved it. you couldn't wait to spend more time with him.

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#tom blyth #jhkfan123 #hollywood #fame #coriolanussnow #hungergames #rachelzegler #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #hunger games #tbosas #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year

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If you let me show you (Charles Leclerc)

Years later, your's and Charles' hearts are still longing for eachother and, perhaps, it was meant to be all along

Note: english is not my first language.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated, and while I'm not actively taking requests, I am writing some blurbs when I can so if you have any ideas or concepts that can be written in a small amount of sentences and you want to share, feel free to do so!

Tw: past breakup

"As usual, thank you for listening to the podcast", you began closing off the recording for you newest episode of your podcast, taking your headphones off once you were done and your editor gave you her thumbs up, "That was really good, Y/N. I think people will enjoy it a lot", she said as you smiled, proud of how far you got. The idea of creating your own podcast while you finished your degree was just something to keep your mind off of school, despite it being about what you studied since it was something you enjoyed, but it had quickly grown to join other people who, like you, enjoyed the topic. You had gathered a small community that you were very grateful for, especially when it allowed to go to bigger events like TedTalks and sit and talk, as well as meeting them.

Checking your phone for your e-mails, you noticed a new one from someone you had never received anything from before, "what is this...?", you muttered under your breath before letting your finger tap the screen to open it, revealing what looked like an invite to an event, looking at the top to see that you had been sent it a few days ago and, scrolling down, finding out that you had to confirm your attendance until that afternoon, "did you get this?", you showed it to your editor, "nope, but I've heard of other people who come here to record that they've been invited too", she smiled. "Are you plann-", she was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing, an unknown number calling, "yes?", you said, "Hi, this is from Fondation Prince Albert II de Monaco. How have you been, Y/N?", a seemingly kind man on the other side of the line, "Hello, I've been good, and you?", you said as you looked at your editor, "sorry to bother you during the day, but we've had some issues with our communication channels and are not receiving the confirmation from the people who are attending, and we just wanted to confirm wether or not you are joining us for the evening", he said as you panicked opened the e-mail again, checking for more details about this event, "Oh, you're also allowed a plus one, I don't think your e-mail said that due to the glitch we had", he offered as you looked at your editor one last time, her showing you a dinner she had with family on that night, "yes, I can confirm my presence. Just me, no plus one", you said as you heard him type, "Good, thank you! Since our communication channels are not working properly, is it okay if, in case of any new information, I contact you through here?", he asked before you confirmed, bidding eachother a good day and goodbye before ending the call, "this is a very surreal thing", you heard your editor said, now propped by your laptop as she look at the e-mail, telling you all about why they had decided to invite you, your contribution to spreading scientific knowledge in a simple way and accessible to everyone bring the number one reason, "who knew, hm? My weird little podcast about academia getting me t-, oh, wait, this is a red carpet?", you looked further, noticing their dress code advice section, "what did you expect from the Fondation? Some burgers and fries?", she teased you, "I thought it was, like, an intimate thing, small thing. If I'm going to this, who else is?", you mused while your editor only snickered.

After having your friend help you pick a dress worthy of the event, you dropped it at the dry cleaners, which is where you found yourself in the morning of the event, ready to pick it up while the lovely lady went to get it outback when a younger employee asked "I'm sorry, but you are Y/N, from the podcast, right?", she asked as you nodded, "I've heard your voice through these so many times I recognised it almost immediately", she said as she pointed to her earbuds, "I'm very happy that you listen to it", you said as you noticed your dress, clean and ironed being set on the counter, "may I ask what this is for?", she said curiously before who you figured was her grandmother set the bill for you too, "dear, that's not nice for the costumers, sorry about my granddaughter", she half scolded her, "no, don't worry. I'm going to an event tonight because of the podcast", you explained as you paid, smiling before leaving the store and bidding goodbye.

Arriving at home, you tried your best to remember and replicate how Pascale taught you to do your hair, the curls coming out looking like you were from a different era, silently praying they would drop while you fid your makeup. You put one the dress and added your accessories before shaking your curls, moving to put on your shoes and coat just in time for the car they had sent to pick you up and go to the event, "is this your first time?", the driver asked, "yes. Do you notice it that much?", you giggled, "not at all. Just I know I would have recognised you otherwise", he explained, "do you know anyone who is going to be there? It is a big help, so I've heard over the years", he offered, "I don't think so", you mused, "I'm not sure who's invited to be honest", you giggled again, nervous that you should have done your research, "usually actresses and actors, singers too usually, people from non profits, other members of TV shows. Oh, and how could I forget, some drivers usually go too", and it hit you. How did it not hit you before? Charles could be there too, and you not seen him in person in the longest time. Last time you saw him was a few months after you broke up, and it pained you to be in the same room as him, and while you did nothing but be polite to eachother, you couldn't deal with that, somehow always managing to avoid any gathering where he would be. Did you watch his races? Yes, every weekend one had been on you'd take your time no watch it, never breaking your promise and supporting him whenever you could, however you could. Knowing how it would bother you stayed out of anything related to his personal life, only knowing little bits you picked up from interviews and, since he was pretty private, there hadn't been anything related to his relationships, so were you about to know something more? Was he bringing a plus one with him? "Don't need to get nervous, dear, from all my years of this, people are usually very friendly and before you know it, you're already friends", he smiled sweetly, oblivious to the actual relationship you were worried about.

A woman dressed in black guided you on what to to once you arrived, telling you when to stop and pose for some pictures, despite your insistence that 'I'm here for my voice, I don't think people will need to see my face really", giggling and comforting you until you felt comfortable enough, "See?! Stunning, chérie", she smiled before her phone beeped, prompting her to tell her colleague, "Charles is arriving just now, could you go to him, please?", before helping you to the other spot where you would do an interview with someone who also had a podcast that, despite being a bigger creator, treated you with the utmost kindness, "thank you so much for taking some time and giving us your story on getting to where you are today", he said as you shook his hand one last time, thanking him before walking back to the carpet, spotting Charles posing too. And then your heart started doing somersaults, almost like it never stopped doing then anyway.

Charles followed the woman in a black suit as she told him where to stand, smiling in almost all the directions someone called him from before he noticed you, sitting in a high chair with a pair of headphones on your head. Were you here? Your podcast was successful, he knew that much since he contributed, but he did not expect you to be here. How long had it been? Two, maybe three years? You had managed to go to his F2 celebration, just as friends, before, as he now recalled, never setting his eyes on you in another form other than pictures on Instagram or your voice from the podcast episodes.

He was about to head to you when a young fan, who happened to be attending with his parents, asked for his autograph and a picture, "whenever we are home, me and mama and papa watch all your races, you're one of Monaco's pride!", the boy who was no older than ten said excitedly, prompting Charles to open his blazer's button before crouching down to pose with him. Getting up and wishing everyone a good night and event, his eyes looked for you in your emerald green dress, now finding a gentleman in the chair you were sitting previously. Heading inside the venue, he greeted some people before he noticed you looking at something on your phone and confirming it on the indicating plaques, looking a but confused before you looked around and your eyes locked in his, "h- Hi, Charles, Hi!", you said as you greeted him, your movement so automatic that you didn't even think about hugging and pressing a kiss on each cheek of your ex-boyfriend, thankful that he seemed to want to do the same, "Hi, Y/N, how are you?", he said as he looked at you properly. And you looked even more beautiful, despite looking like the same girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago."Are you here alone, too?", you said and immediately wanted to take it back, feeling like you had nothing to do with it, "I'm on my own, yes. C'mon, let's go through here", he said as he guided you on the other way you were thinking of going, leading you to the big room where all the tables were and finding out that the table you'd be sitting in was next to his, "if you need anything, call for me, yes?", he said as he looked for reassurance, "you're going to do great, I just know it".

The evening was beautiful, getting the opportunity to listen to all the projects and ideas people were developing and over all having a good time, and while you enjoyed it, you needed to get some air, excusing yourself from the group and heading to one of the outside gardens, a glass in hand as you took in all that had happened for you to get here. You had never dreamt of this opportunity to come from something as simple as you sharing your thoughts outloud, finding people on the receiving end interested in what you had to say, and to be here was something you still couldn't make out, "may I?", you heard a familiar voice you could recognise anywhere, seeing Charles coming to sit next to you on the stone bench, "it's amazing how many inspiring people are here today, no?", he began, really not knowing how to approach you. You were here alone, so it wasn't like he was crossing a line, he hoped, remembering some conversations he heard in the last group gathering where one of your close friends admitted that you were single still, "and somehow I ended up here, too", you mused before looking at him, his eyes never failing to calm you down and rile your heart up at the same time, "of course you did. Your work is amazing, it's only fair they recognised it", he let slip, "how do you know that?", you quirked your brow as you took a sip from your glass, "I listen to it. Every Thursday I go and look for the new episode", he admitted, "I still don't understand half of the things you defend and explain, but you make it so engaging and, and I miss your voice. I miss you", he said as he looked up at the starry sky before he let his hand crawl along the light stone and nudge yours, your pinkies lacing eachother. You looked at him, a small blush on your cheeks, "thank you, I- I watch all your races too, even the ones that are broadcasted at daft o'clock in Europe", you said before sighing "you know why we did it that way it was", you said, remembering the day you and Charles decided it was for the best that you should go your separate ways.

"I love you so much", Charles said as he held your hands in his, "I love you so much and it is why I think we should do this", he reasoned, although the tears in his eyes, matching your own, reflected the genuine hurt you both knew was dawning on each of you, "I never want to be the one making you hurt, not in a short time or not in a long time", you sniffed, squeezing your eyes further to slow down the tears, "I love you with my whole heart and I'd never want you to hurt, either of us to hurt", you finished as you gave him one last hug, relishing in the feeling of having his arms around you, "you'll always have my heart, Y/N Y/L/N", he said kissing the top of your head, "and it will always be yours to keep".

"Was it really though?", he said, snuffling closer to you while still not touching you more than before even though his skin longed to feel yours, "I don't know, Charles, I really don't know", you said. You didn't like to admit it, but every now and again, you would entertain the thought of what could have been if you had stayed together. How your days could have been if you had him to come home to, or having to travel to races to see him, hear his laughs in person instead of through a screen. It would have been like you had predicted, crazy schedules, long periods away from eachother, but the effort to make it work would have been worth it to have him with you. As you were about to say that to him, you heard heels clicking on the floor, "sorry to interrupt, but the fireworks are going to go off now, I thought you might like to see them", one of the ladies that had helped you in the red carpet said as you both got up, "thanks for letting us know, we'll be up shortly", Charles offered before she walked away while you two followed her, "Would you be willing to come to my place tomorrow?", he asked as he finally laced his fingers in yours for a few seconds, parting when you reached the door, "okay", you said before you were ushered to different places in the crowd.

Arriving home later that evening, you were taking all your makeup off when your phone pinged, seeing a text from Charles, surprised that after all these years he, like you, had kept your number, "Even though we did not spend that much time together today, I know for a fact that I missed having you around and being near you. I hope you have a goodnight's rest", could be read on your screen.

"Thank you for coming here. I would've gone to your place but I didn't know if you wanted me there, and besides, I don't want all the attention that it could draw that way around to you", he said nervously, "No need to rub it in that you're more famous than me, Charles", you teased slightly, wanting to clear up the tension in the room that your nerves were not exactly helping, "I mean it. Thank you for agreeing to come and talk", he said before taking a big breath, "yesterday sparked something in me, and I'm not sure it was a spark again moment, I think this has always been here", he admitted, looking qt you in the hopes of getting you to speak about your take on it, "I-, I felt the same", you gulped, "but can we do this? I think so b-", you were interrupted by him, "all those years ago, we said we wanted to focus on our careers, grow and not have to worry about it. And, while I think it could've been good, there's no way to know that the success we have it due to that. Can you imagine having me next to you on your graduation? Signing your contracts? Because every weekend I imagine you sitting in that hospitality, working on your laptop before coming to watch me race and congratulate me, or be the only person in my driver's room to calm me down after a bad race", he admitted, "I know you don't owe me any of that and if this is one sided then I don't want to make you feel guilty about it, but I needed to let you know", he finished as he looked at you. Sighing, you launched your hand to meet his, "I miss you, and I want to have you with me, to get home and see you there, even if it is only every now and then. But I don't want you to feel guilty that you're not here, or that I feel like I'm not enough", you said and he giggled, "Mon ange, you are more than enough. And I'll be the luckiest man alive if you let me have you in my life again. We'll take things slowly, but please, let us go back to how we were", he pleaded as he saw you smile, "mon coeur, we are going to be better than ever".

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